Thinking back on books I’m writing, or have written, several are about ghosts, or have a ghost that’s important to the story.
I don’t think I have more than the usual amount of interest in ghosts. Maybe a little more, considering how many people don’t believe in them at all.
So, how do I feel about them? It’s complicated. I can’t say I’m a total believer, but I can’t say I’m not. I think I lean a little more toward the believer, though. Maybe 85/15. Okay, that’s a lot of belief.
I will admit to being fascinated by the thought of ghosts. And curious, too. I’d kind of like to see one, but I think I’d be afraid if I did.
After my dad passed away many years ago, I said to him, “Dad, don’t visit me at night when I’m by myself, okay? I’ll be too scared. So, if you’re going to visit, can you do it during the day?”
I’m pretty sure I won’t ever have a visitation like that. Because my mind is too noisy. I don’t meditate or do anything to calm my thoughts. I don’t sit tranquilly contemplating nature or anything. So, a ghost could be standing just beyond the veil yelling my name and I probably wouldn’t be aware. It would take a pretty strong spirit to pierce through to my inner mind.
But I believe I’ve been visited by both my mother and my father after they were gone. I suppose you could call it circumstantial evidence, but I choose to believe wholeheartedly that it was my parents.
In the case of my mom, my cat Allie went through a phase in the first year or so after I lost my mom where Allie would sit on my dining room table and stare at a wall. There was nothing there except a picture. Not a photograph, but just a print of a pretty scene. Anyway, I’d find Allie sitting there looking at the wall almost daily for months. Once or twice, she’d stare at the ceiling above the wall. Several times I got out my phone and took pictures of her sitting on the table. She’s a pretty cat and it was sort of photogenic to see the back of her as she watched the wall. Then one day I took several pictures and when I looked at them on my phone I saw orbs in them. I think there were five pictures with the orbs. Don’t believe me, what do you think?
Three before and four after. Oh, Allie didn’t sit on the table looking at the wall any more after that.
Then there was my dad. On my birthday this year, I was getting dressed for work and put on a new pair of pants. You know how the pockets are often sewn closed so that the pockets don’t get stretched out? Well, the pockets on these pants were sewn closed. I was looking in the mirror smoothing the front of my pants when I felt something in the pocket. I tried to stick my hand in the pocket to see what it was, but the pocket was sewn shut. There was one tiny opening on the right side where the thread was starting to come loose so I managed to maneuver the item out of my pocket. It turned out to be an old Halls Menthol-Lyptus throat lozenge. My dad always carried them in his pocket. Always. He had one handy anytime any of us had a cold. The wrapper on this one was faded and wrinkled, like it had been carried in someone’s pocket for a long time. I think it was my dad’s way of wishing me a happy birthday.
See, circumstantial evidence, but it’s the best I can do.
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