Blessed by Spirits
I have had three visits from the spirit world. Some might say they are “vague imaginings” born of grief and loss. But I know vague imaginings and these were different. In each case I had a soul connection with the spirit in question while they were living so it is not so strange that I would connect with them in death.
The first one happened when I was on my first trip to Europe at age 22. I was off to visit the tiny peasant town where my Grandfather was born. It was a tiny mountain town in the province of Enna, reachable by train and then a long bus ride up the mountain. The name, Valguernera Caropepe. I was in the train station in Sicily and an old Sicilian man looking very much my Grandfather’s type— short, grey-haired with a warm smile— saw me and started singing the words to Stormy Weather. I turned to look at him stunned. When I was a little girl I spent lots of time with my grandparents in Larchmont. Grandpa and I were inseparable. We danced and sang to music on the Victrola or his mandolin by day, had our evening cocktail together in the late afternoon (a Shirley Temple for me, Whiskey Sour for Grandpa and I got his cherry). And, at nights in summer, we went for walks catching fireflies, or sat together in the bedroom, each at our own window, in the silence of our thoughts, watching the neighbors in the courtyard below. Even as a little girl, I could feel that there was something special about the quiet we shared and that we were always connected. Physically, emotionally, and I like to think, spiritually. I took his death very hard. About Stormy Weather— whenever I walked into the living room where Grandpa was inevitably to be found smoking a pipe or reading, he would sing: “Here Comes Stormy Weather.” I looked into the smiling eyes of this man in the Sicilian train station as he sang the lyrics of the song Grandpa used to greet me with and I saw Grandpa for a few seconds. And then I had to leave to catch the train to his town.
The second time I had a brush with the spirit world was when my father died. Dad had been sick for three years battling colon cancer. The end was near and I visited the hospital often but had just taken a new job so was not at the hospital every day as, had I been stronger emotionally, I would have liked to have been. Again Dad and I were very close. Not like Grandpa. But in temperament and looks. My father married a Sicilian and I was the only one of the three children who looked like him with blond hair and light skin. And I was shy and quiet and liked writing and music like Dad did and didn’t like the screaming and yelling that was much a part of our family life. Dad didn’t either. Dad and I were sympatico— even to the point that my mother was sometimes jealous, though she had no cause to be. A few days before Dad died he went into something like a coma. His eyes were closed and he was mostly unresponsive. My Mom in an effort to get a response, teased him (Dad was the tease in the family) one warm November day, one last time, and told him it was snowing outside. (It wasn’t.) Dad’s eyes fluttered and he opened them and looked out the window and presumably saw it was not snowing. A few days later Dad died. I was at work in the ladies room at the time. I remember the exact moment. I knew Dad had died. I went back into the office. Moments later came the phone call. I had the moment down right to the minute. I called my fiancé to go to the hospital and see Dad before they took his body away. And then I stood on the street corner waiting for him, frantic with grief and stunned despite all the time we had to “prepare” for Dad’s death. Suddenly I felt a zephyr pass through me on the corner. Dad’s spirit. No mistaking it. No, for sure it was Dad. And then it began to snow. The snow only lasted a few minutes. A sign. Dad, a teaser, gave his last tease, for the benefit of my Mom. I told later told her there were a few moments of snow.
