Episode 198: Visions, Trips, Crowded Rooms & Who and What You See Before You Die!

On each episode, we'll discuss the reasons we now know that our loved ones have survived physical death and so whoill we welcome to Shades of the Afterlife. Thank you to all that have written to me and emailed me your stories and your journeys. I'm thrilled to be such a part of your life, and I'm hoping this is true for you, but many say that they've stopped being afraid to talk about your interest in the afterlife and

are freely talking to friends and family about it. Also, we've had some extraordinary listeners that have been inspired to make a difference. Several of you are now volunteering at hospice. This week, I heard from listener Allison, who has begun her journey to become an IADC therapist, studying under Graham Maxi, who you'll remember from episode sixty six. IADC stands for induced after death Communication, and congratulations to listener Marilyn, she has begun her training as a so to find grief

therapist with David Kessler. I had an AHA moment when I heard from Marylyn, because not only is David Kessler one of the best sources of grief information and support at his website grief dot com, He's written a book on the afterlife. David's extraordinary and he's had experiences with thousands of people on the edge of death, and all of this has taught him about grief and secrets to

living a fulfilled life even through our tragedies. He's written many books and co authored several as well, including on Grief and Grieving with Elizabeth Koobler Ross. Today, i'd like to give you a taste of his book, which is called Visions, Trips and Crowded Rooms. Who and What You See Before You Die. As you may know about my history, it was my fear of dying that first led me

on my journey for evidence of the afterlife. I'd like to begin with you hearing some words directly from David Kessler about how he began on his journey.

age was fourteen. So she died alone in an intensive care unit without us being able to see her or family around. And at that young age, I knew as tough as death can be in losing a loved one, we have to have a better experience of it here. So I think that was really my motivation to sort of end up growing up and be someone who realizes, you know, you can't take away that pain of loss from people, but I'd like to make it a little

more meaningful and help people. So I think that is where I personally came from and doing this work all these years. Kubler Ross used to tell me about people having deathbed visions, and you know, I was still on the younger side and trying to build credibility and wanted to be taken seriously, and here I was with the Elizabeth Koubler Ross. She would tell me how people are and I was like, oh, I don't even want to

know about that. And it was interesting kind of as I've matured, I would see more and more healthcare professionals, more and more families saying that their loved ones would begin as they were dying, the last few weeks of dying, even the last few days and hours would begin to be greeted by the dead, that that veil between life and death would seem to drop, and their loved ones who are dying all of a sudden would have a

vision of their person who had predeceased them coming. They also would start talking about going on trips and and the original word for hospice means your final resting place before you take your long journey. And they would also talk about there's crowds of people in their room and they wonder who these were. And it was interesting as I started becoming more and more on the circuit for

the different conferences. I would go to all these national sort of end of life and hospice conferences, and I always found it interesting being with people from Harvard and Yale and places like that who were very serious about the topic. We'd all go to dinner and after a few drinks and everyone what everyone really wanted to talk about was how their patients were having deathbed visions. And I eventually thought, I finally feel like I'm mature enough

and have the courage to write about this. What we see is we see that patients as they are going into their final days and hours will often have a visitation from the dead. The number one person who usually comes is our mother. No surprise there that the woman who was there in those moments. We took our first breath would once again be there as we took our last breath, we will reach our hands upward as we go into those last weeks, days, and hours. People see

this vision, usually in the corner of the room. They will also see angels. So these are a number of phenomenons. As I would talk to family members, they would say to me, it's so sad. Our grandpa was such a smart man, but you know, he went crazy at the end of his life. He thought he was seeing the dead.

