Some People I Knew Who Died

By Tony Custode

This book is two books in one. Threaded throughout the author's recollections of some people he knew who died, is the author's thoughts on eternal life, some spiritual laws, and interactions between the living and the dead through dreams and messages from the dead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Custode
• Release date: Mar 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781988186467

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all those I knew who have passed on and to the six most important people in my life. My loyal wife and the love of my life, Grace; my three loving daughters, Angela, Pia and Tasia, and my two fabulous grandkids, Bella and Bro’.

Thank you all for loving me.

Tony Custode

May 27, 2013

FOREWARD

What I have written here is about some of the many friends, relatives and people that I knew who died. It is not meant to include every person I knew who died. If it was, it would be a much bigger book; for the older I get, the more there are! I sort of keep track of people I knew who die and there are over 200 names on the list and I’m sure it’s incomplete! I’m now 70 and the list goes back to when I was a teenager; so it covers roughly 50 years. That’s about an average of 4 people I know who die every year; but as I age the number per year has really increased. It now seems to be at about the rate of one per month. I don’t know if this is what most people experience; I guess it depends on how many people you know to start with. Of note is that some people very important to me are, thankfully, still alive and they are not included here; even though I may have learned a great deal from them.

No, you must be dead to be in here. So if you’re not here, be thankful, you are still alive!

The main criteria for entry into this tome are that I knew you; we were friends; I learned something from you during our friendship; and you died; not necessarily in that order. I use the term friendship on purpose, even though many in here are relatives, for I hold the people in this book as friends, not just relatives.

I have also not made a very great effort to put a lot of specific information in here regarding dates of birth, death, and so on. Mostly this is because I am lazy; but also it is because the specifics don’t add much to the tales I tell. What is important is the general period in time that I reference in telling about each of these people. I give dates for most of the stories because it is important to view the lessons I learned in the context of the times they occurred in and in context to my own age at the time.

I also include in this book my experiences with what I call Possession, wherein I believe the spirit(s) of several departed people occupied my subconscious mind as observers and I also include my Dreams that I had about some of these departed souls. I do also get a little theoretical in both the Prologue and Epilogue; discussing such things as my theory of how nanotechnology may help us to discover physical evidence of our souls. Please do not let these seemingly far out ideas distract from my main purpose of remembering some people I knew who died!

In addition, the people in this book were much more and did many more things than I write about. I’m sure each of their friends and relatives has many and varied memories of them quite different from mine as well. These are just some of my interactions and recollections of these people. They were, I’m sure, more important to some other people than to me and I’m also sure that I was not as important to them as were others.

If I have erred in any of my facts or left someone out who might have been in, I apologize. My intent is to share my memories of some very fine people who are no longer here and in this small way to perhaps keep their earthly presence alive even though they may be gone.

CHAPTER ONE

PROLOGUE

While driving alone in the rain one night on the Queen Elizabeth Highway, I went under an overpass and for one brief moment the pitter patter of rain on the roof of my van stopped. It was sudden and unexpected, even though I had experienced this many times while driving. Then, just as quickly as it had stopped, the pitter patter started again as I exited the overpass. The whole experience lasted only a second or so.

It occurred to me that what had just happened could well be what it is like at the moment of death. Noise, in the world we inhabit while alive, like the rain, then nothing! In an instant, all sensory experiences as we know them while alive must stop; just as sudden as the rain stopped. Possibly though, a spiritual life might resume; similar to the rain resuming when you leave the overpass; as you start your spiritual journey after your physical death.

My purpose in writing this book is not to expound too much on my theories about life after death; although I do go into these theories from time to time. Rather, I want to remember some people I knew who died and who, in one way or another, had an effect on me. It is these experiences with them and my dreams and thoughts about them that have formed my desire to write of them and in this small way have them leave their mark in this world.

Much of what I have dreamed about or theorized about on the topic of death and possible existence after death I have not shared with others, until now. For all I know, everybody has dreams of the deceased and/or the feelings of possession I refer to in these writings. Certainly, most people have their own beliefs or theories about what happens after death; if anything at all.

I have, in an unscientific way, tried to study various religions and theories about what happens after death. So I caution the reader that I am no expert and what is written in this book are my thoughts, experiences and suppositions. I include them herein solely so the reader will have some understanding of where I am coming from in my desire to keep the memory of some people alive through these writings and musings.

These writings are not fiction; I have experienced what I say I have.

Humans have tried to remember their departed in a host of different ways. We give them funerals as a sendoff; some religions require a religious service as well. Most cultures practice some form of remembering/honouring their dead. In India, bodies are burned beside the Ganges River and their ashes cast upon this sacred, to them, river. In the West, we mark grave sites and keep them up so we, and others when we visit, can see who is buried there and from their tombstone we can learn the basics of their life; when they were born and when they died. There are many and varied ways different cultures see their departed off. Are these traditions to help the departed souls embark on their spiritual journey or are they, like funerals in the West, more to help the living cope with the loss of a loved one?

Perhaps these traditions are nothing more than a way to prepare us for our own demise. By honouring those that pass before us we may be getting our mind prepared to deal with the fact that we, too, will one day die. After all, we do not want to be forgotten, do we?

It could also be that in some unknown way the recognition of the departed, by whatever means, does help them progress on whatever spiritual journey their soul is on. I personally believe that praying for the dead does this; as most religions teach/practice.

When do you reach the time in your life when more people you know have died than people you know are still alive? I would suggest that for most of us that time occurs when you are in your mid to late fifties. By then you have really slowed down in making new friends because as you age your social circle seems to shrink and you don’t get the opportunity to add new friends as you did when you were younger and more socially active. I know this is true for me. Even the people that you respect or follow for their sports or entertainment successes seem to pass on at an alarming rate once you pass fifty.

