"...And Things That Go Bump In The Night" - A Ghostly Vision?

"From ghosties and ghoulies, and long-legged beasties,
And things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!"

Though not exactly a near-death experience, this is, nonetheless, an experience of being near death, that is, near one who had passed but not yet gone on.

Garnet was one of the most fun-loving and likable young men you could ever hope to meet. The younger brother of my sister's boy friend, Garnie, as he was affectionately known, soon became a fixture at our family gatherings.

Garnet had the utmost respect for our parents. Two of us sisters were already married and had children, and considered ourselves quite proper young matrons. At times, we were inclined to take a lofty stance with our younger sister, but Garnie would have none of that. He treated us all alike, like brothers and sisters to be teased and tormented without regard to birth-rank or occupation.

I have many happy memories of picnics that turned into hilarious outings, many pleasurable hours spent over coffee at the local greasy spoon, and family gatherings that wouldn't have seemed complete without Garnie's warm, fun-loving presence.

Garnet found a job in Vancouver, working alongside with his uncle for a tow-boat company. They worked on the log booms in the harbour, and we heard many the hair-raising tale of slipped booms, treacherous dead-heads, huge river rats, and narrow escapes from the icy, silt-laden waters. We worried for our young Lochinvar, blessed, as he was, with a sense of adventure and derring-do, for boom work is dangerous, and the Fraser River, unforgiving, but he eventually settled in and took his work most seriously.

One day, though, the unthinkable happened, and we learned that Garnie had slipped from the boom he was working on, and drowned. His uncle, working near him at the time, was devastated. So were we all.

A few days after, Garnet's brother, accompanied by our sister, flew down to Vancouver to help with the arrangements. They were gone for several days, and eventually returned with greetings and photos of the sad gathering.

While they were gone, though, a singular event occurred. I had not experienced its like before nor have not since.

It had been quite cold that day, and the wind picked up again at nightfall, howling through the trees like some lost soul. I'd put my son to bed some hours before, and was sitting on the edge of my own bed ready for a good night's sleep.

As I was about to rise and cross the room to flick off the overhead light, I felt as much as saw some movement in the doorway. I froze, staring into the hall, and gradually became aware of a presence there. Something, some one was hovering just outside my door.

I couldn't make out much in the darkened hall beyond a faint swirling mist, more of a thickening and disturbance of the air than any discernable color or form. I felt an awful, bone-chilling cold and smelled the unmistakable stench of muddy river water. The fetid water seemed to be sheeting off the presence, but no drop of it touched the floor.

The half-seen presence, seethed back and forth as if held just outside the threshold. I felt a wave of fear reach out towards me...fear, and such anger. I knew in that instant it was Garnie. He couldn't come in. My fear, not of him, but of his anger, held him at the door...and he so wanted to come in.

I sat on my bed and wept, as I weep now recalling this. I wanted to help him, to hold him and soothe his pain, but my own fear held me captive. Finally, I stretched out my hand to him and whispered, "I'm sorry, Garnie. I can't. I'm afraid."

I felt the presence swirl and shiver. I felt a sense of sorrow and then it gently withdrew, dissolved, leaving behind only sadness and a lingering regret. I don't know how long I sat weeping on the bed. I know I slept with the light on that night, and though I often hoped Garnie might return, he never did.

I've shared this remembrance with a few over the years, not so much as a ghost story, but as a question about our souls, and what we seek when we leave this life. I have wondered many times since if that was truly Garnet's spirit, or yearnings of my own heart for a dearly-loved little brother. Perhaps it doesn't matter.

I do know that we are so much more than our physical beings. There is something that lives beyond us - call it a spirit, your soul, chi - it matters not. What matters is that we honor life, and the living, and that which binds us all together, and makes us all each other's little brothers and sisters.

We love you, Garnie, and we remember you.

The love that bound you to this life

Now holds you safe from woe;

The ties that bound your soul to mine

Still chain me here below.

Cold death has claimed you far too soon;

Such grief you leave behind;

Yet still your laughter warms my soul,

Your heart lives on in mine.