And that's another reason why I felt like we really owe it to people to start the conversation about what really happens at the end of life, so that people think and know when their loved ones begin to see the dead appear, that your grandfather isn't going crazy, He's

experiencing something quite normal. And every lecture that I do, I ask health care professionals to raise their hands if they've had a patient who's had a deathbed experience of every lecture, and sometimes I'm even at other people's lectures, and I asked the question, it's remarkable how common this

is and yet not talked about. It was interesting that Oprah dot com asked me to write an article about this and CNN asked me to write an article and they had over a thousand pages of responses from people of stories of loved ones doing this and having this experience. And you know, it's interesting. From the critics, they will kind of say, why did you choose to write about this? How do we know it's true? And my response is, look, if people who were dying started seeing pink rabbits, I'd

be questioning why is everyone seeing pink rabbits. The reality, whether we like it or not, is the dying do see the dead. And I want to report on that. And it's interesting. In the book, I have interviews. I made sure it was strictly healthcare providers, doctors, nurses, clergy, priests, rabbis, social workers, psychiatrists to really give their healthcare on what they've been seeing in the last weeks and days of life.

not oxygen deprivation. We would get stories from people who were three weeks out from death, who didn't have any oxygen issues at that point, who were oxygenating, well, there was no way to explain them. We hear that it's a side effect of the drugs, the morphine, etc. We have people who were on any pain medication that weren't on medications at all and have them. We hear it's the mind deteriorating. When I looked into that, you think about there are millions, if not billions, of ways for

us to live and to die. Everyone dies so uniquely. Why would everyone have the same visions? Because the brain can disintegrate in a million different ways. How in everyone who has these visions could it disintegrate in exactly the same way causing the exact same vision. It's interesting. The one thing that I sort of will get a bit criticized in letters about and people will say, gosh, you know, it just seems like you kind of made your stories all alike. And I respond with no, believe me as

an author. If I was writing this and I could just make up stories, I would have made them all different. But that is what we see, and people see it in so many different cultures. For folks that may be interesting who had a chance to see Hereafter Clint Eastwood's movie with Matt Damon, I worked on part of that movie, and it's interesting that my counterpart in the movie says the exact same thing that you know she talks about.

The stories from the dying are just remarkably similar that there's no other way to explain this similarity across cultures. Interestingly enough, the dying will often talk about that sense that they have to get ready, they have to get prepared, they need to get their tickets or their passport or something like that, or they just have a sense that they can't seem to articulate to people about they have

to prepare and get ready for a journey. I was so curious to see what kind of stories we would get. Interestingly enough, it seems like people see loved ones greeting them that they are comforted by, and you may get someone that you don't know, but no one came along with someone that the person fears, And nothing about the devil or hell or any of those things came along either.

And I quite frankly, was surprised because I really expected that there were stories of patients who were expecting hell or expecting to see a husband greeting them who had abused them and they didn't want to see him. But surprisingly that did not happen.

He's the hospice doctor who interviewed over sixteen hundred patients. I love this stuff, and I hope you do too. What we'll do in the next segment is we'll start reading from the book called Visions, Trips and Crowded Rooms. Who and What you See before you Die. This book is one hundred and ninety six pages long and it is packed with stories from healthcare professionals. I'm hoping you do as I did and get yourself a copy of

the book. You can find everything out about David Kessler, especially his wonderful grief support and tools at grief dot com. Very easy to remember. You can also find this book in all of the others as well. It's time for us to go into our first break and buckle your seatbelt. There might just be some stories that give you goose bumps. We'll be right back. You're listening to Shades of the Afterlife. I'm the iHeartRadio and Coast to Coast AM Paranormal podcast Network.

to coastam dot com. Hey, it's producer Tom and you're right where you need to be. This is the iHeartRadio and Coast to Coast AM Paronormal podcast network.

not received any pay or recognition. Rather, they have shared their stories in the hope that readers will come away less afraid and with a deeper understanding about what happens in our final moments of life. These first hand accounts suggest that deathbed visions are normal and actually common, and they were called from believers and skeptics alike. With no agenda, This book is simply a report from the front lines, featuring stories of average people, in their own words, experiencing

extraordinary events. David Kessler says his book is about hope, and these are a few of his words. Although I lost my mother too soon, my father remained an incredible optimist his whole life, even when he was dying. I was busy trying to make sure he was comfortable and pain free, and at first didn't notice that he had

become very sad. He told me how much he was going to miss me once he was gone, and then he mentioned how much he was saying goodbye to his loved ones, his favorite foods, the sky, the outdoors and a million other things of this world. He was overcome by sadness I could not and would not take away from him. My father was very down for the next few days, but then one morning he told me that my mother, his wife, had come to him the night before.

