My Secret Whisperer

Two months ago, I decided to make a trip back to my hometown where every member of my extended family still resides. If I go back once a year, then I’m above my average trip rate. 

During that visit and in between breaths from his oxygen line, my Papa told me that he couldn’t wait to come and see my farm and that he was going to get out to do it as soon as his pneumonia cleared up. I smiled and told him that I couldn’t wait for him to visit.  I think he and I both had an unwavering suspicion that he wouldn’t make it out of this sickness this time, but I wasn’t going to be the one to bring that looming notion up.

 I moved two hours away from home as soon as I turned eighteen. I couldn’t fathom one more hour in that town that held so many painful memories. I had so many people in my life that were toxic and the town itself was known for the damaging amount of crime and drugs per capita. I had to leave before it left its devastatingly permanent mark on me too. The town itself should have been named ‘Curseville’. There was nothing left for me there.

 My Papa had never visited any of my homes over the years on any regular basis. 

I’m 36 now and I own a farm in a small town on the outskirts of the State Capitol. I’m happily married to a successful businessman who understands my spotty past and he has given me three beautiful daughters and a farm that is the envy of the town.

It’s hot out and the pollen covers every inch of air imaginable. I drop the girls off to school and head straight to the clinic to get my allergy shots. The twenty-minute drive from the farm to everywhere gets old and today is no exception. I have a farm full of animals that I’m deathly allergic to.  These shots are imminent to my survival odds. The only downside is they always wipe me out right after I get them. 

Upon arriving back at the house, I make a B line for my bed because my body is feeling lethargic. It’s 9:00am and I feel like I could go back to sleep for days on end. 

The back of my head hit the pillow so hard I remained laying down how I landed. Face up with my shoes still on and my sunglasses still on the top of my head, I can’t move. I feel my eyes drooping to shut position.   

As I’m trying to doze off, I can’t. My mind is racing so my level of rest is minimal. There are so many farm chores that I should be doing but I can feel my body protest my attempts to be productive in my sluggish state. My two small dogs are at the foot of my bed; one is snuggled beside my left foot and the other is nudging my right hand for pets. My hound mix is on the floor at my nightstand already dreaming away enjoying his morning nap. 

Finally, I slip into a “still aware” sense of snooze. As the blackness of rest begins to consume me, I hear whispers. It’s the same phrase being repeated, but it’s so difficult to decipher. I trudge on into deeper slumber. The whispers become more and more frequent. They overlap with each other, but I can finally piece together the words. “You’re not alone, I’m not alone, we’re not alone.” 

Who is talking to me?

We’re not alone.

Is this my subconscious?

We’re not alone.   

Is this God?

I have so many inquiries to this communication that I feel awake again and not in a committed restful state. 

My sleep brain determines this is nonsense, not worth the mental effort and I dismiss it. I try to let every aspect of my being relax under the repetitive phrases still being murmured.

We’re not alone.

It all fades to a deeper black and the voice is no more, and my body seems to buzz with the beckoning of REM only to immediately jolt me.

‘WAKE UP!’ My body jumps. It’s like someone shouted it to me.  

 All three inside dogs let out barks, one following the other all within a three second time frame. It’s like they are taking turns to try to wake me.

Barking is not uncommon for these three as they are quite vocal. I think nothing of it and roll over to grab a pillow to place over my ears. 

The black is closing in once more as I feel my shoulders drop and let go into the abyss of it all.

‘Listen closely.’ The whisper entices me then leaves.

What feels like three seconds was ten minutes when I hear three more barks, from each of the three dogs, in unison this time. 

I think to myself, getting hotter by the minute at these pups, ‘they must hear the chickens outside, it’s nothing.’

I drift back off to sleep.

‘We’re………….not………..alone……’ whispers to me from deep within the blackness then leaves.

Then came another set of barks. I look over towards my clock and it’s only 10:30am. I feel like I’ve gotten zero minutes of true rest.

The dogs scream out these barks two more times before I fully commit to waking, but still not opening my eyes.

I can hear the music, chatter and laughter.

The music sounds like a harp being strummed slowly. It’s so relaxing and quiet. Almost like a gentle hum.  The chatter is happy and the laughter is infectious. 

I barely open one eye from under the pillow.

My mind races to find the answer to exactly what it is I’m hearing.

“Oh great,” I think proudly for figuring it out, “Molly has left her music playing upstairs above my room and it finally played a song loud enough for me to hear.”

 Molly is my thirteen-year-old daughter who inhabits the entire upstairs of our farmhouse and tends to leave lights on and music playing when she leaves her room.    

I roll away from the noise in my bed and pull the covers up over the pillow that’s already over my head. I can still hear people talking but I can’t make out the words they are saying, but it’s very happy sounding. Like old friends catching up and reminiscing. I feel a pang of annoyance because I want to sleep but the sounds are just so enticing.

I drift farther off into a deeper sleep. The first true sleep I’ve seen this morning. 

Around 11:15am, my husband walks into the house to check on me and to take his lunch break. Brad works from home outside in our barn.  I ask him to go upstairs because our oldest has obviously left her music on and forgot to turn it off before racing out the door for school.   Brad walks upstairs to check Molly’s devices. He finds everything off and assures me that not a sound is happening in our house, not even the hum of the dryer. I try to close my eyes again, but I’m so baffled over what the noise could’ve been that I so clearly heard minutes earlier.

Twenty minutes later, my phone dings with a text message.

It’s from my biological father. Receiving any form of communication from him is rare. My mom divorced him by the time I was five. Addiction was his love and not me. We don’t have a relationship. I might see and talk to him once every three years on a chance during one of those minimal trips back.     

The text read:

“Papa died about forty minutes ago.”

It hits me like a brick wall.

He finally got to see my farm, but he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t even alive. My mind races to find a reasonable explanation but none arrives. What did the dogs hear or see? I don’t think the human mind is created to obtain this level of altered reality. My stomach turns with a worried threat in the pit of my gut.  I’m speechless and in awe. Who can I even talk about this encounter I ‘think’ I had?  Explaining this to any other human being will make me out to need a psychological evaluation. Now the feeling of aloneness is paralyzing. Alone. How alone truly are we? How do we measure signs of life? Is there a parallel plane that humans are blind to, but dogs are not? I can still hear the whispers from that nap pulling at me from deep within my soul. I think my Papa now knows the answers. I will walk around with this story forever, never trusting anyone else with it. Alone in my mind and mine alone.  The only other being that will understand this, I believe, is the one who whispers to me in my sleep.

We’re not alone. All of the time.