Is there life after death? Here are the stories of eyewitnesses. Stories of the Dead

I became a widow very early, at 32 years old. My husband served in the missile forces at Baikonur. There he received radiation, from which he died in my arms. Leaving me with three children. The eldest daughter was 10 years old, the son was 4 years old, and the youngest was 10 months old.
We lived very well. I loved him without memory. Yes, and he loved me too. It was impossible not to love him, his hands were golden. He had no enemies, he was always the “life of the party.” To say that I was worried is to say nothing. I didn't know whether it was day or night. Many times I wanted to commit suicide, but the thought of children prevented me from doing it. We buried him away from his parents, since our apartment was small, we were afraid that the coffin would not be unrolled in the narrow corridor. On the first night, his parents did not let me and the children go to their home. They were probably afraid for my condition. They put me and my youngest daughter to sleep in the hall where the coffin had previously stood. I have a dream: the door opens and my husband comes in. He is dressed in the same suit in which he was buried. He sits down on a chair and lowers his head. I rushed to him and hugged him. I say:
- Seryozha, you’re dead, aren’t you? How were you able to come to us?
And he answers:
- You know, how bad I feel there without you!
I cried so much that I woke up from my own scream. Then I dozed off and woke up to someone stroking my head. And I really feel it. The first thought was that it was my mother-in-law. I turn my head sharply - a classic of the genre - no one. I fall asleep again - he strokes me. And so on several times. Everything stopped in the morning when the local radio started talking. It turned on at 6 am. The next night no one stroked my head, but I woke up when I heard Sergei’s voice calling me:
- People!!!
I jumped up and wanted to run to him, but then I remembered that he was no longer there. He died. Of course, I couldn’t sleep anymore. I cried all night, and at 6 am the radio started talking again, and I instantly fell asleep. I didn’t tempt fate anymore, I gathered the children, and we went home. Many years later. I tried to spend the night with my parents as rarely as possible. But if she stayed, she fell asleep immediately, but at night she woke up as if from a jolt, and until the morning there was no sleep in either eye.
Last year my father-in-law died. They buried him, and since it was scary for my mother to be left alone, I had to spend the night with her in this house. At first everything was quiet. She went to bed early, and I watched TV for a long time, then went to bed. The whole family remembered my grandfather at 9 days old. We decided to whitewash the house for up to 40 days. They took down the curtains from the windows and took some things out of the rooms. They were going to whitewash it the next day. In the evening, as always, the grandmother went into the bedroom, one of the neighbors told her not to be afraid, lie down on her grandfather’s bed and sleep. So she slept on his bed. And I, as always, am in the hall on the sofa. I watched TV until two in the morning. Then I turned it off and just dozed off - there was such a roar! The sound was like someone hitting a radiator with a wooden stick. They have water heating pipes running around the entire perimeter of the house. And he hit with all his might, the pipes began to hum. And then this stick falls to the floor, hits the floor, and there’s another roar. I hear my grandmother shout:
- Who's there? What's happened? And I lost my tongue from fear. I lie there and remain silent. She runs out of the bedroom, turns on the light, runs towards me:
“Wasn’t it you who knocked?”
I say:
- No, it was probably my grandfather who came to get his crutch. I told you that it was necessary to put it in his coffin.
I decided this because the sound was from something wooden hitting the battery. We started looking, what was it? It turned out that there was a wooden curtain lying on the floor. But here’s what’s strange: my grandmother took this curtain off the window during the day and put it in the corner behind the washing machine. I assume everything, perhaps the batteries cooled down at night, and that curtain just fell. But then she would fall parallel to the window. Although this is also unlikely. But how did it jump up on its own, hit the radiator, and then fall perpendicular to the window? We will never know this again. But for some reason I believe that it was our grandfather. Even during his lifetime he was such a powerful grandfather. Loved to drink. And if he didn’t like something, then in a drunken state he could throw a stool at the offender. Maybe he didn't like that his bed was occupied? Everything was quiet until the morning. 40 days were allotted, and I began to spend the night at home. But every morning, when she came to her mother, she kept complaining that her grandfather came again and rang the doorbell. She asks:
- Who?
Silent. And so every night. And since it was winter, when I went outside in the morning, there were no traces. Someone taught her, she took millet, scattered it around the house and said:
- Living to living, dead to dead.
For some time the calls stopped, but then everything repeated. And what’s interesting is that they knocked on the exact window in which she slept. And if someone spent the night with her, then the night passed peacefully. And now, when we ask her:
- Well, he doesn’t call anymore?
She says:
“Don’t ask, otherwise you’ll think I’m crazy.”
All these calls can be explained. A person sleeps in tension, afraid of something. Especially after that roar at night. So she imagines these calls. But how to explain the case with the wooden curtain? This is a mystery.
I remembered another incident. I traveled on the train this year. I had two women as travel companions. We started talking and started telling how each person had encountered mysticism in their lives. And then one woman talks.
She had a husband, at first they lived well, then he started drinking, beat her, and they separated. I don’t remember why, he died with her. In my opinion, he froze drunk in a puddle. And since he had no relatives, she had to bury him. They put him in a coffin. They put him on stools in the room. And they sat down with their daughter near the coffin. There was no one else. It was past midnight, she sent her daughter to bed, but she remained sitting. And suddenly I looked and said, and the dead man began to free his hands from the ropes. He had them tied with ropes. For the dead, they are always tied, and when they are lowered into the grave, they are untied. During his lifetime, he says, he always liked to sleep freely. And here your hands are tied! And he tried to do it with such force that the coffin was shaking! The first thing I asked her was:
- So, I guess he was alive? Thawed?
- No, they cut him up and checked him in the morgue.
I think: “Lord, I would die of fear.” I ask:
- And what did you start doing?
I think she will now say: “Run away.”
And she says:
“I’ll shout at him: “Come on, stop freeing your hands!” Otherwise I’ll hit you on the head with a frying pan!”
I haven't laughed so much for a long time. To be honest, for some reason I didn’t believe her. I decided that she had invented it all.
And she continues:
“Then my daughter came in the morning and replaced me.
“Go,” he says, “go to sleep, and I’ll sit.” And when I approached her, she was white as chalk. I ask:
- What? Was your father weird here? She just sits and nods her head.
I think: “How could it be possible, after all this, to leave my daughter alone with him?”
I didn’t believe her, but then I once read a story on a website. Where one guy talks about how he was left alone in a house with a dead man. He was sleeping behind the stove in the kitchen, and the dead man was lying in a coffin in another room. And several times during the night this coffin fell from the chairs to the floor. So, if you want, believe it, but if you want, don’t believe in all this.