I was looking at all. I was losing, and I'd forgotten that I was going to be with her again, and that I'm going to see her soon, he said. He looked at me as if he realized I would still remain here. Then he added, We'll be there waiting for you. Over the next two days, his demeanor changed dramatically. He had gone from a hopeless, dying man with only death in front of him, to a hopeful man who was going to be reunited with the love of his life. My father lived with hope and also died with it.

Beautiful words. Our first story is by Heather. She says, I've worked in the medical field for years as a nurse. I try to know the ins and outs of the healthcare system. But nothing challenges a person as much as when his or her own family members become ill. My mother, Mabel, and I were out on a Saturday afternoon. By the time we'd finished our errands and had driven back to my parents' house. It was nightfall. We were both surprised by the sudden darkness, and then remembered we had just

turned the clocks back the night before. As I brought in a grocery bag, I called out for my dad Joseph to hold the door open, but there was no response. My mother and I looked at each other, wondering what was up. I started to put away the food while Mom went to look for Dad, whom she was sure must have been napping in front of the TV. She found the TV on, but no Joseph. She checked all the rooms and both the back and front yards, but he was nowhere to be found. Mom called a few

neighbors who hadn't seen him. After an hour, we were both pretty panicked. At the age of eighty five, my father had stopped driving due to his failing eyesight, and we were afraid that he had attempted to drive. Although we were quickly relieved to see that the car was still in the garage, we couldn't imagine where he had gone or why. Our concern deepened when we saw his wallet sitting on the dresser. Mother called the police and

I drove around the neighborhood searching. Four frantic hours later, we got a call that an officer had found my father across town and that he seemed confused and wasn't sure where he was. The next few days were filled with doctor's appointments to confirm what we suspected Dad had Alzheimer's. My mom, of course, had realized that her husband was getting older, but when she noticed the odd little things he did, she'd say, no, one in their eighties is

a rocket scientist. Even so, she never expected him to wander away and forget where he lived. After the diagnosis, we found ways to make sure that he was never alone, and even replace the locks so that you needed keys to get in and out of the house when we were sleeping. Family and friends also pitched in during the day if my mom had to go out or if I was working. If things weren't already hard enough, my mother began to have stomach problems and was feeling very fatigued.

Now I was dealing with two elderly parents in declining health. On top of my father having Alzheimer's, Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I soon found out that juggling my job as a nurse and caring for my own children as well as my ailing parents was more than I could handle, and quitting work was not an option. My coworkers had been mentioning for a while that perhaps it was time to put my dad in a facility, and even though I'd resisted the idea at first, it now

seemed like my options were dwindling. So my parents and I began looking at nursing homes and found Sunset Gardens, which was a really nice place. Dad was content as this facility had a perfect mixture of comfort and security. After all, he was still a strong man in otherwise good health. It was a blessing that the move was surprisingly uneventful. Mom was more upset about living apart from her husband, so when she wasn't at her own doctor's appointments,

she was there at Sunset Gardens with him. At eighty one years old, my mother decided not to undergo chemo or other aggressive treatments, preferring to let nature take its course. The doctors told her that she probably had a year or so, but no one expected her to suddenly fall on the way to the bathroom one day and break her hip. After a lengthy hospital stay, she now required around the clock care since her needs were different from my dad's. However, she ended up in a separate facility.

I was now shuttling between my kid's school, my job, and two nursing homes for my mom. Things quickly went from bad to worse. After the broken hip came a urinary track infection, then a respiratory infection. As her illness escalated, I was getting over to see my father less and less. Other family members would make sure he had a visit at least two or three times a week, even though at this point he no longer recognized his loved ones.

