THE GHOSTLY ENCOUNTER

My dad was into his late 80’s when he began to slow down. He was independent and still lived in the house he built. He was alone. Mom died years ago. Dad was still an active gardener and a wonderful leader of our family. He was a wonderful father.

I lived in Canada about 5 hours away by car. My brother and sister just three minutes away from him in opposite directions. My sister would cook dinner for him nightly in the company of her children, my brother made sure he had his meds every day. My sister-in-law did his laundry and when home, I’d clean the house and stayed with him.

He was allowed to drive (never on the highway-just back roads) the mile to Church every Sunday and he was allowed to drive to my brother’s house every morning for his meds and a cup of coffee and chitchat. My brother would see he got to doctor appointments, to the grocery store and stop in to see old friends. He was as independent as possible to the last and we were all happy about that.

Dad was an optician whose career started in the 1930’s under the watchful eye of his uncle named Morris. He lived with his Uncle Morris and Aunt Helen while his own mother was in a sanitarium for TB. He became his Uncle Morris’s apprentice. He loved making glasses and the two worked together until his Uncle Morris died in the 1950’s. Dad worked for others and eventually owned his own business and retired in the 1970’s.

In August 2001 my Dad attended the funeral of his last brother who was named after his uncle, Morris.

Within days of his brother’s funeral, Dad was in the hospital for observation and tests because he was not well. I drove like a maniac to get home hoping I would be in time to say goodbye. The tests showed his heart was almost gone and his hours were limited. We said goodbye and he left us in the night.

I stayed at Dad’s house while we planned the funeral. And what a surprise I had while waking up in Dad’s empty house because all of a sudden…

I was standing in the kitchen leaning on the sink and I could hear dad’s footsteps coming from his bedroom.

He came around the corner looking taller, rested and dressed as he would every day. He had a smile on his face. I didn’t speak; I shrugged and raised my eyebrows as if saying, “what’s up”? He responded saying “I didn’t know it was Morris” and then poof he was gone.

When I shared this “dream” or “vision” with my brother he told me about Dad at his brother Morris’s funeral. My father was 88, hard of hearing and frail. Dad attended the funeral and seemed to enjoy the family get-together that celebrated Morris’s life. My brother was worried because he thought Dad was acting a bit confused. My brother said dad keep asking where his brother Morris was?

((Um…he’s dead, dad…))

My brother suggested perhaps Dad thought it was his Uncle Morris’s funeral (circa 1950), not his brother Morris (2001).

So, in that one moment in time, in those few seconds of that sunny August morning, while standing in his kitchen in my sleep, my dad showed up and told me he’d already seen his brother.

The feeling of peace he left with me told me he was in a good place and certainly not alone.

Thanks Dad!