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**Moderator note:**Keeping in mind the necessarily subjective nature of alleged postmortem encounters with the deceased, this comment is out of line. The acceptance of the notion that such encounters exist, or at least that they cannot be absolutely disproved, is the central idea of the OP. Judging by the responses so far, some posters believe in this absolutely and some attribute it to drugs, fatigue, or other factors, but either way are giving us their experiences, however subjective they might be. This is what the OP asked for.
Suppose there was a GD thread about the differing principles of Roman Catholicism versus Calvinist Protestantism. If an avowed atheist were to drive-by-post to the effect that there is no God and all religion is therefore futile, it would be inappropriate in the same way.
Thank you so very much. 
ooops
Hear, hear.
But that’s the thing. While the content of these “encounters” may be subjective, the nature – at least as it pertains to their hold in reality – is not. It is, really and factually 100% bullshit. No ifs, ands, or buts.
You know, that would be a Great thing to Debate. Do you suppose you might go and find the appropriate forum for it?
Actually, it wouldn’t be, as there is nothing there to debate.
Please take the debate or non-debate elsewhere. I just want to hear the stories. I’m not the Truth Police… I don’t care if people are hallucinating or dreaming or whatever. I don’t care about religion or theology or the lack thereof. I just wanna hear the stories. I like 'em. They make me happy.
Go back and read the messages from not one but two moderators in this thread before you post any more along these lines.
twickster, MPSIMS moderator
Small things, but strange…
I’m living in the apt where my grandmother died. The first week after we moved in my father came over, and we were sitting around talking. As soon as he said my grandmother’s name, the doorbell chimes fell from the wall, and landed clear across in another room. If they just fell off they would’ve landed right there on the floor, not a good 10-12 feet away.
After a few more weeks I commented to my dh that my grandmother would have a fit if she could see the state of my linen closet - she had always kept it so neat, and I just threw things in after the move. That night when I came home from work all my towels and sheets were on the floor outside the closet, neatly folded. Yes, I guess they were so crowded in they could’ve just fallen out onto the floor, but they were in such neat piles on the carpet…
Other times I’ve been in bed, and felt the edge push down, like someone was sitting on the foot of the bed. My dh also said he’s felt this as well.
Proof of anything? I doubt it, but still strange.
OK - for you and because its late, I’ll tell you about my wife’s grandmother; because that changed my opinion on this subject slightly. We bought back my wife’s “old family homestead” that her father was raised in and her grandmother had called home for all but 16 years of her life. She died when my wife was little and they had sold the house but it was a “special place” to them and since we could get it back, why not? Her husband (grandfather to my wife) had been something of an all-around do-it-yourselfer with a habit of leaving tools and projects just about everywhere from the basement to the bathroom. The one place out of bounds for him, I found out later from my FiL, was the kitchen and pantry. That little combination space was hers dammit and any tool left laying there was going to be hidden. Or thrown away. Or buried in the garden. And that is just the way it was. And she was Old Country German and you just weren’t going to win that one.
I didn’t know that when we bought this place and moved here and it wouldn’t have mattered. I may believe in Heaven and all that but even I knew that the only people who believe in ghosts are nutjobs. You die and you go to Heaven or you don’t and that’s just it - you don’t get to hang around and visit. It’s this world or the next and they don’t overlap.
I always kept my good tools in the basement because garages around here get broken into now and then. And my tools are Snap-On (or better) and worth more than the house. I was working on an antique car shortly after we moved in and I needed my “double-deep” socket set to tune the tension bars and hinges for the trunk lid. So I got it done, ran the set back in through the kitchen door and tossed it on the pantry shelf, and went back out to move the car into the street. I don’t do stuff like that much - I use a tool and I put it away. I don’t set it down and I don’t let it lay anyplace other than the toolbox or cabinet designed for it. In other words, this wasn’t something I did EVER. But I did this time.
I got back in the house and the set was gone. My wife was at work and nothing else was missing and it was just gone. This was a full set through 1 inch drive for Christ-sakes - it couldn’t have fallen behind the sink because it was nearly the size of the sink. But it was gone. Drove me frikkin nuts.
