Most of these are cordial and often helpful if you don't count my father who harped at me for days after his death because I was unable to prevent something he didn't want to happen. I mean the man was shouting at me day and night until finally, standing in my kitchen I yelled right back, OUT LOUD, that if he hadn't been such a stubborn and secretive man I might have been able to help him. I informed him in no uncertain terms that none of this was my fault and that if he didn't stop yelling at me I was going to get really, really mad.
Needless to say he hasn't spoken to me sense, but he always could hold a grudge.
My mother died in my home and her spirit was quite present for a long while. She rang doorbells, made battery operated puppies that are only supposed to bark when petted bark, turned lights off and on and frequently freaked me out by sitting on the side of my bed. My two year old granddaughter had extensive conversations with her to the point that when I would ask who she was talking to she would say, "Gramma Myrna" and I would say "Tell her I said hi."
She also saved our lives. One night in the middle of the night our box fan that was on the floor fell over with a crash. I got up, checked it out and set it back up. As soon as I got back in bed it fell over again. It was about one in the morning and everyone was asleep. I got up and fixed it but I found it strange and said, "Mom, if that's you, do it again." She did. Figuring something was very wrong I began checking the house. In our youngest son's bedroom I found that his lamp had fallen over on his desk and the shade was smoldering. It was also laying on a stack of school papers.
Believe me, I could go on and on, but I won't. I'm no Theresa Caputo, but suffice it to say that I was surprised and slightly hurt when I did not even feel Bill's presence after he died. I expected to, we were so close, and others did, but not me. I felt completely abandoned.
For the first three weeks I wanted to die, and frankly I almost did. I do believe you can sort of will yourself to die. I wasn't eating, barely sleeping and sicker than hell. My daughter called an ambulance when my blood pressure dropped to 70/50 and I couldn't get out of bed. I expected him to come and get me, but again, no Bill. I started to get better, much to my dismay.
It was my sister Linda who pointed out the power of prayer. She came often, listening to me weep, crying with me. "He's hear", she assured me. "I can feel him".
"I can't," I sobbed. "I pray every night for him and I ask God not to let him see me like this. It would hurt him to see me in such pain."
"Well stop praying for that," she insisted. I think she may have rolled her eyes, but I can't prove it.
That night when I went to bed I prayed for Bill as always. I prayed he was happy in heaven, seeing his parents, teasing my mom and talking about muscle cars with his buddies that went before him. I thanked God for our years together even though I felt they'd been cut short and asked for the strength to get through this.
Then I began talking to Bill.
"What's with the Endless Love stuff?" I asked. (Our daughter had been walking around singing that song for days off and on and when I asked her what she was doing she said her father was in her head telling her to sing it and frankly he was driving her crazy.)
"Listen," I said. "If you want me to believe it's you, you have to let me pick the song. I mean that's a nice song, but it's not exactly our style."
He didn't answer and I lay there for a long time trying to think of a song we both loved that no one else would ever think of. It couldn't be something we played or from our wedding or anything like that. It couldn't be 'When I Said I Do', my ringtone for him, or his ringtone for me. It had to be something just between him and me. Finally I decided.
"I want the song from Hope Floats," I whispered. "Show me that song." I fell asleep.
The next afternoon I was looking on Amazon for some new pictures for our bedroom. I want to make some changes. He was sick for a long time and it needs a new look, a new feel. I was leaning toward literary quotes by Emily Bronte and Jane Austin. I mean there's no man sleeping in there now, so why not. This is what popped up on my page.