Ksu

And little Sonechka, who is only three years old, doesn’t believe that dad won’t come. He often looks at his photos, says that dad is very “good”, sometimes he wakes up at night and cries. Of course, I console her, although it hurts a lot. But the main one who helps her walk this path is her sister. She talks to her, tells her fairy tales, remembers her dad with her and always says: “Sonyushka, we will survive because we have a mother. And dad will always be there, we just don’t see him. After all, he loves us very much.” And you know, when I hear this, I wipe away my tears, step on my pain and just take care of the children.....

I took Daisy to classes with a psychologist, now I go to him myself. And they told me that I did everything right. Daisy was asked to draw a tree, she drew it dividing it into three parts: what was, is and will be. And do you know what my most important achievement is? That the child has a very beautiful light crown - a future with golden apples. She knows that she has a future, that her mother is nearby and that means all three of my father’s girls will be happy!!! And I’m trying very hard to make sure that the girls, my most beloved ones, and dad don’t forget, and move forward painlessly.

Lyalya

When my daughter died, I had to repeatedly answer my son’s questions WHERE DID MY SISTER GO. The daughter and son were inseparable, they ate together, went to bed together, played and walked together, they did everything together. Then my daughter died. Marina was 5.5 years old, and her son was 2.5 years old. How could one explain to a two-year-old child where his playmate was? I said that Marina flew to the star and now she will live there and go to kindergarten there. How did she fly away? She grew wings and became an angel. Why did Marina fly away? God called her, He really liked our Marina, so He called her. And now Marina lives next to Him and looks at us from her star, she knows everything about us, she sees and hears us. When will Marina return? Marina will not be able to return to us, because the star is very far away and she does not have enough strength to fly back. And so I answered his questions day after day. He understood everything. When he sees stars in the sky, he says - Marina is there. Already without sadness and indignation. Very calmly, he knows that she is nearby, she’s just not visible. It was difficult to bring him to the cemetery, even more difficult to explain why we were here. I said that here we planted flowers for Marina, Marina looks from her star and rejoices, and we need to come and water the flowers so that they grow and are beautiful. Then Marina will be very happy, because she loves flowers very much. And my son is happy to water them himself.

