My Dead Return

Ad Blocker Detected

Our website is made possible by displaying online advertisements to our visitors. Please consider supporting us by disabling your ad blocker.

What I am about to relate  is not  a product of belief. It is a  product of experience. I present it to you as pure unadulterated fact.

My first son Tommy was twenty-three days old when my father Thomas Orkney was killed. He fell from a  truck in Puget  Sound Naval Shipyard in Bremerton, Washington,  on May 11, 1956, and was  instantly  killed.  Six months  later,  when my husband Milan Pecka was  working the 12:00 to 8:00 A.M. shift, I was awakened at three o’clock one morning by my infant son’s  crying.

Assuming he was wet or hungry, I arose and stumbled  toward the baby’s crib across the room from my bed. To my  amazement  I saw that the old-fashioned, black, enameled,  wooden rocking chair  at the foot of my bed was rocking to  and fro. I wondered if we were experiencing a minor earth  tremor.

As I approached the crib I distinctly heard my father’s voice say,  “Don’t  pick him up,  Barbara you’ll only spoil him. He’s neither  wet nor hungry. He’s teething and that makes him fussy, Let him cry a little and  he’ll go back to  sleep.”

This scared the daylights out of me. In one leap I was  back in my bed with the cover my head. Was I losing  my mind? But that  was my father’s voice-as clear and normal as  if he were physically alive and  in the room with me.  In the years that followed I had two more children, Charlie and Therese, and then on November 22, 1967, my  husband Milan Pecka died.

In March 1968 I remarried and then had, in addition to my own three children, three foster children.Gary Rose and  Connie and Lori Sidwaski. We rented an old farmshouse on the highway between Raymond and Pe Ell, Washington. The house  had not been occupied for fifteen years when  we moved  in,  and we spent  time fixing it and putting  in a garden.

One evening  when the garden had been in about six weeks, the  children and I were home alone; my husband was working  the swing swift, At about nine O’clock Gary, fifteen,  went into  the darkness of the kitchen for a drink of water.

“Mom, come quick! Hurry!” I heard  him call.  I put down my knitting and went  to where  Gary  stood transfixed by something he saw outside the  window. We  had a lot of wildlife  around the old  farmhouse and I assumed  he was watching a coyote, a deer, an elk,  or  something of the kind. “Look, Mom,” he  whispered,” out  there  by the garden.”  As I peered out I could see the moon shining  through the tress in the orchard.

And right at the end  of the  new garden stood the form of a man, wearing a robe. It  appeared  translucent in the moonlight.  “That’s  just my dad, Gary, come to see how the garden’s  growing ,” I said. The apparition immediately disappeared and as I turned to leave the kitchen I wondered why I had said that.

For several months following that incident  the other five  children made it a practice to get out of bed after dark and  traipse down to the kitchen for  a drink of water, hoping  to  get a glimpse of “Grandpa” in the garden , but he never  returned.

The following year we bought a thirty-seven-acre farm  closer to the town of Raymond where my husband worked.  One July evening in 1969 after my husband had gone to  work and all the chores were done I was playing the game “ESP”

with the children. My younger son Charlie suddenly rose from the table and walked to the center of the living room.  After standing there for a  few seconds, he asked,  “Mom, where’s Grandpa?”

I explained for the  umpteenth  time that his  grandpa had  died before he was born and, as  far as I knew, was in  heaven.

“But you say he’ll be with us always,” he retorted. “Could  he be right here in  the room with us?” “I really don’t  know, son, I replied. “I suppose he could.” “How would I know if he was here in the room?”

Becoming impatient with his  line of questions,  I retorted ,  “Well, Charlie, I suppose you could ask him if he is  here.”

And he did, Gathering all the courage he could muster, eight-year-old Charlie, Hands on hips, asked, “Grandpa, are  you in this room with us?”

Nothing happened, except a chill seemed to pass over us.”Grandpa,” Charlie demanded, “if you’re in this room with us I want you to prove it. Now!”

At the opposite end of the  living room was a plate glass  window, eight feet wide and four feet High. I had hung curtains, with a  ruffle across the top,  at the window. As soon as Charlie had uttered his challenge the ruffle began to quiver.

It quivered progressively across the window from left to right. Instantaneously there were five children in my lap. The  card table lay on its side, having been knocked over in the  melee. All six of us witnessed the answer Charlie’s grandpa have him.

He was there! I do not  know what to expect in the future. But I do know there is life beyond the end of life here on earth, because I have had experiences that proves it to me. And I even have five witnesses to one of these experiences.

Barbara L. Pecka

  Vancouver, Washington

April 1984

Leave a Reply