Thursday, August 21, 2014

I talk to dead people....

No, I still haven't heard from George, but I do talk to dead people all of the time.  My parents passed away a few years back.   When they were still alive we lived several states apart and I did not see them often-a few times a year.  In addition, we are part of an older generation who didn't communicate regularly.  It's partially due to a lack of technology during my young adult years, combined with long-distance phone charges, but even so,  it wasn't our way to be in constant contact.  Things are different now-I talk to my older kids who have flown the nest most days, at least by text.  If I had called my parents daily, however, they would have been a little perplexed and possibly annoyed.  I can see them thinking, "Yes, it's a nice day but what the hell do you want?  I'm busy here, for Pete's sake!"

Now that they are dead, however, I talk to them all the time.  I talk to them about my kids, the family, decisions I'm considering, the song on the radio, memories, lessons learned, and the direction I'm traveling in.  Literally.  I am always asking them to help me get un lost.  My father is especially good at party tricks, so for awhile I'd ask him for stuff, needing the constant reassurance that he was still paying attention.

"Dad, if you are there, can you give me a Jim Croce song?"

"Hey, Dad, gimme a sign, gimme a sign!"

"Okay Dad, this is totally random, but how about a good deal on cream-colored, 3-inch heeled pumps?"

In death, as in life, he has never let me down.   I've stopped asking for things, though, because one day it occurred to me that there may be a cost for these things that I'm not aware of.  No, I don't imagine there's a monetary exchange system where they are, but I can imagine some kind of energy exchange, and I don't want to tax his resources

Grieving is personal and different for everyone.  Talking to my dead people is what comforts me.  It's also quite handy when I'm talking myself into something.  A purchase, perhaps,  or an extra slice of pizza.  I could call my husband, step mom, or my best friend, but they might have an opinion.  An opinion that may not serve my purposes.  My dead people, on the other hand, want me to have these things. If they didn't, I assume they would send a sign.  In fact, they are a lot less judgemental now than they were as mere humans.  I've heard heaven does that to a person.

Chicken out


  1. Weird, isn't it - I have no religious beliefs and do not think there's an afterlife, yet I do the same as you - address the deceased as if there might be. Go figure. I say if it's comforting, it's all good. This piece is going to stick in my head a long time, Chicken.

    1. Hi Jenny-life is mysterious enough. I don't think too much about what comes after, but I think there is something. Some return to some ancient energy. I'll find out, I guess. Thanks.


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