Visions of Michael

After my son, Michael, died on Oct. 28, 2020, I searched for answers in books about grief and death. Is there a heaven? Is he really gone? Why? I was surprised by how often authors cited a connection between this world and the spirit world. Encounters years earlier — including seeing my father’s apparition the evening after his death in 1982 — convinced me a spiritual realm existed and interacted with the temporal. But I never expected the vivid, very real interactions I’ve had with Michael.

First Sight
The night after Michael died, I saw him as clearly as if he were in the room with me. He sat against a light blue background on what appeared to be a brownish-colored seat. With his elbows on his thighs, head turned about 45 degrees away from me, he said, “I’m OK.” 

Through tears, I managed, “But I miss you.” 
Without ever turning to face me, he repeated, “I’m OK,” then vanished. 

The First Winter
I saw him next in January 2021, in our new home — the only home Michael would never visit, yet there he was, standing just inside the front door, smiling his infectious smile. He looked around, then down the hall at me. He gave me two thumbs up and was gone. He approved. 

About a month later, on Feb. 21, we traveled to Virginia for Michael’s interment. Jil, Michael’s widow, rented two contiguous hotel rooms, one for guests to gather, relax, and have something to eat, and another spillover room for the kids. The hallway between the rooms overflowed with guests in town for Michael’s funeral the next day. Tired, I sat, feet up, in the room with the kids, looking intermittently between them and the hallway through the door.

Suddenly, Michael was there, one foot in the hallway, one foot inside the room, his right hand outstretched, and an anxious, almost worried look on his face — as though he just left the other room, hadn’t found what he was looking for, and hurried to search this room. Wearing a black T-shirt and Bermudas, he was so real that, for a second, I forgot he died. I lurched up to say, “Michael, we’re here. Your kids are here; come in!” But he was gone. 

Reason took over. No corporeal being could have walked through that hallway crowd unnoticed.  I knew it was his spirit. He came looking for his sons, and once he found them, he returned to his new home.

Another Winter
December 18, 2022, was a sad day for me because Michael’s favorite holiday was approaching. The tree was up, and I was thinking of past Christmases when I’d make tassies, his favorite. He’d pop one after another into his mouth, devouring them. But that lifetime was gone. 

I turned out the kitchen lights to start for bed, glanced back at the sliding door outlined in mini, white Christmas lights just in time to see a burst of light and an angelic figure glide through the glass and vanish. I entered that in my “Seeing Michael” journal late that Saturday night. 

The next day, I connected the dots. Jil and the boys attended the Dec. 18 Arlington National Cemetery wreath-laying ceremony. Either she told him that I love him and we think of him every day — just as I asked — or he knew, and he came to visit.
Spring

What happened over April 21-22 I will never forget. My husband, Mike, and I returned to Southport, North Carolina — where we moved from just months ago — the last home Michael visited. Once in our hotel room, I connected my laptop to the WiFi and went about unpacking. 

I was by the microwave, at least 10 feet from my computer, when “Earth Angel” began playing. It took a few seconds to identify the song and its source. In that time, I heard a voice superimposed over the music — the DJ from the Tuesday doo-wop program I subscribed to, I thought.

But it never began by itself. I always had to select a link. Besides, it was Wednesday. Still confused, I moved toward the computer to mute the sounds when, suddenly, I realized the “DJ” was Michael! It was a message that Mitchel, Michael’s brother, saved and played every morning. Oh my God — what’s happening? 

Then came the second voice — also Michael’s. He was saying “Happy birthday, Dad,” while at that very moment, he appeared on the screen with Jil on his left, trying to get their three boys, who were cavorting around Michael, to record a birthday message for their grandpa. This nearly hour-long video was a tribute that Mishi, Michael’s sister, created for Mike’s 80th birthday in August 2020. It included recorded messages from each of our children and grandchildren, yet it began playing at the exact moment Michael’s message started. 

Nothing on the menu bar indicated that something was playing. The cursor moved about — despite holding the mouse still in my hand — like a computer tech took control to fix a problem. But, this was no computer tech; this was Michael: the song, the video clips — a collective phenomenon that far exceeded my computer skills. Michael was letting me know he was here with us in Southport! I sank back in my chair, in awe.
Mike came into the room in time to hear Michael’s voice wishing him a happy birthday and see the moving cursor. We both saw. We both heard. 

I record Michael’s communications in my journal as often as I can. They still occur today, five years later, though visions are not as frequent or intense as they used to be. For me, they confirm the existence of a direct link between me, here in the temporal world, and my son, in the spiritual world, and I find great comfort in that belief.


PHOTOS: Loretta Krause; SrA Joseph Leveille