Mom's doctors met with us and explained that there were just too many things going wrong with her body at once that returning to the hospital for more testing didn't make sense. While we agreed, we ultimately left the decision to Mom. She said, I've lived over eight decades. I

can't complain too much. It's my time. I was searching for a way for my parents to be together, but my mother's facility didn't accept Alzheimer's patients, and while my father's only accepted patients with Alzheimer's and dementia, We were unsure if we should even tell him how bad Mom was because there was basically nothing he could do. We'd hope to find a way to get him out for a few hours to see his wife. When the call came that Mom's condition had worsened, her blood pressure was

dropping and her heart rate was increasing. That evening, my family and I sat by my mom, who was still very alert, but her breathing was more audible than usual. She suddenly looked up and said, Joseph died. Why didn't anyone tell me this? I jumped in and quickly corrected her, Mom, Daddy isn't dead. He's still in the nursing home. Startled by her statement, I suddenly realized that I'd better find

a way to get Dad over here. We were afraid that my mom was beginning to lose her faculties, and we wanted her to see her husband while she could still talk with him.

he's dead, but this time she also sat up. Look there he is. She seemed to be gazing past everybody, and then she said, Joseph, you came back for me. Her eyes filled with tears, and she lay back on the bed. Just then, the nurse and my cousin motioned for me to come over and talk with them at the nurse's station. I met them just outside the door when Jackie said, Heather, I don't know how to tell you this. I called the nursing home and Joseph died

about fifteen minutes ago. He had a heart attack. Mom died two days later. Even though I hadn't seen the vision of my father, I found great comfort in the fact that he had come to my mother and now they were together again. Since my parents are gone, I rarely tell this story, but it feels as if I went from a medical nightmare to the universe. Stepping in, allowing mom and dad to pass away peacefully with each other. I admit it's beyond my understanding, but I believe I

had a special glimpse into a world rarely seen. I know I'm not alone. That many of us have parents in their eighties and beyond, and we consider what's going to happen when they get older and health changes. I hope these stories comfort you as they comfort me. We take things one moment at a time and trust that our future selves will be able to deal with whatever comes our way. But rest assured our loved ones and ourselves will have a greeting committee there to meet us

when it's our time to go. Time for our break, and then we'll be back with more stories. You're listening to Shades of the Afterlife on the iHeartRadio and Coast to Coast AM Paranormal podcast network.

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by Jack. He says after graduating from medical school, I wasn't sure which branch of medicine I wanted to dedicate myself to. Then I did my oncology rotation at a hospital in Michigan and something grabbed me. Seeing patients who are so sick was difficult, but when the oncologists were able to give them more time or improve their quality of life, it was wonderful. And seeing patients in remission going back to their everyday lives seemed like the best

kind of medicine for me. I decided this was my calling. It's interesting being a doctor in my family. My family still sees me as Jack, and my medical degree doesn't give me any advantages. It's funny when your mother's home remedy beats out scientifically tested medicine. It keeps you humble and grounded. When I went into oncology, it never occurred to me that I might see one of my own

loved ones terminally ill. So when I got the news that my younger brother Mike, who was just forty one, had cancer, it was really hard for me to act like a doctor and not a saddened man who was afraid to lose his brother. Mike was just hitting his stride. He enjoyed his career and was seeing a lot of success in his real estate investments. It seemed incomprehensible that his cancer was advanced, and it was almost impossible for my family to face the reality that it might be

too late. I tried to remain hopeful, but I knew too much. As my brother became sicker, family and friends would turn to me for an update on his condition, but I wasn't his physician. They just assumed that I would know what to do or think of some new way to treat him. It was strange to suddenly have the respect I'd always wanted from my family, Yet this

wasn't how I wanted to get it. I wanted to be the one to show the best way to heal a cut, or to determine whether my nephew needed to get his tonsils removed, not to be the one to explain that Mike was dying. Watching my younger brother go through all of this was ripping me apart. One day near the end, my mother and I were sitting with Mike, who was quiet but not sleeping. Then he suddenly started talking, as if there was someone standing right in front of him.

