Colorado Ghost Stories

By Antonio Garcez

A comprehensive contemporary collection of interviews with local citizens from the state of Colorado that have experienced first hand paranormal encounters. Antonio R. Garcez's Colorado Ghost Stories book represent a complex, meticulously crafted body of work.

Rather than stories handed down from one generation to another, the book offers accounts from individuals who have had direct one on one encounters with spirits. The research offers a captivating overview of our relationship with the afterlife, and equally celebrates it.

Colorado Ghost Stories filled with over 300 photos, is one of several books by Garcez to offer the reader a unique approach towards reflection and contemplation of the spiritual possibilities inherent in each of us. Antonio's focus and experience in the literary spiritualism genre gives his work grounds for recognition as a factual presenter of the after life phenomena. Make no mistake, these books are unlike any others ever written!

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780974098890

Book preview

me.

INTRODUCTION

Colorado State Capitol, Denver

Colorado is unique, and quite distinct from any other state in the union. With more than 20 million visitors to the state each year, there is still much to see and to discover. Within its state borders are immense blue skies, mountains that appear to reach to the very earth’s stratosphere, extremes in its temperature ranges, and a haven for humans, plants and animals. Colorado welcomes visitors to relax, renew and enjoy what can only be described as heaven on earth. Native Americans know this to be very true. They revered the land for thousands of years and continue today, remaining so very thankful to have been the recipients of this land by birth.

Distinct in its land surface and history, at the time that the Spanish explorers rode through the area in search of gold, the Spaniards named it Colorado, meaning the color red. Colorado is lush with its valleys, moist with its rivers and streams, and rests on a firm base of history, lore and the disembodied transcendence of the mortal world—into that of the immortal spiritual. Specifically, apparitions, phantasms, shadows, specters, entities, spirits and of course—ghosts.

From the affluent ski town of Aspen to the lesser known community of Eads, Colorado is unlimited in its offering of ghosts. I visited all of these communities and recorded the first ever concise, and true eye witness accounts of Colorado’s ghosts, directly given to me by those who have experienced first-hand en- counters. Their stories were numerous and it was difficult for me to eliminate some while retaining others. I know that after reading these stories, you will be transferred to another manner of thought about the existence of ghosts. I cannot be any clearer than to state—ghosts are real. Believe me, ghosts do exist.

As I traveled Colorado’s historic boomtowns, the mining camps, the urban cities, occasional forlorn highways and seemingly deserted communities, examples of Colorado’s past were everywhere to be seen. No doubt some have changed dramatically throughout the years, while others have retained their historic character, remaining in their current state of disrepair. My expedition into Colorado’s paranormal past and present was undoubtedly an eye opening experience for me. Admittedly, I willingly learned new objectives, new insights which added to my already rich personal repository of experience and knowledge. For all this I am grateful. Enjoy.

— Antonio R. Garcez

ANTONITO

Situated north of the New Mexico state line, in the San Luis Valley, is the small town of Antonito. The area has a rich cultural heritage and history provided by the colonial settlements of the Spanish and Anglo. Additionally etched deeply in its pre-European contact is the area’s heritage of the Native American. The Cumbres & Toltec Railroad, which leaves daily from Antonito’s old train station, is a big draw for visitors.

Antonito is composed primarily of a friendly, working class residential community, surrounded by an expanse of high desert plains. It was built by the railroad as a community whose primary function was to house Anglos, who wanted to distance themselves from the pre-established Hispanic town of Conejos, which lies just a few miles north of town. As Interstate 285 traverses its central core, in the distance to the east can be seen the Culebra Range of spectacular mountains which remain as sentinels, eye witnesses to Antonito’s agrarian history.

Edward H. Saunders’ Story

Edward is a character of sorts. He’s wheelchair bound, but that has not put a damper on his lively attitude to life. As we talked at his kitchen table, we were interrupted with phone calls from two friends; one being a woman who he stated was a girlfriend. My interview lasted for just about two hours, but the impression this jovial man left with me will linger for definitely much longer.

— Antonio

"I was born in Columbus, Ohio, 88 years ago. In 1967, my wife, Vivian, and I moved to Denver and 14 years later, after her death, I decided to move to Antonito. I’ve been living here ever since that day.