When the son grows up, he will understand everything himself. I think he won’t be angry with me for this fairy tale, because I believe in it myself. My daughter is alive, but very far away.

If my fairy tale helps someone, I will be only glad. The main thing is to surround a child experiencing the loss of a loved one with warmth and love.

Guys, we put our soul into the site. Thank you for that
that you are discovering this beauty. Thanks for the inspiration and goosebumps.
Join us on Facebook And In contact with

About 10% of people who have experienced clinical death tell extraordinary stories. Scientists explain this by the fact that after death, a certain part of the brain responsible for imagination works for about 30 seconds, during which time generating entire worlds in our head. Patients claim that this is nothing more than proof of life after death.

In any case, it is interesting to simply compare the visions of different people than we AdMe.ru and decided to get busy. Draw your own conclusions.

• There was a drunken fight. And suddenly I felt very strong pain. And then I fell into a sewer hatch. I began to climb out, clinging to the slimy walls - smelly beyond belief! With difficulty I crawled out, and there were cars standing there: ambulances, police. People have gathered. I examine myself - normal, clean. I crawled through such mud, but for some reason I was clean. I came up to see: what was there, what happened?
  I ask people, they pay zero attention to me, you bastards! I see a guy lying on a stretcher, covered in blood. They dragged him into the ambulance, and the car was already starting to drive away, when suddenly I felt: something connects me with this body.
  He shouted: “Hey! Where are you going without me? Where are you taking my brother?!”
  And then I remembered: I don’t have any brother. At first I was confused, but then I realized: it’s me!
  Norbekov M. S.

• The doctors warned that I could count on only a 5% success rate for the operation. They dared to do it. At some point during the operation my heart stopped. I remember seeing my recently deceased grandmother stroking my temples. Everything was black and white. I didn’t move, so she started getting nervous, shaking me, then started screaming: she screamed and screamed my name until I finally found the strength to open my mouth to answer her. I took a breath of air and the suffocation went away. Grandma smiled. And I suddenly felt the cold operating table.
  Quora

• There were many other people walking towards the top of the mountain, beckoning everyone with a bright light. They looked completely ordinary. But I understood that they were all dead, just like me. I was torn with rage: how many people are saved in an ambulance, why did they do this to me?!
  Suddenly my deceased cousin jumped out of the crowd and said to me: "Dean, go back."
  I hadn't been called Dean since I was a child, and she was one of the few people who even knew that variation of the name. Then I turned around to see what she meant by “back” and I was literally thrown into a hospital bed with doctors running around me in a panic.
  Dailymail

I remember only 2 doors, similar to those that were in the Middle Ages. One is wooden, the other is iron. I just looked at them silently for a long time.
Reddit

I saw that I was lying on the operating table and looking at myself from the side. There’s a bustle all around: doctors and nurses make my heart tick. I see them, I hear them, but they don’t see me. And then one nurse takes the ampoule and, breaking the tip, injures her finger - blood accumulates under her glove. Then complete darkness sets in. I see the following picture: my kitchen, my mother and father are sitting at the table, my mother is crying, my father is knocking back glass after glass of cognac - they don’t see me. Darkness again.
I open my eyes, everything around is in monitors, tubes, I don’t feel my body, I can’t move. And then I see a nurse, the same one who injured her finger with the ampoule. I look at my hand and see a bandaged finger. She tells me that I was hit by a car, that I am in the hospital, my parents will come soon. I ask: has your finger already passed? You injured him when the ampoule was opened. She opened her mouth and was momentarily speechless. It turned out that 5 days had already passed.

