Stories from others

Story posted on: 06-21-2010

I just read this beautiful story. I was moved to tears and laughter as I turned the pages. My story is about my Mother who passed away on April 15, 1987. I have received many postcards from her throughout the years. They say time heals all wounds but there are times when I still reach for the phone to share my day with her. When she was diagnosed with Cancer, I was devastated with grief. I now look back and think of it as a blessing that I could spend a year and a half since she was given an original diagnosis of three months to live. During her brave battle we would often joke and laugh. I told her that when she would cross over, I wanted to know if she was alright but if I would ever see her in spirit, It would scare the hell out of me. The evening that she died, I tried to rest but I was too tired. I dreamed of her when I finally got to sleep. She was no longer sick but very happy. She was no longer in pain. She said that she had dinner with her sister and mother. She reminded me that we would also have dinner together one day but not soon. I woke up not scared but happy for her. There was also a strong scent of her perfume throughout my house. There was a sense of peace in my heart. At her funeral, she looked so beautiful. She truly looked like she was resting comfortably just as I had a few nights earlier. Until we meet again Mommy..I love you!

Story posted by: Donna Reuter

Story posted on: 06-20-2010

Love and life goes beyond the grave, of this I am sure. I received not only "Postcards from Heaven," but a beautiful ring, flowers, and dozens of sweetly intriguing "events" following the death of my beloved, David. Where does this story begin? Like so many others, I believe the beginning and the "ending" are tied together in the heavens, and that life and love are eternal and those whom we love and care about are only a heartbeat away. I went to high school in the Conejo Valley, and I remember one day in class we were discussing current events, which included the Pueblo Incident. Suddenly I had an astonishing thought come into my mind, "Someday you will marry a man from North Korea." It was repeated three times. I remember thinking how ridiculous the thought was. Why in the world would I ever marry a North Korean? If he is from North Korea, I thought, he must be a communist. The more I tried to dismiss the thought, the stronger the impression pierced my heart. Many years later, following 15 years in an unhappy marriage with an abusive controlling narcissist, I went on to become a journalist but had to give up my profession after a few years due to a plethora of medical problems, including systemic lupus, M.S., R.A., dystonia, Ehler-Danlos Syndrome (severe classical form), etc. After a two year furlough from writing, a friend I'd worked with at a Southern California newspaper called to say she had a strong feeling that I needed to work at the acupuncture college where she was working and had even talked the owner into hiring me. I flew to L.A. to interview with the president of the school, and he offered me something he had never offered any other employee -- as much acupuncture and herbal medicine as I wanted. My friend immediately set up an appointment for me with the acupuncturist whom she considered to be the most brilliant acupuncturist in the program. Interestingly, when I came for the appointment, I was told the man that I was to see had called in sick and that another brilliant acupuncturist would be seeing me instead. When the man walked in, I felt spiritually drawn to him and there was this overwhelming feeling in the air that I had known him from some place before. He introduced himself as "David" and he spent nearly three hours discerning my case and deciding the best treatment. Shortly afterward, I flew back to the state where I was living at the time and prayed about whether I should take the job. Every time I contemplated the job I would see David's face in my mind. Two months later I took the job and then visited the acupuncture clinic again. I did not know David's last name, and so I didn't know how to explain to the Korean staff whom I wished to have treat me. To my surprise, someone called over to a man working in the pharmacy. He came out, smiled and said warmly, "I remember you." Sometimes when David administered the needles, he would stay in the room with me and quietly sing Korean church hymns. Other times he would start blinking away tears and leave the room, asking another Korean acupuncture intern to stay in the room with me. About three months after we met, David was having difficulties administering the needles one day, and so he called for his professor to treat me. His professor, another fine Korean gentleman, talked to me candidly while he placed the needles. "Every student and every professor at this school knows of the deep love that David has for you. There isn't a class session or a seminar that takes place that David doesn't bring up your name and case." A couple weeks later, David and his friends invited me to a small party. David had purchased a number of Korean "treats" and following the meal we all drove together in a van to the Balboa pier near Newport Beach. His friends gave each other knowing looks and scattered far ahead, leaving David alone to walk and talk with me. David explained that he was in a very unhappy marriage arranged years ago under "devious" circumstances by his parents for financial gain. He had suffered from the first week on but rode it out trying to make the best of it. He had separated from his wife shortly before our meeting, and they were living in separate residences. David had endured 20 years of abusive behavior from his wife, but he felt "duty bound" to his parents and his three children. We walked to the pier, and as we talked a little Asian boy came running over to David and just stared at him with love in his eyes. I got goosebumps because curiously I saw that scene before in a dream when I was a child the night that I prayed that God would show me who I was to marry! David wanted to start a life together with me, but shortly after that memorable night on the pier, his brother-in-law, who was a pastor, begged David to go back home -- his young son had gotten involved in a gang and was arrested. I prayed long and hard about David, and I opened the scriptures to some verses that spoke to my heart. Some were in Psalms and mentioned David by name. Another scripture in the Old Testament admonished, "...stand by him, serve him, administer unto him, and burn incense for him." So for the next few years, I helped David start his own acupuncture clinic, and each day I stood by him, served him, administerd unto him, and in a sense burned incense for him -- if you know anything about moxibustion. David told me that according to Korean custom, those from his generation were advised to stay in their marriage (often sleeping in separate rooms or beds) until age 60. Supposedly by then, the children would have graduated from college and/or gotten married. He said he felt he would be free to complete his divorce and go on with his life at age 60, and the understanding was that we would be friends until that day came. So, for a few years we worked side by side. We never kissed. We never held hands. That would not be proper behavior for either of us given the circumstances. Yet I knew that he loved me, and I loved him. During the work day, he told me stories about his family life. He said he had been born in the northernmost region of North Korea and his family members had owned many farms. When the communists came in, they threw a few items of clothing and food and documents in their car and fled to the southernmost region of South Korea. When he told me he was born in North Korea, I suddenly recalled the day in high school when I "heard" that I would some day marry a man from North Korea. I got goosebumps and could not utter a word due to my astonishment. After eight years of serving by David's side, I had suffered a stroke to the inner ear, and David diligently drove to my apartment twice a week to give me acupuncture, bring food, and pray. Following treatment one day, he said, "Let's ride to the beach." So, standing on a boulder overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean, David explained that his eldest son would be marrying in two weeks, and since David had just had his 58th birthday, he thought it was finally time to complete his divorce and go on with his life -- it was time for "us" now. I was so thrilled I could hardly speak all the way back home. Then, like a bolt of lightning out of hell, I got a shocking phone call from David. He said one of his church members, a famous doctor, noted that David looked particularly yellow. He invited him to his office and ran several blood tests, and the tests indicated that David most likely had cancer in the digestive tract. It was determined that David had a rare form of cancer that is most often seen in Southeast Asian men. My heart was broken, but I held out a hope that some day we would be together as man and wife. David came over and essentially we said goodbye. He lived awhile longer, but I never saw him and we only spoke on the phone three times. Then one day in August 2008, the phone rang early in the morning and a man identified himself as a government agent. His news was the worst sort of message. "I am calling in regards to David ___ who passed away in July. He listed you as a reference and next of kin." The man went on to ask me a few questions. When I hung up I thought I would be more upset than I was. But instead, there was a calm and a peace and a sweet feeling of love in the room. A few minutes later a friend called and asked me to meet her at an Asian buffet, and I felt I should take her up on the offer. While walking to the car, I sensed David walking along beside me. In my "spiritual ear," I heard David say, "I finally got that divorce. You know the line in the marriage contract, 'till death do you part'." After the buffet, I stopped at a store and I "heard" David advising me to get a little journal with bamboo pictures on it because I would need to record the events that would be happening. Then he "told" me to listen to the next song because it was his message to me. Immediately, the Beatle song came on, "Listen. Do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell? I'm in love with you." The next day my 82-year-old neighbor asked me to drive her to a luau. On the way there, I heard David in the back seat telling me to look to the left. He reminded me that there was the little road to the herb farm he had driven me and my daughter to on my birthday three years before. I looked over, and sure enough, I recognized the little lane leading to the farm. At the luau, I could feel David standing by me and I could "hear" him explaining that this was what he had dreamed we would do someday. He "told" me that he wanted a Hawaiian luau theme for our wedding reception because that would be a perfect blend between his Korean culture and my American heritage. The entertainerers did hula, and I "heard" David mention that one of the girls dancing "is just like your friend Kathy." The next day I learned that Kathy, who is in her sixties, used to teach hula and performed at luaus. She showed me her picture, and she looked just like the gal David "pointed out to me." During the luau, someone got up to sing the Hawaiian wedding song. Suddenly, I felt like I was swept away somewhere else and I could see David clearly staring in my eyes and singing, "This is the moment, I've waited for..." That night, David "came" to me and explained many things. He told me that I should spend my time here on earth "helping my Korean brothers and sisters." Just before he left he said three times, "You need to get the ring." I talked to my friend Kathy about it. She had never met David, but she said David had come to her that night as well. We talked about the ring. I said I didn't know if I was to purchase one and wear it in David's memory or what. Kathy said, "Maybe someone will give it to you." For two days I puzzled about the ring. In my spiritual ear I would hear the word, "Target." Three days after getting the alarming phone call about David's death, I awoke and felt I should call my friend, Sue. She told me she was preparing to go back to school (she is a teacher) and had dozens of errands planned. "I am going to Target to look for supplies, if you want to go along with me we can talk." Target was the magic word. We stopped at the local Target and she looked for supplies while I looked at rings. All of a sudden, Sue stepped up and said, "I think we should go now." As we walked out the door of the store, Sue looked over and recognized a friend who was carrying drapery rods back to the store. The two women talked for 20 minutes while I stood listening. Then Sue's friend said, "What were you two girls doing at Target today?" Sue explained I was looking for a ring and didn't find anything suitable. The friend said, "Well, if you two girls don't find anything suitable, I have a wedding ring you can have. I'm serious." Sue and I looked at several stores and found nothing that spoke to the heart. As we headed to Sue's home she said she felt strongly we should call her friend and ask for the ring that she offered. Sue called and her friend had just stepped in and was on her way out again, but promised she would be over in two minutes with the ring. I nearly fell over when I saw the ring. It was the exact style I had secretly dreamed of having ever since I had first found out how deep David's feelings were for me. The ring is not a common style -- it has a marquis cut diamond in the center and twelve smaller stones on each side of the marquis. Sue's friend explained that she held onto the ring for nearly 20 years after her husband walked out on her. Several times she thought of selling it, but each time an admonition came into her mind to hold onto it and some day give it to someone who would think it was special. While we were standing in front of the store talking earlier that day, she said, she felt a prompting from somone "on the other side" to ask us what we were shopping for. When my friend mentioned I was looking for a ring, she felt strongly that the ring belonged to me! With tears in her eyes and a hug, she gave me the ring. As I drove away, I thought to myself, "What are the odds of that just happening by chance? 56 million to one." Then I heard David's voice say, "More like 56 trillion to one." My thoughts went on to ask God what I should do until David and I are together in the after life. I looked up and saw a bumper sticker that said, "Just Believe." Three days later a friend picked me up for a ladies luncheon. I told her the story and showed her the ring on the way to the event. There was a drawing held following the event, and as they chose the raffle ticket, I heard David say, "Watch me help you take the prize." The next moment they called my name out and handed me a basket with a flowered plant. My friend looked over and said, "Looks like David gave you some flowers to go with that ring." To my surprise, she said she "heard" David say the same thing I heard him say just before the flowers were awarded. The name of the flowering plant is "Million Bells." On that night at the pier, David and I talked of the upcoming marriage of my friend who had gotten me the job at the school. David said, "I can see it now. She and her husband looking into each others' eyes crying and a million bells ringing in the background." There have been dozens of other "postcards from David" and people who never even knew David who visit my apartment feel him here or feel him around me. Yesterday, one such friend invited me to go shopping with her. On the way home, I told her I felt we should stop at the dollar store. We walked around but nothing was striking me to buy. She decided to look at books, so I reached down to pick up one up and saw the title "Postcards from Heaven." I picked it up thinking to myself, "Why am I even here at this store?" I opened the book and looked down and saw the word "David," written in bold. I showed my friend and we both stood there with goosebumps for a few minutes. As I held the book, I thought, "Why was I led to this book?" and then I opened to the sentence on page 47 of your book, "...the pain of losing David." So I purchased the book and read it today with great interest. Since I have had so many postcards from heaven, and was raised in the Conejo Valley, I had to share my story with you. Blessings.

Story posted by: sheila k.

