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Turn on the Light

Turn on the Light

The last few nights I have been watching an Unsolved Mystery Series about Paranormal Activity. It’s interesting to learn the history of a certain place, why it would be haunted and listen to those who have reportedly seen, felt, heard, witnessed a ghost. For the record, I don’t believe in ghosts, Big Foot or aliens. I understand that my unbelief doesn’t mean they don’t exist I just need proof, real, scientific, verifiable proof.

There are two hosts of the show; one is a “believer” the other a “cynic.” They travel around the world to different haunted sites and investigate, sometimes spending the night, trying to obtain proof of the paranormal. They usually arrive in the daytime and explore the site and when night comes find a place to sleep. It’s when dark comes the “fun” begins. The one who thinks spooks are real hears noises, whispers, thumps and automatically assumes its ghosts trying to communicate or scare the duo. The cynic laughs and dismisses it all as coincidence and his co-host’s overactive imagination. The cynic tries to sleep but the believer keeps him up all night long with questions; “did you hear that? I know you heard that! Did you feel that? Something moved past my leg!” By the time morning comes they are both worn out and neither has come over to the other’s point of view. Usually, at the crack of dawn, the believer is so relieved he made it through the night he is delirious and suddenly braver while the cynic is simply ready to leave.

It’s interesting the difference light makes. It shines, chasing away our darkest fears, deepest dreads, and restores what the darkness steals.

blessings,
@BrianLoging (Twitter)
thewannabesaint.com

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My friend, role-model, and father passed away early this morning a little after midnight. His fight was over and he was ready. He sat up one last time as if to say, “It’s my time. I’m coming home.

The house seemed empty today when we returned from all the breathless running around one does after a loved one takes their final breath. Even though he hasn’t been home in a few weeks it seemed he had just left the house. Keys, hats, computers, movies, his chair all still in their proper place. It seems this is still his house, his home. But…it’s not. Sure, there are memories and experiences. A lifetime of highs and lows to relive for the rest of our time on this shadow side of eternity but he has moved and left a forwarding address.

I sit in the quietude with his presence still lingering. I think about all of the rough days he’s had over the last 8 months, the noises of the machines which were keeping him alive. After we received the phone call we drove over to the hospice house to say our; “Goodbyes.” The room was so still. No beeping, whirring, pumping, dripping, nurses checking in. It was motionless and the silence was deafening. My mother began to fill the atmosphere with soft cries, and soft words to her best friend and lover of the last 40 years. My brother and I standing in the background, witnesses to a heart affair which is rare in this world. Finally, after a few more kisses from her on his hands and cheek, we left all thankful we’d never see that room again and that he had moved on to his permanent address.

And now, we are left to carry on. To occupy a house which isn’t home without him. To learn to adjust to a new normal we didn’t choose. To loosen our grip on this world, this place, because we know home is waiting for us on the other side.

blessings,
@BrianLoging (Twitter)
thewannabesaint.com

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