A Most Welcome Guest

The Most Welcome Guest

I grew up in a family that believed in what some call ghosts. I have heard them called both spirits, and ghosts. It was because I have heard them talked about and have even saw one or two that I can believe were spirits. I had not seen a ghost for some years at this particular time in my life and had begun to wonder if there truly was such a thing. Had I truly had seen any in my time? It was my deepest hope that they were true at this time. It was early autumn in 2003, September to be exact. My life had had been stress filled the past few years, and I was stressed even more this year.

My summer had been spent watching my father die from lung cancer. My father had been nursing a cough for about four months. He had been to the doctor in early summer and had been told he had cancer. His cancer was inoperable, and he was not a good candidate for chemotherapy. As I look back on it, his death seemed to come with an unnecessary quickness.

I knew my dad was dying and I watched helplessly as he died. I hoped there was more to death than dying. Throughout the summer we stayed with dad while he grew thinner and weaker. Daddy slept on his couch, and read books, worked puzzles and talked to us. I got to know my daddy, before he died. I found him to be well read and interested in a good deal of the things I myself was interested in. I am sure this bit of information sounds odd, this being my father. In explanation, my parents divorced when I was young and I was not very close to my father.

I loved him very much and missed him often as I grew up. As an adult I had gotten a little closer to my dad than in my childhood. We were friends now and I didn’t like watching him in this condition. Oh I accepted it, as he had, and sat down and waited for it to happen. I wasn’t afraid of death or dying that I knew of. I just didn’t believe my dad would die so young. Dad was 59. I hadn’t thought he would die of cancer either. I knew he had smoked cigarettes for forty years. That he could, or would have cancer never crossed my mind. I watched my dad, a man that was always thin, get thinner until he was a living skeleton. He had stopped eating in the last week of his life. He slept more than he was awake, and he had begun to stare at faces when someone talked to him.

I believe he was trying to study faces so he could remember them when he was gone. Dad was a kind hearted man if you knew him. There was a quiet sternness to him though, I think it was because he was quiet in general. The last night I spent with my dad was very emotional. It was also my mom’s birthday, Daddy had promised her he wouldn’t die on her birthday. Though we all knew he was going to die, and die soon, it seemed no-one present that day was facing it. My only thought was that I wanted to be there. I didn’t want him to die without our being there. He wanted us to be with him and I intended to be there. Well, that night it stormed intensely. The heavens seemed to open up. A black sky poured out all the tears and swirling emotion I felt inside. My heart ached with the retched pain of loss. I was just now allowed to know my dad and it was at the end of his life.

That night as I watched all the family gathered there to say goodbye, I felt the bitter tears of regret, the hopeless taste of gall filled my mouth and I choked back tears and angry words. I listened as he asked for this person and that person to come to his bedside. They would speak for a few minutes, if they could (some were crying too much). We knew the time was near, but I had the sense that it would be the next day perhaps because of his promise. Some notion had crept into my head that daddy was going to die on Monday afternoon. See, I had to go home that night I had this overwhelming belief that I needed to go home so the kids could go to school. I know now that this is the way things are supposed to be. Those that are not supposed to be there are not present when a loved one dies. No matter how many times you ask and pray, things go the way they are destined to go. Life is choices and choices are what we do to ourselves when that inner voice speaks. We either listen or we don’t. There was a lull in the storm and I went home. I felt convinced that dad was going to wait for us to be there with him. It was with stunned disbelief that I responded to my sisters early morning phone call. Her voice cracked as she sobbed into the phone, “daddy’s gone,” she said.

I can remember what she said now as I recall the events of that night. If you had asked me then what she said, I couldn’t have told you. I was numb then I remember saying to her, ” he’s not supposed to go yet.” My sister and I went to see my dad before the funeral home came to pick him up. My grandmother, (his mom) and my aunt (his sister) were with him. I felt cold towards them because they had been there for his passing and I had not. I felt they had said their true goodbyes and I had been cheated. I remember wondering then if he would come back. After all that had to be done was finished, I went home. That evening, I sat alone in my room and wondered if I would see him again. I had been raised to believe people came back, sometimes, after they died. Right now I desperately wanted to see my daddy again. I wanted to know there was something else. Daddy had been so certain he was okay with God and that he knew where he was going when he died. I wanted to know what happens after death. Could he come tell me he was okay? Could he show me he was still aware of who I was and acknowledge the love and concern for his child. Yes, I felt like a kid again in these events.

