alright? Please? I promise you that if you can give me a sign, I will never doubt it. I promise with every fiber of my being; no matter what anyone ever tries to tell me, I will not disbelieve it. People can call me crazy or say anything they want, but I will never question that you did this for me; I promise!”
As I was enchanted by the streetlight, pledging my promise, I remembered about electricity and understood how we are all part of it and that it is related to energy. From a scientific aspect, energy can never disappear; it can change only from one form into another.
I asked her to make the light blink. I told Logan to just flicker it and that would be my sign that she was OK. Most newly bereaved people want to know that their departed loved ones still exist and that they are OK. Our loved ones are just as eager to offer us some reassurance for peace and comfort. For quite some time, I had been praying to St. Philamena to watch over our daughter. I ordered Logan to go and get St. Philamena or someone else if she could not do it herself. I could feel a struggle of energy when all of a sudden the light went off!
I could not believe my eyes. Then it came back on. I was like, “WOW!” I shot straight up from a sitting position, rubbing my eyes in disbelief and looked once more. Again, the light went off and came back on. By now, I was shaking, crying, and practically jumping up and down thanking Logan and God. The light started going crazy: on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on. Almost as if she was as thrilled as I was that we were somehow communicating. Oh, how my heart had been set free. I knew she was fine.
I stepped inside the building and yelled for Sally, a co-worker. She came to see what I was so excited about. As we ventured out onto the landing of the second floor, a cat jumped out of nowhere from behind the steel door. Sally is a feline lover and thought I was excited about the cat. “Oh, a cat, a cat!” she said. I answered in kind of a frustrated tone, “No! Not the cat, the light, the light!” We were both surprised because a cat could have only gotten on the landing by climbing up the stairs, but this one had jumped out from behind the door where nothing but a wall of concrete stood.
I had forgotten about the dream until on my way home from work that night when it hit me like a ton of bricks, “The CAT!” Oh, my goodness, it was the cat from my dream that my child was holding. My dear, sweet, clever little girl and my precious Savior both knew me too well. They knew that although I had made a vow, I was only human and would still have doubts. Therefore, they gave me extra reassurance or what I refer to as a double sign!
M. G. Raub
Washington
When I was a junior in high school, I had a friend named Denise. We shared art class together. She had been absent from school for several days when I decided to go visit her at home to see how she was feeling. We had a nice visit, and she seemed well enough to return to school. She told me that she'd had a cold, but now she felt better and remarked that she would be back at school the following day. I remember that she was smiling when she told me that. I visited with her for a while, then went home, did my homework and other activities before going to bed.
That night I was asleep in my room when I awoke for no apparent reason. My dog Duchess was also awake and stood beside my bed looking toward the door to my room. I sat up in bed and looked toward the door and there stood Denise. She was standing in the corridor facing my doorway.
She was not misty or glowing or anything. She appeared to be just as real and whole as any living person. I did not feel any fear when I saw her, only mild confusion as I asked her what she was doing there in my house. She was smiling as she said, “I just wanted to stop and say ‘Goodbye.'” I said “Goodbye” to her but did not ask her where she was going. My sixteen-year-old mind seemed satisfied with her answer. She turned as though she was going to walk on down the corridor toward the stairs. I did not see her disappear or fade away. I glanced at my alarm clock noting that it was 4:30 in the morning. I settled in and soon went back to sleep.
The next morning I woke up and thought about Denise's visit. It had not been a dream so I was at a loss to understand it. I decided to tell Denise about it when I saw her at school since she had said that she would be coming back that day. As soon as I got to school, another friend walked up to me. She asked me if I had heard about Denise. I said, “No.” Then she told me that Denise had died earlier that morning.
Later I was told that her cold had suddenly developed into a very severe, virulent form of pneumonia and that she'd been rushed to the hospital where she had passed away. It was all very sudden and totally unexpected. I was absolutely stunned! At that moment, when I'd heard the news of her death, I experienced emotions that I still cannot describe. Afterward I found out that she had died at 4:30 a.m. which was the exact same time when she had come to visit me in my room! She'd visited me before I knew that she was dead.
This happened many years ago, but I still think about Denise from time to time. I will always be grateful for her visit because in some ways, by doing what she did, she gave me one of the best gifts that I have ever received. This is the gift of assurance that there is life after death and that we do go on. This knowledge has been a great comfort to me over the years.
Phil Whitt
Ohio
I have been experiencing “visits from heaven” since I was about twelve-years-old. I would hear voices and even wake up to see the silhouette of someone in my room. Back then I was afraid of these experiences, but now I realize that these phenomena are a blessing.
My stepmother crossed over when I was fifteen-years-old. I was staying at my dad's house in Niles, Ohio for three days during the funeral. And I was not prepared for what would take place at the house during my visit.
I was lying in bed when I clearly heard footsteps climbing up the stairs to the top landing just outside the bedroom that my brother and I shared. I quickly woke Rick up, but the noise stopped. A few minutes later my brother fell back to sleep, and the footsteps started again. I was scared and tired but finally fell back to sleep with the covers over my head.
The interesting thing was my stepmother always wore shoes with small hard heels which made the exact sound I had heard on the stairs. The following morning I asked my father to take me back home to Cleveland, Ohio, which he did. Two weeks later my stepmother paid me another visit. I was lying on the couch watching television when I dozed off. Suddenly, I sensed that I was not alone and could have sworn I heard someone say, “Phillip.” I opened my eyes slowly and yelled, “NO.” There standing just a foot away from me was my stepmother.
She stood there smiling at me wearing a pink nightgown which is what she was buried in. As soon as my yelling brought my younger brother Rick running into the room, she was gone.
I didn't mention what had happened to me in either Niles or Cleveland until years later. When I did, Dad told me that he, too, heard the same hard-heeled footsteps and that this is what prompted him to eventually move. I spoke to people who had moved into the house after he left and found that the sound of hard-heeled shoes was still being heard by the new
