Visitations

This is a story.  Just like any other story.  Some of it is true.

It started when I was very young.  They'd come.  Confused.  I'd see them out of the corner of my eye.  Standing there wanting.  Wondering.  Anxious.

There'd be some sort of accident.  A car would crash.  A log would fall at the saw mill.  A house would burn.  They'd come.  Drawn to the energy that is me.

Mama knew I was different.  She tried to beat the different out of me, but it stayed anyway.  I left her house as soon as I could.  Sooner than I should have, but I felt I had no choice.  

It is true that the outside scars always healed soon enough, but the inside scars never heal.  They weep instead.  They hurt.  They scream in rage.  They are immortal, like the ones who come.

She could see them too.  My Mama.  She didn't want to look.  She denied it long past my youth, but she knew.  Mama always knew things she shouldn't know.  Had no right to know.  She just knew.  I suspect her Mama tried to beat it out of her too.  That never works, of course.  You can't stop their coming.  You can't stop the knowing.  

It pops into your head when you least expect it, and you just know.  The baby will die.  The man will get the job.  The couple will marry, but it won't last.  You learn to block it eventually.  It's not good to look for it.  There is a price.  There is always a price.

The night this story happened was cooler than usual.  Bright with stars and moonlight.  Smelling of the cool clear air of home.  The sirens woke me up.  Tearing though the early morning hours with an urgency you could just feel.  The dogs wailed at their passing.  A warning in the night.  Then suddenly they stopped.  The sirens. Abruptly they stopped.  Dreadfully they stopped making the hair stand up on my arms and tears come to my eyes.

The air in the room was suddenly cold.  I could see my breath in the dim light the streetlight spread through my room.  I turned over in bed shivering at what I did not know, when I heard it, and I knew.  I was not alone.

Both my dogs got up and went into my kitchen where the cups he made with his own hands hung above my sink.  The dogs' tails were wagging.  They did not bark.  They recognized him.  

The entity in my kitchen felt male and panicked. I knew the dogs would comfort him, and I'm sure they did.  I didn't know who it was, but I knew someone had passed away that my dogs knew, but my dogs know many people.  I thought maybe it was one of our elderly neighbors down the street.  Passing through to say good-bye and give the dogs one last pat on their way to heaven.  It had happened before.  I was not surprised, but this time, I was wrong.  

The next day I heard the sad news.  The dogs did indeed know their visitor.  I knew him too, and I was heartbroken to hear of his passing.  I've been weighted with grief this past week, but the grief suddenly lifted today.  He is calm now.  More settled.  More accepting.  He will be okay.  He stayed as long as he could.  Perhaps longer than he should, but he had no choice.  

Do not concern yourself.  Life never ends.  Only the body dies.  We will all meet again.  One fine day.  That is my advice to you.

Yes.  This is a story.  Just like any other story.  Some of it is true.