The South Facing Window

After months of ignoring it, my hip pain had grown to the point that I needed to seek medical attention. The usual pain relievers were no longer up to the task. So I started by asking a good friend of mine for help (who just happened to be a Medical Doctor). Unfortunately, she didn’t live close enough to be able to treat me herself, but she did have a recommendation for a good Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine (DO). After suffering a few more weeks, I finally gave in and made the appointment.

Everything seemed routine as I signed all the forms, and sat waiting to be called in. Some “new age” music was playing in the waiting room, and I tried to calm myself as best I could. I don’t like going to doctors, unless it’s absolutely necessary. And this was definitely necessary.

After what seemed to be a very long time, I was finally called into the treatment room. There were the usual preliminaries, including a “where does it hurt, and for how long?” discussion. Next, I both sat and then reclined on the table as the good Doctor did a series of manipulations designed to alleviate pain, restore motion, and support the body’s natural functions and promote healing. In Osteopathic Medicine, unlike other forms of Western Medicine, they believe there is more to good health than merely the absence of pain. So, rather than five minutes of treatment time followed by a prescription for pills, she sat and talked with me for a while after she had finished.

As an OD, she was trained to look at the “whole” person, not just the individual symptoms. As she explained that sometimes chronic pain is related to unresolved emotional issues, I was intrigued. It wasn’t long before I was sharing how my husband had recently passed away, although I didn’t get into any specific details at that point.

“You know he’s here with you, right now,” she stated casually, as if that was a perfectly natural state of affairs.

I was a bit stunned, but I didn’t disagree with her. I had, after all, felt his presence myself. It started the night of his death, with a hot tingling sensation on the skin over my entire body. That had subsided with time, but there was still a lingering feeling of not being “alone.” However, not wanting to seem like a “nut job,” I didn’t share these feelings with anyone, and convinced myself that they were probably all in my head. After 28 years of marriage, I was still in the initial stages of grief, so I assumed this was all part of the process I was going through.

“Yes, alright,” I murmured back. I sat there, expectantly, waiting for more.

“He wants to tell you something,” she continued. At this point I was starting to lose my composure just a little bit, but I didn’t want to shut her down before I had heard what “he” had to say. I don’t remember exactly what I said back to her, but it was something that encouraged her to carry on.

“He says that he’s sorry he left you alone so suddenly. That he skipped out on you,” she related to me, as if he was whispering in her ear.

So far, she hadn’t convinced me of anything. Anybody who had suddenly lost a husband at 49 years of age was going to feel that way. Unaffected, but still curious, I indicated that I wanted her to continue.

“He also has a few concerns.” She and I locked eyes, and I felt that tingling sensation again. “You see, there’s a window in your house, on the South side, that he’s particularly worried about. He says it’s not secure.”

Now this was getting too real. I had not mentioned to her that I lived in a house, or an apartment, or what the windows looked like. Still, making the assumption that we had a house with a South facing window wasn’t too much of a stretch. I sat, motionless, waiting for more, at this point not knowing if I wanted confirmation or a reason to reject her story.

“He wants you to check it out,” she continued, “And he also says that there is something in the garage you should investigate. There is an item that has fallen behind something else that he is afraid you won’t find unless you really look for it. Also in the garage, he says that an animal of some sort has nested in the overhead storage area. You should probably check that out too.”

I honestly don’t remember how I finished the session, or much about the drive home. I was more than a little alarmed initially. It all felt very surreal. After returning home I waited a few minutes to let it all wash over me. I sat on the edge of the bed in our master bedroom, looking at the South facing window in the master bathroom. I knew immediately that it was the one he had meant. Eventually overcoming my fears, I got up and moved the curtain aside, carefully examining the window latch.

It was a small sliding window with frosted glass, just large enough for a person to climb into if they really tried. My late husband and I had discussed this when he was alive, and we usually kept a wooden dowel in the window sill, to block it from being opened. We also had a metal screw lock that attached to the window frame.

And now comes the freaky part. For some reason, the dowel wasn’t there. I have no conscious memory of removing it, but it just wasn’t there. Additionally, the screw lock had also been removed. It was, in fact, the ONLY window in the house that didn’t have some sort of security measure on it.

I sat back down on the bed. At this point I was a believer. But there was still the garage to check out, so after a few minutes to compose myself I went out there. We had a large gun safe on the north wall, and at this point I wasn’t at all surprised to find a wooden gun stock partially lodged behind it. By now I had no desire to investigate the overhead storage area, because I no longer had any doubt in my mind that a rodent or bird family had nested there. They were welcome to stay as far as I was concerned.

Again, the doctor had no way of knowing what types of windows we had. And she surely could not have guessed that there was one, and only one, South facing window without the usual security measures in place. Additionally, she could not have described the situation in the garage without some “help” from another source. I have always believed in life after death, and now I know with certainty that we can communicate with our loved ones. All it takes is an open mind, and an open heart.