I lost the use of both legs due to a truck accident I had while driving for a freight company. That accident happened about four years after my wife and I had moved to Denver. The odd thing about that accident was that I was not even driving the truck at the time. I was getting ready to enter the truck, when another truck came by and struck me. I was holding on to my truck’s door handle, pulling myself up and getting into the cab. After taking my first step up, the other driver misjudged his turn and scraped me off my truck, and I dropped to the ground. The injuries were to my lower legs. The accident happened so quickly all I can remember of the accident is a loud noise and nothing else. The bones in both my legs were crushed. Since that time, I’ve never been able to fully walk on my own. And since then I’ve had to use this wheelchair you see me in.

I did get a bit of insurance money, but not much at all is left of that insurance settlement. The rents are low here in Antonito; I don’t need much in the way of entertainment and fancy food, so I do all right here. Now it’s just me and my dog Blacky. Its just me and this crazy little dog that misses me like the dickens whenever I leave her at home for any short length of time.

So, you’d like to know about my ghost story? Well, I haven’t told anyone except for a few close friends at the senior center. And as you told me, that’s how you found out about me, one of then gals must have told you about the old man in the wheelchair who’s seen ghosts. Once I tell you my story, you’ll only be one of the few who’ll know of it.

Well, approximately five years ago, in the early evening, about 6 or 7 p.m., I was in my backyard watering plants in the yard and filling a birdbath that was by a tree. My dog Blacky was in the house. It was not an unusual evening at all. Suddenly, I heard Blacky begin to loudly bark as if he were in danger, or alerting me to danger of some kind. I turned my wheelchair around to face the back door and I saw a large man standing at the door, staring back at me from inside my house!

I didn’t recognize this guy, but I was able to clearly make out his features. He was about 50 or so years old, with a very thick and dark moustache. His face was big and round, and his shoulders were very broad. His overall appearance gave me the impression that his intentions were not very positive. He didn’t move a muscle when I called to him, Who are you, what are you doing in my house? Blacky was barking uncontrollably. Again I called to him, Who are you? I began to feel really uneasy because he refused to respond to my words. I felt helpless but determined to find out who this man was, and what he was doing inside my house.

He and I both stood looking at each other, not making any movements. I admit that I was confused as to what to do next. But something inside of me urged me to stand my ground and make the first move toward him. I dropped the water hose and began to push the wheels of my wheelchair towards the house. Just then I saw this man turn and move away from the door, and move within the darkened house. Blacky was still in the house barking, but then abruptly stopped! I was instantly gripped by a fear that was paralyzing!

I was sure shaken up! I just knew that this man had hurt or even killed my dog. My spirit sank, I felt so helpless. In my soul I knew that something awful had just taken place. As I rolled up the short ramp that led up to my back door, I grabbed the knob, turned it and entered my house.

Strangely, as I entered the kitchen and turned on the light, the atmosphere of the room had a thickness to it, and at the same time, the room was very, very cold. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before or since. It was as if an invisible blanket of intense darkness had been placed over me. And even though the light was on, It did nothing to remove my fear. I was scared because I knew that something evil was very close to me. I began to shake with a freezing, shivering coldness. The whole house gave me the sensation that it was totally being over taken by this bitter cold. I knew that something had happened to my Blacky because normally he would come running directly to me when I’d come into the house. I nervously and in a shaky voice yelled out, Whoever you are you better get running or else! There was only silence.

I managed to roll myself over to the doorway that leads into the living room and when I entered the room I spotted Blacky cowering under one of the chairs. I wanted to look around in every room of my small home to see if the stranger was still in the house, but I was in no physical state to risk being hurt. I called to Blacky to come to me, but he would not budge.

I reached for the phone to call my neighbor, who lived one house away from mine. He answered and said that he would be right over. In just a few minutes I heard him call to me from the outside, then he turned the knob on my front door. The door was locked! Given all that had happened, I had forgotten to unlock my front door. I rolled over to the front door and opened it.

When my neighbor entered I quickly explained in short detail about the strange man that I had seen. Then, without any urging from me, he automatically investigated the whole house searching all the rooms of the house, looking into my bedroom, closets and bathroom. Not wanting to miss a thing, he even looked under my bed. By that time Blacky was coming out of his terrified state, came over to me and jumped on to my lap.

