Category Archives: Identifying Those on the Other Side

Last Chat

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Once I moved back up to Michigan from South Georgia the summer of 1999, I’d go to my dad’s house and we’d visit. We’d chat back and forth, often debating issues of the day. My stepmother said she hated listening to us because it sounded like arguing.

I’m not sure she noticed the gleam in his eye during these discussions. He’d gone to college intending to become a lawyer, but after one year was drafted because of the Korean War. He served in the states, repairing the electronics in planes, along with radios and televisions, which is how he ended up selling and repairing them once he was discharged, returning to Michigan with three small children born during those four years on base. He’d had polio during that time, as well.

Surprisingly, it took some persuasion to get him interested in computers. By that time, he’d been in the food industry for several decades and wasn’t as interested in electronics. Computers wouldn’t last long, he said.

Finally, he invested in one and started writing his own programs, eventually repairing them for his friends and family. Much of our discussions then centered on DOS, disks, and drives, new programs, installing RAM and other hardware, and software.

When he’d been down visiting me in Georgia in the mid-90s, he had a heart attack. Later, he discovered he had diabetes. Having been a pipe smoker all his life, the combination of the heart attack, polio, diabetes, and smoking all took a toll in his last decade on his appearance, his health, and his ability to walk without an aid.

I lived in a neighboring community through spring 2003, where I was working and attending a community college. Despite long days of full-time retail, then accounting and secretarial work and full-time school, getting my AA and BA, I’d visit frequently.

Then in July 2003, I moved closer to the university since I’d be going to school full time on scholarship and teaching four college classes each semester. In 2006, I received my MFA.

Between semester breaks, I’d go visit. He listened while I talked about going back and getting my Ph.D. Everyone at that point thought I was wasting my time at 58, but since my employer was paying the tuition and I’d always wished it, why not?

Even though he didn’t say the words, I could tell he was proud of me for doing it, but he had this strange look on his face. His thinking-about-the-past look, I called it.

One of my last chats with Dad occurred just after I’d started taking my first class for that last degree. He was becoming frailer. We both knew what was happening and talked about death frequently.

He laughed when I told him he’d be contacting me. I could tell he didn’t fully believe me. Oh, he’d heard my various stories and events regarding other spirits, but he’d never comment or ridicule me like other family would. And, he’d get the thinking-about-the-past face. I always wondered if he was recalling family now gone ever having contacted him in the past but was something he never talked about it.

That particular day, we talked about many things. At one point, he looked at me and said, “You never did go down the normal path, did ya’?”

“You’re just figuring that out?” I asked. He had a twinkle in his eye. While he wasn’t saying it, I knew he was proud of the path I had taken, was taking–even though he had never really agreed with it much of it at the time. When I was younger, he’d always suggest safer, more practical routes for me to take. I told him I knew what I was doing and why.  

That’s when he started talking about a few of his regrets. How he let fear stop him. My stepdad said the same thing shortly before he died—how he wished he’d lived his own life instead of everyone else’s expectations.

I understood then what some of those thinking-about-the-past expressions had been about. He’d been thinking of the roads not traveled, the paths not taken.

No doubt Dad’s limitations were because of us kids. But my stepdad had no children; his limitations had to have been his parents. For much of his life, he lived with them and continued to live in that house until he needed daily assistance.

Even though Dad wasn’t alive when I received my Ph.D., I knew he was watching. I could tell when he’d visit, usually late at night as we were both night owls, because he’d mess with my VCR or my TV turning them off or on, doing the opposite of what I was trying to do. He was playing with me. I could smell his pipe tobacco or his morning toast when he was around, too.

About a year after he died, a medium told me that Dad was one of my guardians and that he was saying how I had shown them all on how to get it done—the education, the writing, to finding paths that would fulfill my passions. That they were all learning from my experience.

I can tell he’s in a happy place with deceased family he’d been talking to in his last days. The relatives are reunited, having a grand ole time together, like they did when I was young.

He hasn’t been around as much these past couple years, but when I smell that toast or tobacco, I get goosebumps knowing he’s here, watching, checking in.

We’re still chatting.

They Come A-Calling with Their Smells

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Last night, someone passed through my apartment, someone who strongly smelled of fast-food fried chicken, like Popeyes.

In recent days, I’ve smelled pork chops, hash, and a blueberry pie, all from separate individuals. I have no idea who they are. Another individual came through smelling strongly of bleach.

All strangers.

People who have died during this pandemic period of time and are checking out the open doors that some of us maintain.

I can feel their confidence growing as they find someone noticing them. They’re finding their way around their new landscape, learning the rules of being on the other side.

They’re not unhappy, just curious, wanting to seek out ways of communicating with their loved ones. Testing us, total strangers with those open doors, in learning how to make contact.

You’re probably saying, these are smells normally in my apartment. Actually, no, they’re not. I haven’t used bleach in years. I’m allergic to both pork and blueberries, so neither are found in my apartment, and I have never made hash. I’ve eaten plenty in my younger days, but I’ve never made it.

While I share two walls with neighbors, in the four-plus years I’ve lived here, odors from these other two apartments have never leaked into mine. And, the front door has been closed as we await spring, so no odors aren’t coming from there.

How can I tell these are people on the other side? Because the odors come and go. Suddenly, the scent is there, and then, once I’ve noticed them, it’s gone. They’ve moved on, probably to test more doors or to finally try contacting their loved ones.

That ability is called clairalience. It’s a psychic gift of spiritual smells.

These folks aren’t the first souls to visit me, letting me know they’re nearby via their scents. A best friend who died suddenly owned four cats. Her home never smelled like a litter box. Ever. Yet, I always know when it’s her because of the cat smell. Over our forty-plus years of friendship, she had many cats. For some reason, many ended up sick, needing good veterinarian care, which she provided. Several died too young. I’m sure on the other side, she was happily reunited with them all. So, it made sense that a litter box was her signatory scent for me. Still is. She doesn’t visit as frequently now, but her goal has always been to push me forward with a particular pet writing project we shared. I’m working on it again, as a result of her visits, her insistence.

Another woman, someone I knew but hadn’t seen in probably half a year, visited me upon her death, but I was puzzled by the pee smell. When I asked about it with someone who was close to her, that person said yes, that was how she smelled in her last few months. Her few visits with me shortly after her death were more about her checking out the open doors than anything else.

My ex-mother-in-law came frequently upon her death. Her pot roast was phenomenal, so it only made sense she appeared with that scent. Her first visit was for a particular, personal reason. After that, she appeared a few more times, just to visit.

When my father visits, he usually comes with the smell of his early morning toast or his pipe tobacco. I say usually, because in the beginning, just after his death, he’d play with my TV or VCR, turning it on if I turned it off, or vice-versa. Spirits love to play with our electric appliances: lights, computers, TVs, stereos, etc. Because we are all energy, electricity is a natural conductor for them. With his history of repairing TVs and then later computers, for him to play with mine made total sense. I could hear him chuckling every time I called him out.

These are just a few examples of the many people who have visited me with their smells.

Have you ever noticed a familiar smell in an unlikely place or at an unlikely time, meaning the scent isn’t associated with your current location or time of day? If so, you probably were visited by someone you know. Someone from the other side.

As these people move through my apartment, I acknowledge them, wish them well, and continue to be amazed at the tremendous love that surrounds them. No doubt, there will be many more souls this coming month or two while the pandemic ravages our country.

I wonder what my scent might be when my time comes? I’m hoping it’ll be Chanel 5, my favorite cologne, and the only cologne I can wear. That or old books.