man I had met the previous Friday evening—the healer man, this stranger who had spoken so easily of Indians and spirit guides. As I sat down I wondered how soon I could possibly leave without seeming impolite to my hosts, and I was sure that the healer man could sense my discomfort.
Explaining that he had been asked by the Denhams if he would like to join our little Wednesday group, he smiled at me and said he hoped that I wouldn’t mind, knowing full well that I did. He went on to tell me how fascinated he had been that last Friday, as he, too, had felt the force of the vibrations, and how this had been a new experience for him.
None of this chitchat made me feel any easier, and as I looked at him across the room, I thought gloomily that I should never have come. He rambled on for a bit longer but I wasn’t really listening much, until suddenly he said something that made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. If any of you have ever seen a dog’s hackles rise up, then you’ll know just what I mean. Staring hard at him, dumbfounded by what I’d just heard, I gasped and managed to croak out:
“What was that? What did you say?”
Realizing instantly that he had startled me, he said, “Oh, Rosemary, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten or upset you in any way, but you see, I’m afraid I just had to tell you.” And then he repeated once more:
“There is a gentleman from the spirit world, Rosemary, standing just behind you, wearing a soldier’s uniform, with sergeant’s stripes. He is telling me that he was an army man all his life, and he has given me his name—William Edward.”
The hairs on the back of my neck were now standing bolt upright, and a prickling heat was searing its way through my whole body, and I sat there, unable to move or speak, the shock of what I had just heard was so great.
No one, not one single soul, neither my friends nor my neighbors in the north of England, could have supplied this man with the information he had just given me. How, I thought, after only one previous meeting, could this near stranger describe to me so accurately a man who had been “dead” for over four years?
And the name, William Edward, it was so close, too close to dismiss the obvious, the only plausible explanation—the man, the army sergeant, must indeed have been standing, like a ghost, behind me. And only he could have told the healer man his name, not William Edward, but William Edwards—my father!
My dazed state didn’t seem to disturb the healer man at all. He continued, giving me information about the way my father had died and about the kind of person he was. He told me that my father had had a massive heart attack, dying instantly. Further, he proceeded to describe my father’s character, particularly in relation to his army career, saying that he was a stubborn and proud man, intolerant of imperfection both in others and himself. This information was correct in every detail.
I knew then, as I have always believed, that life after death was a fact, and many times since my father’s passing I had felt him with me. So it wasn’t the shock of being told that he was there beside me that had shaken me as much as the fact that someone else could see, as I had done, a person who was supposed to be dead.
After the initial shock of all of this, I began to feel a kind of excitement bubbling deep inside of me. And then a rapturous joy spread slowly over me as realization dawned.
A stranger had given me absolute evidence, without question, of my father’s survival after death and of his ability to communicate beyond the grave.
With this knowledge that I had just acquired came hope, not just for myself, but for the whole of humanity. And I was also given, in that moment, peace, an inner peace, and I knew with certainty that everything I had ever experienced in my life had a purpose.
All the heartaches and fears, all the strange and unexplainable happenings of the last thirty-four years,
Explaining that he had been asked by the Denhams if he would like to join our little Wednesday group, he smiled at me and said he hoped that I wouldn’t mind, knowing full well that I did. He went on to tell me how fascinated he had been that last Friday, as he, too, had felt the force of the vibrations, and how this had been a new experience for him.
None of this chitchat made me feel any easier, and as I looked at him across the room, I thought gloomily that I should never have come. He rambled on for a bit longer but I wasn’t really listening much, until suddenly he said something that made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. If any of you have ever seen a dog’s hackles rise up, then you’ll know just what I mean. Staring hard at him, dumbfounded by what I’d just heard, I gasped and managed to croak out:
“What was that? What did you say?”
Realizing instantly that he had startled me, he said, “Oh, Rosemary, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten or upset you in any way, but you see, I’m afraid I just had to tell you.” And then he repeated once more:
“There is a gentleman from the spirit world, Rosemary, standing just behind you, wearing a soldier’s uniform, with sergeant’s stripes. He is telling me that he was an army man all his life, and he has given me his name—William Edward.”
The hairs on the back of my neck were now standing bolt upright, and a prickling heat was searing its way through my whole body, and I sat there, unable to move or speak, the shock of what I had just heard was so great.
No one, not one single soul, neither my friends nor my neighbors in the north of England, could have supplied this man with the information he had just given me. How, I thought, after only one previous meeting, could this near stranger describe to me so accurately a man who had been “dead” for over four years?
And the name, William Edward, it was so close, too close to dismiss the obvious, the only plausible explanation—the man, the army sergeant, must indeed have been standing, like a ghost, behind me. And only he could have told the healer man his name, not William Edward, but William Edwards—my father!
My dazed state didn’t seem to disturb the healer man at all. He continued, giving me information about the way my father had died and about the kind of person he was. He told me that my father had had a massive heart attack, dying instantly. Further, he proceeded to describe my father’s character, particularly in relation to his army career, saying that he was a stubborn and proud man, intolerant of imperfection both in others and himself. This information was correct in every detail.
I knew then, as I have always believed, that life after death was a fact, and many times since my father’s passing I had felt him with me. So it wasn’t the shock of being told that he was there beside me that had shaken me as much as the fact that someone else could see, as I had done, a person who was supposed to be dead.
After the initial shock of all of this, I began to feel a kind of excitement bubbling deep inside of me. And then a rapturous joy spread slowly over me as realization dawned.
A stranger had given me absolute evidence, without question, of my father’s survival after death and of his ability to communicate beyond the grave.
With this knowledge that I had just acquired came hope, not just for myself, but for the whole of humanity. And I was also given, in that moment, peace, an inner peace, and I knew with certainty that everything I had ever experienced in my life had a purpose.
All the heartaches and fears, all the strange and unexplainable happenings of the last thirty-four years,
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