Story posted on: 05-29-2010

I've lived through this great and utter sadness, the pain of losing my daughter Rachel. Like Mr, Gordon, I have gotten postcards from Heaven.....my daughter told me two weeks before her deathe she had gone for a pyschic reading, the women cautioned her, telling her to be careful, her friends were not really who she thought them to be, trusting them would leave to her death. Well, this Lady, was right. Rachel was gone shortly after this, due to her friends. Hard to use that word in that sentence"friends".... The day my daughter passed, August 15, a Holy day in the Catholic church, my friend Rod told me there could not be a God...why would he take such abeautiful child like Rae` , I yelled at Rod, crossing the room and ranting, do not sat there is no GOD, because then you are saying that I will never see my daughter again, I believe there is a GOD. I opened a Bible to John 11.25 and under the picture :Stairway to Heaven" read," She who believes in me will live forever" This my dear readers was placed on my daughters Mass cards. Two weeks after the servicess, my greif stronger then life, I prayed to God, telling him I fully understand that this child was a gift, never really mine, but she had always called, let me know she was well, couldn't God just let me know? After this prayer, tears, and my heart aching, I reached and opened my Rachel's own Bible, to the every same page that held John's words, "She who believes will live forever" Followed by, "Yes. Lord I do believe!" Even oder then opening the page to that exact page, was the fact that Rachel had Highlighted those every words, and only those words. My "postcard: was more then I could believe!!! God Bless anyone who is greifing at this moment.

Story posted by: Ella Faith

Story posted on: 05-18-2010

While living in Sedona during the early 90s, one night I was visiting a family friend at her condo in Village of oak Creek. We sat outside talking late into the night on her patio. At some one point she went inside for something and I was alone on the patio. Out of the darkness, a "person" (could not tell gender - seemed feminine though) appeared in a white robe with hood on, holding out a loaf of bread to me, as though they wanted me to take it. The location being Sedona, I first thought it was some woo woo whacko pretending to be an angel. I asked the "person", who was standing silently before me, if they were selling bread. The figure said nothing and held the bread out to me, but I detected a kind of "no" answer, though no words were spoken. I took the bread from. As I turned to go back to the patio, I turned around and no one was there. I did still have a real loaf of what looked like homemade bread in my hands. I took it home and tasted it the next morning. This whole exchange was silent. I asked my friend if she saw me do any of this and she said "no." Looking back on this, I wonder if it was a visitation of some sort. I wonder if anyone else has had a similar experience? Please let me know if you did! jj80919@yahoo.com P.S. Having come from a show biz family of sorts (late dad was a game show host - Art James - I wish I could make /work on films and am glad Sedona is getting more cultured in a sophisticated way. I have never been able to let go of the idea of a remake (however in a modern way) of the story "It's a Wonderful Life". The title would change, but film would be based on modern-day stresses and struggles and coming to terms/realizing what's truly important in life - the little things, and love. I always pictured employing actors who look similar to the original film's, such as Nick Cage and Winona Ryder, however their current popularity/marketability might prevent that from ever happening! Just thought I'd put my 2 cents in - I am an idea person, good at conceiving things, but not executing them.

Story posted by: Jennifer

Story posted on: 05-05-2010

I have had many but one that I wish to share was about 5 years ago, a dear friend of my husband and myself passed away from alcohol poisoning. He left a wife and daughter. My husband and I went to the memorial service and that evening while we were sleeping (in the daughter's room) I was woken up by our friend standing at the foot of the bed calling my name. He said to tell everyone that he was fine and not to worry. I told him I would and he said goodbye and left. I laid back down and went to sleep. When I got up in the morning, I gave everyone his message and they seemed relieved. The good news is that he looked like he did 20 years ago. Slim, happy, healthy.

Story posted by: Marla

Story posted on: 04-28-2010

My father never liked his original wedding ring. When he lost it in the early 70s, he was not upset. As a matter of fact, he designed new rings for himself and my mother. Dad was fluent in Hebrew, so you'd think he would use the Hebrew phrase popular with many Jewish people when designing things having to do with marriage: Ani Le Dodi V'Dodi Li (I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine). But that was too pedestrian for my Dad...he used a different phrase. My dad wore that ring for about 16 years. He died when I was 22. When I was 34, I met, Simcha, my husband-to-be. I brought him on a trip east to meet my mother. My mother brought out my Dad's ring to show Simcha. He took the ring, read it and said, "V'arastichah Le L'olam, I am betrothed to you forever." My mother's jaw dropped in surprise and she told us something I'd never known. Apparently, my father often got compliments on his ring. He would take it off, hand it to the person and say, "If you can translate it, you can have it." No one was ever able to translate it...even those who read Hebrew. My husband was the first. to read and translate it...so he got the ring..and me. My mother gave me her matching ring. I think this was my Dad's "postcard" to let us know that Simcha was the right man for me and that he approved.

Story posted by: Rena

Story posted on: 04-25-2010

Isaiah, my son, whom i had at the young age of 16, was born with HPLH and later developed PLE. He died a little over 2 months before his 8th Birthday in 2006. During the last year of his life he received the bulk of his nutrition via an IV at home. He was hooked up for a total of about 18 hours a day and carried a black bag, his "bag", containing the fluids. I received a post card from him via a short dream. Heres how it went. I was in his and his younger brothers old room putting something away near the book case. I turned around and there was Isaiah draging his bag as he walked in the room. I asked him, in a concered and yet puzzled, loving way " What are you doing here? Your not suppose to be here. Your all better now and don't need that anymore." He told me " I know but i wanted to see you." I then bent down on my knees with tears streaming down my checks to give him a hug. It felt just like he was there. His big belly against my chest and his arms around my neck. Isaiah was checking up on me as well as telling me: Got here safe. Its really beautiful. Much love until we meet again. Thank you for sharing your story with me =)

Story posted by: Michelle Edwards

Story posted on: 04-21-2010

my darling ,sweet nephew Loy Moon died on jan.24 2003.He was 18 .I loved him very much and i recall watching him swim when he was 3 years old and thinking he will not live long.He was an old soul ,he was kind,caring ,funny,handsome i could go on and on about my sweet boy.He was getting ready to move to hawaii to be a firefighter he had just finished the class.He never made it.Well you guessed it whenever i would think of him there would be a firetruck.IT,s been seven years and just the other day it happened i saw a firetruck i thought of Loy and i looked to where the engineer sits this young man looked at me it was my dear Loy.Same face,smile so cute it hit me like a ton of bricks .yes 7 years and it still happens.certain songs come on the radio when i think of him.it is still painful i often cry when i think of him i can't help it i miss him.I just read postcards from heaven in one hour i could not put it down thank you for this great book,sincerely brigid krahl

Story posted by: brigid krahl

Story posted on: 03-31-2010

I was born and raised in Guatemala city. My father is German and my mother American. I only saw my father's mother, who we used to call Omi, 3 times in my life. Two times when she came to Guatemala to visit us and once when I was an adult, I visited her in Bremen, Germany. Every Christmas she would send us a box from Germany with3 things in it: a German advent calendar which I loved to open, one window at a time, until Christmas, an Almond paste chocolate bar and Lakritzen (dark little black cats that tasted better than licorice). I moved to Boulder, Colorado, from Guatemala about 7 years ago. It was my birthday. The night before my birthday, I had a dream about my German grandmother Omi. I actually don't know if it was a dream or if I had really felt her presence, but I really felt her close to me that morning. After a while I had forgotten about it. That day, a girlfriend had offered to invite me for tea and cake to celebrate my birthday. We were going to go to the Tea House which is a very famous Tea place in Boulder, Colorado, where they serve the very best teas from around the world. I was recovering from a foot injury and was having a challenging time in my life. My girlfriend Diane picked me up and it was starting to snow. I looked at her and said: "I do not want to go to the Tea House. It's far and it is snowing. What do you think?" She looked a me and said: "Yes, you're right. I know of a little German coffee shop near here where they have great bakery." "Let's got there," I answered. In five minutes we were walking into this cute little coffee shop. I did not remember truly, that Diane had said it was a German coffee shop. I walked to the counter to pay for my tea. I looked at my left side. There was a wall with a comfortable small bookshelf caved in it. In that shelf they were selling 4 items. I looked at them in disbelief. These items could have been spread in another place of the store, separate from each other. On other counters of the store there were tea bags, mugs, cookies, cakes, etc. However, out of the 4 items, all in this one little corner of the store, there were 3 that caught my attention: there were advent calendars, almond paste chocolate bars and bags of little lakritzen (Licorice cats), all there. They were exactly like the ones Omi send us every year when I was a little girl. That was my very best birthday gift.

Story posted by: Barbara Brose

Story posted on: 01-29-2010

Several years ago I was director of a psychiatric crisis unit. Sharon was my head nurse, and she was a friend as well as a coworker. Sharon decided to take a different job. I repeatedly asked a mutual friend to ask Sharon if she would consider coming back The response I received was, Sharon says "When pigs fly". Then one summer, just as I was leaving on a vacation driving across the country to visit Vermont, I received the awful news that Sharon had died. She was a young, seemingly healthy woman who drowned in a swimming pool. This was an incredible shock, and to make it worse, I had to leave and was unable to have the support of friends or to attend Sharon's service, etc. Shortly after leaving home we stopped for breakfast. There in the restaurant gift shop was a little pig with wings. I remember thinking, "If Sharon were still alive I could buy that pig and tell her that it was time to come back to work with me." But that was not to be. From that point on, every time we stopped for gas or to eat or at a motel, I would wander through the store shops - and without fail every one had a pig with wings in one form or another. I shared my story with my grandchildren, who were traveling with us, and together we began to look for the pigs with wings - they were always there. So, finally I said, "Sharon, if that's you, I want you to show me a live moose in Vermont." Well, I didn't see a live moose - but more interestingly, the whole way home, as hard as we looked, we never saw another pig with wings. When I got home and thought about this I had to laugh. I could hear Sharon saying, "I showed you 100 pigs with wings - but that wasn't good enough for you - you wanted a Moose too. Well, forget it - now I'm not even going to show you any more pigs." There was a period of time when I continued to feel that Sharon was with me. Then there came a time when I knew that she had moved on. But I never forgot the lesson that she taught me - there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that our loved ones are with us, even if only for a brief period of time, after they depart from this life.

Story posted by: Maureen Brague

Story posted on: 01-06-2010

I had lost many people in my life, my sister at a young age, five years ago my mother and many years ago a man that was very important to me, my sister always sent me postcards from heaven. We were very close, her death was very painful to me because she was young and filled with dreams, everytime I have a problem she always send a postcard from heaven, she is my little angel, that I know. My mother was very close to me too, she had been with me in death as in life. Once there was a man I loved very much who died young, he was only forty two, we never had a relationship but after my mother died he started to send me messages, actually your book I found today. I work in a library, I had this impulse to go to the spiritual section, actually I was looking for another book and there I found your book, I know he had sent this book to me. I have a notebook where I write letters to him and it is amazing how each time I write a letter I receive some kind of an answer, it is a very beautiful connection. I had been reading all the messages post it here and I am so glad so many people receive postcards from heaven. Ana

Story posted by: Ana

Story posted on: 12-01-2009

My former fiance', Jack, was in Vietnam at the time, which was around 1968. His mother died during his stint in Vietnam and he flew home for her funeral. We had broken up a few months before this but he called me just before going back to Vietnam. It seems his plane was delayed in Boston and he wanted to see me before he left. We went out in his car and parked for a while and just talked about us and the breakup mostly. He then dropped me off at my house before he left for the airpport. I ran out of the car and he yelled "aren't you going to kiss me good bye," to which I ran back and kissed him quickly. It wasn't long after that that I woke up out of a sound sleep one night with a feeling of an arm or a strong force holding me back from sitting up in the bed; when I looked passed this dark force, I saw Jack in his green Marine uniform just standing there staring at me. He had a blank eerie stare that I will never forget. At that point I jumped up and screamed and was horrified at the reality of my dream. As it turned out he was killed in action on that day. To this day I believe he came to me at the time of his death. It was something I will never forget and still brings me to tears when I think of it.