Nothing was found to be out of the ordinary. All my windows were locked and the two doors that lead to the outside, the back and front entry, were secure. I was unable to understand what had just happened or who the strange man was. I know I was not imagining it, because even my dog had experienced it. It was a hell of a thing to think that I had seen a ghost, but what else could it have been? I thanked my neighbor and after we had talked for a few minutes more, he left. I began to feel a bit more comfortable as nightfall came, but that evening, I must admit that I did sleep with most of the house lights on.

After watching television for a few hours, I felt that everything was back to normal, and that I might have even imagined it all. I decided to go to bed. But I would soon begin to have what would become a constant series of bad nightmares that took me almost three months to overcome.

These nightmares would awaken me from sleep many nights after. I would always dream the same dream that included that man with the moustache. In my dreams he would yell at me, just yell at me for no reason. As his yelling would get louder to the point of madness, I would awaken. It was the anger in his voice that would shake me the most. I would not be able to understand the words he would yell at me, but I knew that they were not very good.

These horrible, terrible nightmares would awaken me once, or even sometimes twice a night. I’d wake myself up from hearing my own moans and sometimes screams. But one night in particular was the scariest. After awakening from one of these nightmares, I lay awake in my bed and in just a few moments I heard the sound, the insane laughter of this man’s voice coming from within my bedroom!

I was filled with a terror that gripped me strongly. It began as soon as I awoke from the nightmare. That horrible laugh, followed by the words, Why did you do this to me, why did you do it! My body trembled convulsively with fear. Then the loud sound of something breaking, or cracking came immediately after his voice stopped. The cracking sound was one that would be made by a wood board, which had been snapped! I was really scared.

Suddenly, the feeling of dread left me, and the atmosphere of the room seemed to become normal. Except for the scent of an unusual wet or dampness that lingered in the room, the voice of the man was gone and I felt a sense of relief come over me. I turned on the night light at my bedside, and left it on for the remainder of the night.

I didn’t even want to get out of bed to use the bathroom. I just had the feeling that if I had done that, who knows what I might have seen looking back at me in the mirror! I tried to go back to sleep and eventually I did. In the morning, I did out of bed and spotted nothing different in the room at all. But just a few days later everything would change.

I left my house to visit my sister who lived in Durango, Colorado. I was gone for two long weeks, during which time she was in the hospital being treated for the last stage of pancreatic cancer. I was unable to take Blacky with me, so I left Blacky at home with a neighbor who would care for him while I was away. I kept in touch by telephone with my neighbor back home, who I would call every few days. Strangely, he informed me that one day someone came to my home and he left a note with his name and phone number. When I returned home my neighbor handed me my mail and the note the man left.

I did not recognize the name on the note, but I did call him and asked him what he wanted to talk to me about. It so happened that he, his older brother and father had lived in the house I now live in. He then informed me of his family’s history, but most importantly was the terrible fact that when they lived at the house both he and his brother were constantly, being physically abused by their own father. The father was an alcoholic and would become very abusive when he drank.

One evening, after the father had begun to drink, one brother decided to take matters into his own hands, and picked up a handgun and shot his father. The bullet severed a large vein in the father’s chest and he died a few hours later. Well, the exact reason for his visit to my home was really unclear to this man. He told me he had been having dreams of his dead father for several months and his counselor convinced him that part of his recovery would be to return to his childhood home, and confront those memories head on. Eventually he found the courage and decided to make the long drive from the state of Nevada to my home, his boyhood home, hoping to come to grips, to conquer his reoccurring nightmares.

I informed him of my own recent nightmares, and also about the man I saw standing inside the house. He was shocked and surprised when I described the ghost’s features, and the words this spirit had spoken to me. He said that my description of the man, described his father completely, to a tee!

I was surprised as well, and could only come to the conclusion that the ghostly figure of the man I had seen and heard in my home was this man’s father, who was standing right in front of me. There was no doubt about it.