My daddy died on Monday, September 15, at 4:35 am. I use to wake up at that time just about every night. I remember hearing somewhere that when people do that, that number is or will be somehow significant to them. I wonder what it meant to me and then I knew. I continued to wake up the same time every night that week. It was four nights after daddy died that I woke up at 4:35 am. I had to go to the bathroom.

As my eyes opened I had the feeling I wasn’t alone. I lived in a two bedroom apartment, with my son, at that time. I slept with every light out except for the bathroom light. The bathroom door was kept ajar so the light peeked from the cracked doorway and fell into the hallway. I never wanted my son, whose room was across from mine, to stumble in the darkness going to the bathroom or to my room. I opened my eyes not expecting to see anything. I had the bathroom on my mind. I never thought I would be sitting there peering into the darkness of my hallway at a floating, sparkling mist.

When I first awakened, I felt like I wasn’t alone. I looked around my bed thinking my son had come in my room, he was eight years old and sometimes came into my room at night. This night, however, he had not come into my room, yet I was not alone. There was a gray, moist looking, mist in my hallway. In the dim light a shimmering mist hung in the air, almost dancing in the doorway. I was cold and it had nothing to do with the air conditioning in my apartment. I had begun to wonder if, and when, daddy would come. Would I see him like I use to see those that had passed on? I hadn’t even dreamt about him although he had been gone almost a week. I had yet to have any contact with him since his death. I was certain if I were going to see a ghost, then why not my daddy? As I sat there looking out into the hall, the mass of mist glistened with movement. I could see through the mass, yet it had substance. It seemed to shimmer and sway as if in some breeze, yet there was no breeze in my hallway. I was mesmerized and speechless. I had wanted and waited for some contact and here it was. Here I sat, unable to speak, uncertain if I were afraid. I felt a slight panic inside. Why I should be afraid of my daddy, I couldn’t fathom. As I remained frozen, the mass at my door began to shift and change. It moved and rolled up on itself, sparkling and twinkling as it did. I began to pray. I wasn’t certain what this was or what it wanted.
My mind raced for the Lord’s prayer and I began to recite it. The mass shifted getting thinner at the bottom as it moved and becoming heavier in the top. The heaviness changed the consistency of the mass, the bottom was still just a mist. The top, shaping into a thicker mass, was now too thick to see through. When the shifting stopped the mist was now a shape. The head and shoulders were clearly apparent in my doorway. The form still glistened, but it was still except for that shimmer. I heard my own voice, sounding so small and nervous, almost like it was coming from a distance. “Oh my God.” I heard myself whisper.

It was then that I climbed back into my bed and pulled the covers up over my head. I had forgotten that I had to go to the bathroom. I stayed that way for the rest of the night and into the morning. When I awoke, the sun was shining and the morning was clear and bright. I opened my eyes, lying motionless for a few moments, as the night’s events returned to my questioning mind. Did I really see something in my hall last night? Was it my daddy, or something else? I wasn’t certain what I had seen, but later that day I told my mother what I believed I had seen. I couldn’t recall hearing anyone describe a ghost in the form I had seen. I don’t recall ever hearing about a shimmering mist. My mom was certain it was my dad. I began to talk to my daddy, out loud, that day. I told him I was sorry I had been afraid. I told him I was just caught off guard.

