My husband committed suicide ten years ago by jumping off the Fremont Bridge. He was like a Martin Luther King, Jr. or a Ghandi. He was such a good man. Every summer, near his birthday and Father’s Day, I feel his presence and so I hold a day that is just for him. I call it “Joeday” because his name was Joe. So this year for ‘Joeday’ I played music in my house, records. All day I played songs that we both loved and I sang along with every song. I was singing, dancing, shaking asprin bottles as shakers; I was having a good time remembering him and focusing on all our best memories. It was getting into the evening and I wanted to make sure that my music wasn’t bothering my neighbors so I played one last song, our most favorite song, to finish up the day. When the song was over, I looked up and under the apple tree in my front yard was a Native American warrior in full regalia. I thought “I’m having visions.” I looked across the street and there was a parked car full of people, but they were ghostly. I guess in celebrating Joe’s spirit, I attracted a few other spirits as well. 

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