I believe that because of our unusual meeting, and the very personal things he shared with me regarding his terrible childhood, I have not had another frightening encounter or nightmare since. I believe that the spirit of the murdered man chose to communicate with both myself, and his only living son. I cannot think of a reason why this would have to be, but maybe after all is said and done, the dead do not really rest, especially if they treated others so badly while they lived on earth."

ASPEN

The Ute Indians named the mountains lying within Aspen as the Shining Mountains. Initially named Ute City, the name was soon changed to Aspen in the spring of 1880. Traditionally, the land on which the town now sits is considered by the Ute people to be their homelands. Not long ago, archaeologist discovered evidence of ancient home sites and artifacts that date back more than 8,000 years. In 1879, prospectors in search of silver ore crossed the Continental Divide and entered the Ute’s summer hunting range. Surprisingly for them, they discovered one of the world’s richest silver lodes.

Throughout the coming years, after many mining camps, two competing railroads and major capitalists investors, Aspen quickly became an urban center of architecture, and in 1935, the ideal location for a ski resort. In 1947, the world’s longest ski lift opened on Aspen Mountain. Aspen flourished both in the winter and summer months to become both a premiere center of recreation and a community center of the arts.

Inevitable, uncontrolled growth has forced the town of Aspen to adopt controversial and at times contentious growth control measures. Today, the vast majority of locals are no more than wealthy transplants from other regions of the United States. Visitors to Aspen would do well to heed the warning of adjusting not only to the high altitude, but equally to the high attitude of the area.

Jan D. Carlin’s Story

There are interviews that remain in my memory long after a particular book is published. What follows is one of those interviews. I hope Jan’s story will reveal something special to you that we each might hope for in a loving relationship—tenderness, com- passion and desire. Among these inherent characteristics, Jan has also learned to trust her intuition, apprehensions and the insight that comes from being presented with spiritual messages.

— Antonio

"Beyond those hills to the north of Aspen, 26 years ago, is the place where my husband, Morgan, and his friend, William, both died. It has only just been in the last few years that I’ve had enough strength to begin to openly talk about their deaths without breaking down in tears. I hope I don’t ‘lose it’ during this interview.

Before moving to Aspen, close to eight years, Morgan and I owned a small cafe in Canyon City, Colorado. After our daughter Veronica was born, we decided to sell the property and move to Aspen. The restaurant business was basically most of what both Morgan and I ever knew as a couple. We were tied to our business and committed to its success. Thankfully, we were very successful at it, and enjoyed the interaction we had with the public. But our new venture was in promoting Morgan’s photography. He always wanted to have his own studio and develop his art. The beauty of Colorado was there for photographing. Morgan would take the shots, print, and then frame them for a gallery we had planned to establish. Our new focus was to then present his photos in a space located in a building we eventually leased on Galina Street.

As you can now guess, aside from the restaurant business, Morgan was an ardent photographer and during his spare time he would venture away into the mountains of Colorado to photograph both landscapes and wildlife, always hoping and aiming to develop his dream, a personal goal of opening up his own photo gallery. I supported this dream of his as much as possible, and because of the sale of our Canyon City property, we were now financially able to pursue and make a go of it.

We loved each other very much, and even up to the very last night of my husband’s life, we never had what I would call a serious argument. But today there is an empty hole in my soul. I miss him so much it’s indescribable. Our daughter was too young to fully know her father, but I’ve tried as much as I possibly can to describe to her his personality and talent.

Before I tell you my story, I’ve got to emphasize that I never did believe in ghosts and such things as the life beyond. I just was not brought up in that atmosphere. My parents were strictly by-the- book Jewish. I personally didn’t care much for the Jewish religion, or any religion for that matter. But today, whether religion has anything to do with ghosts, I’d be the first in line to offer my own personal story as a testament to the existence of such things as ghosts.

Morgan and his best friend William had made plans for a two week long trek into the mountains of the White River National Forest. Their destination, or base camp, was to be Sylvan Lake. Both men were avid photographers and had camped within the White River National Forest a few times before. I was not in the least bit concerned for their safety and well-being. They were both well versed in alpine camping. I had accompanied them once for a two- and-a-half week venture myself. So when the time came for them to drive away, I gave my sweet husband a kiss and a hug and bid both he and his friend success.

