How the dead visit us

I want to tell you a ghost story. 

As loyal readers will remember, my mom died when I was pregnant with my oldest daughter. Since my mom was no longer physically present, my husband and I made a point to talk about Nanny as much as possible. This way, our baby (and then her sister) would know she had another grandparent, even if she only knew her in pictures and stories (of which, thank God, there are many). 

But, because kids are spooky, it turns out she could see my mom. At least once. This is the ghost story: I was holding my toddler in my arms when she looked right over my shoulder at a fixed point and said, “Nanny?” I turned around faster than I ever had in my life and said, “Mom?”

No answer. Very annoying.

But I am positive she was in the room with us. I know some people don’t believe me when I tell this story. I can’t provide any evidence that it happened. I don’t need to. In that moment, I know my daughter saw my mom; I felt it in my bones. Whether it happened “in real life” or I invented it in my grief, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it helped me.

My clients sometimes hesitantly share their own ghost stories. There are a variety of ways they offer these anecdotes, ranging from uncertainty to joy and relief. Sometimes they’re recounting a vivid dream or lights flickering or butterflies at unexpected times. Whatever it is, when they ask me, “do you think it’s really them?” I answer, yes. And also, does it matter? 

What matters is that the dead are with us, whether in our imagination or memory or in the actual house or air. They show up in ways profound or small, inexplicable or clear. You can believe in ghosts or not; what’s important is how those experiences make you feel. And if you haven’t had a spooky visit, ask for one. Maybe the dead don’t answer in words but I do think they’re listening.