Story posted by: Mish

Story posted on: 11-16-2009

My story requires some background, as did most of yours, and is somewhat akin to your jackrabbit experience. I lost my beloved mother, aged only 72, and still full of life and plans and creative ideas, very suddenly and unexpectedly as a year of living with beloved friends in France (Provence) was drawing to a close and she and my father were due to return to Australia within a few weeks, to stay at my place first (in rural Victoria), so she and I could catch up on so many things from the past year, as well as my printing and discussing with her all the digital photos she wanted from the discs she sent back to me. Only two days before she died (cardiac arrest just after she went to bed), we spoke on the phone, as they rang me especially to confirm that she would be happy to stay at our place to house- and dog-sit for us so we could take a long overdue holiday overseas. I was so tearful with appreciation for what that meant to me, her sacrificing six weeks of her own life to come interstate and stay alone at my rather remote home just to give me peace of mind on my holiday. We were very close, and there were so many things we still had to do together, not least, pottering in my garden for days on end together. When my parents spent another sojourn of six years based in Britain and Europe in the 1990s, they were living in a beautiful C17th thatched cottage in Dorset when my husband and I were married (civil ceremony in Australia and church blessing in Dorset), and my mother spent many months preparing the back garden of that cottage for my special day, aided in no small part by the company of a little robin, hopping around foraging in the turned earth as she cleared the way for a pretty new summer garden in my preferred colour scheme. Mum loved robins. She had been through phases over the years of great passion for, first, mice, then owls, chooks, donkeys, robins, seahorses, and more recently (based in France near the Alps Maritimes), marmots. My father made an even greater sacrifice in telling me that he would come over and stay at our place so we could take this holiday: he wanted to do this for us, and he knew mum would have wanted him to. He is not a garden person; he would spend much of the time researching from my vast library, information for a presentation he would be giving some time after his return home (just out of Adelaide, in South Australia). So, we found ourselves part way through our travels, in the Lake District (Cumbria) in NW England. We had stayed and travelled with friends at various locations, hotels in others, but always, as tends to be the way when travelling with a companion, in the company of either each other or someone else. On the second night of our stay in the Lake District, my husband Geoff and our friend Wiesia and I were seated in a restaurant having ordered our meal. Garlic bread and drinks had arrived, and I'd had a nibble and a sip, but suddenly felt seriously nauseous and knew I had to quit that restaurant before I threw up. This was, and remains, totally uncharacteristic for me, and is a one-off, absolutely. I insisted my companions remain and have their meal and join me back at our bed and breakfast when they had finished, and I would get myself back there OK. My husband followed me out and asked whether there was anything he could do. I was feeling so awful, I was impatient to dismiss him so I could just head up the steep hill to the accommdation and lie down. As soon as he'd disappeared, I wondered why on earth I had made him go. I felt so sick, my knees like jelly, I had broken out into a sweat and I had no idea whatsoever how on earth I would get up that steep incline to the bed and breakfast. All I could see myself doing was collapsing in a heap in the gutter at any moment! Then, a little robin (redbreast) alit on the path in front of me and looked up at me. I just stood there watching it for want of the capacity to do anything else, and after a moment it hopped ahead of me about six 'hops' up the hill and looked back at me. For some reason, I followed it that little distance, and then it hopped another few 'people paces' and I followed it again. This pattern was repeated about five times until as it happened, I reached a plateau in the road, where it levelled out a bit before becoming steep again, up to the road where our accommodation was off to the right. I couldn't help myself, and I addressed the little robin: "Mum?"... Shortly after I had reached this plateau and this realisation established itself in my mind, the little chap flew up onto the stone fence, then disappeared. Only then did I realise my knees were no longer feeling like jelly, the sweat had gone, and I had the strength to walk up that last climb. I was travelling for six weeks, constantly in the company of others, never really alone anywhere, and so my little friend had to create a situation where 'he' might get my undivided attention somewhere quiet and solitary, so that the message would get through. And, as in your jackrabbit story, when the message had been acknowledged and recognised, then he was gone, and the comfort was instilled forever, even if nothing else ever happens. We were so far apart when we lost her and I was about to be reunited with her for the first time in a year. My father and I are the only ones left who feel as deeply as we do for my mother (he is agnostic and would never acknowledge any kind of 'postcards' from heaven, which is a shame but mum 'knows' that, and she would undoubtedly have known how much it would mean to me to be comforted by her one more time). She and my younger sister have had an uncomfortable relationship for many years, but that is something my sister will have to come to terms with in her own way. My mother was mildly superstitious, and sincerely believed she had been quite overwhelmed by what she believed was the 'presence' of her mother's spirit, that made her a bit light headed when she first visited the site of her mother's ashes in the memorial garden at the family church in Melbourne (Victoria). I am not an especially religious person at all, but, as with your story of the space suit, I feel that there is absolutely no reason why we should take it for granted that there is nothing beyond this reality that we know as life on earth. Life itself is a miracle, as is everything around us, and why should that be all there is when we know there is so much more out there in our own universe, let alone beyond!? I very much enjoyed reading your story, and thank you for the opportunity to share this experience. I was attracted to your book because of my own recent experience, and having lost my mother only this year, the memories are still quite raw and settling as they will in their own good time. Kindest regards, Bronwyn Reid (Hazelwood North, Victoria, Australia) ps: spelling error down in the disclaimer below... "The initial book in the Postcards From.... there is no 'p' in 'From'.... BR

Story posted by: Bronwyn Reid

Story posted on: 10-27-2009

Well, let me start with where to begin. My father, Elliot Rothschild, passed away a little over 3 years ago from cancer. At that time I was a new mom to my son Owen and was pregnant with my daughter Elisha. Many of the "notes" I've received since his death have circled around my children and what they experience and see through their young eyes as well as how they voice their perceptions. Other notes surround me and my experiences. The first joy we (my stepmother) and I felt after his passing was when a solar powered music box delighted us with the theme song of my dad's essence 'You are my Sunshine'. This song had so much significance for both my stepmother and myself. My dad used to wake me up in the mornings as a child by saying, "Good morning sunshine!", we danced at my wedding to a father daughter dance of 'You are the Sunshine of my Life'. My dad had also kept a framed picture in his bathroom of a card I made him with my younger sister for a father's day present that said, 'Good morning Sunshine'. The music box was actually a gift to my dad (no less than 15 years prior) from my stepmother to him. He kept it in his office, where it never played, and my dad and she both thought it curious that it didn't work. Despite that small defect, he kept it on his desk and years later when his historical restoration architecture firm was no longer thriving and he needs to close up shop, he took the music box home with him and put it on a dresser where it still continued not to function. I never even noticed this music box or knew of it's existence despite being a regular visitor to his home. It was a discreet little modern looking glass box...nothing to take note of since it didn't even do anything. Anyhow, after my dad died and my stepmother was in her home, for the first time alone, the box began to play. It had not been moved from the location it always sat, it was getting no more or less sunshine, it just decided it would begin to play. When I first heard it, it was when we were sorting out the house, his belongings, trying to get her ready for moving to a new home. It has since played many times for my stepmother when she feels she needs to know my dad is present. My dad Elliot was also a fan of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere. He and I used to share the love of falling asleep on the couch at night, because being able to relinquish yourself to sleep, when it felt so good, was such a pleasure! I found myself doing this more and more as it often was hard to fall asleep next to my snoring husband. When I would try to sleep through his snores, I would just get frustrated, then my head...inevitably....would go to a place that was least desirable...to the moment of my dad's death. So I found it easier and more pleasant to fall asleep on the couch. Everyone knows that couch sleeping is wonderful up until a certain hour of the evening when the infomercials wake you from your sound sleep and begin intruding in your pleasant dreams to create fairly warped ones; so when this would happen I'd drag myself up off the couch and go to bed. When my dad was alive, I'd often be the one to so gently wake him off the couch before I'd leave his house and invite him to go to bed. I'd let him no how much cozier it would be to be snuggled in his bed. Despite his furrowed brow, he always seemed appreciative. In my own experience of waking from the couch, no matter the time the clock read, I would drag myself upstairs and go into my bedroom. When I was entering my room, I would notice a sudden darkness. I didn't make anything of it, thinking it was just my eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Though, night after night, the moment I would walk into my bedroom, the room would go suddenly darker and I realized that the street light outside my house was turning off the moment I was entering the room. I started to almost dare the light to go off and would hang out in the hall for a bit to "trick" it...but no matter the time I headed upstairs, it always reliably waited for me. I took it to be a "Goodnight Sweet Girl" from my dad. My stepmother has had similar things with her streetlight outside her home go off when she walks her dog underneath it as if to say," I'm here with you". My son Owen, who we've always seen as an old soul, has had a profound and astonishing way of reminding me of my dad's essence. He seems very in touch with the aesthetic beauty in all things natural and man made, particularly as it relates to architecture. My dad was a historical restoration architect who later moved onto public works architecture, though his passion really lay with the historical restoration and re-gentrification projects he worked on. When Owen was 2, we went to a college graduation at Rosemont College in suburban Philadelphia. My kids needed to use the bathroom, so I walked them into one of the administration buildings on the campus which used to be an old mansion. As we walked through the doors and into the main gallery of the building where a large stone fireplace and mahogany staircase and paneling surrounded us along with lead paned windows, my son says, "Oh mommy, this building is very very old." He said this with slow deliberate words. He was telling me as if to teach me. The crazy part of that story is he was only 2. we live in a new construction home and he had never been in anyone's home that wasn't new construction. How in the world, I ask you, can a two year old have a frame of reference "old" as it related to a building that was built in the 1800's. He did this again when also entering a home to use the bathroom at a friend's birthday party. It was a 17th century farmhouse, completely renovated mind you, but in the same voice, same tone, same words, said the same thing. The essence of my dad was that he was a wonderfully caring human being who deeply cared and had an affection for humanity and for people and their stories. He was perfectly fulfilled by simply meeting and talking with people, believing that when you interact with another human being, you are innately learning from them. I took this to then be my personal mission after he died. I figured if he could be so satisfied by people and their interactions, then I could find some calm and peace by continuing this for him...not in memory of him, but instead for him so that if he is indeed in some better place, he can look down and get a kick out of watching and still meeting folks by vicariously living through me. So that has since been my mission. Along the way, have felt the courage to meet people and do things I didn't think I had the courage to do. I've begun to take guitar lessons, something I've always wanted to do but never made time for. I got to know my guitar teacher and felt very comforted talking to him, as if he were some small extension of my dad's personality. Like he was a snippet of a conversation my dad and I could have once had but never did. This is just how I felt about James. I had asked him one day where he lived and he mentioned he lived in Philadelphia. I asked where and he told me in the Chocolate Factory and I nearly fell over off my chair. I said, " My dad designed the Chocolate Factory...I remembering going onto the job site when it was being built. He had the most frustrating issues with the outside street light poles...The light they would provide was so important to him and they weren't built to spec originally and he really wanted the contractors to rebuilt them to match the plan. No idea if that has anything to do with my outside street light or not. Anyhow...I continued on with guitar lessons, which I found were more like therapy sessions because it felt like I was having a conversation with my dad. So many months go by and James mentions to me that he is moving. I asked, "Where?" He told me, "Havertown." Again, I was beginning to feel the hair on my neck stand on end. I asked what the street address was. He told me and I told him that that was one block away from my childhood home that my dad designed and built. The two homes are probably less than 1000 meters away from each other. "Notes" from my daughter are probably the most precious. She reminds me often that "BaBa" (this is what they call my dad Elliot) is in heaven and is an angel. She and my son often tell me of what heaven looks like...weather it resembles the beautiful sunset, or a clear, blue, sunny day they're admiring. They tell me these things out of the blue, unsolicited. They remind me of the things BaBa would like. Some of these things the remember from stories I've told them long ago, but speak of the joy he would have with us if he were joining our company. The other day, for example, Owen commented at the dinner table how BaBa would love to suck on a big meaty bone. Owen, who is a very picky eater and will gag on new textures and flavors promptly picked up that "dinosaur" bone and savored every ounce of it and licked every surface...sucking it right down to the bone. That was my last "note" and it happened yesterday. I love these notes and keep my eye out for them. They are gifts and make me feel my dad's presence. I hope that for those of you who read this story, it enables you to see more of these types of notes from your own loved ones. A big thank you to Dan Gordon for writing this exquisite book and sharing your story. I found Zaki's story particularly touching. His old soul reminds me a great deal of my son Owen. Thanks to Sandra, my stepmother, for passing this book onto me. Best, Sandra McCabe

Story posted by: Sandra McCabe

Story posted on: 10-19-2009

Hi Dan, Your book is one of thIe most beautiful and deeply touching stories I have ever read. It has helped me come to terms with my own grieving. A few months ago, I lost my best friend in the world - my beautiful mom. It was sudden. Mom had been the sole caregiver of my dear father who has Alzheimers, for about five years. Dad is now in a nursing home. I have had many wonderful visits from my mom since her journey to the other side. Mom and I shared a special song together called "You Are My Sunshine." She would always sing it to me, throughout my whole life. About a couple of weeks after mom passed, I was checking into a hotel with my husband and I was feeling so depressed, missing mom so much, All of a sudden, "You Are My Sunshine" came on the hotel radio - I had not heard that song on the radio in years and years. Then, about a couple of weeks after that, I was looking for my friends' band on YouTube, All of a sudden the site went to another page, and I looked at it, and on the page were about 50 different versions of "You Are My Sunshine" by different artists! I know that this was mom's message to me that she is with me all the time. I have many other messages from mom as well. They are beautiful and comforting and I love knowing that mom is well and is always with me. I thank you so much for your beautiful book, you son touched and continues to touch so many lives, thank you for sharing. Warmly, Nancy Konipol