About five hours into their trip, I received a call from Morgan who called me on his cell phone simply to say, Babe, just wanted to let you know how much things will change for us. I’m going to take the best pictures. Pictures that will make you so proud to hang in our gallery. Since my cell phone won’t be working for a long time, I did want to let you know how much I’ll be missing you. I told him I loved him, and to be careful. Those were the last words we spoke.

Anna, a good friend of mine, came over the next day. Keeping us company while Morgan was away she decided to spend a week with my daughter Veronica and I. Anna also helped me with various painting, and other renovation, duties that were needed at the new gallery space. Anna spent the nights sleeping on the floor on a futon in my daughter’s bedroom.

On the fourth night, Anna came into my room at about 3 a.m. I opened my eyes and saw her standing in the doorway holding my daughter in her arms. I asked her, Anna what’s wrong? She said she had been awakened by a noise in the bedroom—a knocking on the wall. She explained that when she had opened her eyes, she had spotted my husband Morgan bent over Veronica’s crib. Startled, she had spoken, Morgan, what are you doing here so early? He seemed to ignore her question, then Anna sat up in bed and said, Morgan, Morgan what are you doing here? At that question, Morgan stood upright and turned to face Anna. Anna said that she only got a moment’s glance at Morgan’s face, which was marked with emotionally distress. Then his image disappeared! Anna was shocked! She instinctively got up and reached into the crib where my daughter was fast asleep, and lifted her up into her arms and walked over to my bedroom. I spotted her, as she opened the door.

We both talked for a few minutes about the occurrence, and decided it was nothing more than the effects of a tired mind, just the simple imagination, of being so focused on working at the gallery. Although I didn’t say anything more to Anna regarding Morgan’s trip, I was now very concerned for his well-being. Nothing more happened in the sense of experiencing ghostly matters. For the remainder of her stay, Anna slept with the hall light on, and left Veronica and I after four more days. But, after Anna left, I would soon have some unnerving experiences of my own.

The following day, as I was straightening up a pile of magazines in our living room, I heard the sound of the television. Somehow it turned itself on. It just turned on by itself. Odd, I thought. But, I simply hit the off button on the remote, and thought nothing more of it. But later that evening as I was bathing Veronica, I heard my cell phone ring, I reached over to answer it, and as I held it to my ear I heard the sound of static, or of a heavy disturbance of some type. I said, Hello, hello? But, there was no answer.

Later that night, after being sound asleep I was suddenly awakened by the sensation that I was suffocating. I sat up in bed and eventually was able to catch my breath. This was a very weird experience for me. I’d never experienced such a thing before—ever. I thought it might be a panic attack. I’d also never had a panic attack, but that was all I could think had caused this episode. After a few minutes I regained control and the sensation of suffocation soon totally left me.

But, just a few minutes after going back to sleep, I was again awakened by the sense that the whole left side of my body was being compressed. I immediately got out of bed, and went to check on Veronica. She was fast asleep and my concerns, whatever they might have been, were now put at ease. I walked into the living room and turned on the TV. After a few minutes of watching a repeat of the earlier day’s news report, I turned the damn thing off, and decided to go back to bed.

But something took hold of my psyche. I noticed for once how unusually different, how a lot quieter the house was without Morgan. The silence was oppressive. In fact I began to feel somewhat fearful. Soon I was in tears, missing my husband with all my heart.

I decided to stop this nonsense, and went into the kitchen in an effort to take control of this unusual loneliness. As I entered the kitchen, I walked over and reached for the light switch located on the wall above the stove. It was a dim light, but I didn’t need much light to spot Morgan seated at the kitchen table!

I was so startled, I said, Morgan what the hell are you doing here? You scared me to death! He did not turn to look at me, but simply disappeared! I placed both my hands over my mouth to muffle a scream and felt my knees begin to buckle. I tried to talk myself into reality by saying over and over, Take it easy. Just stay as calm as you can, this is not happening, this did not happen. But in my heart, I knew it did happen. I also knew that Morgan had died, I just knew he was dead!

Eventually, my fear became so overwhelming for me that I remember taking a deep breath, then running out of the kitchen, and into Veronica’s room, lifting her up and holding her close to my chest! I walked into my bedroom and phoned Anna describing all the details of my ordeal. I must have sounded so crazy. Anna decided to return to Aspen and stay a few more nights with Veronica and I.

