When Ghosts Speak - Mary Ann Winkowski [30]
I went into the kitchen to start dinner, wondering whether anyone we knew from town might have passed away and needed to talk to me. But we were fairly new to the area, and I couldn’t think of a single person. About half an hour later and still puzzling over my strange visitors, I went back into the dining room to set the table—and the three were gone.
That night, after dinner and putting the kids to bed, Ted and I were sitting in the living room. It was just a normal night at home: me reading the local paper, Ted snoozing in his armchair. The phone rang, and when I got up to answer it, I passed through the dining room. My three ghostly visitors were back. This time they didn’t even acknowledge me with a look. They just sat at the table, staring into space.
I had absentmindedly carried the paper into the kitchen with me when I went to answer the phone, and after the call, I opened it to the obituaries. Like most small local papers, ours included photographs of the deceased along with the death notices. I checked the photos, then peeked out into the dining room, and then double-checked the paper. Sure enough, two of the ghosts sitting in my dining room had their photos in that evening’s edition. I read their death notices. The viewings at the funeral home were being held from six to nine o’clock that very night. I wondered why the ghosts weren’t there. From their obituaries, I knew they had died in nursing homes. Perhaps they didn’t have much family, or didn’t expect anyone to be at the viewing. Even more poignantly, maybe they had gone to the funeral home only to find that no one had come to say a final good-bye before the burial services at the local cemeteries.
The three ghosts were still sitting at the table when Ted and I went to bed that night. And the next morning, all three were gone. For the rest of the time that we lived in this house, I would occasionally come across different ghosts hanging out in my dining room, as if it were a waiting room where they could pass the time between their viewing at the funeral home and their burial service at the cemetery.
Of course, this is only speculation. To my great frustration, I could never get any of the spirits who passed their final time on earth sitting at my dining room table to talk to me. Not once.
Nevertheless, from other experiences—and after attending innumerable funerals—I’ve concluded that the white Light stays with people for about seventy-two to eighty hours after their last memorial service. For instance, if someone dies away from home, and there is a burial there and then a second service at home, it could be a week or ten days until that final service. After the last service, the Light will remain for the seventy-two- to eighty-hour window, gradually growing dimmer and smaller, until spirits can no longer walk into it and cross over.
The Light is with spirits from the moment they leave their bodies until the end of this “grace period.” During this time, I can see or talk to any spirit who has not gone into the Light, but spirits are not considered “officially” earthbound until their Light has disappeared. I can see these spirits as clearly as I see any other living person. And I can talk to them and hear their answers. I don’t often speak aloud—our conversations appear silent to anyone watching—which is partly why what I do can seem so darned uninteresting to anyone expecting a big supernatural show. Although ghosts can’t read the thoughts of the living, they can hear everything that is said aloud. Think about that the next time you’re at the funeral of that mean old aunt you always resented and have the urge to share a piece of juicy gossip about her with other family members!
In fact, the best advice I can give about attending a funeral is: If you can’t say anything nice, it’s better not to say anything at all. Because I guarantee you that the ghost of the person who has died is standing right there in the