Voices From Beyond the Grave

For personal reasons, I found the results of this recent Pew Research Center survey interesting.

Around half of U.S. adults (53%) say they’ve ever been visited by a dead family member in a dream or some other form. And substantial shares say they’ve had interactions with dead relatives in the past 12 months:

34% have “felt the presence” of a dead relative

28% have told a dead relative about their life

15% have had a dead family member communicate with them

In total, 44% of Americans report having at least one of these three experiences in the past year.

Women are more likely than men to say they have had these kinds of interactions with dead family members. And people who are moderately religious are more likely than others – including those who are highly religious and those who are not religious – to have experienced these things.

The survey was conducted March 27-April 2, 2023, among 5,079 adults on the Center’s American Trends Panel. It included Americans of all religious backgrounds, including Jews, Muslims, Buddhists and Hindus. But there are not enough respondents from these smaller groups to report on their answers separately...

Overall, 46% of Americans report that they’ve been visited by a dead family member in a dream, while 31% report having been visited by dead relatives in some other form.

Roughly two-thirds of Catholics (66%) and members of the historically Black Protestant tradition (67%) have ever experienced a visit from a deceased family member in some form. Evangelical Protestants are far less likely to say the same (42%).

Over the years, I have worked with thousands terminally ill people and their caregivers. Many have reported these experiences to me and my co-workers. I recall one story in particular. It involved a woman who was caring for her bedridden, terminally ill mother to whom she was very devoted. One night the daughter was awakened by the presence of her mother standing at the foot of the bed. Shocked to see her mother out of bed, she got up. Her mother then reassured her that she was alright and left the room. The daughter rushed to her mother's bed and found that her mom had passed away. 

On a personal note, before I met Pewsterspouse, I was in a serious romantic relationship which ended painfully for me. I lost touch with that person, but never lost the memory of our time together. Twenty five years later I met them in a dream that shook me awake. In my dream, I was walking along an empty city sidewalk when we came together. We touched, and I knew that  they were dead, but in words that I still hear today they said with those same eyes and same smile, "Don't worry. I'm okay." Four years later their death was confirmed to me by their brother. He had only learned of it 2 years after their death. Their life had spiraled downhill due to substance use and contact with family had broken off. Their remains had been left unclaimed a half a continent away, until eventually he was found as the next of kin. 

Are these experiences just dreams, our products of our desire to hold on to the memories of our loved ones? Perhaps some are, but perhaps somethings that cannot be explained by mortals break into our world and touch us or speak to us in a dream.

These memories make me a little sad but hopeful that yes, everything is okay. Which reminds me of a poem,

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,

and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.

I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.

How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.

And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.

The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.

My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.

My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.

We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.

My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once

belonged to my kisses.

Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.

Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,

my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,

and this may be the last poem I write for her.

 

Pablo Neruda