Helping Out

I often wish that I didn't see dead people, especially when I'm asked to help one without really knowing how or why. Sometimes, however, the reason for the request becomes known to me in interesting ways.

Last week, a friend of mine came to me and asked me to find out how he died.

Without having had any of the details of his death confirmed, I strongly suspected that he'd committed suicide. I hadn't seen him in the years before he died -- we'd fallen out of touch -- and I didn't know anything about what had happened.

So, the other night, I sat watching television after midnight. Suddenly, his image kept appearing to me and I tried not to think about him. When I finally gave up or gave in -- I don't know which -- he said, "Find out how I died."

I thought, How do I do that?

Well, without saying I would do so, I went online and found some reports. Apparently, officially, it's said that his death was an accident but I don't believe it. I do, however, believe that he took his own life, now more so than ever.

I get the impression that his request was for me, not for him. He didn't need a mystery to be solved, etc. He wanted me to know, but why?

I believe that he saved my life once, shortly after dying (though I didn't know that he had died at the time). I had fallen asleep with -- gulp -- a cigarette in my hand (back in the days when I smoked). I woke up because a man called my name, my first name. The cigarette had burnt through two layers of blanket and was about to burn my pajamas. When I woke up, I couldn't place the voice but I knew that I KNEW it.

The voice had been loud and had yelled my name directly in my ear. I know now who it was. Since researching in the media to find out what happened, I can place the date on which I was saved from imminent burns after his own death by some months.

He's with me, at least sometimes. It's nice to know.