I don’t have a story to share, but thanks everyone. I really do enjoy this thread, it is inspiring and heartwarming.
My husband passed away a couple of years ago. Just a few days after his death, I woke up one morning and his reading glasses were laying on the table beside the bed. Just a short time earlier he had been looking for them. Danny and I had separated, but we still remained friends and still lived together. There’s no reason why his glasses would have been in my room, and I live alone. No one had been in our rooms. I felt like it was his way of telling me that he’s OK. What a sweet guy. He always was my best friend… Love you Danny
I lost my sister two months ago. The day after she passed away I was talking with her daughter (14) and told her that her mom would show up when we least expected it. My sister was a very strong willed person with a great sense of humour and when we’d tell stories from our childhood she would always roll her eyes.
Later that night after my niece had gone to bed, my brother, other sister and myself sat up and they helped me with my eulogy for the funeral. We started telling Anne stories and before long we remembered one of our favourites.
When we were kids, Anne had a piece of string she called Wurbert. Wurbert had his own little box with cotton where he slept and Anne took him everywhere. Anne refused to give Wurbert a bath and after a year or so, Wurbert was really grubby so one day when Anne was out, dad disposed of Wurbert. Anne freaked big time when she found out and dad told her that Wurbert had gone to work on the family farm.
Anyways, that night, the three of us were in such fits of giggles as we reminisced about Wurbert that we literally had tears running down our faces. All of a sudden there was a crash from the kitchen and we ran thinking one of the kids was up.
The light fixture in the kitchen had come crashing down, torn from the ceiling.
I really believe that it was Anne telling us to smarten up and quit giggling so much about Wurb. The next morning I related the story to my niece and her reply was “oh yeah, that was definitely mom”.
I really miss my sister and I really do feel her presence giving me strength.
Gosh, me too. In a nice way, though.
My great-grandmother claimed to have seen my great-grandfather sitting in his favorite armchair a few nights after his death. Just there, smiling, for a moment. Then he was gone.
These are great. I hope there are more…
I have this secret (well, not so secret now, I mean there must be what, 20, 30 people on this message board? ;)) belief that when people die who love me, they leave me little special abilities they had while they were alive. Generally things I couldn’t do for shit up to the point when they died.
My friend Herb, who died of cancer while we were in college, used to make me (and other people) these amazing cut-paper pieces of art (sometimes cards, sometimes posters). I tried to return the favor once and failed miserably. My roommate laughed, I laughed, and I gave up on any artistic ability I may have hoped for.
After Herb died, I got a bug up my ass to make a cut-paper “Congratulations!” card for a friend who’d just won a literary award . . .
. . . and it ROCKED! A couple of years later (after having made copious amounts of homemade cards for family & friends), I had a little card-making business going. (But doing it for money took the fun out of it, so now I’m back to just making them because I want to.)
My dad, who was the family “chef”, died of a heart attack in 1996, before I ever really learned to cook. I was a whiz at defrosting things and making sandwiches, and was always interested in becoming a good cook, but generally my efforts at preparing anything that didn’t involve a box with directions on it failed miserably as well (I once attempted a damn Waldorf salad that even the dog wouldn’t eat).
Now I’m the family chef. When I moved back home in 1999 (to live with my mom and sister), I got a bug up my ass one Sunday morning to make a semi-elaborate breakfast for my mom and sister. At the time, my sister was getting Gourmet magazine, so I scoured some of her issues (despite their advice to start slow, maybe make some toast and scrambled eggs), headed to the store, and had French toast and a quiche whipped up within about an hour and a half (yeah, I know they don’t really go together, but I couldn’t decide). From then on, Sunday breakfast became my job, and I have expanded my operations to include catering various parties for my sister, and my mom’s bridge club meetings.
Plus, I’m the only one who’s been able to master my dad’s BBQ. 
Oh, and about Herb . . .
The day after I found out he died, I called in to my job (delivering newspapers at 5 am–was I crazy???) and told them I wouldn’t be in, and why. In the end, though, sitting at home and bawling wasn’t doing me any good, so I showed up anyway. I bawled profusely through most of my route (how would I live without Herb? I kept thinking over and over), and then decided to turn on the car radio as a distraction.
It seemed as though commercials were on every station, so I just picked one, and figured I’d ride out the commercials until the music came back.
