Elsietampong's Blog

We slept in two separate beds. It was more convenient to have separate beds when the other party was away so many times of the year. If we shared a “matrimonial” bed, sometimes when he was in a middle of a fight in the dream, he would kick me. Or, when it was winter, he would take the blanket and hold it against his body, leaving me with nothing. When he was away for work, when he came back, I would all of a sudden have someone next to me.

Twelve months before Ralph died, I would see a black shadow on his bed. I looked to see whether my eyes were not playing tricks on me, but it was there. A long black shadow. Then toward December, the husband of our Cook died. Oh! It came for him, I thought. The shadow disappeared for a while. Then it was back.

The week before the accident happened, I told him about the black shadow. “I thought it was for you, but then, it was for the Cook’s husband,” I explained. I didn’t tell him the black shadow had come back.

He just looked at me blankly, not knowing what to tell me, how to react. Now, six months after his death, I somehow think he wanted to tell me that he, too, had premonitions.

After Ralph died, I came across his diary. He had dreamt that we– he, I and the driver– were driving up a mountain slope in Italy. Then he saw the sea, so resplendent and so beautiful. He shouted for me to look. The driver was distracted, and our car fell into a ravine.

The trees in the ravine broke our fall. We were able to get out of the car.

” Let us break up here. I will go-ahead to the Hotel. Meet me there.”

He said that when he reached the top of the hill, he saw some women looking out into the sea. They were just gazing out, not speaking to each other. He thought,

“Are they meditating? Why are not talking? Am I dead?”

Then a cherub went to kiss his face. He knew he was in heaven. That he had died.

Ralph had been heavily into meditation. He was able to do out-of-body experiences. He could see the aura of a person. When Mom was dying, he told me, “They are coming for her. The room is all lit up with the tunnel at the end.” He told Mom, “Mom, just follow the light. Go to the light.”

But at that point, my sisters had just left to go to Boracay for a two-night holiday. I called them on the phone, “They are coming for her. Go home!!!” But they had just arrived there, and it would be the next day when the next flight home could take place. When I returned to the room where Mom lay, Ralph said, “She did not go with them. They have left. The light is gone.”

My sisters called the next day. I was still groggy. They asked if they should go home. I said the nurse didn’t call, so they might as well enjoy the day and return the next day.

The next day, Mom waited for them. They arrived at 6 p.m., and after they left at 10 p.m., she expired.

She finally followed the light.

Tags: Death stories

This entry was posted on January 27, 2022 at 3:06 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.