• My car was totaled, and a minute later a huge truck crashed into it. I realized that I would die today.
  Then something very strange happened, for which I still have no logical explanation. I lay covered in blood, crushed by pieces of iron inside my car, waiting to die. And then a strange feeling of calm suddenly enveloped me. And not just a feeling - it seemed to me that arms were stretched out to me through the car window to hug me, pick me up or pull me out of there. I could not see the face of this man, woman or some creature. It just became very light and warm.

Priest Georgy Belkind

Three years ago, after Christmas, Marinochka was buried. In general, 2014 was a kind of death year for us. Immediately after Easter, a very close friend of mine died, my mother died in the fall, my mother’s sister died in December, and then, Marina’s death.

I felt like some stupid student to whom the teacher is trying to explain something, but he just doesn’t get it, and I have to repeat, repeat...

We went to visit Marina on January 4th. Marina is my student, she suffered from type 1 diabetes, she is survived by her husband Sergei and a little daughter with cerebral palsy.

Seryozhka called her and said that she was in good condition. I took the gifts, and we met on Kievsky, near the clock tower. It was exactly fifteen minutes past eleven.

They are allowed into the intensive care unit one at a time, but children are not allowed in at all, so they decided that I would go first, and he would stay with Manyasha, then we would switch. He explained that the doors to the intensive care unit were closed and he needed to ring the bell.

I approach the department, and suddenly the doors swing open, and there is such a bright glow behind them. A smiling cleaning lady comes out with her cart: “Who are you seeing?” - “To Marina Bogdanova.” - “And she died in the morning.” - “No, you were mistaken, you called her.” - “Well, maybe I got confused...” Half a minute later, a nurse appears: “How did you get here? Who are you going to?" I explain about the open door and that I am visiting Marina Bogdanova. - “Who are you to her?”

This is where everything started to fall apart... The nurse called the doctor, they didn’t tell me anything, they just asked: “Where is my husband?” We went down to the hall together. I called Seryozha, took Manyasha and stepped aside. They said something to him and left.

Then I remember everything, as if in delirium - Seryozha called Marina’s sister to give Manyasha to her, then there were a lot of people, then we were left alone and walked around the hospital like crazy - first taking turns to the morgue, then returning to the doctors... By the evening I felt a little better came. We sat in the hospital lobby and were silent. Marina's life is complete.

In the evening, a relative arrived in a car so that Seryozhka would not drive. They took me to Kyiv and left. I remember standing near the same tower, and the hands showed the same quarter of a new hour. Eight hours passed... It was as if the Lord took it from this place, showed death - as a message about life - and put it back.

Three years have passed, and I am beginning to understand a little this glow in the open doors of the intensive care unit. Marina was very strong. For her, being on the border between life and death was almost an everyday matter, because for a diabetic it is a matter of injecting a dose of insulin on time. And in such a state, which lasts for years, continuously, always, to get an education and a profession, to get married and give birth to a child...

After the funeral we went to the wake. I have never seen such joyful, not to mention funerals, such joyful gatherings in my life. About 40 people gathered and talked about her, like at a birthday party!

At some point, Seryozhka stood up to say the funeral address. If someone from the street had come in at that moment and asked what was happening, and they would have told him that it was a husband who had just returned from his wife’s funeral in the cemetery, the person would have decided that he had ended up in a mental hospital.

And Seryozha said: “I have rarely felt her presence the way I feel her presence now.” And this was the universal truth.

Marinochka’s funeral service was performed by seven priests, by the way. How does a person have to live to have seven priests perform his funeral service?

Marinochka had bouquets of spray roses in her coffin. When we said goodbye, I broke off one bud. A year later, I gave this rose to Seryozhka—hello from my wife—and told him: “You need to get married, this is a word from her.” He answered me then: “I’m afraid to even think about it.” Recently I told him again about marriage: “It’s hard for Manyasha to carry you.”

Sergey and Manyasha

Yes, he is a responsible father, takes care of his daughter, treats and rehabilitates her, but in fact, Manyasha holds him and carries him through life. Manechka is a man of enormous power. If Seryozha marries, then life in this new family will be a great blessing and relief for Manyasha. And Marina will always be present in this new life.