Story posted by: Nancy Konipol

Story posted on: 10-18-2009

Dear Mr Gordon I have never in my life felt the need to write such a letter as this, I have had the strongest of feelings all day to write this from somewhere deep within & I am going with this gut feeling. A few weeks back I was looking through the books at the bookshop I visit quite often searching like every visit through the self help books & through the spiritual ones - I'm always trying to find answers to something inside that just hasn't been feeling right.....& with each book I buy I seem to enjoy them but find myself needing to get back to the bookshop to keep on searching. On this day I came across your book, I picked it up,put it down etc a few times, then of cause I thought it sounded interesting & hoped I would enjoy it. I'm about to share a bit of a story with you that I truly cannot believe I'm going to do. My husband Glenn is very sick in the very late stages of Motor Neurone Disease (ALS) Glenn felt like he wanted to write a book a few years back to help him cope with the condition & hoping it would be something nice for our children in years to come to read & learn somethings about their father. Glenn is only 39 our children being 10,7 & 2 and a half thought this would help him fight longer if he was focused on this project. I remember being very worried about what people would think about what he had written & didn't want my photo printed in the book, I'm very private & guess our lives have been turned upside down with carers in & out all day long. Anyway after he finished he had it self published....this is all great I know...but I just worried,worried,worried about what people would say, I only flicked through his book in private & thought how could you write that you are sounding like you think you are so much better then everyone & sky ting etc, I still to this day have not read his book from start to finish, if ever anybody spoke about it to me I'd smile at the comments & may even say I can't bring myself to read it yet, I'd never bring it up to a soul. I picked your book up a few times to read but with three little ones I kept getting sidetracked so it took a good 2 weeks before I really got to read it, over the last couple of nights I just could not put it down, I just loved it to bits & cried!! boy have I cried....I have to be totally honest now - at first I was reading thinking gosh this man's just like Glenn - who do they think they are - I was reading as if it was big noting as such in parts of the book, then I get to Zaki - Gosh the more I read the more I started to read it so different.....like this man just adores this boy to bits...I could feel the warmth come out of the book,how proud you are, how much you love him all of them, don't get me wrong I felt this though the whole book..... I have to say I'm so grateful to you for sharing those stories & fate lead me to pick it up, I can honestly say I feel ashamed of myself that I had felt this way towards Glenn & his book & believe if I hadn't read your book Glenn would have left this earth before I had read it & could tell him how great it is & wonderful that he has done this for his kids, & I can see at long last he is not big noting or thinking he is better then anyone at all - he is just a father of three beautiful children that has been robbed of being a father to any of them & is just so very proud of them & wanted to express himself the best he could by doing this book, & the sad thing is I didn't understand that until reading your book, but so very,very grateful I get the chance to do this before it would have been too late. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing such moving stories about your postcards, your son Zaki sounded so beautiful I only wish it had a photo so I could have seen him, I understand from that why Glenn wanted to add a few photos & happy to say that what I've been searching within I've found & I found it in the messages I got out of reading Postcards from heaven. With Kind Regards Vicki Watts vicki_watts@aapt.net.au

Story posted by: vicki watts

Story posted on: 10-06-2009

Dear Dan Robert Leiter a wonderful reporter wrote a great article about you and your book POSTCARDS FROM HEAVEN yes I immediatedly ordered it from Barnes and Noble and I just finished it. It was wonderful and the pain your going throughfor your brother and your beautiful son will never go away. I will reread the book again as I didn't grow up with a family and feel so happy reading about your family. My hubby Chuckie died 3 years ago after 52 years of a great marriage 3 great kid 6 granchildren. For 20 years Chuckie had a little crystal sea lion ontop of our bedroom television. He bought it in San Francisco visiting my brother. So for 20 years the crystal sea lion never moved and 6 months after he died I took a shower and when I came into the bedroom it had moved completely around facing the hallway. No tv on. I was hysterical. I called my son an er doctor crying and Stevie had a scientific reason. The crystal sea lion would fall off tv and land uner ruffle of bed or fall and land under dresser or move around very little or alot. I would be hysterical. I missed Chuckie soo much the crystal sea lion moving didn't make me happy. It's a long time since Chuckie's little crystal sea lion has moved and I just say well Chuckie your not looking out for me anymore. Dan I have soo much pain missing my husband but not like you have losing a child. May 29 2010 I'm going to be Bat Mitzvah it's soo hard. I don't know how I'll do without my Chuckie up on the Beema butsomehow I feel he'll be proud of me. Thanks for sharing your Postcards from Heaven with us. My heart is with you. phillispulley@comcast.net God Bless You and Zaki Gordon Institute When you write your next book contact Robert Leiter of The Jewish Exponent in Philadelphia. I will be giving out many of Postcards from Heaven

Story posted by: Phyllis Pulley

Story posted on: 10-04-2009

My 58-year-old husband passed away suddenly on 7-9-09, I have not experienced anything yet but both my sons have. The first time it was my 24 year old Seth. He said my husband appeared at the front door and Seth said dad where have you been, he said I've been away but everything is going to be okay. Then a few weeks later my 20 year old son Shawn was walking down the stairs and he here a noise in the kitchen. When he came around the corner my husband Stephen was standing in front of the microwave stirring his coffee cup. Shawn said it was very bright the sun was all around him and Stephen turned to Shawn and said hey big guy (he always called him that because Shawn is 6 ft 3 in.) Shawn asked where have you been dad and again he said I've been away and he extended his hands out to Shawn. Shawn said he could feel his dad hugging him and Shawn was pinching himself to see if it was a dream and he could feel the pinch. Stephen said everything was going to be fine and he disappeared. Shawn said he knew it was a dream but it felt so real. He said he was sad that his dad left but he had a wonderful feeling because he got to see him and hug him again. I know both of them were dreaming but I want to dream about him and it is just not happening. We all miss him so much. He was a wonderful guy. He was a teacher who will be missed by all the the school he taught at for over 20 years. My email is m.a.g.331@hotmail.com. I started reading your book last night and finished it today.

Story posted by: Maureen Grace

Story posted on: 09-13-2009

I read your book about a month ago and wanted to E-Mail you but I don;t have a computer and did'nt have your address to write to you a good old fashioned letter. Well now I have use of a computer,so here it goes.From the first page I was hooked and connected to your words.They came from the heart and reached my heart as well,Truly a blessing from God.Thanks for be so open to his spirit. There had been a deep impression, I like to think of it as another one of my spirtiual lessons from my dear heavenly Father. The lesson was about how much we are connected to each other. Just one big family. Well that:s how I felt when I read your story.Your family felt that they were my family as well and that I loved them just as much as my own,I know it sounds alittle crazy,,Not knowing them,but just reading about them,but that's how I honestly felt. I know that when it's time for me to take my spacesuit off I will get to meet Zaki,what a wonderful time that will be. I feel like a have a new brother to meet someday. Well anyway, I was in this frame of mind when I finished your story,I remember walking into my garden and deeply thinking about what I had had just digested from your book. I was thinking about the relationship of all us Human Beings. Just like Zaki I felt like I was related to your dear Godess,I felt like she was my grandmother. I walked into the house thinking ,.about your Mother and her very unusual name. Ok here it comes- I lay on the sofa,put the T.V. on and this commercial comes on,now I had seen this commercial before but really Never paid attention to it,like most commercials. These young beautiful woman come on singing and dancing,I've heard the song before, The next thing I know is that one of the words to the song is Godess,How often do you hear the word godess? It blows my mind to think that the word and my thought came to me in perfection.Pretty good timing,if you ask me. I just wanted you to know of my experience. God bless! I'll be seeing you not in old familar places but a brand new place.God bless you,I know He is with you everyday of your life just as He is also with me. See you later. With love-Carol

Story posted by: Carol J. Lukasiewicz

Story posted on: 09-08-2009

My father passed away in October of 2008. I had been in what I thought was a good relationship since 2005. In May of 2009 I really felt the relationship was not good and I was concerned that the person I was involved with was not christian. Than I received a vision from my father and I broke up was a very troubled relationship and I am so much happier now.

Story posted by: Hannah E Taleu

Story posted on: 08-24-2009

I have been compelled to write this story. I finished the book last night, and was unable to go to sleep. Tossing around the far to many to count coincidences that led up to reading the book as well as several coincidences that all came together suddenly making sense, I know I heard Zaki's voice. You see, I have been writing a story, and was desperately stuck. When I read Zaki's words, "if that's your story, that's the one you've got to tell," I just knew it was meant for me. The number of coincidences that led up to this moment was such a profound and intricate web that is unexplainable. But I know that I was told to write this down, and I couldn't get the voice out of my head until I promised I would do it today. So, even though Dan Gordan knows that his son, Zaki, is happy and in a better place, here is another postcard for him. His son and this book are woven into my personal web of coincidences leading me to a path I've yet to fully understand. All I can do is follow this path and look for the guide posts along the way. Thank you for this book, and thank you to Zaki for being a beacon on my journey. God bless.

Story posted by: Cindy Nordahl

Story posted on: 08-01-2009

I'm so glad I read this book, Postcards from Heaven. I have had to deal with death in my family, my maternal grandmother and her husband, my grandfather and my father. All stricken with cancer. In 2001 my grandfather was diagnosed with liver cancer, and my grandmother with lung cancer. And I cried and cried, "what am I going to do without them," I told myself. My love for them will not accept that our relationship will come to an end. I grew up Catholic and when I was 19 converted to Protestant. After 12 years of being protestant my grandparents were leaving this old world and I had no roots to grab unto. I decided come back to Catholicism because they do believe in communication with the death. As a Protestant there are no doctrines of the death or teachings about communication between the living and the death. And so I became Catholic again, and my grandmother and grandfather and my father who passed away in 2007 are still communicating. And I never lost them, we still have our moments and communicate.

Story posted by: Maxima Teliu

Story posted on: 07-31-2009

My mother passed away April, 2009, but this story is really about the comfort that my father (he passed 11 years ago in March) brought to me during the time prior to my mothers death followed by the comfort my mother brought to me after her burial. My mother had been hospitalized with a stroke, she was non responsive but she was awake. It was very unnerving not knowing what she was experiencing or if she knew we were there with her. It was Sunday, the second day at the hospital, and as my family and I were getting ready to visit my mother at the hospital, I found out that my uncles family had set up a picnic at the park across the parking lot of the hospital. My sisters, brother and I, and the whole extended family were then able to take turns visiting my mother and nobody had to worry about going to grab a bite to eat as everything was provided for us. We spent the entire day talking, eating and comforting each other and at the end of the day we felt very grateful and were relaxed ready to continue our vigil by our mothers side at the hospital. It was 3 nights later that I had a dream I was at the park again sitting on a bench looking toward the hospital, when I felt someone looking at me. I turned to my left and there was my father sitting on another bench, leaning over with his arms resting on his thighs as he always had done when relaxing. Without saying a word, he smiled at me and then looked toward the hospital. I felt he was waiting just like me for whatever the outcome may be. But upon thinking about it, during the next 5 days prior to my mother passing away, I was no longer burdened with grief or the unknown and visited my mother with a joy and gladness that nobody else in my family felt. I just knew everything would be ok. I continue to feel this comfort although my sisters and brother have continued to have their bad moments of grief. This may be because I had another dream following my mothers funeral. I walked out to the backyard at my brothers and before I could say hello, I heard my mother calling my name and as I looked across the yard, on a high grassy hill, my mother is sitting on the grass waving her arm and calling my name. It was as if she was letting me know that she is saying goodbye for now and the waiting is over.

Story posted by: Corey

Story posted on: 07-19-2009

Hummingbirds!! I never held a deep fascination for these splendid creatures until I lost my son. Brandon and Margot came home for Christmas 2007. I had never seen him look so well and be so happy. He was in love. To celebrate, he wanted to prepare our Christmas dinner. He chose a Peasant Stew especially to please his Dad. We are of Czech heritage and Brandon knew his Dad would love this particular dish. Christmas Eve, Brandon and Margot stood in line for hours at Central Market just to get the right ingredients, then drove two more hours to our home. They prepared a glorious feast. He was so eager to please. We shared a blessed beautiful Christmas with family and friends! Later that week, the two flew back to California where Brandon had been in rehab fighting a drug addicition for two years. My son was not just "a druggie" as they are often called; but an educated, beautiful, compassionate human being trying to survive a vicious disease. He often told me addiction is "the only disease you get blamed for." He was ashamed of his situation. Six weeks later, he was gone. Overdose. It was after Brandon's death that Margot's mother, Sue, told me of my son's interest in hummingbirds. He was helping her prepare her garden for a garden tour and would talk about the small birds as they fluttered back and forth across her yard. After his death, Sue told me she helped a baby bird one day that had fallen from it's nest. She gently lifted and cradled the tiny creature, placing it back in the nest. Two days later, she said, a hummingbird hovered in front of her face as she drove into her garage. She immediately thought of Brandon, a thank you from him for her act of kindness. That was in California. I was in Texas. Just before Mother's Day 2008, I took my new puppy, Scoochie, with me to have pictures of Brandon copied. Being a pup, Scoochie needed a potty break, so I drove to an empty lot to take her for a walk while waiting for my pictures. A brief few steps and there it was in the middle of nowhere, a package lying on the ground. A package containing a fresh bouquet of two dozen red roses. Surely, I thought, these were meant for me. No one else was around. Could it possibly be my son reaching out to comfort me? Tears welling in my eyes, I grabbed my cell phone to call my cousin, Julie, who had recently given me a book on Afterlife Encounters, when a hummingbird flew right in front of my face, hovered a few seconds looking right in my eye, and then flew away. I felt my son's presence. My most recent encounter was on an Alaskan cruise we took in June. The day we boarded the ship, the cruise director mentioned a hummingbird that kept hovering around the ship! A hummingbird on a cruise ship to Alaska? "It can't be," I thought. "It's too cold." But I learned, yes, indeed, hummingbirds do live in Alaska. And one flew onboard a cruise ship I just happened to be on!! Needless to say, I cried. One more time, Brandon was letting me know he was okay. My husband and I recently took a Master Gardener's course and as a community project, we made a hummingbird garden at one of the local nursing homes in memory of our son. The residents and visitors are enjoying it and the administrator claims it has made a huge difference in many of their lives. One man is caring for the garden, watering, changing feeders, all from his wheelchair. Brandon told me the day of his death he wanted to help others. I think he is! I want to thank you, Mr. Gordon, for your beautiful book. What a nice tribute to your son, Zaki. These encounters give us hope that there IS more than a mere thin veil between us all. Socrates' words come to mind as I think about Brandon: "Death may be the greatest of ALL human blessings." Through the presence of some beautiful hummingbirds, I know my son is at peace.

