Weston, the ghost boy from the 1700s, continued to make his presence known over the next couple months. Objects around my daughter, Kiani, continued to move regularly; a feather, jewelry pliers (these were moved a few feet from a dresser to my bed while we were out shopping), toys, and pet mice furniture among them.
We had already determined that he was a shy and respectful boy, drawn to laughter, animals, and stories. But we also discovered that he had a sense of humor as well.
Once, when we were watching a movie, Kiani saw the boy’s arm emerge from a wall and reach slowly toward our cat, to gently boop her on the nose. The cat responded to this in the typical semi-startled blink that accompanies being booped.
(At this time, we were starting to pay attention to our pets’ reaction to what Kiani sees, and it was cool. They see everything my daughter does, and it gives a nice sense of validation to the stuff we experience.)
As you can imagine, we were growing quite used to having the boy around. When a spirit is as gentle as this kid is, you can’t help but feel some fondness toward him.
What we didn’t realize, though, is how much he cared for us in return.
One day, I got some bad financial news of a sort. A big chunk of my income wouldn’t be coming in for a long time, if ever again. The kids and I had been dependent on it for a lot of our needs. My Mom offered to help, of course, but that day was stressful for me. I didn’t want to have to ask her for help.
I remember crying and the kids asking what was wrong. I explained the best I could, then I went outside to sit on the porch for a while – a place I often go to find some peace.
A few minutes later, Kiani came out the front door and sat down next to me. She pulled her phone out and started to play a game on it.
All was quiet for a bit.
“Hey!” she exclaimed suddenly.
I turned to see her touching the top of her head, looking baffled.
“What?” I asked her.
“Something just fell on my head. Maybe it was a bug or something?”
She took a few seconds to look for whatever had fallen on her then,
“Look!” she said, holding up something small. “It’s a penny!”
“What the heck?” I replied. “That’s so weird!”
“Think it was Weston?”
“Probably,” I answered. “Kind of a funny thing for him to do, though. I wonder if he just wants your attention tonight.”
When we walked back inside, we discovered that the penny was only one coin in a handful. Just inside the door was another penny, then a dime on the stairs, and another toward the top. We followed them in a trail up the stairs and to the source – a little jar of change that I kept on a coffee table.
It didn’t take long for us to figure out what had happened. Talk of money problems, my tears, and the kids’ concern must have upset Weston. I could almost hear him thinking, Look! Here’s a little jar of coins! Surely, this could help, right? Maybe I’ll remind them about it.
I would have given anything to have seen with my own eyes his amazing effort to carry a handful of them downstairs. Such an incredibly sweet thing to do.
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