As I drove up over a hill to hit the last part of my route, I was stunned by the most amazing sunrise EVER. At the exact same moment, the radio station I’d chosen at random began playing the perfect song:
[Rare Earth]
I just want to cel-uh-brate
Anuthuh day of livin’!
I just want to ce-e-lebrate
Anuthuh day of–
LIIIIIFE!
[/Rare Earth]
It was one of the most amazing moments in my life. 
My mom died at the age of 63 after suffering through years of debilitating strokes. She had been bedridden for about 3 years and her body was crippled and she had lost her ability to speak. When my dad was calling around to let people know she had died, a friend of hers from another state told him that she had a dream that actual night of my mom dressed in one of her vivid colored muu-muus saying “Look I can walk now.” As she sashayed around. I wish I had that dream.
I’m not sure how I feel about this, or even if I believe it. It’s another dog story.
I had a dog, Conan, who was my heart dog. He was close to me beyond all other dogs I’ve owned, and I’ve had many. He died. A few weeks later, I was at a meeting with and people who hate me showed up. I don’t need to go into details, but I’m not exaggerating. These are people who did really evi things in order to hurt me, professionally and personally. There were also other people there, people who were unaware of all this, and it was important to me, personally and professionally, not to lose it in public.
The evil people cornered me, and all started in at once. They were attacking me on several fronts, weren’t sticking to the truth, and I was really upset. I was on the verge of losing my temper and shouting, or else bursting into tears. Either would have been disasterous. Suddenly I felt calm, and I was able to just cut them off. They stopped pressing the attack and gradually pulled away and left, still glaring at me and tossing verbal bombs.
The next day, someone else who did not know me but had been at that meeting ran into me somewhere else. She said that several people had noticed that I had been ambushed, but no one was sure what to do, and people were just kind of watching uncomfortably. She then told me that she is psychic, and can see things. She said that she could see little imps, coming out of the auras around these people and attacking me. She said that my aura was dropping and she thought I was going to collapse. Then a little dog appeared and ran at the imps. She described Conan exactly, and he was a very odd and distinctive looking dog. He attacked the imps, who ran away. She described the way he patrolled around me, and the way he held his head when he was sitting down. Shortly thereafter, the whole thing broke up. She was surprised by what she had seen, and people around her were saying that I had handled it well.
I describe this using emotionally laden words because that was how it felt. I don’t believe in psychics. I don’t believe in auras. I don’t believe in little demon imps that attack people. But I have believed ever since that Conan is here, protecting me from whatever, just like he did when he was alive.
My Dad had been dead for about 72 hrs. before I found out. I was studying in London and in the process of moving to a new flat when it happened. It took so long to contact me because I had neglected to give my parents the new phone #. Somehow, Mom tracks me down and tells me to come home because Dad is in hospital. (He had already passed away at home but Mom wanted to delay the inevitable until I was back in the States.) After going through alot of B.S. getting a flight out, I make it home, drop my luggage on the lawn and sprint into the house shouting for Mom to take me to the hospital. I got as far as the living room before one of my Dad’s friends tells me to sit down, then…blank. My brother says that Mom had no sooner taken me by the hand and said that Dad wasn’t with us anymore when I started screaming. I am told that I totally lost it and started crying for “Daddy” and talking like a 5yr old. Screaming things along the lines of “Who is going to teach me to tie my shoes?”
Later that evening, I went to sleep in my parents bedroom to keep Mom company. The same room my Dad had died in. I woke up in the middle of the night to see my Dad sitting at the foot of the bed and smiling at me. He then put his hand on my shin and rubbed it saying “Everything’s going to be alright.” I was fully awake and aware of my surroundings. The overhead light and TV were on. I felt his hand on my leg and the way the mattress sloped down to where he was sitting. He was as solid as life, even to wearing his undershirt and boxers! He wasn’t an apparition, he was really there.
Dad and I were very close, so his death really affected me. I kind of “checked out” for a few months after he died but I do remember that incident clearly. I haven’t seen him since but I have “felt” him on the odd occasion. In fact, I felt him a few weeks ago when my son was born. I was holding the baby, trying to figure out which side of the family he looked like when my husband says “Jesus, he looks just like your Da!” I look down and it was like my Dad was looking at me with my son’s face. At the same time I just “felt” Dad there in the room with us. As silly as it sounds I feel like Dad dropped in to meet his new grandson.
