Visits from Heaven

My Danish grandmother, Grandma Hendrickson, lived 18 years after her husband died. She

My Grandmother Hendrickson who said her deceased husband comforted her 

was poor and in very poor health during those years, with most of their 10 children to raise alone. She didn’t speak English as well as he had, and she suffered from increasingly more severe anxiety attacks which gradually developed into Agoraphobia. My aunt who lived with her for many years said that sometimes in the most difficult years, Grandmother said the spirit of her husband “visited” her and she could feel his spirit comforting for an hour or so. She never saw him or was able to talk to him, but just feeling his spirit near her calmed and consoled her, and helped her face her troubles more bravely.


One of the times I knew he had planned ahead for me was such a little thing, but it meant so very much. The last four or five months of Ed’s life were very difficult. He was in hospitals and in ICU a lot of the time; he lost 30 to 40 pounds and was very weak. But towards the end, around November and December, they were able to identify one of the infections that had laid him low, and he had got a little bit better. Around Thanksgiving we flew to Los Angeles to consult with his lung specialists there and he perked up a bit. The two weeks before Christmas, he was the best he’d been in six months and he was able to go to Costco and Cabella’s and ride the carts there and do a little shopping.

He kept saying he wanted to buy me a nice dress for our anniversary (which fell on Thanksgiving that year), and later insisted he wanted to buy me a nice outfit for me for Christmas. But there was never time, and he just was never up to it. So it never happened.

Photo of our grandson, James (Elder VanderMeyden)
skyping on Christmas Day

Three days before Christmas he caught the flu and became critically ill. He refused to go into the hospital until he was able to “Skype” with his missionary grandson in Costa Rica (missionaries can call home only twice a year—on Mother’s Day and on Christmas). Ed was able to skype with all his grandchildren and children in Nashville, Tennessee; Issaquah, Washington; and Chicago, Illinois, as well as visit with the children and grandchildren who lived locally. The day after Christmas Ed was too sick to even stand up and my youngest son carried him into the car and I took him to the hospital. The following day he was so sick they had to intubate him and put him on a respirator. He died about 10 days later.

My daughters insisted on was taking me down to my favorite dress store and helping me find a nice dress for the viewing and one for the funeral. They kept reminding me that these were the dresses that Ed had wanted to get me for my anniversary and Christmas, so I was just doing what he wanted. But later I thought I really should not have spent the money on clothes for me when there were so many other expenses to be met.

After the funeral, we were going through Ed’s things and sorting which of Ed’s things to see which things needed to be given to charity and which things other people could use.
My daughter Diana opened a “Mag-light” case in Ed’s drawer and gasped, “Mom, there is money in here.” She counted it and said, “Mom, you won’t believe it but the amount here is exactly what you paid for your dresses, less about $10.00 or $15.00.”

I was immediately suspicious and thought that one of my more well-to-do children had overheard my comments about my regrets about spending the money on the funeral dresses, and had “left” the money to be found as a gift for me. I was blaming the box of money on this child or that child and feeling like they were taking pity on me, when my older daughter, Athena, who lives near us walked into the room.

Here I am wearing one of the outfits 

Ed had bought for me posthumously 

“Oh, you found Dad’s stash of emergency money,” she said. “Before you went to California in November he got some money out of the bank and put it in the “mag-light” box in his drawer. He wanted to leave some emergency money for Bryan (our youngest son who lives in our house with us) but he didn’t want to leave it in the regular places he normally puts it because Bryan then finds an emergency to use it. He put in more than usual because he didn’t know how long you’d be in Los Angeles.”

When Athena counted how much money was in the box she was shocked how closely it matched the amount I had paid for my dresses.

“Well, it looks like Dad left you the money to buy you the dresses he never got to buy you for your anniversary and for Christmas,” Diana said.

You never know when and how Ed’s influence will be felt. Our youngest son, Bryan, was performing as the lead in a play, “Is He Dead” at the local community theater at the time Ed died. The play is a comedy about 

Bryan (left) in the newspaper’s publicity
photo of “Is He Dead?”

death, and funerals, and at one point in the show, Bryan even jumps up on the coffin and dances on it. It was hard for Bryan to perform after Ed’s death so all of the family who were there for the funeral went to the show he was doing for the first time after Ed’s death to support him and let him know we were there for him.