Story posted by: Debby Krpec

Story posted on: 06-04-2009

I read your book in one night. Thank you. I too feel as if I have received a postcard from heaven from my Grandmother. My grandmother died at the age of 94 one day shy of 25 years after my grandfather died. When the nurses put her to bed that night they said, "Bessie, look at the beautiful sunset", to which my grandmother replied, "Yes, isn't it beautiful, maybe I'll go down with the sun tonight." She died peacefully in her sleep by 9 p.m. that night. My grandmother was a remarkable woman. She was "lame", as she referred to her left leg, from the age of 3. She was on her way to or from the outhouse when she fell and dislocated her hip. At that time, in the early 1900's, there was no opportunity for an xray. When she finally received an xray in her early 20's they found the hip dislocated. If they had simply put the hip back into the socket at age 3 she would not have had to wear a full leg brace the remainder of her life. My grandmother was not bitter though...she married, had 3 children and always said she did not feel sorry for herself because there was always someone that was worse off then herself. I was always incredibly close to my grandmother and knew that although she was ready to die I would find it difficult when the time came. We always believed that when she did die she would be made whole again in heaven and would not have a need for her leg brace. Grandma died on March 25, 2003. About 6 weeks later on Mother's Day weekend I was supposed to drive 3 hours to my parents house on Friday night to spend the weekend with them. For some reason I was too tired to drive Friday night and called and said I would drive in Saturday morning. It was that night that I had the most beautiful dream...my grandmother came to see me. In my dream I entered a room and there sat my grandmother on a short wall, swinging her legs back and forth. She was wearing a flowered dress and the same type of shoes she had to wear because of her brace. There of course was no brace. I asked her why she was here and she said, "I came back to tell you I am happy." I said, "what about your leg?" She showed me both legs and they were perfect. She got up and walked to me and gave me a big hug. My grandmother was tall for her age, 5'10". I said I needed to go but I did not want to leave the room. When she asked why, I told her I knew if I left the room she would be gone. She said, "that's the way it's supposed to be." I don't remember asking the question, but I received the answer to, "What happened the night you died?" My grandmother has 3 grandchildren, my cousin, who is 5 years older than me, my sister who is 10 1/2 months older than me and myself. I saw in my dream the answer to the question was, Grandma was with my cousin Dennis just before she died. Dennis took my Grandmother and my sister's neighbor on a ride in a sports car. When they arrived in front of my sister's house the sky was light like daytime towards my sister's house and dark like night toward the other side of the street. The neighbor, Mrs. Bell got out of the car and went toward the light side of the street. My grandmother then said, "And I went home." I took this to mean she went to heaven. It was not a surprise to any member of my family, especially myself, that if my grandmother was going to return to anyone it would have been me. She needed to tell me "she was happy, she was whole and she was home." What more could we ask for. A few years later I was standing outside of my sister's house and my cousin pulled up on a car I had never seen before, a Mustang...I know that car....that was the car in my dream, the car Dennis had given Grandma a ride in the night she went to heaven. I love my Grandmother beyond measure. I have the blessed assurance that she is happy, whole and home!

Story posted by: Crystal Beery

Story posted on: 05-31-2009

my dad, best friend passed two and half years ago. i have had many postcards from him but one recently that stands out. I was at a friends mother funeral. I had a hard time being there and when they went to the burial site I could not go. The cemetary made me really uncomfortable because i believe that although my dad was buried , in another cemetary that his soul was not there. I believe his soul is around me because I feel him often. Anyway, when the burial was over my friend said come with me I want to visit my mom, who was buried up the street. I got in the car and we drove. During the time I left the buial i spoke to my dad and felt him very close. I stepped out of the car and got this strange feeling. I always feel weird in cemetaries like i am stepping on someone. I stepped out of the car and looked down I was standing on a foot stone. I felt that weird feeling come over me. I looked down and read the stone and my dad last name SOLOMON was on the stone. this was a very large cemetary . what are the odds that I would step on a stone that had my dads last name. I immediately feel to the ground crying. I felt a relief. I knew he was with me. My friend , who had bought me the postcards from heaven book heard Dan Gordon speaking at Viewpoint for graduation and purchased me the book. I thought that day when she was with me at the cemetary she though I had gone crazy but she did not. She said she could not relate because no one close had ever passed away but she heard dan gordon speak and she said wow, that sound like susan. That is how I read the book. I have recieved many more postcards from my dad and some from my grandma. It helps me to make it through the days knowing that they are around.

Story posted by: susan

Story posted on: 05-05-2009

My sister Tawn passed away about a year and a half ago, There have been many "postcards" from her. Dreams where she has come to visit me.. other little signs, but tonight I checked my phone messages, I have caller ID, there was no name or number left on the ID, but my sister is laughing in the message. I have let other family members hear this message, and we all agree.. it is her laugh. We are glad she is happy.. I have saved the message. She has a very unique laugh. I did ask her to leave me a longer message next time, and I am glad we continue to live spirtually, communication is alittle difficult however. I have read your book- thank you !

Story posted by: Jilda Mastrey

Story posted on: 04-28-2009

I was given "Postcards from Heaven" as a present on the 13th anniversary of my son, Christopher Robin Hotchkiss murder. I had a large party to celebrate life and the house was filled with love. I have always believed the veil between heaven and earth is very thin. On the evening of the day Christopher was murdered he came to me and told me he was fine. He came out of the corner of my bedroom like and angel. His first “postcard” was year’s later. It seems our children still like to enjoy their favorite things through us. He said “I had not had a chocolate milkshake since he died – he didn’t care if I gained 20 pounds – please go have a chocolate milkshake!” I did and still do and I always look up and toast him with a kiss. More "postcards" have arrived but this one always makes us smile.

Story posted by: Radha Stern

Story posted on: 04-12-2009

Dear Dan, I have just finished reading your story and I am still singing "I'll be seeing you..." Thank you so very much for sharing your touching story. It is Easter Sunday morning (and I didn't plan this} but it also happens to be the same day (Easter Sunday) on which my Dad died in 2001. I just realized this as I sat down to write you. Postcard@!!..Before he died I had asked him to let me know he was OK after he died...I never before had talked to him about his death. He said he would let me know. Eleven days after he died I went to check his coat pockets (for money of course) and lo and behold instead of money I received the best "postcard" ever. In his pocket I pulled out a kleenex (paper, not cotton), and on it, in ink, in tiny letters, were his initials "G.L.- OK"...what a great gift for me and what a great gift your Zaki gave to you. We are so fortunate arent we? To know that they are still with us. That is just one of many many postcards I have received from both my parents. My Mother died in 1996, and after she died, being the "character" that she was, (Dad was more reserved, hence the kleenex) she would set off my home burglar alarms and the police would come and I had to leave work to speak to them..they could never figure out what caused it so I told them it was my late Mother....after the third time I finally yelled up to heaven, "Mom, you have to stop this, I cant keep leaving work"... and that was it for alarms...She also made my phone ring and no one would be there. And one day I had workmen over to fix an electrical problem. While there one of them asked me to set two canary yellow electrical covers down on my deck. I did so and later when they wanted them, they were not there. I looked and looked (and my deck was very small) and couldnt find them so I was ready to go to the store to buy more, then went back to my deck and there they were. Right after that my back door flew open (no wind, no dog) and out flew a pink plactic bag (her favorite color) and I just said to myself "this is so weird I just better go back into the house and sweep...that is when the electrican came up to me and said "Where did you find those yellow caps?" and I told him and we both looked up at heaven and yelled my mother's name "Marie" (he had been my neighbor at age 7 so he remembered her)...I was thrilled. There are many more stories to tell but I hesitate because you have probably heard so many...oh well, here is one more. After my father died, I had the money to move out of my house and into a condo on a lake. I pictured a one story place on water and looked for months...One day I found my place. A week later my friend came to see it and then we walked across the street to the Marina. One particular yacht caught my eye. The name of it was "MarieGeorge" (one word) and these just happen to be the names of my late divorced parents. I knew it was a sign...I went back there a week later and the yacht was gone. Never saw it again. I still live on the water 6 -1/2 yrs. later and love it. I thank my mom and dad every day. God Bless you and your family. Thank you again for sharing your story and thank you for the chance to share mine. I so loved the Sedona Film School story. I got a masters in English (actually it was mostly film theory) at University of the Pacific at the age of 46. I am now almost 62 and was glad you allow people in Sedona to be older students...Maybe someday I will attend, if I am lucky. Here's to many more postcards#@! Sally Lechich Stockton, Ca.

Story posted by: Sally Lechich

Story posted on: 04-10-2009

I received your book from a co-worker a few weeks ago. I cannot remember at this time why she even shared the copy with me. I had not had an opportunity to read it because "i was too busy" but I told my collegue that I would read it sometime soon over the weekend. My mother just passed away 1 week ago. It came after 22 years of battling Alzheimer's. I went to work for half a day after my mother's funeral and my collegue came to give her condolences nad said you have to read the book now. I just finished your book and I feel like it in itself is my own postvard. The book has been sittin gin my briefcase until tonight - 1 week since my mother's passsing. I apologize but I was not familar with your wrok as as I was so comforted by your words I didn't want the book to end so i read the about the author section. I then was made aware that you wrote the celestine prophesy. This is when I new your book was somehow a postard. 16 years ago my father died of cancer. It was quite difficult becasue we were so close. My mother had already been diagnosised with alzheimer's and was in the stage of not recognizing anyone. So for a young adult of 25 I had already lsot my mother so to speak and now I lost my father. After his death, someone had given my the celstine prophesy as a gift. I never read it. I read the back cover and at the time I was greiving so much that I didn't have it in me to read it. But i still have it on my bookshelf through all of these years adn then I read pstcards from heaven after my mothers death adn realize just who you are...After my fathe's death I came home from work and played my messages on my answering machine. I was the only one home at the time. What i heard I could not imagine. It was his voice adn he was jsuting saying hi. I am still unsure of the rest of the message adn I could not beileive what i was hearing at eh time so I played it back adn it was simply a message from a framing store letting me know that my picture was ready. I have not told that to anyone since I was sure no onne would believe me. But now I know - it was a postcard from my father. My understaning of it all 1 week after my mother's passing - 16 years later. I am not a gifted writier so I apologize for my writing and i do not usually find comfort in writing but I felt I had to share even though my thoughts may be hard to follow.

Story posted by: Melissa H.

Story posted on: 04-01-2009

I just got done reading Postcards. My sister, 45 yrs. old, was killed in a car accident on Thanksgiving day in 1990. Another littel boy was killed, my nephew, her son was driving the car. Needless to say my family was almost inconsolable. The day of Thanksgiving no one could take a picture of her. Let me explain - a video camera broke that morning, my other sister took pictures all day long only to find out that there was no film in the camera, I took pictures sent them into a film developing company and they sent me the wrong pictures back. Mine were lost in the mail! I have had several dreams of her telling me that she was fine. She has also "talked" to me, and told me not to worry so much. But the weirdest thing ever is that she started leaving me dimes! It started 8 years ago when I was going through a rough period in my life. I would find a single dime in the weirdest places, seat of my car, under the bed even in my shoes. I didn't think much of it until I saw a psychic on TV that said the deceased sometimes does this kind of thing. I never find any kind of other coin by itself, only dimes. My mother passed away in Jan. 2008. Now the weird thing is that my mom and daughter were extremely close and she has started finding dimes also! Since my mom died more times than not I find two dimes. This is definitely postcards.

