Meeting My Mother’s Friend
Submitted by Lady Yaro
Independence Day, Circa 1996
Rifton, New York
It was a hot summer afternoon of watching cartoons and reading in the living room of my mother’s partially old house, located in the tiny town of Rifton, New York. I was at the young age of six, yet I remember this experience like it happened during a recent morning. I left the living room for a snack. At the time, my father worked the night shift at a grocery store, and was sleeping with the bedroom door closed. (Across the hallway from the entrance to the living room.)
As I began to walk towards the kitchen, I stood in the hallway, as I saw the door start to creak open. I felt as if I were almost forced to wait there to see what, or who, was behind the door. At the time, we had a talented cat named Dixie, who could somehow open a closed door with his paws and sharp claws. I figured it was him, wisely doing that. Or, possibly my father, who could have awaken midday. However, what I saw opening the door brought my young body to chills, tears, and goosebumps. Not fearful tears, rather confused, surprised, and curious ones.
The figure that was floating before me was tall, white, and translucent. I could make out that had this been a human, he was a male sporting a leather motorcycle jacket with longer blonde hair that flowed over his forehead. Not a word was said, from me or the spirit. Nor was any movement made. Just two “pairs” of eyes gazing into each others. Maybe I felt obligated to stay there for a moment, perhaps it was some sort of brief hypnosis. I had never heard much of the term spirits or ghosts before, but I knew what he was.
I remember running into the kitchen, finally, to find my mother. At this point I was frightened and explained what had happened only seconds prior. She hugged me, told me not to worry as a slight chuckle leaped out of her.
She knew who it was. Who he was, and was no one to fear. It’s just often difficult to explain to a six year old why there is the spirit of a deceased in our home, who came to greet me. The man whose spirit I encountered was Chris Trensvisck.* He was a close friend of my mother’s growing up, and did not live too far away. My mother said he would often come over when they were young, so that explained why he chose such a familiar place to visit as his spirit.
She didn’t explain to me why he had passed away until I brought the experience up at a more mature age, where I could handle the term “death”. Her friend Chris had been killed in a serious motorcycle accident at a young age. The impact was so bad, that it nearly left him decapitated.
Chris’s spirit was glowing, and his head was fortunately, attached. To this day I wonder if that was the same jacket he was wearing during his final moments on Earth. I imagine if I were to see his spirit again...what I would do, if I could have a conversation with him. I will admit that there have been a few time which I have stood in the same spot we locked eyes together, and, no sign of him again...yet.