Christmas can be a wonderful time for family celebrations, but it can also be bittersweet for those who have lost loved ones. The enduring bond that bridges the gap between the living and the departed seems especially poignant during this most magical time of the year.
Here is a heartfelt shared experience from a memorable Christmas night when a beloved soul returned to offer his ongoing affection and support when it was most needed:
“I’ve often recalled a story my grandfather shared with me over the years. He had many older siblings in his large family and kind of got lost in the crowd (as he called it) growing up on their farm. He was a quiet and withdrawn little boy, except with his eldest brother, who always looked out for him.
Granddad had always needed glasses to correct his poor vision, but this wasn’t addressed until he was school-age, and his teacher discussed it with his parents. He described to me his amazement at seeing everything around him so clearly, especially trees, when he finally got his glasses. What had once been green blurs now appeared with individual leaves on the limbs. That made a lasting impression on him even as he spoke of it more than half a century later. His eldest brother must have seen the awe and appreciation he experienced as it first occurred and understood how vital those lenses were to him.
His glasses changed his life, and he was so grateful for them. He wasn’t as timid anymore and became more extroverted at school and home. But, one day, they were lost after he’d tucked them into his coat pocket, thinking that would keep them safe as he horsed around with his friends. He was distraught. Not just because he needed them to see correctly, but mostly because his parents were very stern and he feared their reaction of needing to purchase him another pair when they could scarcely have afforded the cost the first time.
His eldest brother saw how frightened and upset Granddad was about the lost glasses when he got home later that day, and after they unsuccessfully retraced the whole route he had taken when they fell from his pocket, it was decided it would be best to not concern their parents about the matter until he could figure out how to help replace them as quickly as possible.
But within days, a tragic accident claimed the life of Granddad’s brother, leaving the whole family devastated. As Christmas arrived, their household was engulfed in grief and no one gave any thought to holiday festivities that year, especially my grandfather. He had lost a brother and his best friend and protector, and he became even more withdrawn than ever.
On Christmas night, my grandfather cried himself to sleep, as he had since his brother’s passing.
But he swore, later that night, he was awakened by his late brother’s spirit sitting down on the edge of his bed beside him. The room was in complete darkness, except for his brother, who was clearly visible to him, even with his poor eyesight, and seemed to be glowing with a soft golden/bluish light. Granddad was obviously still in awe from that sight as he described it to me years later.
His brother smiled at him but didn’t say a word. He held a canning jar containing several coins and gently shook it as the money rattled together and against the glass. Then he nodded towards the bedroom’s closet they had once shared. Granddad glanced towards the closet, but before he could look back upon his brother again, he was gone.
Even if he was dreaming, the outcome was still remarkable — but he insisted he was fully awake and it wasn’t a dream.
Granddad did not go back to sleep that night but waited til morning to creep out of bed and search inside the closet. He didn’t find a glass canning jar like his brother had been rattling. But he did discover an envelope sticking out from under a book on a corner shelf at the back of the closet. His brother had initially printed the word “trip” on it, but then crossed it out and replaced with the word “GLASSES”. Inside the envelope was a sizeable collection of coins.
His brother had been saving up every cent he could earn for a much-anticipated trip to Toronto in the new year with their older cousins. His excitement at seeing the big city was all he talked about until Granddad’s glasses needed to be replaced.
My grandfather found the courage to tell his parents his glasses had been lost, but before they responded, he showed them the envelope of coins his brother had planned to use to help cover the cost to replace them.
He said his father began to come out of the fog of his unbearable grief when he held that envelope and stared at his late son’s words upon it. It was the first and only time Granddad ever saw him cry, and that seemed to be the starting place for the whole family’s healing.
My grandfather told me this story twice. Once when I was in my early teens and struggling to come to terms with the death of a close friend, and then again years later as an adult when I visited him shortly before his death.
The second time he shared this story with me, he was suffering from advanced dementia and had difficulty even remembering who I was. Yet he again described, in detail, that same indelible memory of his brother’s spirit visiting him on that mournful Christmas night to let him know he was still looking out for him.
After Granddad’s death, all of us grandkids got to choose a special keepsake from his personal belongings. Of course, I chose the small gold-rimmed glasses, purchased with his brother’s coins that he had always cherished and kept safely tucked away for so many years. He had shown them to me in my youth when I was first told this story (which made it seem even more real to me then), so I knew where he’d always kept them for safekeeping and how significant they were.
They mean so much to me now, too – not just as a keepsake of my beloved Granddad, but also as a tribute to the wonderful Great Uncle I never got the chance to know but will never forget.”
Wishing you all peace and joy this holiday season — and as Charles Dickens had Tiny Tim proclaim in the most celebrated Christmas ghost story of all time:
“God bless us, every one!”
Do you also have an exciting and mystical tale to tell? Whether you’ve experienced a haunting, a mysterious cryptid sighting, or a brush with the inexplicable, please share it with Canadian author Dorah L. Williams at dorahlwilliams@gmail.com
Your story, too, could be featured in an upcoming column of Mystical Manitoulin!
by Dorah L. Williams
