— Antonio
“My parents, along with my two uncles, who were my mother’s brothers, moved to Cañon City in 1933. I was born three years later. My sister and I were the only children in my family—all Italian immigrants.
When I was 10 years old, one of my uncles, Paolo who I was named after, died in a work accident when the large landscaping boulders that had been loaded upon a parked company truck gave way. Unfortunately, my uncle Paolo was crushed by one of the rocks, as it rolled across his chest. Although his fellow workers quickly assisted him, I was told he died within a few minutes after.
As much as I can remember of our relationship, my uncle never displayed much affection, or sentiment on any level, toward me. Although he never mistreated me, I regarded him as simply a distant person in our household. So at the time of his death, when others around me were emotionally distraught, I personally was saddened, but did not display much grief for him.
Uncle Paolo’s funeral, 1946.
I remember years earlier, my mother’s words to me regarding her and her brother’s relationship. Theirs was also a strangely distant one, unlike the typical Italian family relationship where hugging and kissing played a major role—quite the opposite. There was even a time when he actually slapped her in the presence of a boyfriend she was dating. Apparently he did not approve of their relationship. And he very obviously made it clear to both her and her boyfriend that the relationship was to end. My mother never forgot, or overcame, the embarrassment she felt that day. Times were different years ago as families were structured more clearly, and ideas of what was morally correct ruled with an iron fist. A lot different than how we behave in today’s society.
Well, the day of my uncle’s funeral arrived, and my uncle was laid to rest in Cañon City on March 31, 1943. Before being buried, a relative took a picture of him at the funeral home as he lay in his casket. I still have it, and can show it to you if you’d like to see it. Although I was only 10 years old, I have a very vivid memory of that day, and most of my years as a young child.
About five to seven days after he was buried, I began to have visions of my uncle walking about the house. At different times of the day, for no apparent reason, I’d begin to “feel” his presence in a room. About a week after he was buried, I spotted his figure sitting at the kitchen table! I just happened to walk into the kitchen and saw him seated at the table while no one else was in the room. His image lasted only for a few seconds, but I did see him. He just sat at the table looking straight ahead, then “poof” he was gone! I chose to keep this experience to myself. I didn’t know how others in my family would react, and I didn’t want to chance being verbally mistreated for having such a crazy imagination. So I just kept quiet.
There was another incident where I witnessed seeing my uncle’s ghost. It was just the following day after my first sighting. The day was a sunny one, about 2 or
3 p.m. in the afternoon. I was playing with my dog, and as I came running around to the front of the house, from the backyard, a movement caught my eye, and I glanced at the front porch. Seated on one of the chairs, this time staring directly at me was my uncle! I immediately stopped and froze in place. Not unlike before, his image lasted only but a few seconds, then disappeared! It was as if time stood still for me. I recall not even hearing the sounds of birds, traffic noise, or even the movement of the leaves of the trees moving in the breeze. Everything was deadly silent.
This time, being so startled by what I had seen, I ran around to the backyard and informed my mother. She stopped hanging clothes on the line and turned to face me. “What are you saying, you saw your uncle sitting on the porch?” I responded, “Yes, yes he was also sitting at the kitchen table yesterday!” Strangely, my mother’s reaction was to take me into her arms, hold me tight, and weep. I thought this was strange because I assumed she would scold me, or take a belt to me for making up such a story, but instead she reacted with grief. I was so surprised by this that I too began to cry. I chose not to reveal any more to my mother about her brother’s spiritual visits. I had mixed emotions and due to my young age, was in no position to mentally process what was going on. I began to feel a real fear a fear that I had never felt before.
Later that night, I was awakened from my sleep by a loud sound in my bedroom. I opened my eyes and knew that my window was closed, but the curtains were moving as if from a light breeze. I focused my sight on the movement of the curtains, when I heard the sound of footsteps walking about the small room. I was so scared that I closed my eyes, threw the blanket over my head and somehow, eventually fell back to sleep. This same pattern continued for another two nights until the third night when a very scary incident took place.
Again, I was awakened as before from a sound sleep, only this time when I heard the noise, I felt an overpowering sense that something was in the room with me, something large and not very friendly. I tightly shut my eyes and before I could cover my head with my blanket, I felt the pressure of an unseen hand grasp my shoulder. It was a strong force that could only be that of a male hand that shook my shoulder. I was so scared that I couldn’t yell or make a noise. I was frozen with fear! All I could do was to lay still in my bed hoping that whatever was grasping my shoulder would let me go. Suddenly, I felt a very cold hand take hold of my lower jaw and slowly begin to open it. I was ready to pass out from fear.
Somehow, I found the courage to open my eyes. I was very hesitant to do this, but when I did, I saw a male ghost, strangely not my uncle, standing next to my bed! I didn’t recognize who it could be, but I’ll never forget how deep and dark his eyes were. At first it was only a large silhouette against the darkness of my room, but that quickly changed. A recognizable form of a large man began to take shape, and I’ll never forget his eyes. He was staring, fixated on me with those eyes, and before I could think of what to do next, he raised his left arm and slowly his hand came over my face, grasped my jaw, and opened my mouth. Then his index finger reached inside and came to rest on the top of my tongue. The finger was ice cold! I was overwhelmed by the sense that I was powerless to do anything to help myself get away from him. I could not move or speak. He opened my mouth wide. Once inside, I felt his fingernail make short little poking movements in my mouth, something like a dentist would do when exploring for cavities with a metal pick. Suddenly, I noticed another person in the room with us. I looked towards the window and spotted my uncle’s spirit standing, looking directly at me. His image was transparent, but without a doubt it was my uncle Paolo! I somehow gathered the strength to break away from the awful ghost’s grasp. I rolled out of bed, fell onto the floor and yelled out to my mother. Immediately the ghost retreated into the darkness. Then I scrambled to the door and into my parents’ bedroom. I attempted to explain to my parents every detail of what had happened but they would have none of it. I spent the remainder of the night sleeping in their bed with my head on my mother’s lap.
Thereafter, because of the trauma and panic that was very evident on my face, even my father relented and moved my small bed into my parent’s bedroom, where I spent several more nights. About a week after that, my cousin’s family al- lowed me to stay with them for about another two weeks, until I was emotionally able to return to my own house and bedroom.
During my absence, my parents contacted a local Benedictine priest at the Holy Cross Abbey to perform a blessing and cleansing ceremony at my home. A special, personal blessing was also performed by that same priest over me. Within Catholicism the Benedictine Order is one of the oldest Catholic orders that was founded in the sixth century by St. Benedict. I’ve learned since then that the church employs St. Benedict’s prayers and other protocols in its rituals of exorcism. Looking back, I was very fortunate to have been