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By Lynne Cory

Recently my beloved grandson left the planet in an auto accident and he has been communicating with me on a daily basis.

What if the static on the phone or the cigarette odor or the orbs of light floating in the dark room or the cologne smell or the feathers all around or the coins on the ground are all messages from my boy? What if I can now sit with a pen in my hand and watch as he sends messages to my paper? What if this is becoming so prevalent that I am amused by his power of communication and my sadness is lifting? What if he has returned to his normal state and I can walk and talk with him whenever? What if I KNOW that he is OK?