About a year after this I needed my trickle-charger just to jumpstart my bike fast so I could get some needed things done. Did what I needed to do, put the charger back in its case, and since my Harley was at idle in the street behind the garage and its not the safest street, I just slid it in through the kitchen door, locked the door, and went about my rounds. I got home and started dinner so it would be ready when my wife got home from her job, went to put the charger case back on its rack and it was gone. I mean totally frikkin gone. I had 17 different kinds of ballistic melt-downs over that because it had been a present from one of my old bosses and one of those “favorite things” men sometimes get attached to.
About five years after this, my FiL called me that his car was broken down along the highway - could I come check it for him and see if I could fix it or if it needed a tow. It was a simple thing to fix (shredded belt) so I fixed it and followed him to his home to fine-tune everything. And when I got to my home, again with the wife still at work, my socket set was back just where I had set it and my charger was on top of it.
When I related all this to Popsi (my FiL) he told me about his mom and “her ways” and he wrote it off to her having a “soft spell” since I had helped him out like I did. He was an only child and mom always did love him too much. Me? I didn’t believe in crap like that. But at a certain point, even I have to say something strange is going on. I’m a Lutheran now and as a rule we really and truly firmly believe that its this life of the next and the two don’t overlap. But lets just say I have my doubts about that aspect of our theology. And like I said before - something about that just makes me feel good.
I am not the only person who has smelled the pine sol, so it can’t just be me imagining it. At least 4 people have smelled it.
We don’t have pine floors or pine oil, the house was built with ohia wood inside and has bamboo floors.
Nobody has ever used pine sol in the house, and we have also smelled it outside. There are no pine trees anywhere around, nothing in the pine family for miles.
The internet person described my stepdaughter’s dead mother’s appearance perfectly, and mentioned dd’s unusual first name, all without me ever saying a word to her, before I confirmed anything. Hard to do a cold reading for someone when they aren’t even talking to you or giving you any feedback.
Nobody in my house uses anything that smells very strong without my knowledge. I have perfume allergies and anyone who buys scented products knows there will be hell to pay. Clorox, soft scrub, Murphy’s oil soap, peroxide and vinegar are all we use.
What else have you got?
Please, no.
sorry, posted my response before I saw that a mod had told him to stop.
I love when people tell me I’m imagining things simply because they can’t imagine anything being unexplainable or ZOMG related to the possibility of the afterlife.
I’m just glad you got your stuff back.
I saw my grandmother when she died. I’d had to get up very early for a physically taxing job. Mr. Rilch was on it too, so he drove. On the way back, I was zoning out a bit, and then I looked through the windshield and saw a kind of transparency of her face, smiling at me. Just for a second and it was gone. Got home and my mom called to tell me gramma had passed. :eek: Asked her the time, and it corresponded to the time Mr. Rilch and I had been on the road.
Now, granted, I was tired, and I had known she was in her last days. Still, it happened that hour, not earlier or later.
These are great stories.
It puzzles me why people put so much energy into resisting such stories and coming up with multiple reasons why they can’t possibly be true. Why not say, “Well, we don’t really know,” which IS the truth: we don’t know.
Maybe there is an afterlife and people can hang around and visit before they go there… or maybe there’s not. We don’t know. But there are sooooo many stories. Is EVERYONE who had a visitation lying, deluded, crazy, in possession of defective sense organs? Why put so much effort into disproving? Just enjoy the mystery. For myself, I like mystery and I like surprises. I wouldn’t WANT to know exactly how everything works. I don’t want to see the man behind the curtain; I want to enjoy the effects. (I don’t even like to know who the murderer is until the last page of the book.)
Except for the watch-stopping thing, I’ve not had any tangible experience with visitation from anyone who’s died. But I LOVE hearing about these things.
Kopek, did you ever find the charger? Maybe it’s buried in the back yard.
This is stupid. If you’re going to piss and moan and call the mods over a hijack, then you shouldn’t keep throwing up bait. You’re doing just as much to perpetuate the hijack.
I NEVER called any mods over a hijack. The mod intervention happened without any comment or request from me.
Anyway, by definition I can’t hijack my own thread, can I?
You can hijack your own thread if you’re posting in the MMP. It’s expected of you.
Labrador, the calls were for threadshitting, and you’re getting close. Maybe the visitations and stuff are real, or maybe they’re psychological tricks our brains play on ourselves. I don’t care. Regardless, what I’ve experienced I find pleasant, and I’ll pass the anecdotes along to those who are interested.
If you don’t like it, have a big steaming cup of STFU and go play somewhere else.