My husband died thirty years ago after a long illness. My son was nine years old at the time; he and his dad ran together on a regular basis. A few months after my husband’s death, my son came to me and said that he sometimes saw his father running past our home in his yellow running shorts (his usual running attire). At the time, we were in family grief counselling, and when I described my son’s experience, the counsellor did attribute the hallucinations to a neurologic response to grief. This was comforting to us, and I still have the yellow running shorts.
A general practitioner in Wales, W. D. Rees, interviewed nearly three hundred recently bereft people and found that almost half of them had had illusions or full-fledged hallucinations of a dead spouse. These could be visual, auditory, or both—some of the people interviewed enjoyed conversations with their hallucinated spouses. The likelihood of such hallucinations increased with the length of marriage, and they might persist for months or even years. Rees considered these hallucinations to be normal and even helpful in the mourning process.
For Susan M., bereavement stimulated a particularly vivid, multisensory experience a few hours after her mother died: “I heard the squeaking of the wheels of her walker in the hallway. She walked into the room shortly afterward and sat down on the bed next to me. I could feel her sit down on the mattress. I spoke to her and said I thought she had died. I don’t remember exactly what she said in return—something about checking in with me. All I know is I could feel her there and it was frightening but also comforting.”
Ray P. wrote to me after his father died at the age of eighty-five, following a heart operation. Although Ray had rushed to the hospital, his father had already lapsed into a coma. An hour before his father died, Ray whispered to him: “Dad, it’s Ray. I’ll take care of mom. Don’t worry, everything is going to be alright.” A few nights later, Ray wrote, he was awakened by an apparition:
I awoke in the night. I did not feel groggy or disoriented and my thoughts and vision were clear. I saw someone sitting on the corner of my bed. It was my Dad, wearing his khaki slacks and tan polo shirt. I was lucid enough to wonder initially if this could be a dream but I was certainly awake. He was opaque, not ethereal in any way, the nighttime Baltimore light pollution in the window behind him did not show through. He sat there for a moment and then said—did he speak or just convey the thought?—“Everything is all right.”
I turned and swung my feet to the floor. When I looked [back toward] him, he was gone. I stood and went to the bathroom, got a drink of water, and went back to bed. My dad never returned. I do not know whether this was a hallucination or something else, but since I provisionally do not believe in the paranormal, it must have been.64
The hallucinations of grief may sometimes take a less benign form. Christopher Baethge, a psychiatrist, has written about two mothers who lost young children in a particularly traumatic way. Both had multisensory hallucinations of their dead daughters—seeing them, hearing them, smelling them, being touched by them. And both were driven to delusional, otherworldly explanations of their hallucinations: one believed that “this was her daughter’s attempt to establish contact with her from another world, a world in which her daughter continues to exist”; the other heard her daughter cry out, “Mamma, don’t be afraid, I’ll come back.”65
Recently I tripped over a box of books in my office, fell headlong, and broke a hip. This seemed to happen in slow motion. I
thought,
Much deeper trauma and consequent PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) may affect anyone who has lived through a violent crash, a natural cataclysm, war, rape, abuse, torture, or abandonment—any experience that produces a terrifying fear for one’s own safety or that of others.
