My older brother came and sat on my bed – 30 years after his death: AMANDA PLATELL – and many readers – reveal their spine-tingling experience

My older brother came and sat on my bed - 30 years after his death: AMANDA PLATELL - and many readers - reveal their spine-tingling experience

My brother Michael’s love radiated like a physical presence

I only shared it with my family and my closest friends. I was afraid people would think I was crazy or delusional.

But reading Santa Montefiore’s account of how his sister sat on his bed one night six months after they died, I thought: ‘Yes! So I’m not the only one who has seen a loved one from beyond the grave. I’m not crazy, I’m not alone.’

Seven years ago it was about two in the morning when I woke up to find my brother Michael sitting at the end of my bed. My older, beautiful brother, who died of cancer almost three decades ago.

There he was, clear as day, his comforting smile full of kindness and reassurance, a smile that told me everything was going to be alright, he was here.

It was about two in the morning, seven years ago, when I woke up to find my brother, Michael, sitting at the end of my bed (stock photo).

In life, Michael was always my protector, watching over me as I grew up, chasing unwanted suitors — sometimes with a loaded shotgun — roaring in his V8 car and dragging me out of parties when I was a teenager, the most for him. bad wear

He sat next to me as a 17-year-old, holding my hand after we were both in a terrible car accident. A drunk driver came to the side of the road and hit us on the head. Michael, who was injured himself, was there when I was wheeled into surgery and stayed in my hospital bed as I recovered.

And now he was reassuring me. I was disappointed, a deep, dark place only those who have been there can understand. I was not only miserable, but in such deep depression I could neither write nor sleep, and had to take three months off work.

I was haunted by nightmares. In the dark I found myself crying silently, begging for someone to help me. Michael answered my call.

This is the Michael I knew decades ago before his cancer diagnosis, before he was so thin and sickly. He came to me as a big strong brother who always protected me with a cheeky smile and a reassuring hand.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating, dreaming, wishing, but I swear she was there. And to prove it to me, she appeared many nights later, at the same spot at the end of my bed, with the same hand extended, the same reassurance I wanted to draw.

So here comes the weird bit. I could actually see him. He was not an intelligent ghost. He was there in the same physical form, the same hulking frame, the same beard growing to cover the terrible scar on his face from the car accident, the same mischievous, reassuring green eyes, the same auburn curly hair.

He wasn’t a shadowy ghost, he was there in three dimensions and in technicolor.

I could feel his hand on me—a helping hand to pull me up. Most of all, I could feel his love radiating like a physical presence, filling me with hope, a love that existed in life and now I believe in death.

And in a way that defies words, I felt him actually giving me his strength. I felt a strength, a warmth, a power to conquer the darkness, which I did.

Say what you want about it, call me crazy, dismiss it as a dream, say whatever you want, but I know Michael came to me again and again, until I was better.

So, thanks Michael. I couldn’t have gotten through it without you.

Nan smiled and said, ‘I came for your mother.’

By Sue Churchill, 64

In 1986, my mother, Violet, was very ill with cancer. It was only a matter of time before he passed.

Near Borehamwood, Hertfordshire, I visit my husband at home after he comes home from work and can look after the baby. I was in my late 20s and we had three young children to look after and, while my mother loved her grandchildren, she didn’t want them to see her so weak.

It was a difficult time. I knew instinctively that Mom was dying, but she didn’t know, or, if she did, she didn’t let on.

He even used to ask me why I was visiting everyday. He talked about how we could go shopping together when he was well. He was positive.

One afternoon, I was crossing the landing when I looked into my parents’ bedroom (Mom was now tending to one of the other rooms).

At the door, I could clearly see my grandmother, Grace, standing with a soft smile on her face. He died about 20 years ago. He said: ‘I came for V.’

It was a shock but, surprisingly, I felt very calm. I stopped for just a moment and then came back to see mom.

At that point, I knew she wasn’t going to be long, so I was relieved to see Nan. Mom’s death would be heartbreaking, but I knew she wouldn’t suffer much longer — the doctor told us she had less than a week — and that when she passed, she would be with her mother and others who loved her.

At the door, I could clearly see my grandmother, Grace, standing with a soft smile on her face. He died nearly 20 years ago (stock image).

Dad came back and made sure mom was coping

By Sarah Walmsley, 56

My parents, Ray and Pat, were married for 48 years and were still very close when my father became ill and died within three weeks of being diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. Mom was devastated to lose the love of her life.

They had moved to Spain from their home in Preston, Lancashire, but we spoke regularly, and she told me that when she took an afternoon nap on the sofa, she would often wake up and see and feel my father sitting on the other sofa watching. Time for her to wake up.

