A little privacy, please?

Do you believe in ghosts? Spirits? Angels? Life after death? Reincarnation? There are many choices out there, with an equally varied number of advocates for each one. Personally, I don’t know what I believe. I like to believe in guardian angels. I like to believe that my family that has gone before me still loves me enough to watch over me and protect me from totally screwing up. I like to believe that my mom and dad are together and arguing over whether or not 4:30 p.m. is a realistic time to eat dinner. I like to believe that my grandfather still gets out on the water and fishes every day – and I really hope that someone up there finally taught the man how to swim! My dad passed away when my first daughter was three months old. He had waited his whole life to be a Grandpa. I have a photo of him cradling her in his big arms, smiling ear to ear. I remember having to convince him to hold her – he was afraid he’d break her. In an instant, I knew a bond was created that I could never break. Skip ahead a few years, about three. She grew up hearing about Grandpa occasionally… maybe seeing a picture here and there. Then, one day, Grandma was babysitting her. She was toddling around the house and then asked, out of the blue, “Grandma? Who’s dat man in your room?” Trust me when I say there was never a man in my mother’s room from the night my dad passed away. Grandma asked her “What man, honey? The one in the picture?” My daughter impatiently said “NO! Come!” Together, they went hand in hand to my mom’s bedroom. My daughter pointed to one corner, where the walls met the ceiling, and said “Dat man! D’ere!” My mom was comforted by the belief that my dad was standing watch over his domain. I… (for the record)... would… never… sleep… in… that… room… again. I’ve seen the TV shows. The ones where people ask questions about messages from loved ones “on the other side.” The ones where people “feel a presence” in their house or get help from someone who then mysteriously disappears. Always pragmatic, I think there are logical explanations. Or, I did. One night a few months back, driving home from work, a truck suddenly stopped right in my lane. I had enough time to avoid it but just barely. I had been listening to the radio and, as the song ended, I heard very clearly – and quite loud – ELAINE! The voice was so real that, without a thought, I turned to look behind me to see who it was. It was when I turned back around that I saw the truck. Ok, Mom? If that was you… as I fully suspect it was… I’m a little wigged out but thank you. I’m starting to give this much more serious thought. People watching over us. People just plain watching us. Do we come with a rating? Do they know when our day is G-rated and when it switches to PG-13 or even X? This concerns me. Our parents know everything about us – well, everything that we choose to share with them plus whatever they discover through their covert FBI techniques (“Family Business Investigation,” that is). I wouldn’t have appreciated my parents hovering around the foot of my bed, critiquing my marital ministrations when they were alive – the idea that they’re doing it from “the other side” is disturbing. If it’s true that there are always people around us, do they tattle? Does Granny run to Mom when I use inappropriate language? Does Mom tell Dad when I’m not exactly behaving like a lady? If she does, it really explains those sudden, ill-timed leg cramps. Man… I am SO grounded some day!