Bryan did really well, and at intermission, we all gathered together, and just as Ed had always done, everyone started critiquing the play and pointing out the best parts of the show. It wasn’t done in a mean spirit—it was just what our family of performers had always done and what Ed had taught them to do! I looked around at them talking about the performance, and I suddenly felt Ed was right there critiquing it right with them—just as he was with all of us seeing Bryan’s show and supporting Bryan in this difficult time.

Diana who sang "I Did It My Way" for Ed

Our daughter Diana is a skilled and talented vocalist and when Ed had planned his funeral he had written that he wanted Diana to sing “I Did It My Way.” Diana had wondered how she could sing it without crying, but she had prepared and prayed that she would be able to get through it; she wanted to sing it like Ed wanted it sung. And so she did. But we all felt as she stood up there singing—perfectly just as he wanted—that Ed was up there holding her and supporting her so she could perform it as he wanted her to. She was not alone up there at the pulpit. He was there with her.

 One last experience that I want to share. Last week I talked to one of Ed’s church friends who usually sat with Ed in the back row of their High Priest Quorum class each Sunday. He was saying how much he missed Ed’s teasing, joking and saying funny things to liven up the class.

“This Sunday in high priest class, we passed around a signup sheet for a work project. Those who could help were instructed to sign their names and phone numbers on the paper,” he said. “But instead of writing their name, someone had just written on the line instead of their name, ‘yes,’ indicating their willingness to help, but not letting anyone know who they were. As I looked at it, I knew that was the type of joke Ed would have done if he had been in class, so I marked him present on the class roll.”

Where do spirits go after they die? I know they are busy in paradise, but I think sometimes, they get a chance to visit with us, to uplift us and to strengthen us—or sometimes, to just joke a little to remind us of them. 

In Memoriam
Edward O. Dayley
4 April 1941-8 January 2015

“Your Son Needs You!”

Fay Hansen died on a warm June night in 1980.

He was recovering from his second coronary bypass when he had a fatal reaction to the morphine administered to him for pain. He felt his heart go wild, then collapse in on itself. One minute he was struggling vainly to quiet his racing heart, panicked and afraid; the next moment, overwhelming peace and relief wiped away the terror. One minute doctors and nurses were fussing and fretting, trying to stabilize him; the next, the room was full of old friends and relatives in white.

Fay saw his father first, smiling in the warm, loving way he always had. Fay realized then that he had died in the frantic moments that his heart was out of control, because his father had departed life nearly a half century before.

"You've come for me," Fay thought as he recognized familiar faces of friends and family who had died many years before. "I am through with this life." It was an overwhelming peace that enveloped Fay, a wonderful relief from the pain that was his constant companion.

"Are you ready to go?" Fay's father asked him.

The thought of leaving the pain, the struggles behind seemed so inviting that Fay wanted with all his heart to say "Yes." But something nagged at him. There was something that was not yet done.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Fay's father asked gently. Fleeting thoughts of all seven of his children raced through his mind. Six were married with families of their own. His youngest daughter, Ann, although unmarried, was doing well and was active in the Church.

With instant clarity, a nagging feeling of what was left undone overwhelmed Fay. If he left the earth at this moment, what would happen to his youngest son? This son had been given the name of his grandfather, the big, kindly man standing before Fay. Will was a good man, but he had become estranged in a subtle way from the rest of the family.

"Will is not very close to the family." Fay told his father. "I can't do any more to reach him." Fay looked in vain among the crowd for the wife who had died nearly twenty years before. He could see old friends from half a century before, his brother, his cousin. However, he could not see his first wife among the individuals in white.

"Your son needs you," Fay's father gently reminded him.

Fay thought of this youngest son, who was so like the grandfather whom he had been named after. He was kind, thoughtful, reserved, and very friendly. There was no outright break from the family, but ever since Fay had married (a second time) to Donna, who had eight children of her own, Will had gone his own way.

"Are you really ready to leave this earth?" Fay's father asked him, his eyes searing Fay to the soul. "Are you ready to leave things as they are at this moment?" As much as Fay wanted to shrug off the pain, sorrow, and struggles that had been his life, he knew that he'd be leaving work undone. And Fay was not one to shirk away from duty.

"But what can I do to unite my family?" Fay asked. "What more can I do that I have not already done?" Fay's thoughts bubbled up like a pot boiling over, but as they struck the tall man facing him, they fizzled and evaporated. Would Fay be happy if he left things as they were that day? No. He knew—as tempting as the prospect appeared—it wasn't right.

