Thursday, February 13, 2014

Letter From an Angel

You either believe in this stuff or you don't.

I definitely believe.

I could tell you half a dozen stories of bizarre/more than coincidental things that have convinced me there is another dimension to life, consciousness, whatever you want to call it.

Here's the latest one:

A classmate from high school, Doug R., recently passed away. I was never close friends with him but I remember him as a nice guy and I was sad to hear via Facebook of his prolonged illness and untimely death. I knew he lived in the same town as me, but that was all I knew.

So, Doug was on my mind.

A few days after his death, I received an envelope in my mailbox addressed to a woman with the same last name as Doug. Immediately, I just knew it was intended for his mother. I felt the weight of a card inside the envelope and I assumed it was a condolence card.

I had no idea where Doug had lived, nor where his mother lived. I went to yellowpages.com and looked him up. The hair on my arms stood on end when I saw his most recent address. I could literally see his home from my front door. I knew what I had to do.

I truly felt that the envelope in my hand was Doug's way of saying to me, "Look, see that house RIGHT THERE?! That's where my mom lives! She could use some company. Go and meet her. Introduce yourself."

So that's exactly what I did.

With my two little boys in school, I knocked on Mrs. R's door, her angel son guiding my way.

I said everything a person says to a stranger after the death of their child.

"I'm so terribly sorry to meet you under these circumstances. Doug was a really good guy. He will be remembered."

A huge smile wiped across Mrs. R's face.

"I remember your face," she said. "I was at your high school a lot, and I remember you. I know exactly who you are. Doug was sick for a long, long time. He's at peace now."

His bereaved mother was grinning as tears were filling up in my eyes.

"I have a card for you . . . and I don't know if you believe in this stuff . . . " I started.

"I do!" she said, taking it from my hand.

"This envelope came to my mailbox, addressed to you. I had no idea you lived here. I really believe it was Doug's way of saying, 'Go meet my mom. She's right there!' This envelope could have ended up at any house in this development, but it came to mine."

Mrs. R. smiled and hugged me close.

"Thank you."

A few days later, I told one of my longtime best friends about Doug's passing. Before I could mention anything about the envelope in my mailbox or meeting Doug's mom, she said to me:

"Remember Doug used to steal my mail in 7th grade? He had a crush on me or something . . . "

I nearly spit out my wine. I only then remembered that Doug used to tamper with her mail.

"He used to steal my mail and then put it back into my mailbox a few days later. He was too shy to talk to me or something, so that's what he would do. So weird."

Do you believe it?


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