Marina never said that she was afraid to die. Everything we talked about was always vital, cheerful, momentary, this-worldly, local, optimistic, trivial, life-affirming. Her awareness of mortality was a very deep secret - not even a single conversation. But this constant experience of the border between life and death gave her enormous spiritual experience.

Marina with her daughter

I think she didn't know about her hour of death. The Lord gives the hour of death for His faithful, for those who love Him, when their soul is most ready to enter Eternity. The hour of death does not become a meaningless end to existence. This is the meeting with Eternity that we want and ask for. If we understand it this way, then Marina passed into Eternity when she was completely ready.

Young driver, ease and error

The priest in a special way comes into contact with the experience of the mystery of death, since by the service itself he is introduced into someone else’s life at its very end. Death, of course, is a message - a message about a person's life, his last word, his last revelation. But as a permanent funeral parish priest, I can say that very often, unfortunately, too often the messages are empty - like an SMS without text. And this is a real religious disaster.

But it also happens differently. Here is one memorable incident we had in Venev. About seven or eight years ago they asked a young man, about 30 years old, a driver, who died in a car accident, to perform a funeral service at the cemetery.

The closed coffin was brought from the Kashira morgue. The funeral service was very easy: you often feel the state of mind of a person who has crossed the threshold of death. I didn’t know him at all, what kind of life he lived, whether he was truly a believer or nominally... But at the same time, the firm confidence that his soul was in some kind of bright lightness did not leave me.

When the funeral service was over, the relatives said: “Father, now we’ll have to open the coffin, my wife didn’t have time to say goodbye.” They opened it. I don’t know what kind of people worked in that morgue, but they applied such makeup...

In general, a sixty-year-old man was lying in a coffin. When everyone saw the deceased, a wave of numb horror ran through. The widow began to sag; four people held her.

And, you know, if I suddenly tried to start talking to them about his soul, to somehow console him, it would be stupid, of course. Unfortunately, for them, for the widowed woman, for all relatives, death will now always look the way they accidentally and mistakenly saw it. But the real message remained untransmitted.

After that we did not speak with the widow. For the most part, people don’t come then. For them, the ceremony is complete, and that's the end of it.

You know, periodically during confessions and in conversations after confession, wives (husbands usually leave earlier) ask: “Father, what should we do? My husband is dreaming." And who should he dream about if not his wife? To whom should his soul turn? But everything is covered with such superstition, such fear, such some kind of reluctance to accept this mortal message. It’s rare, rare when a person close to his deceased is ready to ask: “How do you like it? What are you doing there?

Father and audacious request for life

When I just started serving, my dad fell ill almost immediately, dry gangrene of his legs began, necrosis began, and a few months later he died. He died in March, and in February my family and I came to say goodbye. We had the only conversation about faith, I asked him: “Perhaps you should be baptized? I’m already a priest, I can baptize you.” He said: “Somehow I don’t know, I haven’t met God in my life. What will baptism mean now?

We didn't touch on this topic anymore. But all the months of my father’s illness, I not only asked, but directly knocked on Heaven and somehow boldly said to God: “I am now Your priest, hear me, give my father life.” When two years passed after my father’s death, I clearly realized that I had asked for torment for my father. If God had listened to me and the disease had not progressed so rapidly, it would have been torture.

Of course, as a human being, you want your loved one to always be there. Very rarely do people agree to accept the death of a loved one as a kind of message and begin to read it, begin to recognize it, begin to accept it.

But for the most part they experience emptiness, loss, and this continues even after a period of acute grief. But how can this be? The soul is alive, it does not disappear.

The patient swore at his mother and died

I will retell one story from the words of Father Andrei, with whom we serve together in Venev. One day an elderly woman came to him: “My son is in the hospital, give him communion.” The usual thing, the priest got ready and went, it turned out that the son was a grown man, a drunkard, it was clear that they were pumping out... He was baptized, but he obviously didn’t really care about the faith, the mother said that a priest was needed, apparently, he decided not to contradict.

