Linda Alice Dewey - Aarons Crossing

Linda Alice Dewey presents one of the most unusual as told to memoirs ever written. Both spooky and redemptive, it has the uncanny ring of truth. Unlike most ghost stories which aim to give goose bumps, this one presents a hard-won, heartfelt lesson.

D. Patrick Miller, author of A Little Book of Forgiveness and the novel Love After Life

Delightful and authentic! The story's twists and turns could not be invented. The ending is heartening, while the total sum of the book leaves the reader with a new awareness of life, death, what it means to love from the heart, and the true meaning of forgiveness.

Aime Merizon, former editor, ForeWord magazine

Linda Dewey has credibly constructed a fascinating account of her encounter with a ghost in a local cemetery. It is a remarkable story that will stay with you, portrayed with great dialogue, description... [Aaron's Crossing] is definitely a page turner!

Barbara Siepker, The Cottage Book Shop, Glen Arbor, Michigan

An unusual and fascinating book about a subject that interests everyonelife after death.

Jeanne Regentin, Between the Covers Bookshop, Harbor Spring, Michigan

Copyright 2006

by Linda Alice Dewey

www.lindaalicedewey.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work in any form whatsoever, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief passages in connection with a review.

Cover design by Jane Hagaman

Cover concept and photo enhancement by Todd L. Bauerle Cover photo by Linda Alice Dewey; taken near the site where Aaron was first encountered.

Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc.

1125 Stoney Ridge Road

Charlottesville, VA 22902

434-296-2772

fax: 434-296-5096

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Call 1-800-766-8009, toll-free.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Dewey, Linda Alice.

Aaron's crossing : an inspiring true ghost story / Linda Alice Dewey.

p. cm.

Summary: A true account of a woman who encounters a ghost in a graveyard near her home and helps him cross over. Years later the grateful ghost returns to recount his life story and explain how he became trapped on Earth after death--Provided by publisher.

ISBN 1-57174-512-2 (6 x 9 tp : alk. paper)

1. Ghosts. 2. Channeling (Spiritualism) I. Title.

BF1461.D49 2006

133.1--dc22

2006017941

ISBN 1-57174-512-2

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed on acid-free paper in Canada

www.redwheelweiser.com

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For Mom and Dad

This book is a work of creative nonfiction. The events involving the author actually took place. The other events may have. The author of this book does not advise ghost-hunting or ghost-busting. Attempts at connecting with the spiritworld without the guidance of an experienced physical teacher (often available through metaphysical bookstores) is unadvisable. The intent of the author is only to offer information that may help you on your own path through life toward spiritual and emotional well-being. Should you use any of the information in this book for yourself, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for your actions. Some names have been changed to protect the living. Aaron's middle and last name have been changed to protect his family.

Michigan, 1991

Ohio, 1922

Ireland, 1891

The Atlantic Ocean, 1891

Boston, 1891

Chicago, 1891

Michigan, 1894

Michigan, 1902

Boston, 1902

Boston, 1904

Boston, 1907

Michigan, 1908

Michigan, 1916

Michigan, 1917

Michigan, 1918

Ohio, 1922

Ohio, 1922

Michigan, 1923

Boston, 1924

Boston, 1946

Michigan, 1991

Michigan, 1995

Michigan, 1991

Someone's here. The hair on the back of my neck is standing up, Lisbeth whispered.

I felt a dense heaviness in the air. Someone we couldn't see belonged here. If the gravestones gave any indication, he had lived at least a century ago.

We separated and wandered the soft path, reading the markers. Some were easy to decipher. Others, mottled with the dark gray of dead mold, were more of a challenge. The little graveyard deep in the woods appeared to have been abandoned long ago. Headstones tipped at odd angles, and a rusty wire gate swung into oblivion.

Lisbeth stopped in front of a space with no headstone, dropped to one knee and crossed herself, forehead to chest, left shoulder to right appropriate if she were Catholic. But Lisbeth was Jewish. To this day she doesn't remember doing it.

Why did you do that? I asked.

She looked at me, her eyes large black flower heads, her voice husky. I had to.

My brother, who had brought us here, read a brass plaque while he also watched us from a distance.

Do you feel anything? I asked him.

He rolled his eyes. I don't feel a thing. The truth is that this evening would spook him for years to come.

In the forest, night falls early, and it would be even darker away from this clearing on the path back to the van. I yearned to reach out to this poor being, whoever he was, but could do nothing except say a prayer before I left. As we walked along the path back to the car, I looked behind me at the abandoned burial grounddormant, still, aloneits secret hidden by the forest. How awful to be stuck in such a place.

Over the next few years I returned twice, the first time with my family in the middle of the day. The sun shone, but the place still felt eerie. This time I brought my camera. I'd heard that ghosts sometimes show up in pictures, but when I got home, the camera was empty. I'd forgotten to put film in it.

On my third visit I could stand it no longer. He was there. I could feel him, sad and helpless. I had to let him know someone cared. But what could I say that would be meaningful to a hundred-year-old ghostsomething so universal, it would sail across the time-gap between our culturessomething he'd understand?

It came to me from out of nowhere, and in that moment, the wheels of an impending miracle began to turn.

Whoever is here, I called out to the emptiness, my heart is with you.

And nothing would ever be the same.

Now the woods felt even spookier. I turned to see my friends disappear down the path. Wait up, you guys! I yelled. No one slowed down. They wanted to get out of there, too.

As I hurried I wondered, Does he think my call is an invitation? Is he following us? It did feel strange behind me. No, I told myself. I'm overreacting.

I caught up with the others. Feeling silly and carried away by my imagination, I said, That was corny.

What was? my friend Carolyn shot back.

What I just said. What does it mean, my heart is with you?

It means you care.

Yes, I care.

As we drove away, I checked the back seat. What if he followed us, and he's in here? I asked.

My son, Evan, spoke up. He can't be in here. There's no room.

But the ghost did follow us out of the cemetery, though I didn't know for sure until he physically broke through the next day. Any doubt I had ever had about the existence of ghosts and an Afterlife vanished when I saw what he did.

I thought I might be able to help him. This book is the story of what happened.

Years after our journey together, I wanted to know why he became a ghost in the first place. What was the Afterlife really like? Did I hear him accurately when we communicated? I wanted to write about it but needed more information.