Seeing "Jack"

In my mid-twenties, I had just begun dating my boyfriend at the time. One weekend, we went to stay at his mom’s house by the lake. That night, as we settled into bed, I was just about to drift off when I rolled over onto my side. Standing over me was a man wearing a green and blue plaid shirt. The sight terrified me—I punched my boyfriend in the arm to wake him up and told him there was someone in the room. But when I looked back, the man was gone.

The next morning, I recounted what had happened to his family. I described the man I had seen, and his brother said, “That was my dad. He used to wear a shirt just like that.” His father had passed away years before we met, and I had never seen him in my life—until that night.

From then on, my visions grew more frequent and vivid. They always appeared at night, just as I was relaxing and settling in to sleep. Even though it generally happened at night, I was fully aware of what I was seeing.  Some nights, I’d wake my husband to ask if he could see anything. Other times, I’d say aloud, “I see that,” as a way to reassure myself that I wasn’t losing my mind. The visions varied. A woman in a yellow trench coat. Dogs, including a cairn terrier whose paws I could feel on the bed. A man holding flowers wrapped in cellophane, the plastic crinkling.

Then, I became pregnant with my first son. Almost immediately, the visions stopped (I eventually met some mediums who offered an explanation for this sudden departure, but more on this later). Admittedly, a part of me felt relief, but another part grieved. Although I hadn’t fully understood what was happening to me, those nightly encounters had become a familiar part of my life. When they suddenly ceased, it felt as though a piece of me had disappeared. I didn’t see anything for about 2 years, until slowly, but surely the visions came back.

I have seen young men in jerseys—yellow and green—with darker skin. An older woman in a pink dress suit with a small hat. An older man holding an infant. After being encouraged to engage with the spirits (more on this in a later post), I tried waving at him and, to my surprise, he waved back. A young child in a onesie hovering in the corner of my room. Objects appeared too—geometric shapes, sage bundles, countless spiders, picture frames with children’s faces, toys, a steamer trunk, milk jugs, the list goes on. I once saw a sprite glowing in brilliant shades of pink and purple, like a Luna moth hovering above me. Shadows moved across the ceiling, orbs floated in the air, and figures emerged: a young boy with light hair and freckles, and friends who had passed away, their arms wrapped around one another.

Some visions were fleeting, lasting only a split second, while others lingered just long enough for me to notice their features. And then, as suddenly as they appeared, they would be gone. Some dissolved into the ether, like fading mist, while others seemed to break apart into tiny particles of energy—spinning and crackling as they dispersed into the room.

When the visitors appeared at night, their presence was often accompanied by an intense, adrenaline-like surge that coursed through my body and seemed to escape through the top of my head. A buzzing sensation would envelop me, lingering in the air around me for several minutes.

These experiences extended beyond merely “seeing” things. I remember quite a few times when lying in bed, gripping the edges of the mattress as it vibrated so intensely that I questioned whether we were experiencing a small earthquake. My bed is made of solid wood—so heavy and sturdy that even two adults would struggle to move it. This shaking sensation has occurred in every home I have lived in, no matter which bed I have slept in.

I've come to understand that energy has a profound way of making its presence known—it flows through you and becomes part of your very being.