On May 27, 2000, Maurice The Rocket Richard, a great hockey player from the 1940’s and 50’s died. One of my boyhood heroes died at the age of seventy-eight. By today’s standards that does not seem old! Nevertheless he is dead. He was quite ill for a little while before he died and I suspect he must have known death was near. I wonder if it still shocked him when he died. The fact that he was a sports hero to millions of fans did not affect his life span one iota. When his time was up, it was up. Period.

I keep a log of sorts of all the people I know who have died. The list is in my bible that I keep in my car. I write their name down, the date they died and their age. I try to say a few prayers for them every day for the rest of the month in which they died, whenever I pass a cemetery. I suppose it’s not really a fair system because if you died near the first of the month you get almost a month’s prayers; whereas if you die later in the month you may only get a few days’ prayers. Although I try to pray for a few weeks into the next month if they have died too close to month’s end. There are a few exceptions to this rule. I pray for my father and for a few other close friends and relatives every time I pass a cemetery. In this way I can pray for my dad and these other close departed every day.

I know my list is not complete and I have been rather tardy the past few years in making entries, but I still try to pray for them. The list is quite large now and is over 200 people. I have promised myself and those who died that I will someday write a book and try to put at least a few of them in it. I am calling the book Some People I Knew Who Died. It would not be possible to write anything meaningful about over 200 people in one book so I have chosen to include a select few and try to do a credible job of relating my memories of them.

Sometimes I believe that some of these departed people are sharing my earthly experiences with me. I think this is because they either don’t want to continue whatever spiritual journey they are on or don’t know how to let go of this physical world; or in the case of my father and Uncle John Orshinsky, want to stay with me to provide me some help in my earthly journey. Help from beyond the grave, you might call it.

My conscious awareness of these possessions started when a man named John Smith died. John was a resident of North Pelham, a small town near St. Catharines, Ontario. I met John early in 1978 when a friend of mine and I visited John’s old homestead near Lipa Park in North Pelham. I was interested in buying some farm land in the area and knew he owned about one hundred acres there. The old two storey farmhouse that was his parents’ home was quite run down and did not look fit for anyone to live in. It was an old wooden house with large gaps between the wood siding that let you see right through the house to the field in back of the house. The wood was so old that all the paint was gone and it was black with age. It leaned in several directions at the same time and I was sure a good wind storm would blow it over. There were only a few shingles left on the roof and most of the windows were broken or missing.

As we approached the house we could see smoke billowing into the second floor from a room at the back of the house. We went to the old back door and knocked. John Smith answered the door and since it was cold out he invited us in. The room the smoke was coming from was the old kitchen of the house. It appeared that was where John was living; in that one room which had cardboard lining the walls to keep the wind out and served as his bedroom, kitchen and living room.

The room was overrun with cats that picked their way through open tin cans on the old kitchen table. Along one inside wall was an old black wood stove that threw enough heat to keep the room warm. There was debris everywhere and a soiled old couch appeared to be where John slept; using old clothing as his pillow and blankets.

After some small talk, I told John why I had come; to enquire about his one hundred acres. He said he might be interested in selling but his relatives had had him declared mentally unfit and he had no power over his own affairs. He said he refused to live with his relatives or in some crappy old people’s home and decided to stay at the family farm. He said his family tried in vain to get him to leave but he kept coming back. I would guess that he was in his late seventies or early eighties; although he still seemed to talk coherently and was able to carry on a normal conversation. His memory seemed pretty good too; as I told him my father was Tony Ruscio (the name my dad boxed under) and that I was related to the Ruscio’s who had the store on Pelham Road. He said he knew my Grandfather Vic pretty good and also recalled that many years ago my dad had acted as his doorman (bouncer) at a speakeasy John ran. He stated that he never had any trouble when my dad was around and he remembered him as one tough guy.

After a short time I said we were going to leave and he asked us if we could do him a favour and bring in some firewood that he had chopped. It was in the yard behind the kitchen. My friend and I brought in enough wood to completely line one wall of the kitchen. I noticed that his wood stove had a steel chimney pipe that just went into the second floor and that sparks could be seen coming out of it right onto the second floor. I mentioned this to him and he told us not to worry, he had been living like this for some time and it would be ok.

We said our goodbyes and promised to visit him again as he liked company, and drove away. The next evening, on the front page of the local paper, there was a headline that stated our newfound friend, John Smith, had died in a fire in that old farmhouse! There was a picture of the remains of the old house; all gutted and collapsed from the effects of the fire. I couldn’t help but think we contributed to his death by piling all that firewood in his kitchen.

Several months later, I was walking through Rockway Glen Cemetery (I often take a walk through cemeteries just to see the different tombstones and individuals there) and I noticed his grave. I said a quick prayer for him. A few days later, I was driving by that cemetery and I again said a prayer for him. I then got the feeling that his spirit somehow entered my mind and it tried to impose its will upon me. I prayed again and my inner voice told me not to let him take control. It told me that I was in control and I could let him in my mind on any terms I chose; or I could reject him completely and he would have to leave. I chose to let him stay as a passive observer only; mostly because I still felt some guilt in contributing to his death. I did try to convince him that he was dead and he must move on in the spirit realm. He stayed for quite some time in this passive role and eventually I no longer felt his presence and he was no longer with me. Throughout this time, he never really communicated with me and I not with him, except to try to get him to move on.

Some years later, when reflecting on this first possession of my subconscious mind by a departed person, I realized