The Doorman

rewrite of "Who Waits Beyond"(not shared on OSJ) to shorten and condense main storyline

A cool March, milder than normal was that early morning in 1997. I was preparing myself for work and it was about one am. I was offered to work an extra four hours to strip and mop the office floors.

I had bid for and won the custodial position allowing me to work dayshift and be home every evening with my girls. A thankless position the lowest in the paygrades available at the aluminum company I worked for. Before that I had operated forklifts and payloaders. I had also worked the pits (where aluminum was casted) and an inspection job on “The Hill”. That was the department otherwise known as the smelter. (different buildings housing the different operations of making and refining aluminum)

That day may have been a weekend with my girls gone to their fathers allowing the perfect opportunity to catch some extra shifts. I had begun my ritual of standing by the front door scanning the interior of my home questioning myself as to whether I had shut off and unplugged any appliance I had used that morning. My fear of fire (and neurosis😜), led to me dutifully checking off a list in my mind.

As I turned and grasped the doorknob I had yet to flick on the outside light that would illuminate my path to the car. That is when it happened, and I can envision it now as clearly as I did that dark early March morning.

God as my witness, the door became translucent (solid steel mind you) a man surrounded in a circle of light, stood there on the front stoop. Tall and thin dressed in a black suit sporting an old-style brimmed hat. His face seemed sunken, his complexion pale and he was looking directly at me. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck rise.

I released the door handle and stepped back with a terrible fright. A mere moment in time, seconds really. Somehow, and I can`t explain it to this day, I knew that man represented death.

I tried to shake off the vision I had just witnessed. Trying to convince myself that it was impossible. I turned on the outside light and dared myself to peak from the curtains. Upon seeing nothing and no one I paced the living room. I did this for about fifteen to twenty minutes trying to summon the courage to open the door and head to work.

“Come on Debbie, I muttered to myself. Get a grip, for real, you got to get moving.”

With a deep inhale, (keys positioned to poke an eye out if necessary) I swung open the door and practically ran to the car, locking the doors and trying to disregard what I had seen.

Over the next few days, I did share my experience with a couple of my closest friends. They nodded, smiled and promised not to have me committed. All kidding aside, some figured the long hours at work and sleep deprivation contributed to my “seeing something”. A few laughs were shared and soon the incident faded from my thoughts.

May was almost over, and my daughters thirteenth birthday celebration was interrupted by an urgent phone call informing me something was wrong with my father. I exited the party and rushed to my father’s home where the EMTs had just loaded him in an ambulance. Sobbing and shaking I followed behind the blaring lights to the local hospital.

At first, they told us kidney stones but he didn`t look right and I mentioned that his stomach was swelled bigger than I`ve ever seen. A cat scan revealed his aorta had ruptured and he was in grave danger. My father asked me what was wrong as I turned from the doctor.

“It`s serious dad, your aorta is ruptured they need to ship you out.” I stated

He held my hand and told me he loved me and to take care of my mother and my girls. It broke my heart, and I assured him I would but that he had a chance and not to give up.

I collected myself, informed the nurse that he was Catholic and left the hospital to make arrangements for the kids and to meet dad at the facility where they were sending him, an hour away. He was in surgery by the time I had arrived, and the waiting began.

Dad lived for 12 hours after his surgery. But too much blood had been lost and there was nothing more they could do.

Before he passed when we were told it would be at soon, I left Dad`s room, which by then was filled with all his siblings and/or spouses. (14 siblings beside my father) I had walked down a hall to a quiet spot to talk with God. I asked that he not bind my father`s spirit to this world for the things that he had done. That I had forgiven him and asked that he be shown mercy. I did not want to be responsible for him not ascending to receive God`s grace. (this conversation I shared privately long after his death)

After Dad`s celebration of life and the burial of his ashes I took a much-needed vacation to my brother’s home out of state. I would be making this trip alone without my girls. I want to say two weeks or more had elapsed since my father’s passing.

I had driven to my oldest brother’s home and my sister-in-law was fixing me a cup of coffee. I shared with her the feeling I had all the way there that my brother needed to show me something, maybe take me to a healing mass? My brother walked in the back door (leashing the dog outside) at the moment she almost dropped the coffee as the words left my mouth.

He looked at me then back to her and asked what happened. She told me (us) that my brother said those exact words to her as I traveled. She then said for us to go in another room and talk, which we did. We shared about how dads passing felt and that is when I told him about the man at the front door that early March morning. How I knew he represented death but how was I to know who. He asked me to describe the man and as I did my brother teared up.

“What`s wrong? I inquired “I`m sorry”. Feeling bad for bringing up the man at my door.

My father unbeknownst to us left each of his three children a photo album of Polaroids taken throughout the years. None of us knew what was in the other sibling’s album.

My brother walked over to the fireplace mantel and opened his photo album. Flipped a few pages and handed me a photo he retrieved. My mind was blown, I could not believe it! In my hand I held a black and white picture of that man! He was lying in a casket holding the black brimmed hat wearing the same suit.

“Who is it, do you know”. I inquired

That man was my father`s paternal grandfather. I had never met yet my brother (7yrs my senior) knew who he was.

My great grandfather I had never knew was The Doorman.

---

✨Be the Light💖

That wasn`t my first vision nor my last. The thing about them is you never get the message straight forward. It is like a puzzle, frightening at times other times soothing like the old couple who helped me all those years before. (Le Car- previous article) I don`t know why I get them or when, nor can I induce them. They come when they come and I have learned to view them as a preparation, guidance or to proceed with caution. I don`t receive worldly visions nor foresee the future. Maybe they are guardians that follow us in life, guiding us in our intuition, I do not know or claim to know. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it is my truth. My daughters have different gifts, and it`s uncanny how you just know that you know when angels visit.

What is really strange though, and I have been doing it for years, is I can analyze a dream while I`m having it. I can pause-analyze- then proceed with the dream. I have come to learn what different symbols mean to me. I have learned to except this gift, but I still question the “how”, it all works.

To say I have freaked out some family is an understatement. I tend to do that to myself at times. Prayer is important to me, and I ask for God`s protection, especially when a vision appears, or signs begin to add up. I wouldn`t believe it if I hadn`t experienced them for myself.

Have you ever experienced intuition, a vision or prophetic dream?

Have you ever felt a room full in a dying persons room where there were only a few people?