I know it was a comfort to him, and I’m pretty sure he’s making sure he’s managing without her there.

Even my daughter saw the man in the trilby

By Carol Albon, 84

My father, Rob, was a sunny character, always wearing a trilby and a green cardigan.

During World War II, the local vicar once presented him with a pack of cigarettes as a ‘thank you’ for entertaining everyone in the bomb shelter the evening before an air raid.

He died of cancer more than 50 years ago at the age of 66. I have always missed him.

Two days running, years after his death, I saw something under the stairs of our house in Romford, East London.

I couldn’t tell it was a man, more a shadow. It was just a fleeting glimpse, but for some reason, I thought she was wearing a green cardigan.

I thought I was imagining it and didn’t tell anyone. Then my daughter, Sarah, who was about 17 at the time and was born after my father died, said she kept thinking someone was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

I asked what he saw and he said it was a man with a hat. I immediately thought it was my dad, because he always wore a trilby — and I like to think he was.

I woke up and saw my father standing next to me

By Jean Rolland, 70

After my father, Jim, died in 1995, I had vivid dreams about him.

He was a strong, fit military man — a Dunkirk veteran — but at age 76 he suffered a heart attack and lost a leg due to circulatory problems.

In my dream, he was first in a wheelchair, then back on his feet. My imagination seems to bring him back to the man he was in his youth.

The night I woke up to see him standing next to me was different: it wasn’t a dream.

It was only a few years ago, when something bothered me around 2am. I opened my eyes to see him standing next to me in the dark. I was not afraid. For some reason it didn’t seem extraordinary or unusual at all.

I felt very emotional and conveyed without speaking that I really missed him. He said he knew, but he was always looking out for me, and every time I heard an accordion play I knew it was true.

In my dream, he was first in a wheelchair, then back on his feet. It’s as if my imagination brought him back to the man he was in his youth, I guess (Stock Image).

He played the accordion when my sisters and I were little, and I learned to play too – it was always a bond between us.

Encounters cannot last more than a few seconds.

My husband, Brian, was fast asleep next to me and I didn’t wake him. He’s a down-to-earth Yorkshireman and he probably thought I’d gone mad.

The next day we decided to go to a food festival near our home in Wakefield with some friends. The first sound I heard when I got out of the car was the accordion. It was being played with a performance by morris dancers.

I’m sure it was my father, sending me proof that what happened was true. It still brings me comfort to think about it.

My husband’s late wife gave me her blessings

By Angela Thompson, 82

My husband, Nicholas, is very psychic and often sees people who have crossed over.

His first wife Anne died years ago and he got into a relationship with a woman who wasn’t right for him. He always felt that his late wife was still watching over him and would talk to him often.

We met and married ten years ago through my best friend, whose husband is my husband’s cousin. I met his late wife several years ago and we got on well.

About 18 months after our marriage, we were sitting up in bed, when he looked up and said: ‘Oh, Anne has come; And beside me is a little orange dog. The dog is licking my hand, and Annie is smiling.’ After a minute or so, he said: ‘They’re gone. They came to say goodbye, and they know we’re okay.’

I believe that little dog was my beloved apricot poodle, Rupert, who died three years before I met my husband. He and Anne had apparently decided that we could cope without them for now.

I just wish I could see them too.

My mom sat on my bed calmly like ‘okay’

By Eileen Simmonds, 78

Towards the end of her life, my mother, Hannah, and I did not get along. Then, on the May bank holiday, my brother called to say the doctor had called for an ambulance to take him to hospital.

With my family, I took a bus to my brother’s house. The ambulance was outside their house, which was on a long road. Being stubborn, I didn’t rush to catch it.

By the time we got home the ambulance had left. We went straight to the hospital, but he died before we got there. I was obviously upset and felt incredibly guilty that I hadn’t taken the opportunity to see him alive.

A few weeks later, I woke up to find my mother sitting at the end of my bed. He didn’t say anything, just looked calm and serene. I felt some guilt lift from me.

My mother was only 59 when she died, but I felt her coming back to say: ‘Okay; I understand.’

A similar thing happened to me again many years later. About three months after my husband died, when he was only 50, and I was on holiday with a girlfriend in the US, I dreamed that I had saved my husband David from his heart attack. I woke up and felt happy, then realized it was just a dream, and went to the bathroom.

Seconds later, I heard my friend yelling my name. She saw David standing under my bed. Did he come to reassure me?

It was a shared, very haunting experience that left us unsettled for quite some time.


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