He definitely wasn't addressing my mom or me. Mom and I looked at each other in a way that said, what is this. We soon realized that Mike was indeed talking to someone, and as we listened to the conversation, it dawned on us that he was speaking to my father's parents. He had been very close to them and loved them both very much. When Grandma died, Mike started spending more and more time with our grandfather. Since my

cousins and I were away at school. We were grateful that my brother was there and could visit with him so often. After Grandpa died, it hit Mike very hard. So the notion that it was my grandparents who came to my brother as he was dying wasn't that surprising. As a doctor, it's very easy to dismiss this sort of thing until you see it firsthand. Could my brother's vision have been a dream state? Was it a result

of oxygen deprivation, a side effect of the medications. All were possible, but for my mother and me, none of those options felt right. It felt profound, it was real. None of us wanted to interfere, so we just observed for the next few hours. Mom and I watched Mike on and off. We could never quite make out exactly what he was saying, but we could hear him called both of my grandparents by name. He also had a sweet,

tender look on his face. All of the things that we were doing for him, from end of life care to making sure he got the best of everything, this visit seemed to bring him the most comfort. Before this episode, there was a sense of struggle and tension in the air, but now there seemed to be only peace surrounding my brother. I truly believe that it was a result of my grandparent's visit. As he died. One family member asked, as a doctor, what do you make of this? And I responded,

I don't make anything of it. As a doctor, I don't have a scientific explanation. I only have my own experience to draw from. It was an authentic part of the process. When my patients have similar experiences, I don't question it as a doctor. I just accept that this is what's going on. If it feels right to a patient, so be it. But this is definitely not the kind of thing they teach us in medical school. Our next

story comes from Zach. I'm a thirty two year old who works in end of life care as a nursing researcher in the psychology of trauma and loss. I became interested in this during my last year in the Army and now focus on the grieving process, particularly related to fathers who have lost children. However, my experience with deathbed visions involves a woman named Dora who is dying from kidney failure. Dora put up a good fight, but during her last week of life, she started to go in

and out of consciousness. Time it happened, she faded out, but then suddenly seemed lucid and started talking to someone no one else could see. As time passed, she started looking over or around her family members and me as if we were in the way, and up at the ceiling, more often carrying on a conversation with her invisible visitor. When her kidney failure had reached the terminal stage, the

critical point, she began talking out loud to her deceased mother. Mommy, she asked, as if she were still a child.

a robe of light surrounding her mother. My goodness, Dora exclaimed, look at the robe you're wearing. It's so bright. I can hardly keep my eyes on it. I've never seen anything like this. Myra, who didn't see the vision, simply told her mother, I love you. That seemed to snap Dora out of her vision, and she looked directly into her eyes, saying Mara, I love you too. Yet soon afterward,

she began talking with her invisible mother again. It was extremely beautiful to watch and was quite different from what I had ever experienced because the patient herself was completely stunned by the vision. Dora was as amazed and surprised as anyone could be that her deceased mother was right there in the room with her and draped in robes so spectacular and bright that she had to look away. At one point while this was going on, I asked Mara what she did for a living. I teach special

needs kids in primary school. And what did your grandmother do? I asked, wondering why she was appearing in the midst of so much light. She was a housewife, but also spent a lot of her time volunteering at the local hospital. Myra told me, I'll never forget the day that Dora died. I asked Myra afterward what she thought about the experience, and she told me, through tears, that it was beautiful

for her and not awkward or strange. She felt this way mainly because she could envision her mom being carried over in a sense, by her own mother. When I look back, there's no doubt in my mind that Dora was seeing her mother, a kind of guest from the spiritual realms. I'm not a religious guy, I never was, yet the vision didn't seem impossible to me. In fact, it seemed like a natural progression. Parents usually die before their children, and I see them sort of leading the

way when it's the child's turn. It's as if a father dies before his son, so that he can come back and show him that death really isn't so bad. After all, our parents are waiting for us on the other side. When I really think about it, I have to admit the idea that our loved ones are watching over us makes perfect sense to me. Over time, I've

seen that visions can be very comforting for patients. I will always remember Dora and the piece she felt from gazing upon her mother wearing that spectacular, rightly shining robe. As you're listening to these stories, do you find yourself imagining when it's your time, who is going to be there to greet you? I just got an image of my grandmother and my dad very special. Talk to any hospice doctor or nurse they have no fear of dying.

