I have had several experiences with ghosts – mostly with my own family after they have crossed over. My daughter, Natalie, left us at nine months old. She was a happy and spiritual child, who enjoyed being in her walker and playing with plants. She had the ability to touch them and heal them. On July 1, 1972, she passed away from smoke asphyxiation. We stayed with friends in Burlington, Ontario, while at the same time holding the memorial service and cremation there as well.
We returned to our apartment for a week before taking the ashes to England to be interned at the Church, where my husband, at the time, and I were married.
I was sitting reading in my living room when I heard Natalie‘s walker coming down the corridor towards me. Nobody was there, of course. The sound continued into the living room and stopped next to a ―rubber‖ plant that was dying. There were still one or two leaves on the stalk. They suddenly started to move up and down. I sat there gaping at what was occurring – for not only were the leaves moving, but the earth in the pot was being ejected and landing on the floor. I knew it was Natalie. She was telling me to repot the plant. She was also telling me that everything was Ok and happy.Several years later, I received a call from my father in England, telling me to come over as my mother was ready to ―leave‖. She had cancer and it had spread throughout her body. I arrived home and went in to see my mother. She was in a coma. I was shocked by her appearance, as I had not seen her in nearly nine months. I knew that this was due to the illness. I told her that I had arrived safely and bid my farewells, wishing her well on the next leg of her journey. It was good to just sit with her and tell her how I felt.
She passed away shortly afterwards. My father went into automatic mode and made arrangements for her to have a Russian Orthodox service in an Anglican Church. This was unprecedented at the time and particularly in the village where outsiders had not lived there for centuries. My mother had managed during the years of living there to convert everyone.
The day of the funeral, a friend of ours, who was also an orthodox priest came down from London to perform the ceremony. The Church was full of friends, acquaintances, and the Villagers. Mum‘s coffin stood in the main aisle between the choir stalls covered in flowers. It was beautiful Father Vladimir went up to the high altar and turned to the congregation – ―You realise that Marie (Moura) is now closer to you in death than she was in life‖.
I turned to look at the coffin and as I did so, I saw my mother, as she was before her illness, reclining on the first ―choir‖ pew, laughing her head off. I choked rather loudly. My father scowled at me angrily (for disturbing the service), my grandmother, who was standing on my left, burst into tears again, and my sister, on my right, jabbed me in the ribs (that hurt). I was still smiling though.
I found the experience to be very helpful in my grieving process. It was good to know that what we perceive in the physical is but an illusion of the reality.
Mum had transcended and become who she was, a beautiful light that shone brightly in all the lives of the people in that church. There was no reason to be sad. She was still there, beyond the veil and she was happy and what the priest had said was indeed true.
When my father passed away three years ago, I experienced a totally different visitation. I arrived in England after my father had passed and my sister and stepmother had arranged for me to attend a ―viewing‖ at the local funeral parlor. I must admit that this seemed a little creepy to me, despite my previous experiences with ―dead‖ bodies. I went though.
As I looked at my father, I felt no ―energy‖ in the body. Physically, he looked good and was dressed in his favorite clothes. I had no sense of his presence in the ―viewing room‖ at all. My sister was upset and crying. I made my farewells and left the room.
Just outside, I felt a presence or energy, gentle and comforting and I heard: ―I am here and will always be here for you. I am home and everything is OK. Look after your sister and Joan (my stepmother). I smiled!The one main thing that I really realised with my father‘s death is that the body is indeed just a vehicle for ―WHO WE ARE‖. Death is a portal to another reality. We, in our dense bodies, just can‘t see the other side yet. – Contributed by Susan. finish.
We returned to our apartment for a week before taking the ashes to England to be interned at the Church, where my husband, at the time, and I were married.
I was sitting reading in my living room when I heard Natalie‘s walker coming down the corridor towards me. Nobody was there, of course. The sound continued into the living room and stopped next to a ―rubber‖ plant that was dying. There were still one or two leaves on the stalk. They suddenly started to move up and down. I sat there gaping at what was occurring – for not only were the leaves moving, but the earth in the pot was being ejected and landing on the floor. I knew it was Natalie. She was telling me to repot the plant. She was also telling me that everything was Ok and happy.Several years later, I received a call from my father in England, telling me to come over as my mother was ready to ―leave‖. She had cancer and it had spread throughout her body. I arrived home and went in to see my mother. She was in a coma. I was shocked by her appearance, as I had not seen her in nearly nine months. I knew that this was due to the illness. I told her that I had arrived safely and bid my farewells, wishing her well on the next leg of her journey. It was good to just sit with her and tell her how I felt.
She passed away shortly afterwards. My father went into automatic mode and made arrangements for her to have a Russian Orthodox service in an Anglican Church. This was unprecedented at the time and particularly in the village where outsiders had not lived there for centuries. My mother had managed during the years of living there to convert everyone.
The day of the funeral, a friend of ours, who was also an orthodox priest came down from London to perform the ceremony. The Church was full of friends, acquaintances, and the Villagers. Mum‘s coffin stood in the main aisle between the choir stalls covered in flowers. It was beautiful Father Vladimir went up to the high altar and turned to the congregation – ―You realise that Marie (Moura) is now closer to you in death than she was in life‖.
I turned to look at the coffin and as I did so, I saw my mother, as she was before her illness, reclining on the first ―choir‖ pew, laughing her head off. I choked rather loudly. My father scowled at me angrily (for disturbing the service), my grandmother, who was standing on my left, burst into tears again, and my sister, on my right, jabbed me in the ribs (that hurt). I was still smiling though.
I found the experience to be very helpful in my grieving process. It was good to know that what we perceive in the physical is but an illusion of the reality.
Mum had transcended and become who she was, a beautiful light that shone brightly in all the lives of the people in that church. There was no reason to be sad. She was still there, beyond the veil and she was happy and what the priest had said was indeed true.
When my father passed away three years ago, I experienced a totally different visitation. I arrived in England after my father had passed and my sister and stepmother had arranged for me to attend a ―viewing‖ at the local funeral parlor. I must admit that this seemed a little creepy to me, despite my previous experiences with ―dead‖ bodies. I went though.
As I looked at my father, I felt no ―energy‖ in the body. Physically, he looked good and was dressed in his favorite clothes. I had no sense of his presence in the ―viewing room‖ at all. My sister was upset and crying. I made my farewells and left the room.
Just outside, I felt a presence or energy, gentle and comforting and I heard: ―I am here and will always be here for you. I am home and everything is OK. Look after your sister and Joan (my stepmother). I smiled!The one main thing that I really realised with my father‘s death is that the body is indeed just a vehicle for ―WHO WE ARE‖. Death is a portal to another reality. We, in our dense bodies, just can‘t see the other side yet. – Contributed by Susan. finish.
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