My Mother’s Return

Here is a 1^st person account from the 1950s about a son’s angel.

My mother died too young. My father had a portrait of her framed and placed it above our fireplace mantle, it was his way of telling us kids she still watched over us.

Seven years after her death I was in college in Pennsylvania when my uncle invited me to go hunting with him in the Pocono Mountains.

My uncle returned to the lodge early but I enjoying the day continued to hunt. I stuck to a well-trodden path since I was not familiar with the area.

It was late afternoon and the sunshine glistened at a low angle off the tall trees that surrounded me. I stopped to shade my eyes so I could get a clearer view of the trail in front of me.

Suddenly, to my right I spotted a human figure in the shadows. Startled, I realized that just 30 yards away from me stood my Mom. I could only see her head and shoulders amidst the shadows but there was no mistaking that it was my deceased mother.

I stood rooted to my spot dumbstruck not comprehending at first what was happening. I remembered my binoculars around my neck and lifted them to my eyes.

Yes, it was my mother and she was smiling at me. I couldn’t manage any words but I silently stated, “Hi Mom.” I waited but received no response.

I watched this image for what seemed like an eternity but it was actually just a few minutes. Then her face slowly faded away.

Coming to my senses I stated out loud, “Bye Mom, thanks for visiting.”

I continued down the trail wondering if what I had seen really happened. I had walked about 50 more yards down the path when a rifle shot rang out.

The bullet smashed into a tree that stood on the path in front of me. It hit the tree at my eye level. I realized that if I had been 20 more yards down this path the bullet would have struck my head.

It dawned on me why my mother had appeared. She had delayed me just long enough so that I didn’t reach the spot where the bullet hit.

Without her intervention I would not have been able to walk away.

Dad was right, she still watches over us.