I was driving back from my mother’s condo on the day she died when a song that I hadn’t heard for many years started playing in my head. I ignored it at first, but it became louder and louder, and I finally realized what it meant. The song was David Bowie’s “Modern Love,” and the only plausible explanation for it under the circumstances was that it was a message to me from my mother. What else could it be?
We had discussed my plan to go to Paris for Christmas–she was a strong supporter–before she died. Months later, I started getting cold feet about it. One day when I was working on a less expensive alternative, I heard another song I hadn’t heard in many years in my head–“Safe European Home” by The Clash. She was telling me to go to Paris; what else could it mean? We did, and I was grateful.
About a week after my dog Cromwell died, I was driving in my car when I could smell him in my back seat. It lasted for about a minute, then disappeared. It was him; there was no other explanation for the experience.
These are just a few of the connections I have made with deceased members of my family. Sometimes they come through music; sometimes they are manifested through intense, lucid dreams; mostly they are just a strong vibration I feel when I see or hear something. Do they make me unique in some way? I don’t know, but I doubt it.
My advice to my readers is to view experiences such as these with skepticism, but not to dismiss them out of hand. If something happens to you that cannot be explained by reference to the visible world, the source of it has to be elsewhere.