That night I was to get another chance to see if daddy had truly come to let me know he was alright. I went to bed as usual that night. It had been a long day as there had been funeral arrangements to make with my grandmamma. I was happy to fall into bed that night. As had been my habit for so long I can’t remember, I woke up at 4:35 am with the urge to go to the bathroom. This time I looked out into my hallway, the same lighting as the night before. The bathroom door was cracked and a stream of light fell into the hallway. There was nothing, however, in the door to my bedroom. I got up slowly, sitting for a moment on the edge of my bed.
I climbed into my chair and started for the bathroom. The feeling crept up on me as I moved across the floor. The hair on my neck began to tingle. My back shivered and I immediately felt again as if I were not alone. I looked into my baby’s room as I reached the doorway. Carmon’s room was cat’s corner from mine and I could see him sleeping carefree in his bed. I had, at this time, curtains that hung in my hall entrance way. They were hung there to keep the private rooms in the apartment separate from the common rooms. They were also suppose to stop the flow of chi  from leaving that part of the house and going out the door.

As I crossed the hall, I caught a movement just behind the curtains. My dining room and kitchen were just beyond the living room. The curtains separated the living room from the hall. It was at the edge of the dining room and living room that I saw the movement. It was the dark shape of a figure. The figure was tall and dark. It moved quickly as it retreated into the dining room. The shape or shadow, whatever it was, stepped back as I entered the hall. My apartment was set up on the old shotgun design. It was a straight shot to see from the hallway. So I had a good view of the dining room’s entrance. The dark shape had been standing in my living room. When I came out of my room I caused it to step back as if not wanting to be seen. I was just as stunned by this movement, as I was the events the night before. This time however, I was not about to forget I had to go to the bathroom. I rushed quickly across the hallway. I gave as quick a glance into the dining room as I went. Once in the bathroom I shut the door and gave a trembling breath on exhale. There was someone there in my dining- kitchen. I knew instinctively it was not an intruder.

I made quick work of what I had to do in the bathroom. As I made ready to exit the bathroom I tried to slow my thoughts down. I wanted to see my daddy again desperately, yet I was so afraid of coming face to face with someone who just died. I knew it was daddy or someone coming to tell me something about him. I wanted to face this being, whoever it was, and not faint. I took a deep breath and again tried to steady myself. It was then that it dawned on me the figure had stepped back. Why had it stepped back? What would make a spirit hide? Then it came to me. It had to be daddy, and in his continued consideration of others, he had not wanted to frighten me again. The night before, I had been frightened of the misted shadow in my doorway. Daddy had wanted to come to me I reasoned, because I believed in contact from those that have passed on. Daddy knew how much I believed. I believed so much, but I didn’t believe I would be afraid of my daddy. Now he was trying to communicate with me again tonight. I still had no idea what I was going to say or do when I faced him. There was so much I wanted to say to him. Why had he died before I got back, not being the least of my questions?

I exited the bathroom slowly and resolvedly. I wanted to see my daddy. I didn’t think anymore past that thought. I was in the hall and felt the same chill I felt before. I felt that if I went into the kitchen, I would come face to face with the shadow that I knew was standing there still. Believing I knew the reason for his attempt to hide himself I took daddy’s feelings into account. Having come to this conclusion I moved closer into the living room. I wasn’t in the dinning-kitchen, but I was closer now. I knew he was still there just out of complete sight. The moonlight was shining through the thin curtains hanging at the sliding door. These doors were directly across from the dining room. I stopped short of looking directly into the room; instead I spoke to the shadow. “I love you daddy.” I said, ‘I miss you.” It hadn’t been what I wanted to say, or even planed to say. It was however, what I needed to say. I had told my daddy before we left that night, if he needed to go, then go. I told him not to hang on for us. I knew it was why he was still there.