Talk to any hospice volunteer, neither do they. What's the common denominator being by people's sides as they pass away. This happens more are often than not. It's a difficult job to be a caregiver in this situation, So thank you to all of our caregivers listening today. We're off to the break and then more stories from the book Visions, Trips and Crowded Rooms by David Kessler. You're listening to Shades of the Afterlife on the iHeartRadio and Coast to

Coast am Paranormal Podcast Network. The Internet is an extraordinary resource that links our children to a world of information, experiences, and ideas. It can also expose them to risk. Teach your children the basic safety rules of the virtual world. Our children are everything, Do everything for them.

a unique and wonderful relationship they had. My parents were married for sixty two years and could finish each other's sentences. They shared everything. One of their enduring qualities was a quirky sense of humor. Mom told me that when she found out she was pregnant with me, she'd asked, Dad,

you sure you don't want to carry this baby? And when my father got a speeding ticket, the police officer was still standing there when Dad looked over to my mom sitting behind him, and said, Honey, you speed too, Would you like this Ticket's sense of humor also carried over to his work as a dentist, and his patients loved having a doctor who could make them laugh. I loved laughing with both of my parents too, and decided that they were the funniest parents a girl could ever have.

My parents used humor for life's serious moments as well. For example, when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and needed a radical mastectomy, she equipped, oh, Milton, be a man, volunteer your breast. You don't need yours like I need mine. One morning, when Mom was getting up, she had a sudden aortic rupture and died instantly. She was eighty. Dad did his best to cope, but he'd miss his beloved partner for the rest of his life.

He never made those jokes with anyone else. Five years later, my dad was in a hospice unit after a long battle with ladder cancer that had spread throughout his body. My father and I had become especially close after my mom died, and I stayed by his side as much as possible. Dad was feeling well and reading the Sunday paper one day when I said, Hey, you're looking a little rough around the edges. How about a shave? Sure, he replied, since he was having trouble holding a newspaper,

holding a razor would be even more difficult. So I quickly blurted out, welcome to Angela's barbershop and started looking around the bathroom. Dad, did you bring your razor?

are you talking to, dad, Helen? He casually replied, Helen, as in, my mom, who is dead? That's the one. Do you know that she's dead? I asked, as gently as possible. Of course, I was with her when she died, and she's here now. Yes, I know it's strange, but it's true. Then the nurse chimed in, it isn't unusual for a dying person to have loved ones come to greet them. I've heard that, Dad said, but I don't

believe in it. But you just said Mom was here, I reminded him, Well, I must have been hallucinating from the drugs. The only medication you're on is to help with your nausea, the nurse told him, and it isn't known to impair a person's thinking. Dad seemed a bit irritated. Okay, so maybe I'm wrong. Maybe we do get visits. Am I going to get a shave or what. I gently patted some shaving cream on my father's face. He glanced back to look over his left shoulder and said, Helen,

are you sure you don't want to shave too? When I just stared blankly at him, he explained, your mother is laughing. What is it, honey, he asked, as he could see that I was starting to tear up. I just realized how much I've missed listening to you and Mom joke around. During the rest of the time, he continued to talk to my mother. After he'd been quiet for a while, I asked if she was still in the room. I see her, but I still don't quite

believe it, he said. Maybe I really am hallucinating. I said, I work all day with people who hallucinate because they're hooked on opiates and pin meds. But you're not either one of those, and this doesn't seem like a hallucination. I know you so well, Dad, and this is exactly how it felt when you and Mom were together. I just wish I could see her too. He looked in the direction where my mother was. Can Angela see you?

