Something Touched Me
From: Libby Lyon (elyon@intellinet.com) Story type: Ghost Location: Unknown Source: Form Submission
I had a few experiences that were spooky or scary, but this experience was really
comforting and extremely real. My father had just been diagnosed with cancer and the
entire family was in emotional turmoil. We had just gotten back to my parents house from
the hopital. I reacted and handled it all by cleaning everything in site, until I
literally dropped from exhaustion and fell asleep sometime in the wee hours of the
morning on the couch in our den. Even while sleeping, the thought kept running through
my mind like some awful record that was stuck, "My Daddy is dying....my Daddy is
dying...etc..." I was so upset to know that he was going to suffer this horrible,
painful death and I just didn't know if I or anybody else was going to be able to take
the horrible things that lay ahead of us all. I woke up around 6 am and the first
thought that entered my mind was that same old record playing over and over and I just
stood there numb under the ceiling fan. I looked out through the sliding glass door in
the den (which I had left open when I fell to sleep) and could hear birds singing and
saw a beautiful dew all over the grass. None of it felt real. How could the world just
keep on going when my Daddy was dying? All these horrible thoughts started fill my
mind. Then, I felt something touch the top of my head, like someone placing their hand
on a child's head. It took my breath away! A tingling started from the top of my head
and spread downward to the tips of my toes. The wierdest thing is that I
instantly had the thought "Everything will be ok" enter my mind and I believed it just
as quickly. I was filled with an incredible peace. It wasn't like I heard a voice, but
something else or someone else entered my mind and told me it would be ok. It was one
of the neatest things that ever happened to me and I feel like it was some kind of
spiritual being that came down to help me through watching Daddy die.