I didn’t get a message when my Mother died. We had quarreled the last night she was alive. My husband and I had done some fancy footwork to grant her last wish— we had gotten her home so she could die in her own house. We had been her main caretakers and it had taken a terrible toll on us. And though I didn’t get a message from Mom when she died, I’ve got her inside of me. Today even clearer than when she was alive, I hear her telling me how to handle the problems of life. (I still don’t always listen.) And, we inherited my Mom’s ten-year old dog— a miniature poodle, named Ko-ko. Ko-ko came to live with my husband and me and we loved her to pieces in our childless marriage. We never expected her to survive losing Mom (especially after losing Dad a few years before) and losing her home, but she adjusted. When she lost an eye to my aunt’s cat we again never expected her to pull through, but she survived. She drank up love like a parched plant and we were only too happy to give it to her. And then she developed Cushing’s disease and a cataract in her good eye, arthritis and a bad heart— but she kept on going with the spirit of a puppy. I almost believed she would live forever— even when she was diagnosed with cancer. But she didn’t. And in October, her 17 and ½ years came to a close. She had an appetite up until the last— eating dinner the night she died. Ironically it was a stroke or something she ate that impaired her breathing. It was too late to go to our vet. We decided to take her in first thing in the morning to be put down by the vet she knew and loved. I stayed up through the night with her trying to help her make the transition but she clung to life. And in the morning we brought her in to be put to sleep. Our tears were joined by a tear streaming down Dr. Howell’s face. I think he had begun to believe in her immortality, too. He gave her the shot. She reared up a moment and then was gone. We had made plans to meet my aunt and uncle that day. We could not break the date— it was too late to even call. They were coming to New York from Connecticut. I just couldn’t go. My husband, God bless him forever, went to meet them with out me. I went home to rest a bit, collect myself and then meet them later. I was at home on the bed doing Reiki, an ancient Tibetan form of energy healing, on myself. My eyes were closed but I was wide awake. And I “felt” Ko-ko. She was running in a white field filled with white flowers and then going towards a tunnel. I was with her at her eye level close to the ground and all around was pure white and she was very happy and excited. Running to be reunited with my parents. And I felt profoundly blessed by her presence as I did in life, for she had a beautiful soul. Instead of visiting us in spirit, my mother left us an angel.
I have longed for further contact with these three souls and with my Mom but the longing goes unfulfilled like so many desires in life. I am indeed lucky to have had these three visits. They are high up on the list of treasures in my life, whispering of a life beyond this one. Treasures too ephemeral for touch, treasures locked away in the depths of my soul.
MOONSIDE 
How wonderful are the ways of spirit?! All these experiences confirm us that we are truly never apart, regardless the realm we find expression or existence. Beautiful share, Ellen. It brought tears into my eyes. These experiences have happened to me as well, and I know how it feels. Mostly is this sacred and eternal togetherness that I keep dearly in my heart. Lots of light and blessings to you, my friend; have a wonderful Sunday 🙏🌟🌞💝🌻
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September 29, 2024 at 5:29 AM
Oh, beautiful comment❣️ I am so glad you felt moved by the post. Thank you for your wishes of light and blessings… the very same to you. You helped me face the day. 💖💫💥🙌🙏🏽
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September 29, 2024 at 10:09 AM
absolutely beautiful & touching🦋🌳🌞: thank you for sharing such meaningful events🙏🏼❤️🙏🏼😘
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September 29, 2024 at 8:39 AM
Thank you for writing such a lovely comment. I am particularly interested in your reaction because I am Hindu, too, like you. And I don’t believe in Heaven and Hell and I believe in Consciousness but who knows what form that takes. 😍💫🙏🏽🫶
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September 29, 2024 at 10:05 AM
this is where trust & faith come in. & acceptance. yes, we are worthy & deserving of such contact. it is real, more real than much of what passes for reality in the social consensus realm. i am always grateful for such arcane blessings, & i do find that it helps to carry on a conversation with Shiva as often as i can. all of this is also part of the sharing/conversation. it becomes ever more a genuine exchange, as we continue to develop the sensitivity & courage to deepen such contact. the longer i do this, the more energy gathers around it, & the contact becomes deeper & even more precious.🙏🏼❤️🙏🏼🕉️🔱🕉️
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September 29, 2024 at 10:25 AM
Thank you so much for your explanation and experience!! 😊🥰❤️💫🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙌
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September 29, 2024 at 10:56 AM
We do have these moments of being blessed with a visit from our loved ones who have passed on. Thank you for sharing yours, Ellen, so that we can remember our own sweet times.
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September 29, 2024 at 12:20 PM
Glad it brought back good memories for you, Cheyenne!