I had one of these episodes before my Mom died.
Let me preface this by saying I have two different kinds of dreams about deceased loved ones. One is a normal dream, where the dead person is a normal character doing normal dream type activities.
The second is much different, and has a more real feel to it. Invariably, the DLO appears, much to my dismay. I ask them why they are there, because they’re dead. They respond by saying that they’re back for just a short time to check on me. The rest of the dream is me giving them an update on my life as it exists at the moment. I always wake up in a good mood after one of these. They started with my grandfather long ago, and I’ve had them with both parents now.
Anyway, back to the original story. It was the middle of the week, about 3 weeks before Mom died. I had one of these ultra-vivid DLO style dreams, where Mom came to Indianapolis, and we were going out to breakfast.
“Mom, what are you doing here? You look fine, but I know you’re in bed with cancer. No, wait; don’t say anything. I like seeing you this way, instead of the way you are now.”
“I’m here this way because this is how I want to be remembered.”
That shook me, and I was on the phone to my sister as soon as I got up to make sure Mom was still alive.
My sister turned 40 this year, and my cousin had one of these visitation dreams about my Mom, where she appeared, and told the cousin to take my sister a balloon bouquet for her party.
A different cousin, same side of the family, was living in Phoenix, and my grandfather appeared to him to say that he died.
Here’s my story. About a year after my grandfather died, my cousins and aunts were at his house, moving the furniture out and cleaning up (the house was sold and about to be turned over to the new owners). It was a bittersweet time, because all of us had very fond memories of that house…Sunday dinners were a real family get-together. Anyway, we had moved everything out, and were sitting in the kitchen…the sun had just set, and it was growing dark. I turned on the overhead lamp, and we were all reminiscing about the happy times of the past…all of a sudden, the light went out…I think it was granpa’s way of telling us, that it was time to move on!
About two months after my nephew died, I dreamnt I was sitting on the deck of their house.
He came around the corner, wearing his Bulls jersey that he was buried in. I reached my hand out to touch his chest and noticed his chemo catheter was gone. When I asked him where it was, he said “I don’t need it anymore”.
I held him, hugged and kissed him and asked him if he was happy where he was. He said “I’m happy, Yaya. Please don’t cry anymore”. Then he got up and walked away.
In the three years since we lost him, I’ve had a dream like this about four times. Sometimes we meet at my grandmother’s house, sometimes my house.
Last time was about four months ago. He told me to be patient and I would be happy. He was right.
I have two stories, both about cats (yes, I am a crazy cat lady):
My cat Streaker (I didn’t name him) was my first cat. We were very close, so I was devastated when he died alone in the vet hospital overnight. The vet called me at 8am the next day to tell me. I cried myself back to sleep, and I dreamt that I was coming home from work. Streaker was sitting on the porch, waiting to be let in. I opened the door and we went in together. I took that as his way of returning to me.
This was even more dramatic: my cat Thomas was the biggest, sweetest orange lunk in the world. I rescued him from a life of dumpster diving and let him become the fat buff emperor of all he surveyed. Unfortunately, he contracted FIV before I saved him, so after 7 years with me, he went blind, then lost mental and bodily control and I had to put him to sleep.
His body was outside in my car, to be buried the next day (I had no idea how I’d do this by myself, in the cold, alone). I awoke in the middle of the night to the sight of a human-sized, warmly bright pillar of light in my room. It was illuminating the whole bedroom. I looked at the clock: 12:24am. I was half-asleep, and all I could think to do was stare, in awe.
The next thing I know, the phone is ringing. It’s my friend calling to tell me she can help me bury Thomas. The time? 12:35am.
If someone else told me this story, I’d think she was crackers. However, it happened to me, and I know it was him, saying good bye to me and the other cats. I’m happy to think of him stopping by on the way to his next gig.
::sniffle::
Not long after my father - a Norwegian born, naturalized USA Citizen (in the 1950’s before he went into the Army) - died - my mother, sister-in-law and her kids were browsing a mall bookstore and a ‘Learn about the Vikings’ book fell off the shelf.
Spooky. But I wasn’t there and I need to have Dad knock a book off a shelf for me.