My First Spiritual Experience: Flowers For Grandmother

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Guest Author: 
Dru Anthony

I was 6 the first time I received a message from the dead. My grandmother (father’s mother) had passed away a year, or two prior to the time this story took place. I lived in a New York apartment building, and I always loved sitting by the window and watching over the city that never slept. The window faced one of the busiest streets of The Bronx. There wasn’t, and still isn’t a time where that street isn’t congested by people, and cars. My dad was a taxi driver, and he would usually get home after I was already in bed. I don’t remember what month this was in, but if I had to guess I’d say it was a little after Mother’s Day.

For an entire week I would dream of waking up in the middle of the night to a very gentle and familiar voice calling my name from the window I always sat by. I would get up, walk towards it, and standing in the center of a deserted city stood my grandmother. She was dressed in white, with a glowing hue radiating around her. She never said anything, she just stared. Being as young as I was it was terrifying. Night after night it the dream would pick up where it had left off the night before.

At this point I was frustrated. I didn’t want to tell my parents because I honestly didn’t know what was going on, and I wasn’t really afraid enough to feel the need to. The last night I had the dream, I was somehow able to control it. Somehow, I knew I was dreaming. I got up walked to the window, and started screaming at her. I asked her what the fuck it was that she wanted, and I even flipped her off. I immediately felt horrible about it, but I just had no idea what else to do. I woke up the next morning, and thought about it all well into the afternoon hours.

I decided I had to tell my mother. I told her exactly what happened, and all she did was look at me. It was Sunday, so my dad wouldn’t really work late. He got home with some take out, and I was in the bathroom as I heard my mother speaking to him about my dreams. She sounded a bit worried, which I didn’t understand since she hadn’t said much to me when I told her. The next day, my dad came home with white roses, and white candles. Him, and my mom lit them with the intention of it being for my grandmother. In memory of her, her birthday, and Mother’s Day. I’m unsure how much time had passed by, before my mother asked me if I had still been having those dreams, and I said no. She then told me that my father had forgotten to buy my grandmother flowers for her birthday, and Mother’s Day.

After that I had never dreamt of my grandmother again. I never, and still don’t ever feel her around me. I guess all she wanted was to be remembered, and I was the only vessel pure, and open enough to receive her messages, even if she never verbalized them to me. She started something that changed my life forever. Not only spiritually, and paranormally, but in the way I listen to souls, and allow myself to openly love them like I do. 

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