He suddenly asked. It seemed as if he were interpreting a foreign language when he finally replied, she loves you very much, but it's not time for you to see her. Is she solid looking or does she look like a ghost. She's a solid figure, honey, and a nice figure at that. No ghost here, he assured me. You know, when I was a kid, I learned that the smallest thing in the world was an atom. End of story. That was a fact. But now we know that there's so much more.

So maybe your mom really is here. How do you feel right now, I asked, always the therapist. Happy, my dad said with the smile. I'm with my wife of more than sixty years. He paused for a moment and then went on, you know how much I love you, Angela. If your mom can be here for me, then we'll both come for you when it's time. But for now, I think i'd like to take a nap with my clean shaven face. That sounds fine. You go spend some

time with mom. I love you. I love you too, he said, closing his eyes, almost as if he were in a dream. His lips mouthed some words as he dropped off to sleep that night. Dad died the next day, and I now know that love is more powerful than I ever thought possible, because not even death could diminish the bond between my parents. We have time for one lass story. This is by Diane. I am a counselor, and at the young age of sixty, I learned that

deathbed visions are real. The experience taught me that who we meet might be totally different from whom we expect to meet. My birth father died when I was six years old, and I was raised by my wonderful stepfather, Jim. He married my mother when I was ten, and my sister two brothers, and I took to him instantly. Jim had seven siblings, so we also got five new uncles

and two aunts in the deal. Jim stepped into his role as father naturally, being there at my high school graduation and walking me down the aisle when I got married. I didn't think about it at the time, but I never realized that all those aunts and uncles who brought so much much life and joy to my family would also bring death, grief, and heartache. I watched over the years as Jim lost sibling after sibling. We were all comforted to learn that Hugh, his eldest brother, had seen

his deceased mother shortly before he died. As my remaining aunts and uncles passed away over the years, I couldn't help but wonder if they were forming their own greeting party in the afterlife. Sometime later, I got an urgent call from my mom that Jim was in the hospital and he was doing poorly. I flew home, hoping for the best, but knowing that health and age weren't on his side. He'd been fighting chronic heart failure for many years.

My stepfather was released from the hospital, but he was so frail that he seemed to be practically melting into the bed. He was surrounded by his wife and four children, all of us grown up. We knew his steady decline was irreversible, but despite how weak he felt, Jim still managed to get out a joke or to to lighten the mood. Over the next few days, however, I watched Jim's body grow weaker. He spoke less often, and paragraphs became sentences. I thought about his siblings who had died

over the years. Would they all come to meet him, would there be a family reunion? As my stepdad's last days were upon him, I stopped thinking about it, mainly because I was so focused on helping my mom. One day, though, one of my parents' friends was visiting, and she and her mother were chatting in the kitchen. I was with Jim when he suddenly looked up and asked, who are you? Then he began a conversation that only he could understand.

I just listened as he talked and said, I was honored to be there, and I'm so glad you you saw it all. You're welcome. I'm grateful to you too. My thoughts were racing. Could he be having a vision? Was his mom here? Or maybe one of his siblings? Was it perhaps Hugh, the older brother who had died first. I couldn't contain myself any longer and asked, Dad, who are you talking to? Buddy? Who's that? He was thanking me for being a good dad. I was confused. All

of my siblings were still living. Did Jim have a child that I didn't know about who had died? Since he didn't say anything else, I left the room and went to the kitchen where my mom was. Mom, do you know someone named Buddy? I asked her. My goodness, I hadn't thought of that name in years. She replied, where did you hear that? Dad just said it. Jim used to tease your father when they were in high school. Mom said, as a joke, he called him buddy, as

if he couldn't remember his name. Dad knew my biological father.

me that We Don't Die dot com. I'm Sandra Champlain. Thank you so much for listening to Shades of the Afterlife on the iHeartRadio and Coast Tocoast a m Paranormal Podcast Network.