"Can I have more time? Can I try again to find the way to strengthen my family?" The thoughts came unbidden to Fay's mind as his father smiled back at him with a joy that filled the room. Suddenly the room full of people dressed in white vanished.

Overwhelming pain enveloped Fay like a damp, heavy cloth, smothering the peace he'd felt so recently. Voices and noises scattered the lingering remnants.

"I have a heartbeat," a woman's voice cried triumphantly.

Fay tried in vain to capture again the fleeting image of his father smiling in the old familiar way, but it was gone.

"Fay, you old rascal," he recognized the intensive care doctor calling to him from afar. "You sure gave us a good scare that time." Reluctantly Fay opened his eyes to the familiar hospital room.

"We almost lost you that time," the nurse said, smiling, her stethoscope pressed against his aching chest. "Your heart became arrhythmic and went out of control. But you're back."

The constant pain shrouded Fay until he prayed for the oblivion of sleep. But he couldn't lose the urgency that there was something important he needed to do. Something he couldn't forget again. Several times during the recovery which had been only temporarily halted by his anaphylactic reaction to the morphine, Fay almost forgot what he still had to do.

Several times when he felt it had slipped away from him, he'd open his eyes and see two white figures standing by the window. They would smile at him, and again he would feel their love reach across the room to him. He would then remember his son, Will, and know that he, too, must reach out in love to him.

When his wife, Donna, arrived and heard about the incident wherein Fay had died, she clucked over him like a mother hen. Fay then shared with her what had happened to him during the frantic few minutes he had been clinically "dead."

"There is something important I need to do," Fay explained. "We haven't been all together as a family for years. It is important that we do so." Two months later Fay's seven children and their families gathered together in Mueller Park for a short reunion. Will and Lois laughed with the others and the family drew closer than they had for a long time.

Surprisingly, that was not the end of the story. There was another chapter that did not come out until 12 years later at another family reunion—this one at Fish Lake in Southern Utah.

At a family testimony meeting Fay and Donna testified of our ancestors love for all the family. The story was told of the night Grandpa William Hansen came and reminded Fay that his “son” that needed him.

Then Dale, (Donna’s youngest son) asked if he could tell his side of the same story. Tears shown in his eyes as he explained that at the time of Fay's “death,” Dale was serving as a missionary in Argentina. Donna's younger children had accepted Fay with open hearts when he had married her. Surprisingly, Dale had grown closer to Fay than to his own father.

When Dale left on his mission, he had been concerned about Fay’s health, which wasn’t very good. Donna had promised to keep him informed of any problems. Soon afterward, Fay underwent his first coronary by-pass, and Donna had sent a telegram to Dale. The message about Fay's surgery and recovery took so long to reach Dale that when the second coronary by-pass was scheduled, Donna decided not to worry Dale until it was all over.

Dale, however, didn't need a letter or telegram to know that Fay was very ill and that he might die. The same day Fay had his surgery, Dale had awoke from a vivid dream wherein he saw Jenny, Fay's deceased first wife, and others waiting to welcome Fay into the spirit world. Dale recognized Jenny though he had never met her in this life, and knew that she was eagerly awaiting Fay’s arrival.

The fear that Fay would die upset Dale so much that he asked his missionary companion to join him in a special fast and prayer. Dale pleaded with the Lord to spare Fay. He explained that he had just learned to appreciate Fay as the father he'd never had before then. He cried that he still had many activities—fishing, hunting—that he wanted to do with Fay. During a long, anxious day Dale and his companion worried and prayed. That night Dale received a confirmation of the spirit, that the Lord had heard his plea and that Fay would be spared. He felt peace that Fay would be fine.

It was very late that evening, (not weeks later, as before) when Dale received a telegram that told him that Fay had had another coronary surgery. Donna explained in the telegram that although there had been some problems, Fay was recovering. Dale was never told that Fay had died after the surgery, or that he had experienced a visit from his father while he was clinically dead.

On that starlit night around a campfire in 1992, tears flowed as Dale recalled the experience he had endured at the time of Fay’s “death.” He shared his immense feeling of gratitude that his prayer had been answered; that Fay had been spared because “his son” needed him.

Which son needed Fay that night when his heart stopped? Perhaps both. Only Fay’s father knows—and he can’t tell us.