WHAT DO DEAD PEOPLE DO ALL DAY?

The monthly class on angels had twice the attendees of last month: word was spreading that this class was FUN! I called the chattering group to order with the usual words: "This is a day the Lord hath made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!"

I glanced at the notes and looked back up at the class. My jaw simply dropped. A man of 5'10" stood in back of a woman in the front row, with his left hand on her shoulder. The only thing different about this scene was that I could almost see through him. I asked her name.

"Mary, there is a man standing behind you with his left hand on your shoulder. He looks just like you, only he's about 65 and almost transparent."

"My father died a week ago. How is he dressed?"

"He's wearing a golf cap, an argyle sweater, and tan short-sleeved shirt that matches his pants. I can't see his shoes." The man smiled broadly and held up his foot to show his brown and white shoes with cleats. Obviously he could hear us.

I began an off-the-cuff talk, giving them everything I knew about the recently passed. The man nodded occasionally, then lost interest and began walking around the room, looking at pictures, thumbing through books. Finally, I said, "Mary, could you please ask your father to wait outside the meeting room? I'm so distracted, I'm having a hard time with the class material."

"Where is he?"

"In the corner, in front of the painting."

Mary rose, walked over and whispered in the general direction of her father's image. He went through the door (unopened) nearby.

The class went on, a great success. As soon as the crowd was dismissed, I went to the door Mary's father had exited, looked out the window. Again, my jaw dropped. He had transformed the space between buildings into a beautiful putting green and was putting at that moment. He must have felt my eyes on him because he turned to me, grinned and waved. And disappeared.

Patricia Angeline Sistrunk