All I could do for the remaining days and nights was to hope for the best. Hope that Morgan was ok and alive, and that both Anna and my experiences were simply the result of crazy thoughts and tired bodies. But, honestly we were both convinced that what we had witnessed Morgan’s spirit. Without a doubt, we had both experienced seeing a spirit!

The pre-arranged day and time finally came for Morgan to phone and contact me, as we had planned—but his call never came. That early afternoon, I decided to give a call to the local authorities, to have them search for both my husband and William. Of course they were a bit hesitant, given the excuse that it was still early in the day and he could still be hiking out of the forest. I waited. I waited for what seemed an eternity.

At 9 p.m. that evening, I personally walked into the police station and asked them to begin a search. They did, and within 30 hours they discovered my husband’s body. He had been shot in his lower back, and died of the wound. William was located a few short yards away, also dead. Both men had been murdered.

To this day I have no answers or idea why, or who did this. Strangely the only thing missing were both of their shoes! Their wallets, containing money, credit cards, their cell phones, car keys and other items of value were still on them. And no one was ever caught for the crime. So, what was the reason for their murders, certainly not to rob the two men just for their shoes? I’m filled with so many unanswered questions. For 26 years now, I’ve been left with nothing but questions. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve gone to bed in tears. Not much to be happy about these days. I just carry on for my daughter. Not much more to do, I just think of her future, and plan and hope for the best. Not much more I can do."

Ophelia Baez’s Story

Ophelia and I sat in her living room early one morning. She narrated the experience she had had with an elderly couple that she had been caring for, and the unusual spiritual manifestation and expression of love, which in my own experience, I have never heard the likes of before. What is to follow is her wonderful story and the unique bond of gratification that it would ultimately revealed to her.

—Antonio

"I was born in San Francisco California, and I’ve lived in the mountain town of Aspen for more than nine years, but I consider the southern California city of San Diego to be my true home. In the year 1997, my husband Jerry and I moved to Crested Butte Colorado. At the time of our move, Jerry was a licensed electrician and was offered a nice paying job working at a newly approved Aspen subdivision. Admittedly, I was not as eager as Jerry to make the move to Colorado. I had to give it serious thought before making such a drastic move. Our future as a family was very important to me, and just the idea of having to leave my own family caused me to shed more than a few tears. After all, I would be moving several states away, leaving my own mother and two sisters. It was very difficult for me. My close friends were pulling me in the direction to stay in San Diego, and although the new environment, and the possibility to make a lot of money was potentially very real, it took me eight weeks to relent. However in a short time Jerry and I made the drive to Colorado and within a week, were calling Crested Butte our home.

Jerry soon enrolled in, and after studying for many weeks completed, the State’s electrician test in order to be licensed and work within Colorado. During this period, Jerry was working as an apprentice for a master electrician at a subdivision. A few months into Jerry’s work, his employment with the contractor was complete. It was amazing how quickly, after completing his work and becoming a licensed tradesman, the number of job offers began to come his way. One of these offers involved working with a contractor who was building a very high-end condominium complex in Aspen. Through all these months, Jerry and I were saving our money while living in a comfortable trailer a few miles outside of Aspen’s city limits.

Jerry was busy working, but I on the other hand was searching to occupy my free time. I answered several employment notices in the Aspen newspaper and eventually settled on a job as a domestic with a family consisting of an elderly couple—the Taylors. Basically, my job description was to care for Mrs. Taylor who was suffering from debilitating Parkinson’s disease and was not in the best health. Taking Mrs. Taylor on trips to the hospital and to her other doctor appointments was a usual, run-of-the-mill scenario for me.

Founded in 1889, nine years after the establishment of Aspen, this cemetery is the burial place for many of Aspen’s pioneers.

I enjoyed my job and was employed by the Taylors for over a year when unexpectedly Mr. Taylor died in his sleep from a massive heart attack. I’d expected Mrs. Taylor, who was very feeble, to be the first to pass, but that was not to be.