Story posted by: Sherri Rognstad

Story posted on: 03-19-2009

When I got pregnant with my daughter, I was still living at home and was young and unmarried. During that time, my mother's sister, my aunt "Fina" came to live with us. She had never been married and did not have any children. Thus, when my daughter was born, she immediately got very attached to her and became my daughter's babysitter (I had a full time job) and also loved her and cared for her like she was her own child. This naturally helped me because I could rely on my aunt on everything to help care for my daughter, as I also enrolled in school. As time went by, I got married and when my daughter was 8 years old, I got pregnant again, this time it would be a boy. Just before my daughter's 9th birthday, she kept insisting that I give her the biggest birthday party and reminded me everyday. But about two weeks before my daughter's birthday, I had a dream that disturbed me a lot, I woke up in the middle of the night sweating and scared and my husband had to calm me down and asked me what was wrong. I just did not remember what kind of dream I've had but was terrified. The next day life went on as usual, with the exception that my daughter kept nagging about her birthday party. This was unusual for my daughter because every year, I would have great birthday parties for her at the park with family and friends, thus she had no reason, that I thought of, to be so worried about me throwing her a birthday party if it was a given that I would. Well, after the disturbing dream, every time my daughter mentioned her birthday, I would cringe and I started having panic attacks at the thought of her upcoming birthday party. To the point that I started sensing something wrong would happen. I then moved into my daughter's room to sleep next to her because I thought maybe something bad was going to happen to her. I prayed to God not to let anything bad happen to my daughter because at this point I knew something was up for her birthday. Well, the night before my daughter's birthday, my aunt called to speak to my daughter, she told me that she would be picking her up from her after-school day care and that she would take her to the mall to pick out her birthday present (it was a Friday). My daughter's birthday was planned for Saturday (a day after her birthday). I said ok to her and told her that I would pick my daughter up at her house after they went to the mall. My aunt then talked to my daughter and then hung up the phone. The next day, my Mom called me at work before lunch and asked me where my aunt was because that morning as she left for work, she noticed that my aunt's car was still parked in the driveway (my aunt lived in the back house from my mother's home). I told my Mom I thought she had probably left her car there and taken the bus to work and didn't think much of it. Until, my Mother's calls at work that day became more insistent because she had called my aunt at work and she never answered. I then got very worried. When my husband picked me up from work that day I was panicked because I called the day-care and my aunt had never picked up my daughter to take her shopping and I knew that would never happened because my daughter was the most important person for my aunt. After we picked up my daughter, we then rushed to my Mother's house and found my aunt's car parked in the driveway. My Mom had already gone over to the back house (which was on the second floor) and knocked on the door, but my aunt never responded. My Mom, husband and daughter then went inside the front house, but I went to the back towards my aunt's house. It then started raining buckets, but I went and started knocking on her door, I had this nauseating feeling all over me; she didn't respond, so I climbed on top of the garage roof, which allowed me to peek inside her bathroom window and through her bedroom. It was raining horrendously, I was 5 months pregnant and a little big, but I got up on the roof anyways, and as I peeked inside the bathroom window, I saw a form on the bed. I immediately knew it was my aunt so I started screaming. My Mom, husband and daughter came running out of the front house and I yelled at my husband to break the window by the door and to look inside because my aunt was there. Well, he did go inside and found my aunt ,who had died during the night, sometime after midnight, right on my daughter's birthday. We were devastated, but not more than my daughter who turned 9 years old that April 2 when she lost her second Mom. She died of a heart attack in her sleep. Time went on and as it came time for me to deliver my baby boy, I had never had any clue (women in my Mom's family are adept at hiding their age) when my aunt's birthday was, so my husband took me to the hospital on a Sunday evening with labor pains. Just before midnight the pain got unbearable and the doctor said I was dilated enough to go in and he and the nurses instructed me to start pushing. I pushed with all my might but that boy would not come out. The doctor and nurses got frantic because the baby was in distress, it was just a few minutes before midnight on July 18, but no matter how hard I pushed, the baby would not come, so the doctor grabed the vacuum and started pulling him out. This drama went on for about 10 more minutes, until finally, my son was born, healthy and gorgeous and finally born on July 19th. My postcard from heaven was that July 19th (I found out the next day from my Mom) was my aunt's birthday! She knew how much pain it caused us to have lost her on my daughter's birthday, specially for my daughter because she would never forget that every birthday she would ever have, would be marked by the anniversary of her beloved aunt's death. However, my aunt gave my daughter and us a gift by delaying my son's birth by one day and helping him be born on her own birthday. I guess it was her way of sending us a message that she was sorry she left on such a special day for my daughter, but she made up for it by having her only brother be born on her own birthday. My son and my daughter are my only children and both their birthdays have a very special meaning to all of us.

Story posted by: Lorena Palazzolo

Story posted on: 03-16-2009

03/16/2009 Hello , my name is Mary. I just finished your book (Post cards from heaven) thats when I came across your e-mail address. I've numerous storys as I'm sure many people have. I'll tell you about the one that I am most consious of. I have a cousin who got hit while riding her bike and ended up a vegetable, she remained in that condition for what I can recall for 2 yrs. When I went to see her, I KNEW that there was no way in the world that she'd ever be the same . One night, she was in my dream..... It was a BEAUTIFUL , SUNNY DAY, cloudless sky . We must've been in the desert because I remember looking @ the ground and seeing tan colored dirt, though it wasn't just ANY dirt.... it was smooth, no rocks or even the slighest pebble, like it was sifted. Any how , for some reason I found myself walking some distance behind her, what most amazed me about this " dream" , if you will was that she looked the way I remember her. She was young , the way she looked when my family would go to visit . No broken body, no eyes rolling around in her head, no long fingernails or weathered limbs........ I remember thinking in my " dream" How can this Be possible???? then she spoke to me and told me she was going home. I WAS so delighted in the fact that she was young and beautiful and that SOME how , a miracle had happened . Shortly before my knowledge of her death reached me, thats when she came to see me, thats was pretty much it . She was just coming to tell me she was GOING HOME, and my belief is that when one dies..... they go back to the happiest time of thier lives ... and continue to live in a utopian world. I haven't had her visit me ever again after that, though there are other '' stories that I can share that I get '' re-visited'' , it's not always verbal. I thank-you for the oppurtunity to share.

Story posted by: Mary ChiefHill

Story posted on: 03-13-2009

Dear Mr. Gordon: In January of this year, I read your book, Postcards from Heaven: Messages of Love from the Other Side. I must say that since that time I haven’t stopped thinking about it. In essence, you hammered the proverbial nail on the head! So many facets of your book rang true for me; it quite simply solidified my ‘knowing’ that our loved ones remain alive, even long after they are gone. And true, they even send messages, of sorts, to let us, who loved them, know that they are truly okay… that even though they, in fact, have left their spacesuits, they’re flying high in another greater, better dimension (that one being Heaven, for me). I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that your book was directly Heaven-sent to me. Even the way I learned that your book existed is rightfully a postcard all on its own… it all started on my way to a doctor’s appointment… me in the driver’s seat flipping the radio dials to find anything that was worth listening to… and I heard the DJ talking something about postcards – postcards in Heaven. My ears immediately perked up. It tugged at my torn, dangled heart-strings… for you see, my wonderful and beloved 32-year-old nephew left his spacesuit two-and-half years ago. I just so ‘happened’ to be with him at the time – his passing leaving an eternal altered mark upon me. Ever since that day, Sam has been with me everyday – everyday in my thoughts, everyday in my research, everyday in my memorial to him, and even, at times, in my dreams. For the three weeks before Sam left us, he sent his family and friends a voluminous number of postcards – each carefully wrapped up in its own uniquely swathed package. From within the enclosed perimeter of my car, I then heard another, different voice permeating my consciousness with a tale of how the author’s son had been so vibrant, so alive… so full of hope and promise, and already a success in his own right – and how quickly, in one instant, all of it had been taken away. But there, from within the dark, came the hope of promise. The radio guest went on to tell how death sometimes transmutes into rebirth: that the death of a son is not a forever decree… but it’s one that can beautifully metamorphose into an enduring legacy – the legacy that is today the Zaki Gordon Institute for Independent Filmmaking. The radio DJ then linked the name Dan Gordon with the television series, Highway to Heaven. In mutual consideration and conjunction with all that I had just heard, I knew that I just had to get this book. But where? I asked myself… Imagine my surprise as I, not more than an hour later, walked into a local gift shop. I had almost finished my browsing when, turning the final corner, I saw out of the corner of my eye, your book, Postcards from Heaven, prominently displayed on its own gold stand! This was, mind you, the one and only book in the entire gift shop! I quite simply couldn’t believe it. My eyes grew wide; my jaw dropped two inches, while my body reeled backwards in a failed attempt at processing the incredulity of it all. The Bible says to let every matter be established by two or more witnesses. Well, there in that gift store was my second witness. This book – your book – was meant for me! The rest is, of course, history, for, as stated previously, Postcards from Heaven solidified my internal suspicion that life lasts far beyond the grave, and that postcards – messages, if you will – come in many different forms. And the form it came in early in January was by way of a confirmation within your book to something my nephew had said four days before he passed. My nephew, Sam, was obviously in the state of transitioning from this physical, earthy dimension to that far-better, heavenly spiritual plane. Around 10:00 p.m. the night of October 24, 2006, Sam was lying on his bed. His eyes were focused on both the mirror and calendar directly in front of him on the opposite wall. Breaking his own silence, Sam distinctly declared: “They don’t see me in the picture on the wall.” Immediately following this statement, Sam became physically quite active. At this point, Sam was still hiding from unseen forces. For a number of years, my family had put together a family calendar, which consisted of a conglomeration of personal pictures from the previous year. Upon Sam uttering the aforementioned statement, I had long suspected that Sam knew that he would not be on this earth much longer, and that he would, therefore; naturally not have any current photographs that would be able to be included in next year’s family calendar. Mr. Gordon, imagine my surprise when I happened to turn the page (p. 26) to the passage where your grandmother saw your grandfather’s photograph fall off of the wall, along with her subsequent statement that ‘her husband was dead.’! Imagine even further, my bug-eyed surprise when I learned that he, being in another village, had indeed passed away! Mr. Gordon, incidents like your grandmother’s story and many others in your book continued to rapidly manifest themselves in our own family during Sam’s last few weeks here on this Earth. In addition to your grandparents’ story, your varied accounts of your family’s personally signed postcards have provided further proof that my nephew knew just what it was that he was saying. And because of that, I now know what he was saying, too. And I want to thank you for that. And to ask you if I might cite the story of your grandparents in my memorial to my nephew… doing so would greatly support my nephew’s message – that the dead are not dead at all; their time with us is just simply a minor burp – a slight interruption – until that time when we each shed our own spacesuits…and can be reunited once more. Sincerely, L. Hope Guinn

Story posted by: Hope

Story posted on: 03-08-2009

This is a personal message for Dan Gordon, please don't publish this story. Thank you so much for Postcards From Heaven. It was very generous of you to share your personal insight. I met Zaki twice and both times have impacted my life. The first time was when I came and visited you in California for the first time. It was an awkward time all around. I had recently switched universities and had moved from focusing on Business and Mass Communication to screenwriting and television. I was a ball of confusion - second guessing my decisions. As you can imagine my parents, who were a little more traditional, were not particularly thrilled with the movement into an artistic and arguably less lucrative stream. I had also been quite sick with asthma and had been taking a number of experimental asthma treatments to try and kick the breathing problems I was facing. I came down to California to meet you and your family for the first time. I didn't know this, but at the time, I believe you were going through a rough patch. There was clearly some friction in the air with you and your wife. You had a second house where you were writing and it was here that you asked that I stay. Shortly after I got back to Canada, I received word that you and your wife were separating. Despite this obviously terrible time for you, you had the generosity not only take me in but to share stories, meals and direction. You introduced me to your family including Zack. Zaki and I are were roughly the same age. His friends took me out to the Independently produced film KIDS. For me just listening to him and his friends discuss the film, the freedom to direct their creativity it was inspiring. It was a short visit. It planted a seed. It helped me have confidence I was going in the right direction. The second time I met Zaki was in New York. Timelines are off, but I am pretty sure it was only months before the accident. Dan, you were giving a lecture on Screenwriting in New York. A group of my friends from University scrapped together our pennies, hopped in a piece of crap car and headed down to New York. The gas guzzler car barely made it across the border from Ontario into New York State. We drove down to New York City, making many wrong turns and taking us into some pretty frightening areas of the city all the while praying the car wouldn't die. We arrived at beautiful hotel right in the heart of Manhatten...and right next door was a dilapitated building which was where we would stay. I had a sort of Barton Fink sort of feel to it, yet not as nice. The next day we attended your presentation. After which, you had once again demonstrated your incredible generosity by taking all of my friends and I out for dinner in the city. Zaki joined us that night. Everyone had an amazing night. I remember seeing a gentleness shared between you and Zaki, It's a closeness I now, as an adult with my own son Noah, now understand. My friends were in awe of your generosity in storytelling and advise and the lack of pretension. Zaki similarly exhibited these qualities. He seemed genuinely interested in my friends stories, if not very interested in one of the girls. The next night after your second day of the lecture Zaki came back to our hotel and hung out with us for a few hours. He told us about his school and the work he was doing. We had a wonderful night. Dan whether you know it or not, these little vignettes in my life have reasonated tremendously. After your lectures, I have been on a fascinating ride. While initially it was focused on writing for television, it quickly moved into developming complex creative multiplatform projects on new and emerging platfomrs. It has taken me around the world to Cannes for television festivals, to London for a British Academy Award Nominations for Innovation on my second project ever. The Japan Award for Innovation, and nods and accolades from the likes of Yahoo, Shockwave. In the short time since we connected I've written and story edited television screenplays and built up top multiplatforrm projects for The Jim Henson Company, Aardman Entertainment, MTV and Nickelodeon. Three years ago a head hunter from overseas hired me over to Australia to help strategically redefine the national broadcaster the ABC and prepare them for multiplatform revolution online, on mobile and on emerging platforms. In three years I built up a team of incredible artists, designers, developers and visionaries that are driving this corporation forward with new never before seen ways of telling stories, sharing content and engaging with audiences. I have built strategic partnership with the BBC and CBC and developed interactive projects which have been picked up by HBO and BBC. It's interesting that I found your book at this time in my life. It's time of rapid change for me personally. Reading the stories took me back to meeting you guys. I have recently undergone a separation from my wife whom I had been married to 7 years. It's been a hard ride especially being so far from my family. Three weeks later my grandmother died and I flew with my five year old back to Canada to be with the family. In the past 4 months I have had to move, work out the juggle with my son and deal with the embarassment of a failed marriage, amplified somewhat by the fact that both Jessica and I are high profile Canadians in the small Australian media industry and were seen as a couple in social and professional circles. But I know this will all pass. I remembered your generosity towards me during your hard time. I think about how you managed the situation and have come out the other side. It's great example, which I admired at the time and still do today. It's also interesting timing on the career front. I have built everything I have wanted to within the massive bureaucracy of the ABC. I'm really proud of it and now I am looking for the next exciting venture. I am literally getting on a plane this evening flying around the world. In the next two weeks I will stop in London, Toronto, L.A., San Francisco and the back to Melbourne. I have my own innovative creative project, for the first time which I will be pitching to leaders in the industry all around the world. It's something I believe in passionately. I don't know where it will go - but I am excited about the adventure. It reminds me of the feeling of when we were university student on that road trip down to NY and the amazing time we had. Sorry for the ramble Dan. This isn't really anything to do with postcard from heaven as you describe them. I just thought you should know that you and Zack have had an impact on my life and for the most part it has been a pretty exciting ride. I hope some day we will connect again. Best wishes, Dan Fill +61 409626603 danfillxx@yahoo.com.au Dan I don't consider these postcards from heaven, as you call them. I just feel as if