Father Andrei began to read prayers. There was a radio on the window, turned on quite loudly. The priest asked to turn it off because it was disturbing. “Turn it off,” the mother turned to her son, and he responded with such obscenities... Father Andrei told me: “Such obscenities were addressed to the mother! And I have already prepared the Holy Gifts, I take a spoon to give him communion. And I think how, after all, this very minute before communion the man committed a mortal sin. What to do? Confess him again? Or not give him communion at all?

I was confused and mechanically, as they say automatically, I turned to give him communion, without even understanding how. And at that moment his tongue turned blue, fell out, he wheezed and collapsed. Died". You cannot say bad words to your mother - God sent such a message. In this sense, death is, of course, the last message, final and irrevocable.

But modern people find it difficult to understand all this.

Modern life is built on isolating death, repressing it, making a person generally incapable of experiencing death, and this is wrong, this is bad, this greatly impoverishes life. What exactly is liturgy? We must experience the death of Christ, stand before His cross, before His tomb, followed by the resurrection.

Lyuba and the Last Unction

In the first years of my ministry, I was called to give unction to a woman about 60 years old in a village not far from Venev. They said that she was our parishioner, but I didn’t find her as a parishioner: she had been ill for a long time. We met.

After the unction, Lyuba says: “Father, bless.” - "For what?" - “I want your blessing.” - "For what?" - “Do not take painkillers.” - "Why?" She said very firmly, quietly, calmly, you know what is called with authority when a person speaks, and you do not dare to object: “I want to suffer for Christ as long as I have the strength to endure.”

I went to unction her several times later. Then her daughter moved her to Moscow because she had become very bad, the pain was unbearable, and she was already being injected with painkillers. We became very friendly with her. Once again she came to administer unction, and it turned out that this was her last unction.

She was very fond of conciliar prayers; she seemed to rise up before our eyes, sit, and be invigorated. I remember at the fifth Gospel, at the fifth anointing, I suddenly asked her: “Lyuba, if God heals you, what will you do?” She joyfully replies: “I will praise Him!” And we had so much fun. She died a short time later. Such memories are what strengthens the heart, what we look for in saints, who give us assurance of eternal life, its presence.

Poet and friend - we talked about death cheerfully

In that year 2014, the first of the close people to leave was Evgeny Vladimirovich Turenko, a famous poet, creator of the Nizhny Tagil poetic school. Originally from Venev, he lived in the Urals, then returned and began to restore the Intercession Church.

In 2014, on Easter, for the first time on Bright Wednesday, I served the first liturgy in this church after restoration, on Bright Thursday I gave him communion at home - cancer, he could no longer go to church. On Fomino Sunday he reposed. Last year, his posthumous book was published, written by him in recent months. It's called "Hello, I am." There are very bold speeches there, for example, “Letters to the Apostles.”

LETTER TO THE HOLY APOSTLE PAUL

The archpriest says a vague sermon,
Like verbosity, imperious - to the dumb parishioners,
And intones, and has an artistic look
It depicts, and it doesn’t seem strange...
Sermons - give - help - bring...
I am not a walker, and, taking this sin upon myself,
I strive for God - from all the commonplace chatter,
I honestly walk and pray, but I don’t know the way...
Should I judge, and should I reason doubtfully?
Who am I - blind and almost a holy fool - that’s who...
Write letters and wait for mercy without memory,
Poke holes in empty frosty windows with your gaze?
Listen to the verses, both blood and tears, Pavel!
With God’s will, cry out to the evil one: “Get lost!”
I have already convinced and corrected many,
Do not abandon the Apostolic Church. Amen!

He and I talked about death, about possible departure, a lot and fun. He has a wonderful line in one of his poems:

If you are on first name terms with me,
I'll be me for you.

I tell him: “Zhenya, come on, when you die, we will emboss this line for you on the monument, and I will bring you a wreath and write on the ribbon: “I was with him on a first name basis, and he was me!”” I’m always with him. it was fun talking about death.

When I gave him communion on Bright Thursday (as it turned out, three days before his death) and joked something about the fact that he had to crawl into the church yesterday, oh, how he fervently snapped in response... But it was already like... that's what it says from there. The soul strengthens itself, doing the mortal work of affirming life. Remember Pasternak’s:

Death can be overcome
Let's make Sunday stronger.

