My dad died on January 7, 1994. Since then, I struggled with life even though my mom was still alive. I was closer to my dad when it comes to opening up -- you know, dad's little girl -- and I was the only legal daughter. I was adopted when I was still months old.
It happened at the wake of my father. It was his last night and a lot of people were there to pay respects to the good old man. Our house is a two-story house and was an old new house: The style was old but the house was only 10 years old. If you could imagine a house from an old Spanish style wherein windows were big and bold and has grills and when you shut them you need to slide them one by one and the window is made up of wood with small squares of shells.
My dad was placed at the ground floor and no one was at the second floor because they were all afraid to go upstairs into the bedrooms. Everyone was at the ground floor when a neighbor of ours just walked up to me and asked if someone was upstairs. I was curious so I also asked why. He just said that someone was looking out or peeping out of those big, bold windows upstairs, staring at people passing by. They could see it from the street across.
I went out of the house and to the street across our house just to see what they saw... and it was true enough! I saw a figure in the window facing the street looking out, peeping at people who went in and out of the house. I wasn't sure who that person was, so I ran in and went upstairs... but I saw nothing or no one.
I went down and out again and the figure was still there, visible to all of us! I mean about five or six people at the same time. Then I realized that the figure was so familiar to me and so manly. I concluded that it was my dad letting us know that he was there still and taking care of us all. That's when I cried and little by little the figure faded away.