Story posted by: Dan Fill

Story posted on: 03-08-2009

3/8/09 Dan, Today I received a postcard from Latoya. My beloved daughter and only child, Latoya, was killed in a car accident last summer. Armed with a solid faith in God and strong support from a host of family and friends, I still find it difficult to heal. Even though I have her in my dreams, I lone for our earthly relationship. I feel my heart is eternally broken. On Friday, I asked Latoya to let me know that she was ok. A parent has to know. Today, two days later, I received a postcard from Latoya. My pasttime activities lately have been watching videos and reading spiritual, religious books. Yesterday, I did my usual shopping and bought the video "The Hurricane" at the last minute on my way out of the store. It was not on my shopping list. Today, I went to the mall and strolled casually into the bookstore. I passed by a book titled "Postcards from Heaven." As you will remember, I had asked Latoya to let me know if she was ok so I was hopeful from the title of the book along that it would deliver my message from Latoya. It did. I believe that Latoya did something totally unique to get her message across to me. I've read a lot of books on how to cope, how to move on, and yes, they've helped. Like many people, I have a collection of videos so no big deal to add "The Hurricane" to my collection. But what really blew me away was when I read that you were in the preproduction for the movie "The Hurricane." I was floored and overwhelmed with joy. Tears streamed down my face. My beloved Latoya in her unique and beautiful way was telling me that she is ok. After probably missing hundreds of "postcards" from her already, I believe that she is tickled and saying that, "Yes, you finally got my message. I'm ok. I'm safe. This is not a coincidence. I sent you the video (screenplay by Dan Gordon) and the book (authored by Dan Gordon)." You see, Latoya knew that her message had to be "writing on the wall" or else I would "totally" not get it. Thank you, Dan, for your beautiful book for Zaki. I can only image that Latoya and he met in heaven, shared their love of the arts (Latoya was a senior studying graphics design at the Art Institute of Atlanta ), and came up with this "screenplay" to help her mom. Agains, thanks for sharing. Linda Thompson lthompson84@yahoo.com

Story posted by: Linda Thompson

Story posted on: 02-18-2009

My postcard from heaven came one Sunday afternoon when I was cleaning out a closet. I was sad that day and dealing with some struggles in my life. I missed my mother, who had passed away a couple of years prior to then. Her presence was always so comforting, and I was really feeling the void of her being gone. I was almost to the point of tears when I accidently knocked my study bible off the shelf and noticed a folded slip of paper drift to the floor. It was a note that she had written me back in high school, apparently when I was leaving for drill team camp. The note said, “My dear Pam, Just remember – I love you and my prayers will be with you. Mother PS: Sure will be glad to have you back home again – There was no question in my mind that having me find that note again was her way of saying, “I still see you, and I’m with you in spirit.” It felt like a hug from her.

Story posted by: Pamela Harris

Story posted on: 02-15-2009

What a beautiful book. I so believe that our loved ones who have crossed are so around us always and am open to receiving their messages. As a treat to myself, I had a reading with a local psychic medium, Joseph Tittel , who is wonderful. So many of my loved ones came thru, my beloved grandparents, my ex-father-in-law- who had committed suicide in 1980, and many more. It was a beautiful experience. Knowing and believing in a beautiful "other side" and knowing that we will be seeing our loved ones again is so comforting. In addition, there really are no coincidences, as we read of Dan' s experiences unfolding and he was blessed enough to recognize and find comfort, and make a huge difference in the world with The Zaki Gordon institute. God Bless everyone who has lost a loved one and God Bless you , Dan for sharing your story. Let us all bring more love and light into this world!!

Story posted by: Linda Sheridan

Story posted on: 02-10-2009

My 39 year old son, Mark, died accidently July 7th, 2002. He had just completeted one of the most successful years of his life and we all thought he was finally on his way to finding his true potential. He died in Portland, Oregon on a Sunday afternoon and I did not find out until the following morning around 6 AM. I had received a call from my ex-husband, Marks,' father giving me the shocking news. During Sunday night I had been awakened by a bat that had gotten into our home in the country in rural Oregon. We had lived here for six years and never had this happen before. My husband helped me gently trap the bat and release it outside again. The next day, after hearing the news about her older brother, I called my daughter who lives in Denver and while we were on the phone she called out, "There is a bird in my house, that has never happened before!" We both feel it was a message from Marks spirit in the form of a bat and a bird. We have neither one ever had such a visit since that event over six years ago. Also, my sons' digital watch was left here with me, imediately following his death, and we were unable to get it to run. The next morning I was here getting breakfast and heard from far away in the other room the faint sounds of his watch alarm, which had been set for some important reason we will never know about. And now six plus years later the watch sounds a friendly reminder every morning to always remember Mark with love and know he cares! Thank you for your stories they have allowed me to reconnect with Mark in a special way again. I am also sharing it with my counseling clients many of which have unresolved grief issues.

Story posted by: Saren D. Nelson

Story posted on: 02-07-2009

Your book was a postcard that I picked up last night from Barnes and Noble. I picked it up, looked at it, went to put it back in it's spot in front of me from a stack I thought I took it from and couldn't find. I looked all around that table of "new releases" and could not find one more copy. I knew I was supposed to buy it at that point. My postcard was literally a note from my mother after she died. It was the night of her funeral, I was with friends at a restaurant waiting to be seated. I looked over to a long oak check out counter and there was a box of note pads that said "a note from Pat" . There was nothing else on this check out counter but that box of note cards that had a butterfly flying over day lillies that represent reemergence and life after death. My mother's name was "Pat" That was the best gift I've ever received.

Story posted by: Tracy Russell

Story posted on: 01-30-2009

I start out with a wonderful 35 year marriage to my former wife Nancy i callrd her Miss Nancy she and my two boys were my whole world. My world cradhed on October 16 2008 ! She was getting ready for work in our partime job and she had amassive heartattack and fell on the bathroom floor. we were two retiredcounty employees wiyh 25 yares service we were looking fowaed to a long healthy retirement but that wasnt to be. About 1 month after her departure i was driving the kids to school and i heard a LOUD VOICE calling JOHN i asked my aide if she wanted me she said no. Then i heard a small voice you are going to be fine im home dont worry about anything i felt like somebody pored honey from my head to my feet and felt more peace than i had in 1 moth since she left me for eternity. Nancy just turned 60 that day we had been working together for 1 year i as driver and Miss Nancy was my aide we couldnt get enough of each other1

Story posted by: john4u

Story posted on: 01-24-2009

I read your book and found it to be a very emotional experience for me. I am sorry for your loss. On the way to the store today, National Public Radio (1/24/09)had a story about a young Jewish woman who was soliciting donors for those in need of a kidney. She would not give her age because she wasn't married, and being Jewish, felt that was a misdeed on her part. (???) I am not Jewish and don't understand that, and she sounded young. Anyway, her story emphasizes the sorry need for donors of all types, with people literally on their death bed if they do not receive the needed organ. Why can't you, (with your talents) put forth a movie or TV docu- ment (or maybe a name other than documentary, as some people shun domumentaries), telling the story of someone who lived a normal life until their kidney(s) failed them and life took a very different turn for them. Organs are so badly needed by so many and very few people think twice about it. It needs to be in the public eye, and a popular movie or TV program could do just that, don't you agree? I think it is a great story line and if it does well, some of the profits could go to the organ donation program, right? jackie4726@hotmail.com

Story posted by: jackie browman

Story posted on: 12-29-2008

My dad passed away in 1996 - and my mom and I immediately started getting "messages" from him. She would be watching a program on tv that they both had enjoyed - and the black and white photo of him that sat on her television would radiate out all kinds of color. I witnessed this and it was amazing.  Once I was shopping with her - which he loved to do - and when she paid - their song "Stardust" came over the store speaker - and we both knew he was happy for her.  Meantime, I noticed the number 13 started appearing in my life as soon as he died - I'd see it on the clock (12:13) - I'd sit in a theatre seat- 13 - it happened so often that my mom and I thought it was my dad letting me know he was there. My mom got Leukemia about 9 years after my dad died. We tried in the beginning to make light of it - humor and laughter were always a big part of our lives. I asked her - if she  does pass - would she continue this repeating the number thirteen in my life - as dad  was doing? She smiled and said ," I'll give you two thirteens in one day!" My mom died quickly from the Leukemia - and true to her word - even when I was going over her papers with my lawyer - it started - in conversation - two thirteens would come up. It still goes on - I'll be sitting on a train ready to leave - and the conductor will say - we have to go to track 13 - then someone will be sitting next to me and mention the number thirteen about something totally unrelated. I always thank both my parents for letting me know through songs on the radio, dreams, synchronicities (yes- the number 13 repeating) - that I know they are there. I've filled three journals so far with all of these messages - or what I refer to as calls from them. I'm sure most people get them - it's just that I pick up the receiver and listen - and then answer them with a" thank you"- and " I love you." Thanks for your wonderful book - so many of these postcards are out there from our loved ones if we can just stop be still and listen.  Ilene Fredd

