My stories all seem to involve my father. He once told me that my mother had commited suicide when I was 2 years old. She had made other attempts.They had been divorced a short while when they saw each other at a night club. Dad said he thought to show her he could have fun with out her, dancing and flirting with other women. She left the club slinging gravel. After he got home, my grandmother called to tell him that she was dead.She had driven head first into on coming traffic. He said he hung up the phone, looked at the foot of his bed and saw my mother. He told her "Diana, you are dead" and she faded.
My father many years later developed terminal emphysema. We talked rather openly about belief in the after life. My youngest daughter was the light of his eyes since I had named her after his mother. My daughter was about 5 when he died. She missed him terribly. The following year she was in her first dance recital. I took pictures of her and her classmates. When the pictures were developed, orbs were noted around her and one other girl. My daughter said "See, PawPaw saw me dance."
My older daughter is bipolar and has been a handful since she was in junior high school. My father often was my shoulder to cry on about her. She was at his bedside with all of his kids when he died. She swears he opened his eyes, saw she was there, and closed them again even though he had been mostly semiconscious for 2 days. A year or 2 later she had a break down. I had to have her admitted to a mental health facility. It was a long, draining process. She was finally placed into a room about 4:00 in the morning. I drove home while crying my eyes out. I cried out "Daddy, am I doing the right thing?" and as clearly as if he were sitting next to me I heard "You had to do something". So the response I would have expected from my father.
I have had other times when I might be driving late at night, maybe getting a little sleepy at the wheel. I would feel a cold sensation rush over me. I respond "Okay, Daddy. I am awake." Also, the night he died, upon entering my car, the first song I heard on the radio was "Daddy's Hands" by Holly Dunn. It so described Daddy. Now every time I hear that song I feel it's Dad checking in on me. We might have a small chat, even if it is a little one sided.