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September 29, 2024 at 3:06 PM
Oh my, Ellen. Your writing is extraordinary….I’m still teary-eyed about Ko-ko. 💔🙏
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September 29, 2024 at 6:10 PM
Dear Sunnyside, thank you. You have no idea what your comment means to me at this moment. Thank you so much! ❤️ellen🙏🏽
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September 29, 2024 at 7:00 PM
Thank you for sharing these captivating accounts, Ellen. Ko-ko certainly proved to be a beloved gift from your mother. Her caring vet must have shed a lot of tears for animals he bonded with over the years.
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September 29, 2024 at 8:48 PM
Thank you, Nancy, for writing. Yes, Dr. Howell was a great vet but then Ko-ko was a beautiful spirit and being, and, yes, a great gift from my mother.
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September 29, 2024 at 8:53 PM
I could feel the magic of these moments come through loud and clear in your writing and this post is, like usual, perfect timing for me. 🙏🩷
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September 30, 2024 at 12:51 PM
Oh, I am so glad, Julie. Thank you so much!
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September 30, 2024 at 4:00 PM
Ko-ko sounds like she was such a lovely soul. To give you the gift of not dying in your arms and returning to let you know she was ok, just heart warming. Thank you for sharing.
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September 30, 2024 at 8:07 PM
Ko-ko was one of my greatest teachers!! She had a beautiful soul. So loving. So joyous. Whenever my husband hugged and kissed, she would jump up on our legs begging to be part of our embrace. I called her the”love doggies.” And she lost her first masters. There was on anguished cry one night when she found a toy from my mother’s apartment and it reminded her of Mom. It broke my heart. But we spoiled her rotten and she did live to 17 and a half!! Thanks for your lovely comment❣️
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September 30, 2024 at 9:25 PM
I was once owned by a very sweet cat. I get it.
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September 30, 2024 at 9:50 PM
😊😻
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September 30, 2024 at 11:03 PM
That was so wonderful. I believe every word and I’m so very happy for you. I hope they come to visit again. What wonderful experiences.
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September 30, 2024 at 10:18 PM
Thank you for reading and for your kind words. I don’t think they’ll visit again. Koko’s anniversary is in a few days. At this point, I would opt to visit them wherever or whatever they are. I know that is a terrible thing to say but modern medicine is not for me, having spent much of the day at the cardiologist. I don’t want surgery or interventions of any kind except palliative. Is this a terrible thing to say? I have a loving husband to care for that I worry about losing every day. It is not a very enlightened way to live. I tell you because I think you might understand. I hope you’re not sorry you wrote me.
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September 30, 2024 at 10:48 PM
My dear friend, we are of one mind. I do understand, completely. And I do think our beloved animal companions do visit when we need them, even if it’s in our dreams and we don’t remember. I think they are our guardians and watch over us throughout our life. I’m sorry to know your husband is not well. I’m sorry you aren’t well, either but our choices are always our own and I feel the same way you do. Sending love and happy thoughts for a sunny tomorrow…one step at a time. ❤️
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September 30, 2024 at 11:03 PM
Thank you, thank you, thank you for understanding. My fear of losing my husband is very unenlightened. He is younger and I should not be selfish and want to go first and he would suffer but I tell you the selfish truth. I had a feeling you would understand.
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September 30, 2024 at 11:08 PM
Happy thoughts and secret joys to you tomorrow! ❤️
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September 30, 2024 at 11:09 PM
Don’t want to mislead you… my husband is not sick that we know of. He has lots of concerning health issues. Way more concerning than mine. And I adore him but and am ruining the present by worrying about his every symptom. Just want you to know the truth. I am being tested now for a few things. But being Bipolar and Sicilian my anxiety is through the roof.
Okay no more dire emails. Enjoy your day and thank you for listening.
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October 1, 2024 at 10:38 AM
May your treasures warm your soul. It is such a blessing to have such signs from your loved ones that help you accept the current life.
Thank you, Ellen, for your sincere story.
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October 1, 2024 at 8:16 AM
Thank you, Ubit! Yes, they were blessing🙏🏽
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October 1, 2024 at 10:24 AM
So touching, your dad made it snow. I’ll think of him the next time it snows!
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October 18, 2024 at 3:17 AM
Thank you🙏🏽
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October 18, 2024 at 10:12 AM