The evidence of visitation

Dear Mom,

I feel as though I've grown somewhat accustomed to you not being with us in this world anymore. I have gotten to the point where I can speak of you without breaking down into tears. When I see the things that surround me — things that you've bought or made — they don't rip me apart and transform me into an emotional wreck. It isn't that I don't miss you, but at least the feelings are manageable.

But there are also those times when I believe that you still stop by and check in. There are things that happen, once in a while, that make me stop and smile in wonder.

A few weeks ago now, such an incident occurred.

I was in my study when I heard the unmistakable sound of a trumpet blow. It was a short puff of wind through the brass, by someone who was trying to play, but who clearly had not mastered the instrument.

As odd as that may sound, it certainly wasn't an unfamiliar sound to me. Jessica has taken up the trumpet and we have one in the house. In fact, she has made numerous attempts to play it in the recent past, resulting in just such an awful sound as the one I heard that night.

What was surprising and unfamiliar to me about the incident was the hour that I had heard it. I was up very late. The children had — or so I thought — been put to bed several hours earlier.

No one had stirred, I thought, except for me. But then, without any warning: the off-key trumpet blast.

Instantly, I got up, determined to scold Jessica for not only being up so late on a school night, but actually having the nerve to be blowing that instrument — knowing full well that others in the house were sleeping. The fact that she would defy me so boldly was completely out of character for her. I couldn't believe that she would do that. There was absolutely no mistaking the sound. It was as clear as anything I've ever heard.

I walked into the bedroom where Jessica and Hannah were sleeping. To my utter surprise, I found them both peaceful and quiet. I stood there for several seconds, highly puzzled. I waited to see if the girls were faking their slumber. In the dim light, I studied their breathing to see if it were a consistent, steady pattern. All indicators told me they were both asleep.

But how could that be? I knew what I had heard. There was no mistaking it. It had been as clear as any time she had blown it. I walked out of the room, totally confused. I knew I had heard that trumpet. I knew I hadn't imagined it. There was nothing else that could have made that sound.

Whenever we humans encounter something unexplainable, we always attempt to rationalize it away. We always seek to package an incomprehensible mystery into a container of logic and reason. Nice and neat, we attempt to tuck it away, so that it can be easily forgotten — never more needing our attention.

It was this normal human behavior, I suppose, that caused me to open the door to your room. It was the guest bedroom wherein you slept when you were staying here with us. I didn't really expect to find anything there. Certainly, there wouldn't be anything there to satisfy my curiosity. I don't even know for what I was searching. Did I expect to find a toy that was capable of making a sound like the one I heard? I don't recall.

After turning on the light, I looked around the room. A second or two later, I saw it. A cold chill ran throughout my body and goosebumps formed on my arms. It was the trumpet! It was in your room! It was still in the case, but it was there, on the floor in your room.

I had not been thinking about you, when I heard the sound. You hadn't been on my mind at all. I was pre-occupied with whatever I had been doing at the time. The sound had interrupted me, out of nowhere. In fact, I had been so sure that it was Jessica that I had become instantly angry with her for what I perceived to be a flagrant violation of what she knew to be a rule. There was no way that I could have imagined that sound.

Yet, not only was Jessica and Hannah clearly asleep, but the trumpet wasn't even in their possession. It wasn't in their room. Indeed, the trumpet was in your possession! It was in your room!

Fascinated by this unbelievable development, I opened the case to the instrument to make sure that it was really there. The shiny brass reflected the light from the ceiling back at me. I hadn't been aware that Michelle had told Jessica to store it in that room.

I was filled me with a sense of awe. The belief that you were letting me know you were checking in with us was a comfort. It was a confirmation that you haven't forgotten about us, and more importantly, you are still alive and are okay.

I'm thankful that God allows these moments to happen to remind us that there is life beyond this physical world. Miracles happen every day, but often we're unwilling to accept them as such. We feel the need to explain everything in scientific terms that we understand.

But sometimes, in the absence of any rational answer, we are forced to admit that things sometimes happen that cannot be explained by any other exposition than that of the supernatural. As last Sunday was the two year anniversary of our losing you, I'm grateful for these times of irrational miracles, because they serve as priceless evidence of your visitation, and reminders of the hope of a better life to come.

I love you.

Darren

P.S. After writing this letter to you, I went back and read the letter I wrote to you last April, when it was your birthday. I hadn't remembered writing it, but the words now stood out: "I hope things are going well in your world, where ever that is. It sure would be nice to hear from you."

I realize that now that I have.