Pen Pal(88)

He wasn’t what you’d call an emotionally demonstrative guy.

He grew up in Brooklyn in the 1940s. His own father died when he was a child. His mother, my grandma Ella, was about as cuddly as a cactus. He went to college on an engineering scholarship, and eventually became an aerospace engineer. I never once saw him cry, get drunk, or lose his temper. He was the poster child of the Greatest Generation’s ethics: personal responsibility, self-sacrifice, humility, frugality, integrity.

I could go on, but my point is that the man was more stoic than the Stoics. He’d never be accused of being whimsical.

Which is why it came as such a shock when he matter-of-factly declared that his mother had visited him.

My grandmother had been dead at that point for thirty-two years.

Then he told me about the angels.

“They’re right there,” he said, gesturing to the ceiling above his bed. So were all of his old friends who’d already passed on. Everybody was just patiently waiting for him there in the beautiful white light.

I cannot express how overwhelming it was to hear him talk like that. He wasn’t on morphine. He wasn’t drugged in any way. He was weak, yes, and very tired, but indisputably lucid.

And he was seeing angels and dead people.

When I spoke to the hospice nurse later to find out if that was unusual, she told me that visions of the afterlife are one of the most common experiences among the dying. They see loved ones. They see angels. They see brilliant white light. The closer they are to death, the clearer the visions become.

I was dubious, to say the least.

“But couldn’t these hallucinations simply be oxygen deprivation to the brain?” I asked. “Chemical imbalances? A side-effect of the body’s systems shutting down?”

That hospice nurse smiled at me as if I were a sweet but very silly child.

She never gave me an answer.

That silence haunts me, as do my father’s visions.

I don’t claim to have any answers, but I’ll leave you with something Helen Keller once said: “Death is no more than passing from one room to another.” I suppose we’ll all eventually find out.

Thank you to my parents, for everything.

Thank you to Jay, for everything else.

Thank you to my readers, who give me much more than I could ever give them.

Thank you to Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs, Sarah Ferguson of Social Butterfly PR, Linda Ingmanson, Wander Aguiar Photography, the amazing members of Geissinger’s Gang, and Mrs. Prouse, my sixth grade English teacher, who thought I wasn’t listening.

I was.



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For individuals facing mental health or substance abuse problems, the US Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) offers free, confidential, 24/7, 365 days a year treatment referral and information service. Find them online at samhsa.gov.





About the Author


J.T. Geissinger is a #1 international and Amazon Top Ten bestselling author of thirty novels. Ranging from funny, feisty romcoms to intense erotic thrillers, her books have sold over eight million copies and been translated into more than twenty languages.

She is a three-time finalist in both contemporary and paranormal romance for the RITA? Award, the highest distinction in romance fiction from the Romance Writers of America?. She is also a recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and the HOLT Medallion for Best Erotic Romance.

Connect with her online in her Facebook reader group, Geissinger’s Gang.

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