Do you believe....?

How much of those who've already left us remains around us?

Some believe in the supernatural, some don't, some are firmly on the fence. Me? I'm a believer. Why?
After my mother passed when I was a kid, I felt her with me. Not just in the spiritual sense, but in the physical sense, too. You know, a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, the feel of fingers through my hair, a kiss on my forehead as I drifted off to sleep, the scent of her perfume in the air. Still do... thirty-five years later. And, when I lost my father, sixteen years after her, I had similar experiences with him. The smell of his tobacco, the feel of his arm around me and, giving birth to my first child, seeing him stand behind the midwife with an encouraging smile on his face.

Was it just my imagination? Did my own mind conjure it all up just to make me feel better in times of need? In those moments on life's journey when no one but your mummy and daddy will do?

Honestly? I don't care what it was. The comfort it brought me then and still brings me now is all I need.

Why am I posting about this today?  This picture....

An old school friend was going through some photos and she came across this one. (I honestly have no idea who the bloke sitting down is and I vaguely remember this day out and I know she was with us, but that's about it lol) It's a picture she took of me and my family on a day out to Crystal Palace in London what must have been a gazillion years ago (especially judging by the dinosaur behind us!)

The man standing up with his hand on my shoulder is my Dad, and I'm writing this post because I dreamt about him last night. All day I've been a bit discombobulated and I've felt his hand right there on my shoulder since I woke up. It's still there now, as I write this.

So it kind of made me wonder if other people have had the same experiences as me. Have been certain they've felt those no longer here? In fact, my son, when he was about four, saw a picture of my dad that my aunt has on her table. Just a snapshot at a party. But he said to me, "I know him." He never met my dad, so obviously I told him he was mistaken, and he doesn't remember now, but he looked at me as though I was stupid and said, "Yes I do, mummy. He's my friend." I remember my aunt and I looking at each other and the conviction on my son's face that not only did he know my dad, but they were friends. Maybe those smells and those glimpses out of the corner of my eye weren't my imagination after all.

What do you think?