It was the most wonderful “visit” as I knew my husband had been there even if it were only for a few minutes. Another time I was half awake and half asleep, and I felt him lying in bed with me holding my hand. I put my arm around him and fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up, of course, he wasn't there.
One night I was in a dead sleep and woke up sensing that someone was in the bedroom with me. It was very dark, but I could feel that someone was standing at the foot of my bed. I had no fear, though; as I knew it was a good presence. Then I heard someone saying in my ear, “Check the doors.” I got up in the dark and checked the garage door which I had left up; the sliding screen doors were not locked, and the door leading from the garage to the inside laundry room was unlocked also. I forgot to check them before I went to bed. I locked them all and went back to bed. I knew that it was Duane telling me to check the doors.
I still feel his presence; no matter where I am, I know he wants me to be happy so I live my life to the fullest and am the happiest person I can be every day. I miss him so much, but I know that someday, when God calls me home, I will once again be in his arms.
P.M.H. Atwater, LHD
Reprinted with permission from We Live Forever: The Truth About Death, A.R.E. Press
During the time I lived in Boise, Idaho, Margaret Matthews, a dear friend of mine, was killed in a horrible accident. Margaret, her husband Frank, and their grandson were traveling by car to Yellowstone Park for a vacation. He was driving; she was on the passenger side, and their grandson was wedged in between them. Just as they crossed a bridge, a pickup truck, driven by a drunken teen showing off for his girlfriend, slammed head-on into them. Margaret was decapitated. Frank was crushed, yet he stubbornly clung to life as he and his grandson were rushed to the nearest hospital. When the attending physician determined that only the boy's pelvis had been broken and that he would recover, Frank drew a sign of relief and promptly died. Even when mangled beyond belief, he was protective of his grandson and would not leave until he knew for certain that the boy would live.
The death of Margaret and Frank Matthews was a triple tragedy. Once their grown children were notified, they in turn broke the news to Frank's elderly mother, their grandmother. She was so shocked, she died instantly. As it happened, at Margaret's request, my former husband and I were in the Matthews's home early that evening holding a Search for God Study Group meeting (spiritual studies taken from the readings of the late Edgar Cayce). Their son telephoned, surprised that anyone was there, and we talked at length. The meeting became a prayer circle where each person in attendance served as a guide to assist the three souls in making their transition into God's great light and to help the grandson.
I tell you this because of what happened next. While making certain that there was plenty of food for everyone at the Matthews's home during the days before the funeral for all three, I also did door duty. That means I was standing at the threshold when the neighbor across the street came running toward me, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Margaret can't be dead. Tell me she's not dead. I saw her and I talked to her when the sheriff's deputy said she had died. That's not possible. She was here and I talked to her.” All of us did a double take and gathered around.
The woman's story told with utter conviction and backed up by the deputy's log of her telephone call, went like this: She was outside sweeping her stoop when she looked up and saw Margaret walking along her front sidewalk. She yelled at her and asked how she was doing. Margaret stopped, faced the woman, smiled, and said was just fine. She smiled again, turned around, and kept walking to the door, unlocked it, and disappeared inside as the door closed. The neighbor thought nothing of this exchange until, after finishing her chores, she turned on the radio in her kitchen and heard the bulletin. She called the sheriff's department to see if the broadcast was a prank and learned, much to her shock, that the time she and Margaret had been visiting was the exact same moment Margaret was killed.
I asked the neighbor if she had ever before experienced anything supernatural. She said, no, then she stunned the crowd that had gathered by saying: “A couple of weeks ago, Margaret and I were talking and I told her that I wanted more than anything else in the world to know if there was life after death. She promised me that the proof I needed would soon be coming. Then she smiled that special smile of hers, just like she did when I saw her yesterday.”
This isn't all that Margaret did after her death. She manifested countless times, always seen as fully alive and responsive, whenever she could help another or be of service. These appearances of hers, plus other types of after-death communications from her went on for almost a year. Seven years later, she reappeared to fulfill a prediction she had once made to me: that when I enrolled in a certain class on the power of affirmative prayer, I would look up and see one of her daughters looking back at me. That did happen, even though her family and I had not communicated since the funeral. Several class members saw Margaret in the room before I did, then the lights went out. They did not come back on until Margaret's presence was acknowledged.
Can the dead return after they die?
You bet they can.
For a period of time after death, it is a commonplace for the dearly departed to return home or stick around that which is familiar. Unfinished business draws them back, or simply the desire to let their loved ones know they're okay. Once satisfied that they have done all they can for the living, most of them complete their transition into the spirit realms.
Incidents do occur, however, in which the dying do not merge with their soul but remain a disembodied ego floating around or simply existing until someone or something wakes them up. That's why prayer is so important at the deathbed and afterward. As powerful as the soul is, its memory can cloud or at times seem forgetful. Even a soul can use a little help.
Toni DiBernardo-Jones
Pennsylvania
My mother was a wonderful mother, daughter, sister, and grandmother. She had a way about her, and she would help anyone she could anytime that she could. She loved her family and most of all her grandchildren. She was the type of person who knew what she wanted and got it. Until the last six weeks of her life she was an independent, active person constantly running here and there; she always loved taking long rides in the car.
The last trip that she made was up to her daughter Mary Jo's house. She always wanted to see her two youngest grandchildren, Brianna and Michael. These two young babies were the light of her life and really kept her going.
Brianna is the only girl among all the boys in the family. She would always be happy to see her Grandma. There have been times since my mother's death that Brianna has said that she saw her Grandma Yooie and has even carried on conversations with her.
In fact, Brianna, who was just three-years-old at the time, would always ask my sister why she couldn't see my mother. At one point, she was pretending to talk on a toy telephone with her grandmother when she turned to Mary Jo and told her “Grandma wants to speak to you now.” Unfortunately, this scared my sister, and she threw away the play phone.
If there was some way for my mother to still see these children from beyond, I know she would. She would always say that Brianna melted her heart and that she held a very special place in it just for her.
During