After my father passed away, my mom began to come over more often. She said she wanted to help out and spend more time with us, but every visit was accompanied by tears and tension. My daughter, Cindy, would cry all the time and avoid her grandmother. Mom dismissed it, claiming that Cindy was spoiled by my overprotective parenting. Yet, when it was just the two of us, Cindy was a perfect, joyful child.
One evening, after another tear-filled visit from my mom, I decided it was time to get to the bottom of this. I sat down with Cindy, gently holding her hand.
“Hunny, why do you cry when Grandma is home?” I asked softly.
Cindy looked at me with wide, fearful eyes. “Because of her friend.”
I was puzzled. “What friend? She is coming alone.”
Cindy shook her head vigorously. “Then why does she always ask me to play with him?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Him? Who are you talking about, sweetie?”
Cindy’s eyes filled with tears as she whispered, “The man who comes with Grandma. He stands in the corner and watches me.”
A chill ran down my spine. There was no man. My mom always came alone, or at least that’s what I thought. Trying to keep my voice steady, I asked, “Can you describe this man, Cindy?”
She nodded. “He’s tall, with dark hair. He wears old clothes and has a scary face. He says mean things to me when Grandma isn’t looking.”
Panic surged through me. I hugged Cindy tightly, trying to reassure her while my mind raced. Who was this man she was seeing? Why would my mother bring someone so unsettling into our home? And why hadn’t I noticed anything?
The next time my mom came over, I watched her closely, trying to discern any sign of this mysterious “friend.” To my dismay, Cindy immediately began to cry again, clutching my leg and refusing to let go. I decided to confront my mother.
“Mom, Cindy says there’s a man who comes with you. Who is she talking about?” I asked directly, watching her reaction closely.
My mother’s face paled. She stammered, “What? That’s ridiculous. There’s no one with me.”
But I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, and I knew she was hiding something. “Mom, please. Cindy is terrified. Who is this man?”
She finally broke down, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t want to tell you. I thought you would think I was crazy. But ever since your father passed, I’ve felt his presence. I think… I think his spirit is attached to me. I didn’t know he was scaring Cindy.”
I was stunned. My father? Could it be possible? I had never believed in ghosts, but Cindy’s fear and my mother’s genuine distress made me reconsider.
Determined to find a solution, I sought help from a local spiritual advisor. They suggested a cleansing ritual to help my father’s spirit find peace and move on. My mom, though skeptical, agreed to participate for Cindy’s sake.
We performed the ritual together, filling our home with prayers, incense, and positive energy. Cindy watched with wide eyes, clinging to me tightly. As the ritual concluded, a sense of calm settled over the house. My mother seemed more relaxed, and Cindy, though still wary, didn’t cry when my mom came over the next time.
Weeks passed, and slowly, Cindy’s fear diminished. She no longer mentioned the man, and my mother seemed lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