Daddy couldn’t walk anymore. That day he had to be carried from the restroom. He said to me, “When I can’t walk anymore, it will be time”. I had forgotten that until that moment. So I said what my heart wanted me to say. I sat there a few minutes more. I don’t know what I was waiting for. The shadow stayed where it was. I felt comforted. I turned and went to my room. As I got back into bed, I knew that my daddy would stay there in my apartment for awhile. I knew I could sleep and truly sleep through the night tonight and tomorrow night. I was comforted by the welcome guest in my home. I felt the comforting presence in my home the next night as well. The night after we buried my daddy, I dreamed of him. I couldn’t see his face, but his thin frame was very recognizable in my dream. His hands and his voice were those of my daddy. He told me he was okay. He said he couldn’t stay long, but he would be allowed to come back. It was a little less than a month later, I had another dream of my daddy. He was my daddy, but he looked different to me, his hair was black (daddy was grey when he died), and his features were those of a younger man. I couldn’t remember him ever looking like this. He reminded me that he had said he would be back. He told me he would come back again because he couldn’t stay this time either. Daddy told me when he came back he would come for a woman. He said because he knew her, he would be allowed to come meet her when her time came. He told me to have mom watch a friend of his. Daddy said the friend wasn’t doing well. As soon as I saw mom, I told her about my dream. Mom knew the women I spoke of and she knew the friend that daddy spoke of. The next weekend we went to the cemetery. We never do that by the way. Once someone is buried in our family, we may go see the stone placed, but nothing else. Anyway we were out and as we passed we decided to go in. We found daddy’s site and he had a stone my grandmother, (his mom), had had placed there. As my chair was pushed closer to the stone my breath caught in my throat. My granny had had his stone made with a portrait on it. It was a picture of my daddy; a picture I had never seen, but was the daddy I had seen. That was the daddy I had seen in my dream. My mom was standing there with me. Her voice was distant, so caught in her own thoughts.

“Is that how he looked in your dream?” she asked. “Yes ma’am.”, I managed. My daddy was a young handsome man of about thirty, mom said. He always wore his hair in a kind of pompadour. His face was smooth. There was no hint that pain would show itself in his life’s end. We stared at that stone in disbelief. I felt so happy; I believed this was why daddy had hidden himself in the shadows that night. He wasn’t there completely. I believe daddy was in transition after his death. Daddy had told me he was okay, and that was what I believed. Seeing this portrait I was happy. I found I was at peace within myself. A few weeks, perhaps a month, later the woman daddy told me about died. She too had lung trouble.
I have seen my daddy several times since. When he came for the sister of the woman, he told me he would be allowed to come for her. I dreamed of my daddy once with two other people, each of them died one within the year after the dream. The second person died a year later.

The next time I saw my daddy, was a year later. We moved into a house, my sister and her family moved with me. We had been there almost two months. I wondered if daddy was with us here in this new place. My cousin, had had a heart attack the week after we moved. It was a scary time. She was 42 at the time. We prayed and couldn’t believe it was happening again so soon. Well this time she pulled through, and came home. Everyday life enveloped me and things fell into a kind of routine in our household. I had begun to believe daddy had come with us as we settled in. Little thing happened around the house and I often had the feeling I wasn’t alone. I felt often, there was something there just in the shadows around the house. I had gone to bed with nothing much on my mind that night. That night I dreamed of my daddy. In the dream daddy was visiting my aunt. It was my cousin’s mother. He sat there on a golden sofa smiling and talking. My cousin sat there beside him and my daddy’s youngest brother. My daddy’s brother had been affected deeply by my daddy’s death. They sat there talking and laughing. My uncle talked about having hurt his back and now was using a cane. I woke from that dream with a feeling of sadness. I told my sister and mom about it. Later that day I called my daddy’s mother and asked about my uncle. I told her I dreamed he was on a cane having hurt his back. To my sadness, and shock, my uncle had hurt his back and was on a cane for the last couple of weeks.

I was left feeling uneasy now. My daddy died in the fall of 03. We moved in the summer of 04. My cousin died in the fall of 2005, the following summer, 2006, my uncle died. The both of them had been in the dream with my daddy. I hadn’t seen my daddy in a while after that. My mom died the summer of 2007. My daddy didn’t come to me before that event. I simply dreamed my mom was gone and I couldn’t find her. Some things are best dealt with when they happen, not before. I believe daddy just didn’t want to be the one to tell me about mom. I have seen him since however. I dreamed daddy came to visit after mom died. In this dream he was sitting with two other family members. I won’t name them here. My sister knows their names. I will just pray it was just a dream.