Some traditions in Indian culture teach that after someone dies you have dreams about them which is how they communicate with you. After reading the stories on your site, I can clearly see that this is something that happens to people all over the world.

My father died in April, 2001 when I was 13. Ever since I was an infant, my family has said that I am "sensitive" and able to sense the presence of spirits. So, the night my father passed I hoped that I wouldn't see his ghost because I was too afraid!

That evening I lay in bed awake and scared. About 3 a.m., I began to hear heavy footsteps walking from the back of the house to the front. They seemed to stop at my bedroom door, and then I didn't hear them anymore. The next morning, I asked my family who had been up walking during the night. I assumed it was my aunt (our entire family was at our house to mourn) getting a bottle for her new baby. She said that the footsteps had not been hers, but that she had also heard them, because they woke her up. To this day, I believe that it was my Dad, coming to see us one last time.

The next evening my younger sister told me that she had seen his ghost at the funeral home. She said he walked in front of his casket and came up to her and touched her cheek. According to her, he made the clicking sound with his mouth that he always did. I believed what she said, and I was very jealous that I had not seen him, too.

A week later, I was still very upset that he had not contacted me. That night, I finally had a dream in which he came to me. In the dream, I traveled a long distance and finally made it to his funeral again. Inside his casket, he had left a note for me. I opened it, and it was a long letter apologizing and saying goodbye. This dream comforted me more than anything, and I was able to move on and get over my anger. He and I loved to talk, and he used to write me letters when we weren't able to see each other. I had the feeling that this letter was meant only for me.

A few years after he died, I came out of my shell and began dancing. I found out that it was my passion. I have my Dad's hands and feet, so to speak, because he was a lover of dance and performance. All these years, I have wished I could tell him of my love for dance, so that I could know that he was proud of me. It upset me that he would never know.

Several months ago, I was visiting my mother on a college break. I had a dream in which my Dad came to the house. In the dream, we sat and talked for awhile, and I told him all about my dancing. He didn't say it, but I knew he was proud of me. When I woke up, I still felt his presence, and the dream felt like much more than a mere dream. It felt so real that I sincerely believed I had just had a conversation with him. This dream helped me once again, and proved to me that even though he has been gone for years, he is still with me.

Sonya Devi
sonya.devi@yahoo.com

Posted January 31, 2008