Hanging from a specially made stand in our garage is a full-size human skeleton. Made of a life-like material, the skeleton was used as a teaching tool in my husband’s medical office. For years, we have dressed him in various costumes for Halloween and scared many an unacquainted trick or treater knocking on our door.
Our grandson, Blake, and granddaughter, Everest, have loved Mr. Skeleton since they were toddlers. They greet him with a handshake and a hug every time they come to visit. Blake often makes up ghost stories in which he is the hero, and Mr. Skeleton is the scary guy. Of course, Blake is never afraid. I wonder if he will remain fearless after we tell him our real ghost story.
When my husband and I met 50 years ago, my father had already been dead for six months. My mother kept no pictures around the house, and I had not even a wallet-sized photo by which to remember him. Everything that was my father had been moved to the attic. My mother preferred the out of sight/out of mind method of grieving.
My dad loved his two daughters. In many ways, he was both father and mother to my sister and me. If we stubbed our toe, dad felt the pain. If we cut ourselves, he bled. The years between my graduation from high school and my dad’s passing had been traumatic. I married my high school sweetheart, a man eventually diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. He liked to use me as a punching bag. My father suffered every blow. He was frustrated and feeling useless because he could not protect his baby. Eventually, with support from my family, I went into hiding and filed for divorce. My dad suffered a heart attach shortly thereafter and died. I believe his constant worry about me hastened his demise.
Before my divorce was final, I met my present husband, Mike. There are not enough good words that can be said about this man, and I know without a doubt that my dad would have embraced him as the son he never had. I am absolutely positive about that because dad introduced himself to Mike a few weeks after we got married. Yes… he was still dead, but Mike saw him clear as day standing at the foot of our bed.
On the evening in question, Mike awoke needing to go to the bathroom. We lived in a very small apartment. The bedroom was minuscule; its smallness necessitating that our king size bed be pushed almost to the wall on one side. It was easier for Mike to climb over me than to squeeze out on his side. Just as he got one knee over my sleeping torso, he saw a man standing a few feet away, smiling at him. Mike said he felt no fear. In fact, he was amazingly comforted. Still on his knees, he asked the apparition, “So, what do you want?” The man did not answer but lifted his hand in a two-finger salute. He then turned and slowly disappeared as he walked away.
Mike looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 2 am. He got up, went to the bathroom and returned to bed, falling immediately asleep. In the morning, he told me the story. The hair on my arms literally stood up as he described my father – mustache, haircut, stately nose and wearing his favorite shirt. The two-finger salute was how my dad waved goodbye to everyone.
Of course, I was skeptical. Remember I wrote earlier that there were no pictures of my father. Mike had never seen a photo of him. We immediately drove to my mom’s home, where I tore the attic apart looking for old photograph albums. My dad and his two brothers could have passed for triplets. I found those pictures. I also grabbed photos of other male relatives for comparison purposes.
Lining them up on the kitchen table, I asked Mike, “Any of these guys?”
“Yeah,” he said without hesitation, pointing to my dad, “This man. This is the man I saw.”
Forty eight years later, I am still leery about telling this story. Most people will say, “Wow. That is amazing.” Their body language says, “You’re crazy!”
Crazy or not, I choose to believe. I know my dad is still looking out for me, and with Mike as my husband, he no longer needs to worry. His two-finger salute was a sure sign of his approval.
Happy Halloween, everyone!
