During lunch with my dad today, he shared the following with me.
Dad: I got a message out of nowhere from someone.
Jenn: Who?
Dad: My mother.
She has been dead for over 25 years, by the way. My heart skips a beat.
Jenn: Where?
Dad: I was in the car and she spoke to me. It was as if she was talking from the backseat of the car. It lasted all of a few seconds.
Jenn: What did she say?
Dad: She said, "you’re going to live until you’re 97".
Jenn: Wow.
What else does one say to this?
Dad: I knew it was her because she spoke to me in Spanish and she called me Jose Antonio, which is what she used to call me as a kid...I got the chills and then the hair stood up on my arms.
Me too. We then proceeded to discuss aging and whether living until your 97 is really so great, especially if you're alone. So what could have been a touchingly ethereal experience for my dad, now became a chat about growing old and losing all your friends and loved ones to death. Lovely lunchtime fodder for thought...
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