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DO YOU THINK THE DEAD CAN COMMUNICATE WITH US? 
Do you think the dead can communicate with us? This happened in 1975, right after the fall of Saigon. My mother was already dead many years ago, but her youngest sister was still alive. Physically, my mother and my aunt did not look alike at all. While my mother was small and very fine of features, my aunt was tall, rather masculine with a large face, a big nose and large bony shoulders. I lost my husband on the eve of the fall of Saigon. For the funeral, my neighbors helped me put up a tent in the front garden with a parachute cloth. They placed a long table along the hedge, and chairs around it for the guests. To be able to receive friends and families, after the fall of Saigon, one should have a special authorization of the police of the district. So I went to the district police station to make the declaration and get the authorization for the purpose. When I came back and entered the gate, there were already many guests in the garden, sitting on the chairs along the hedge facing to me. I couldn't make out their features; they were somehow blurred like in a mist, except one: My Mother. She was there, so lovely as always. She looked at me in silence with a sad smile. Within a second, I was stunned as if under a fairy spell. I heard myself uttering: “Mummy”. And, at the same time, I felt a warm stream (blood flux) slowly traversing my heart. Then I realized that it was my aunt, and I became also aware of the other guests. I am sure that it was my mother. She was there to comfort me; it was her way to say to me “I am here”. The expression “it warms up your heart” may be only a literary one, but I have physically lived that wonderful moment, and the memory of which is always present in my mind. It helps me live on, day after day.
Do you think the dead can communicate with us? This happened in 1992. One of my sisters at that time lived in Canada. She was very ill. She suffered from a cancer of the lungs, at the third stage. One day, I had a dream in which I was with her. We were on a bus; I didn't know where we were going. When arriving at a bus stop, my sister hurried down. I quickened my steps after her, and called to her: “Please wait for me, please...” She replied without turning to me: “No, I am going where you can not follow.” But still I hurried myself down, and ran after her. She crossed the road and disappeared behind a great gate. I sprang to the gate, but I could not go any further: the gate was locked. Near the gate, there was a small house of the keeper, but it seemed deserted. Desperately, I looked at the gate. It was a very imposing gate made of wrought iron. I looked up, but I could not see the ensign upon it. With my eyes, I searched for my sister beyond the gate, but I didn't see her anywhere. All that I remembered after, there was, beyond the gate, a beautiful but desolate hilly landscape, under the moonlight, (a faint sunlight as it is usually in the dreams). The next day, I learned that my sister died the night before. I could not go to her funeral. One year later, i.e. in 1993, I went to Canada. I wanted to go and pray on her
grave. When the taxi put me down before the cemetery, I had a cold shock. I was in front of an imposing wrought iron gate; it was locked because
it was not opening time yet. I was there in front of the gate, and beyond it, I could behold a beautiful but desolate hilly landscape under the early faint morning light. *** Trang Gia Đình : ~.~ GÓC VƯỜN CỦA MẸ ~.~  |