This is an unobservable mystery, but sometimes the Lord lifts the veil...

The heroine of the very first story, Marina, has a daughter with cerebral palsy. To her .

Many people have dreams about loved ones or relatives who have already left this world. In a dream, both of them talk about something and hug, just like in real life. Then, having awakened, the one who had such a dream remains in thought for a long time: what does this mean? Trying to see some kind of sign or omen in this. Is there a point to all this?

In February 2003, the sick Bishop Anthony of Sourozh dreamed of his grandmother and, flipping through the calendar, indicated the date: August 4. The Bishop, contrary to the optimism of the attending physician, said that this was the day of his death. Which came true.
Let’s give another story: “A friend of mine was killed at the age of 20. About a month or two after the funeral, I dreamed about him. It’s as if she’s standing under my balcony, waiting for me. I was surprised, since during my lifetime I communicated with him extremely rarely. And in a dream he began to complain to me that he was quickly forgotten, and no one came to his grave to remember him. He asked his girlfriend to come to his grave. I was so surprised because I didn’t know the girl at all. After such a dream, I went to church, constantly prayed for him, found his friend and told him what the deceased had asked for.”
Moscow Metropolitan Philaret, who died on November 19, 1867, two months before his death received an unusual notification from another world about his imminent departure to eternity. It was September 17th. The Bishop at that time was in the Trinity-Sergius Lavra. On the morning of September 18, the Metropolitan woke up and called Anthony, whom he respected and especially trusted. “Tonight,” Filaret told him, “my parents appeared to me and said: take care of the nineteenth.” After all, there are twelve nineteenths in every year. He took care of September 19, October 19 and November 19. On November 19, he died quietly.

The dream of the great Russian scientist Mikhail Lomonosov is also significant. On the way from Holland to Russia on a ship, Mikhail Vasilyevich Lomonosov has a dream: his father, a fisherman, is sailing on a boat on the Arctic Sea, the wind has risen, the waves are roaring and are ready to swallow the swimmer; the son wants to rush to his aid, but his arms and legs are numb; The boat, hitting the shore of a nearby island, cried out: “Mikhail!” and disappeared, and then washed ashore. Upon arrival in St. Petersburg, not having peace in his soul with the persistent thought that his father lay unburied, Lomonosov found his fellow countrymen in the capital. He asked them what had become of his father; They replied that at the beginning of spring he and his comrades went to sea, but for four months nothing had been heard about them. Having no peace in his soul, Lomonosov himself wants to go to the island he saw in a dream, familiar to him from childhood, but did not receive leave from St. Petersburg. Then he begged the local fishermen to visit that island and, if they found his father’s body, give it an honest burial. The father's body was found and buried.
Another case. “Two friends died one after another in the winter, they were buried next to each other. Both widows met almost every day at the cemetery. And then one day, on Sunday night, one of them dreams of her husband and tells her that she must come to the cemetery early in the morning tomorrow. When she woke up, she was surprised and doubtful: she was going to go to church for the liturgy, as usual, at ten o’clock, and then suddenly it was early in the morning. But for some reason she wanted to fulfill the request she heard in her dream. She went to the cemetery and saw that something bad had happened: her friend’s grave had sunk half a meter - the sight was terrifying. Apparently, a lot of snow got into the ground with which the grave was covered: it rained at night, the snow melted, and the ground settled. If a friend’s widow, who was generally on the verge of a mental breakdown from grief, had come and seen this nightmare, the matter would have ended in a mental hospital. The woman quickly took the wreaths out of the hole, pulled old wreaths and bouquets from the trash heap, filled the hole with them, and covered the top with the deceased’s “own” wreaths. And as soon as she finished this work, the second widow appeared; they cried peacefully together and went their separate ways. What would have happened if she had neglected her late husband’s request?”
Nikanor, Archbishop of Kherson and Odessa, speaking in one of his teachings about the afterlife, states: “There could be many such facts that have the full meaning of reliability for persons who are completely venerable and deserving of faith... the facts are reliable, valid, possible, but we cannot say that we agree with the usual order of things established by the will of God.”

The book "Stories about the apparitions of the deceased to their relatives and friends."
Author of the book: Fomin A.V.