Mr. Taylor was buried in The Aspen Grove cemetery, the oldest cemetery in Aspen. Her husband’s passing was obviously very difficult for Mrs. Taylor. She missed her husband very much and I could see how this was affecting her eating habits. It really took a lot of encouragement from me to have her eat more than a few mouthfuls at each meal.

An unvarying task Mrs. Taylor would request from me was to drive her, sometimes three times a week, to her husband’s grave. She would place a fresh bouquet of flowers at the graveside and meditate in prayer for several minutes before we would finally leave. These short trips would bring her a few moments of relief, and I was happy to be of service. However, strangely, something unusual happened during one of these days that we visited the cemetery.

As we were making our way along the footpath to Mr. Taylor’s graveside, I noticed that nearby, someone had attached a wind chime high up in one of the branches of an aspen tree. Mrs. Taylor remarked, What a lovely tribute. I think my husband would enjoy one of those wind chimes as well.

The following week, I drove Mrs. Taylor to a local garden supply store where she picked out a very nice sounding wind chime. My husband Jerry came along with us as we drove to the cemetery. With his help, we used a long pole to hook the new wind chime up on one of the highest branches of a tree. Although Mr. Taylor’s grave was several feet away from where the chimes were suspended, Mrs. Taylor stated, My husband will know that when those chimes make music, they’ll be chiming just for him.

In the winter of that year, Mrs. Taylor’s eldest daughter, Kate, came to visit her mother for the Christmas holiday. Kate thought it would be a good idea to take her mother to see a Christmas program being presented at a Presbyterian church in the town of Glenwood Springs. The roads were clear and plowed of any snow from the previous day’s snowfall. While Kate and her mother were traveling to Glenwood Springs, Jerry and I were on the road traveling to Denver for a few days visit with two friends. Strangely, during the drive to Denver, I felt a strong urge to call Mrs. Taylor. I don’t know what possessed me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling to stop the car and get to a phone. Anyway, it wouldn’t have done any good because I only had Mrs. Taylor’s home phone and both she and her daughter were out of town attending the church function.

It wasn’t until, after attempting to phone Mrs. Taylor without success, and after arriving in Aspen three days later that I found out that both Mrs. Taylor and her daughter never made it to Glenwood Springs. Tragically, the car Kate was driving that evening had skidded on a patch of black ice, rolled over and landed, sandwiched between two large trees. Mrs. Taylor was badly injured, but her daughter died at the scene. Mrs. Taylor died five days later from internal bleeding. I was devastated!

During her hospital stay, Mrs. Taylor was never told about her daughter Kate’s death. Although she was able to take liquids, before Mrs. Taylor died, she asked me to make her a bowl of soup. I told her that I would have a bowl of her favorite tomato soup for her when she returned to her home. But what was strange about her request, which she insisted, was that I have another bowl ready for her daughter. Mrs. Taylor firmly stated that her daughter Kate was present in the room with us, asking for something to eat. I was puzzled by Mrs. Taylor’s request and by the fact that she kept stating over and over that her daughter had been visiting her constantly. As I said, no one ever mentioned to Mrs. Taylor that her daughter had passed away. I agreed to honor Mrs. Taylor’s request but left the hospital very perplexed.

Well, when Mrs. Taylor did finally die, I was very upset. I was unable to attend the two memorial funerals, for both Mrs. Taylor and her daughter, which were held in Seattle, Washington. Both mother and daughter’s remains were cremated in Aspen then sent to Seattle. I was very surprised at this. Mrs. Taylor never mentioned to me that that was her wish, but her family felt it was best to do this. I did not feel it was my decision to interfere, or to cause any further emotional distress for the family, so I just accepted this as being best. But I could not help but imagine what Mrs. Taylor would have done differently, especially since her husband’s body would remain in Colorado. I believe she would have wanted to be buried next to her husband. It just made sense to me, but the family obviously had the last say in this matter.

Just a few days after Mrs. Taylor’s family bid me their last face-to-face goodbye, I was overcome by a strong feeling to visit Mr. Taylor’s grave. Perhaps it was a personal need to just offer my last goodbye. As I parked my car and began to walk through the snow-covered grounds, I glanced up and noticed that the wind chime had fallen from the tree branch where, for so many months before, it had hanged undisturbed. Now it