I saw my deceased uncle at his funeral

Second encounter with the invisible

Time passed. I studied, graduated from nursing, and at twenty-nine, I was already working in hospitals in São Paulo. The shifts were strenuous, often lasting twelve hours. At night, the lights dimmed, and the corridors were filled with a thick silence. I was used to it.

During one of the night shifts, a young man was brought in. He was twenty-one years old. Two friends brought him in. He was very agitated, screaming that a presence had been haunting him since he left the house. The medical team calmed him down and administered medication. After a while, he fell asleep, the room quieted, and the staff returned to their duties.

Around 1 a.m., I began my rounds. When I reached the hallway leading to his room, I felt something change. The air felt heavy. I paused for a moment, as if my body was warning me something was wrong. Nevertheless, I opened the door.

The room was quiet, lit only by the dim glow of a bedside lamp. The young man was sound asleep. But a shadow stood between the headboard and the wall.

It wasn’t like the shadow cast by an object. It was something present, heavy, and impossible to ignore. I froze, feeling my heart begin to beat faster. The shadow remained still, then suddenly vanished. No sound. No movement. It simply ceased to be there.

At that moment, the boy began to thrash violently. He had a seizure. I immediately called the team, and we managed to stabilize him.

I spent the rest of the night with the image of that shadow in my head. I didn’t tell anyone. Only in the morning, when I saw the hospital chaplain in the hallway, did I ask for a moment to talk to him. I told him what I had seen.

The priest listened to me in silence, then went to the young patient’s room. After about twenty minutes, he returned. He told me that the boy had admitted to wandering around cemeteries and engaging in things he didn’t understand. The chaplain also said that he had prayed for him, but now everything was in God’s hands.

Two days later I learned that the young man had had another seizure during the night and had not survived.

In that moment, I remembered my grandmother’s words. I understood that honoring a gift also means accepting that some struggles are not ours to handle.

Saying goodbye to grandma

The years rolled on. In 2009, I was fifty-two. My grandmother was ninety-one and growing increasingly frail. I visited her as often as I could. Caring for someone who is slowly fading away teaches you a different perspective on the end of life. It’s an experience that defies easy explanation.

My grandmother passed away one May morning. I was with her, holding her hand. Her breathing became calmer and calmer, like a candle flame slowly dying out without pain. The emptiness I felt after her death was immense and unlike anything I had experienced before.

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