Story posted by: Ilene Fredd

Story posted on: 12-24-2008

This past July 4th, my husband of 46 years died from a sudden intracranial hemorrhage. He survived a huge bladder tumor in 1968 and open heart surgery in 1979. He refused to take himself or his illnesses seriously. “People want to feel sorry for someone,” he would say, “let them go walk through St. Jude’s [Children’s Research Hospital for pediatric cancer patients].” Over the years, we laughed our way through both of his illnesses, a couple of mine, and many of the other stressors Life presents. After the heart surgery, I asked him, “Okay, are you done with the dramatics now?” He said, “Nope. Next time it will be the brain,” and we laughed. That morning, he had a bad headache. I asked him, as we often did each other, “Are you okay or are you beginning to die?” He answered quietly that he wasn't sure, which got my attention, so I asked if he wanted to go to the hospital to check out the headache, but he said, “No, why? What good would that do?” Instead, despite what must have been intense pain, he made very tender love to me that felt like a combination of “thank you” and “goodbye.” I guess it was in a way, because within a couple of hours, I had to call 911, and by midnight, only his brain stem was functioning, and a Gift of Life staff member was sitting with me at his bedside. I don’t think his death was a tragedy. I agree with him that a child suffering and dying is a tragedy. Never knowing Love is a tragedy. At our ages, death is simply Life moving on to its natural next stage. That said, it is five months later and I am still wondering if the fog will ever clear, if I will ever get through the agony of losing him and be able to function normally once again. I met him at 15, married him at 18 two days after graduating high school. We were able to end our marriage still in love, and we counted that a real blessing – one we’d worked hard for, but that still eludes many who fervently want such an outcome but cannot achieve it – including both of our sons. We were constantly together, each other’s best friend. Family and friends sometimes teased us about it, sometimes advised us of the danger of too much togetherness… but we thrived together. The downside of being so intertwined, I guess, is that now I have no clue how to function emotionally without him. This is a part of my life I will have to create from scratch, and that scares me… but it’s apparently what the script demands now. I’ve received a couple of postcards that I think are intended to help me with that task: Even with the last morning’s intimacy, we never got a chance to say goodbye knowing we were parting… until the night of August 11th when, through a dream that wasn’t a dream, we embraced for a long time – one of those hugs where when one of the two lessens their “grip” the other one pulls them back into the hug, and then vice versa… For a few moments, it was as if neither one of us wanted to let go and say goodbye, even temporarily. At that mystical meeting (he looked much younger, healthier, and glowingly happy, by the way!) we knew that we had to be apart for awhile now because I was still on a journey that we both believed important to complete... but knowing its necessity didn’t make us like having to be separated. So we held each other for a long time saying goodbye. The next morning I could still feel that hug. It has sustained me for months now. The other postcard came just a few days ago. I have not spent a Christmas without him since I was 15. Although both sons invited me to be with them, I need to be alone this year just to be able to “be” without having to meet anyone’s expectations of how I should be feeling or what I should be thinking or doing. I’ve always had a very high pain threshold, both on physical and emotional levels, and am not really much of a crier or a whiner – but I think my husband is aware of the huge gaping hole in my heart, of my feelings of desolation, as if the world's color has suddenly changed to an ugly, dingy gray. In this second twilight dream, I wakened just enough to feel his hand on mine, his palm laid across the back of my hand in a protective, comforting way. I could feel the weight of his hand, and its warmth. I don’t know why, but I did not open my eyes to look for him. I just lay very still trying to absorb the moment so that I will never forget how it felt. After about 20 seconds, his hand's weight on mine lessened. “Don’t go.” I murmured. He immediately spoke into my mind, “I’m here. I’m right here.” It felt like another postcard from Heaven delivered specifically to get me through these holidays… and I think it is working. I wish I could say that I’m not still in pain, but we knew one of us would have to walk this path. During our long marriage, we talked many many times about death. “What would I do if you go first?” I used to ask him. “How could I ever get through it?” His answer never varied: “You stand up each morning, and you put one foot in front of the other.” That’s what I’m doing…. but as I try to walk forward the way he would expect me to, I find myself clutching very tightly to my postcards from Heaven.

Story posted by: Pat

Story posted on: 12-07-2008

Your Postcards from Heaven was my postcard. I picked up the book while browsing at Barnes & Noble. I thought it might offer a bit of warmth. I thought I might voyeristicly comfort myself through someone else's story. I was looking for comfort because I am greiving the loss of my brother David. David passed away on 11/06/08. When I picked up the book I thought hey, cool. Maybe, someday, I will receive a post card from David...until then I can read something about someone else being comforted. The interesting thing was as the story unfolded there were such striking similarities that I felt that gentle nudge of 'this is too weird to be a coincidence'. My David was diagnosed with lung cancer 4.5 years ago. It was treated and he responded incredibly well. Then in April of 08 the cancer returned with a vengence in David's brain. David's younger brother is named Danny and he felt much the same way as you did about your brother David. And there is an entire sub-story around David, my daughter Alexa, NYU and Zaki's film school in Sedona.I believe I was guided to pick up your book to receive my postcard from David letting me know he is safe, warm, and loved on the other side. And I have a sneaking hunch Alexa will be attending the Zaki Gordon Institute in Sedona.

Story posted by: Helen

Story posted on: 11-22-2008

Mr. Gordon, I jus finish your book “Postcards from Haven” and I would like to share my postcard with you. First of all, excuse my spelling. I’m a Jew from Mexico City but I being living in San Diego, California for 20 Years. This e-mail could be a little beta to long but please, read it all. My first born Passed away July 12th of 2008 (It was a Shabbat). Jessica, my precious 13 year old daughter, could not beat brain cancer. Jessica always had her own cell phone whit her. Ten days after Jessica passed away, I was sleeping. It was 2 or 3 a.m. when Jessica’s cell phone start ringing. It was an intermittent ringing, not a constant one. I did not wake up to look for the phone. I wait to the next morning and I asked my wife if she heard Jessica’s Cell phone ringing the other night. Her respond: You are crazy, I put that phone away, and I don’t even remember where I put it”. “No, I did not hear Jessica’s phone ringing”. So we start looking for the phone. We found it. Jessica’s phone did not show any incoming call for the night I hear the phone ringing. But I notice that the screen show a phone number that, neither me or my wife recognize. The call was made the night a hear Jessica’s phone ringing. So because I did not recognize the phone number where the call was made, I decide to dial that phone number. When I dial the number a voice mail answer my call. My call was answer by voice mail with the recording of the song “I am walking on Sunshine”. I got the Gus bumps every time I told this story but it is absolutely true. To me it is an amazing and true Postcard from Haven. Mr. Gordon please read what follow and please read the attachment I am sending you. As your re doing with the memory and spirit of your son Zaky, I am traing to do the same for Jessica, the most precious human being I ever met. P.S. Alexa 9 years, Jessica’s sister is pretty awesome to. Hi, my name is Abraham Nudelstejer and I’m sending this letter because I need your help On July 12th my daughter Jessica passed away. At 13 years old, she could not beat a brain cancer tumor. To preserve Jessica’s spirit I star the Jessica Nudelstejer Foundation. Please se de document attach so you can learn everything about this foundation. My goal is to raise enough money to give away 4 laptops to unprivileged kids on Jessica’s birthday, February 10. I am planning to do the same thing every single year. I wonder, after you read de attachment, if you can give me contacts or information about where to get laptops at a low price and also if you know anybody willing to give a contribution to Jessica’s Foundation. So far I being able to raise 1,200 dollars but still is not enough to meet our goal. Thank you for your time and I will be waiting for your kind response. Abraham Nudelstejer 619-421-2778 1740 Fernwood Road, Chula Vista, California, 91913 (Please open rtf named: carta una sola pagina)

Story posted by: abraham nudelstejer

Story posted on: 11-21-2008

I was born the day after my Mother’s birthday so celebrating together was a special part of our relationship. I lived with Mom, and took care of her, before she passed away 6 years ago but it is clear to me each day that her love and our relationship live on. Over the years there have been “postcards from heaven” to remind me of her presence in my life especially around our birthdays. Mom’s favorite flower is the calla lily. Mom & Dad's wedding picture with her holding a beautiful calla lily bouquet hangs on the wall of my home. Now two paintings of calla lilies decorate the walls-presents from Mom from the other side. The first one she sent me was in Peru where I was traveling on the first Mother’s Day without Mom or so I thought. Traveling through Peru I saw bouquets of calla lilies everywhere--in the hotels, restaurants and even on the street in a painting I bought from a young street vendor. The painting is of an older woman who is standing in a field of flowers picking calla lilies. The second bouquet was on my birthday two years ago. I was in NYC on business and walking down the street with two friends who were taking me out to dinner to celebrate. Walking under a scaffolding decorated by a local artist with his wares, I spotted a small painting in the dark, not yet on display, next to the artist’s folding chair: a vase of calla lilies on a blue background (the color of my French country kitchen). I bought the painting but it wasn’t until I looked at it in the light of the restaurant that I saw the small package wrapped with a bow next to the vase—a birthday present from my mother! A few days ago, I was celebrating my birthday in Sedona. I was visiting friends who gave me a gift of massage. Next to the massage table was a bouquet of calla lilies. Mom and I were celebrating together again, as always. ..

Story posted by: Ginny Weissman

Story posted on: 11-13-2008

Another postcard from Heaven to share In 1996 our daughter Jen was a junior at Colby College in Maine. As many juniors do, she spent a semester abroad. Her choice was Edinburgh, Scotland, where she studied English. She was to be there from January till June. Most families would have planned a trip there during that time, but our budget wouldn’t allow all three of us to go. Instead, we gave the trip to her younger brother, Matt, 15 at the time, as part of his Christmas present. It would be his first trip that included a plane ride. Originally, the plan was for Matt, a tall skinny dude of a basketball player, to visit Jen during his April break from school, so we assumed we had plenty of time to procure his passport and ticket, but Jen informed us that his trip would fit better into her schedule if he spent his February vacation with her instead of the spring break. This was now short notice for us, and we had a lot to get done in a hurry. Matt’s dad, John, took a day off after the first of the year and the two of them went into the Federal building in Boston to expedite the passport process. We had heard that if you waited in line all day you could get the passport that same day, which they did. Since it was Matt’s first flight and his sister wouldn’t be able to meet him at the airport, she had provided him with detailed information as to which bus he had to find when he landed at the Glascow airport which would take him to her location. At least the people where he was going would speak English in case he got lost, I comforted myself. Nervous mother that I am, I had practically turned Matt into a nervous wreck himself regarding keeping his passport safe (people would kill for an American passport, I told him), finding the correct bus, and not talking to strangers. The day of the trip, I was extremely nervous because Matt was flying on British Airways, and during this time, the IRA was setting off bombs in trash cans around London. Although his flight was not going to London, but Glasgow, I still could not shake off my worries for his safety. All the way to the airport I prayed to my childhood friend, Elaine, who had been a flight attendant for Delta Airlines until her death from Lymphoma at age 44. I asked her to watch over him and help him to arrive safely. Friends since 4th grade, Elaine and I were very close. I was the godmother to her daughter, Alicia, who was just 6 weeks older than Matt. When Elaine was in high school her dream was to be a flight attendant, and she would make us go with her on weekends to Logan airport in Boston to watch the planes depart and arrive. When she was going to her interview for the flight attendant job, we, her 3 best friends, prayed to St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes, that she’d be hired. She was, and she loved her job. During our high school years a popular song of the day was ‘Sweet Talkin’ Guy’. We used to sing it together and enjoyed the ‘rounds’ of the verses. After Elaine died in 1992, I would think of her whenever the song came on the oldies station I listened to regularly. I felt it was our time to communicate. As the years went by, it was played less and less, but I noticed that the song seemed to come on the radio when I had something big happening in my life. For example, when I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, I had to decide whether to have radiation treatments following my lumpectomy (the doctors said I was borderline for needing it and that it was up to me). One day, I was driving home after the appointment at which the doctor had made the treatment recommendation. In order to think things through, I turned off the radio that was always tuned to the oldies station. I told myself that the doctors knew best and decided to follow their recommendation and have the treatment. That decision made, I put the radio back on. The song that was playing at that moment? ‘Sweet Talkin’ Guy’. I took that as a sign from Elaine that I had made the right decision. We got to Logan airport early for Matt’s flight and parted ways with him at the doors to the gate beyond which we could not go. I watched him, clad in his bulky Charlotte Hornet’s jacket, as he hugged his carry on bag to his chest, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He was tense, and I had made him that way. John and I turned from the glass doors to see that a long line of people had formed waiting to pass into the gated area. I happened to notice a middle aged man sporting a Colby College baseball cap. He was saying goodbye to a young woman, I assumed to be his daughter, who was preparing to go through glass doors. Thinking she might know my daughter Jen, I went over and asked her if she did. She had graduated from Colby the previous June, and knew Jen by name only. The girls name was Jennifer also, and she said she was going to Scotland to visit her boyfriend, still a student at Colby, spending his junior semester abroad in Edinburgh. Even though this girl was a complete stranger, I felt she was part of the Colby family and my motherly instinct took over. I pointed out Matthew, sitting in the gate area, and asked her to do me a favor. I explained that it was his first flight ever, and asked if she could befriend him, so that if anything happened on the trip (IRA in mind) he would feel a connection to another human being on that plane. She very graciously agreed, and now two sets of parents watched as she entered the gated area and introduced herself. I had to laugh to myself; I had told him over and over not to speak to strangers, and now I had just sent him one! I marveled at how his shoulders dropped in relief, and we waved as they boarded the plane together. I then turned to Jennifer’s parents and said to her dad, ‘I’m glad I’m not shy; I saw the Colby hat and just had to speak to you.” He laughed and said, “I actually just threw it on at the last moment as we were leaving the house.” Realizing that I had not even introduced myself or my husband, I introduced us and said where we lived. The man introduced himself and his wife and mentioned that they came from the city of Revere. “Oh,” I said, playing the name game, “I only know a couple of people in all of Revere. Do you know by any chance…” (and I mentioned the names of my deceased flight attendant friend Elaine and her husband ). “Know them” he said, “we summered with them every year at their place in Maine until she died.” I could not stop the tears of gratitude all the way home. There was no doubt in my mind that Elaine had sent this family to us that day. The odds against this happening were too great. First Matt was supposed to go to Scotland in April, and then at the last minute it was changed to February. The hat, the girl, the boyfriend in Scotland, were all too much. I finally composed myself in the car and retreated into my thoughts. My husband put the radio on, and the song that was playing was Sweet Talkin’ Guy…

Story posted by: Dorothy O\'Neill