L. Dwight Turner
I am not in any way ashamed to say that I am a firm believer in the supernatural. I suspect there are many aspects of our existence that we humans, in all our intellectual arrogance and pseudo-sophistication, are totally unaware of. This lack of cognizance, however, has nothing to do with whether or not these uncharted realities exist.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Thus says Hamlet in Act One, Scene Five. I suspect Shakespeare was on to something here.
I mention all of this because this morning I have supernatural encounters on my mind. As is the custom it seems with both chronic insomnia and Congestive Heart Failure, sleep is a fleeting commodity. Years ago I read Stephen King’s novel Insomnia and even then I could relate to the main character in the story, a man who due to an ever-advancing inability to sleep, began to be in contact with another dimensional reality. Those issues, however, are only indirectly related to the subject at hand.
I am rarely in bed past 3 am and get my short amount of sleep in stretches of 45 minutes to an hour. I wake up, finally go back to sleep, only to wake up again. Today, I finally gave up the ghost and got up at 2:50 am. Flipping through the television stations, I happened upon a program that was just beginning. I ended up watching the program in its entirety as it was only about 20 minutes long. It was this program that got me to thinking about the supernatural.
A young black boy, we’ll call him Jim, was living in a large urban area with his parents and grandmother. The two spend much time together as Jim’s parents were busy earning a living for the family. They often read books, played games, and together, imagined all sorts of things. One game they mentioned had to do with a light, rose-colored ring that the grandmother wore. It was her “magic ring” that opened up many doors to many adventures. Jim was especially close to his grandma and when she died, it was devastating.
After showing a brief scene where Jim saw his grandmother’s body in the casket before her funeral, the film moved forward to Jim’s life as a middle aged man. He now worked as a lead building inspector for the southern part of the city and was quite successful. One day he discovered that among his tasks for the day involved inspecting the dilapidated buildings of his old neighborhood, including the building where he grew up.
While inspecting the building, which would obviously have to be condemned, he visited the apartment where his family lived during his childhood. The building was covered with graffiti and falling apart. When Jim entered his old apartment it was as if he was transported back in time as he vividly recalled the happy, carefree days he spent there. He saw his parent sitting in the dining room, looking at the newspaper and he saw himself, a small boy, laughing and playing games with his grandmother.
As he walked across the room to where he imagined he and his grandmother were playing, his nostalgic reverie was quickly broken. The floor under his feet, long ago gone to rot, gave way. Jim fell through the floor and the floor below that, crashing with full force into the basement floor. Unconscious, his life was slowly fading away.
Meanwhile, four blocks away, Officer Mark Walton had just turned on to 8th Street when an attractive young woman ran into the street flagging him down. Hitting the brakes, Officer Walton stopped and climbed out of his patrol car. The woman was calm but very direct.
“Quick, “ she said. “My grandson is hurt and needs help.”
Looking at the young woman, Officer Walton said, “You mean your son?”
“No, my grandson,” she said as she climbed into the cruiser. “Hurry, there isn’t much time.”
Officer Walton sped toward the address the woman had given him, thinking all the while that she was far too young to have a grandson.
Arriving at the location, Officer Walton got out of the car and instructed the woman to stay put.
“He is in the basement,” she called to him as he walked up the steps.
Officer Walton found Jim lying face down on the basement floor, unresponsive and barely breathing. He quickly called for an ambulance.
Paramedics arrived on the scene and were able to stabilize Jim and he was taken to the hospital, where he experienced a slow but steady recovery.
Upon returning to his patrol car, Officer Walton discovered that the young woman was no longer there. He did notice, however, something lying on the passenger seat: a light rose-colored ring. Picking up the ring, the officer looked around to see if her could locate the young woman, but she was nowhere to be found.
A few days later Officer Walton went to visit Jim in the hospital. Jim was pleased to see the man who had saved his life and he genuinely thanked Officer Walton.
“Don’t thank me,” responded the policeman. “Thank your grandmother.” Officer Walton went on to tell Jim the story of the young woman who had flagged him down, claiming to be Jim’s grandmother. The officer also mentioned how young the woman appeared and that he felt she was much too young to be a grandmother.
Jim listened with interest as Officer Walton related the events that had led to his rescue. He then told the policeman that it could not have possibly been his grandmother.
“My grandmother died 30 years ago,” said Jim.
“Well, there are a lot of strange people out there,” quipped Officer Walton.
Just prior to leaving, Officer Walton reached in h is uniform pocket and fished out something and handed it to Jim.
“I found this on the seat where she was sitting,” said Officer Walton. “She must have lost it.”
It was the light, rose-colored ring.
Jim was in shock as his eyes filled with tears. He explained to Officer Walton that this was the very ring worn by his grandmother so many years ago.
You may think this story is made up or make believe or you may discount it in other ways. I, for one, however, do not. I have heard far too many stories like this to ever discount the miraculous in the context of our daily lives. I have also been a part of too many stories like this, stories where events take place that are far beyond our capacity to explain or comprehend.
(c) L.D. Turner 2010/ All Rights Reserved