In 1984 I stumbled upon a class in sculpting the human form. It was being held in the community center next to my son’s nursery school and during the same hours as he would be in school. Perfect for a hyper-busy mom. For the next three years our small group of amateur sculptors met once a week. Then our instructor began having health problems. Others in the group also faced life changing issues (including me) and so the group dissolved.
Thereafter I had only friends and family members to cajole into posing for me. Probably my easiest catch was my father. I guess he may have been a little vain!
After his unexpected death In 2006, my stepmother told me their two basset hounds sat beneath his sculpture every morning for about a month and howled piteously. Sometimes she’d enter the living room and there he’d be, sitting on the couch next to his sculpture reading a book as though nothing had happened. As though that night was like all the others he’d spent in that room, on that couch, reading a book. Death had been only an illusion. Anyway, my stepmother had a few good years after his death and then began to rapidly decline. Their house was sold and the sculpture came back to me.
In June 2019 I was on my way to answer the phone in the kitchen when I noticed that my father’s sculpture had begun to glow.
So I took a quick picture and then answered the phone. My stepmother had just passed away.
The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins.
The Premature Burial, Edgar Allen Poe
Have you ever been visited? Cue the spooky music.
Saying nothing in particular 
Wow, that gave me chills. I’ve had a few other worldly experiences and for a practical life long skeptic like me … they were earth shattering.
Choking up over the dogs.
😰
T’is the season for the ghostly encounter stories! Do tell!
I did 5 or 6 long blog posts about them some time ago. They all happened when my mother was dying in hospice…
I’d love to read your stories if it wouldn’t be too painful for you. I’m still trying to process the night I watched my mother take her final breaths. And it was three years ago.
Mine passed 9 years ago and it feels like yesterday. Finding old blogs is always a pain on WP, but if I locate them, I’ll link them.
Maybe one has to be receptive to such experiences, tuned-in as it were.
I’m pretty much tuned-out. Electrically animated bags of chemicals: humans, life forms in general—as far as I can tell. Turn them on for a few decades. Turn ’em off and that’s it — back to oblivion.
But, I admit to a world of knowledge as yet to be discovered; one that may never be divined. If there are those who connect at levels only they perceive, who am I to deny them their phantasmagorical insight.
I’ve worked with dying children and been by their deathbeds. They have no fear and all describe going back home. Of course once they get to a certain age and their minds are filled with all the media-generated wonders on this planet, it’s a different story.
I wonder about what Anonymole said. You need to be tuned in and receptive. I have not had any such experiences, though I have family and friend who have. I do not think my dear departed loved me any less than theirs, so maybe it is being open to it? The fact that I am an atheist and do not believe in an afterlife? So if there is one, they cannot reach me? I don’t know. I do know that it would be very comforting to believe that some part of us lives on after our bodies die. I wish I could believe it myself. Truly.
I’ve always believed that what lies beyond is beyond our limited capacities as decaying organic forms to understand so I don’t try to make sense of what I feel. It just is. I don’t think it’s good to be too receptive … leads to all kinds of mental disorders. We’re meant to live in the here and now and not worry too much about what’s to come. Happy Halloween!
I love this philosophy, it speaks to me, thank you.
Now that’s a story and a half. I find that I often have premonitions that become reality, just not in a direct way, though. My ancestors came from Ireland and Wales, where everyone is fey to a certain degree. I come by it honestly.
I know what you mean. Fey is a good word. It’s not something you strive for; it’s just something that happens from time to time.
Writing about the slippery edge between life and death is not easy to do, and wow, did you ever nail it here, Jan. Lovely story from beginning to end.
Thanks Jet. I have a lot of sculptures sitting around – hopefully they won’t all start trying to communicate with me! Some of them are missing ears or feet or fingers and they might be a little pissed!
Yikes!!
Thanks for sharing this idea. Anita
maybe… anyway love the sculpture!
Thanks Cinda!
That’s a remarkable story and that sculpture is remarkable too he was indeed a good looking chap. … There are many things we cannot explain away in this life … that is good it gives us something to believe in.💜
Thanks Willow – he was a chubby youth and a nerdy young adult but in middle age he had to beat the ladies off!
💜💜💜💜
Lovely sculpture.
Is it superstition or not, who cares? We all need sth to believe in.
I’ve always had one foot in this world and one foot somewhere else – I’m probably just insane but I would say it’s the only way!
Lol. Who cares (whatever makes u happy)
Hi Jan, that is a very beautiful sculpture. You have a lot of talent. The story about your father is intriguing too. 💞
Thanks Robbie.
I got goosebumps! Have to add at this point that wow, you’re a very talented sculptor! Have you done any since?
My father passed away a decade ago (is it really that long? Suddenly, I’m not sure. 8 or 10 years). Anyway, we moved to a new apartment building and we bought a Jeep. This was 5 years ago, when the twins were babies. My dad used to have a Jeep and it was his favourite car. Out of coincidence, hubby (who doesn’t resemble my dad at all and they never met) also wanted a Jeep. ANYWAY (get to the point!!!!!! sorry, I will) we were parking the new car in the garage of our new flat and then suddenly, I looked up through the windshield and saw my dad’s first name on the wall, in large letters. And I thought, okay, he saw we had gotten a Jeep! What had happened was that a pilar was blocking my view of the entire text on the wall, it actually said the name of building. When 2 letters in the middle hidden from sight, it spelled his name. So yes, I have been visited!
Thank you – I had to give up sculpting about 10 years ago – my wrists couldn’t take it anymore (that head weighs fifty pounds!) Having had a Jeep that I just loved, I’m sure your dad wanted you to know he approved! Coincidence? Who knows.
(Ps. I’m an atheist and I don’t really believe in ghosts. But I believe your mind can play tricks on you when something is being processed subconsciously…)
Wow.
(Having said that, your art is amazing. It’s good that you got your father’s head back.)
(And sorry for his untimely passing)
Thanks!
These are the kind of true stories that I enjoy the most. They make you wonder if there is anything after departing this world. I’m determined to come back and give the living some clues.
Your father looks like a very handsome chap.
They (true life stories) really do make you wonder! Dad really blossomed in his late forties. Once the ladies started noticing him he had no idea what to do with them! Before that he was your typical nerdy professor.
I’ve heard of people blossoming as they get older. I think it’s a gift, as many of us tend to go the other way.
It sounds like he did a lot of blushing.
That truly gave me shivers! Wow.
Wow!
Yes I have been visited, but I don’t know by who.
🧡🎃🖤