We search for our ancestors and sometimes get so caught up in it. I thumbed through this book I read years ago because of a recent death in the family and this letter seemed appropriate for the list. It is from "Angel Letters" by Sophy Burnham. This book was inspired from responses to Ms. Burnham's previous book called "A Book of Angels". So many people had experiences that they associated with angels, they had to send her their tales. This letter was sent to her by Darrell Smith from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. ****************************************************************************** *************** I had been at a speaking engagement in Springfield and was driving east to my home in Columbus, Ohio. Although I had only an hour or so to go, the drive seemed too long. The warmth of the spring afternoon sun was just right to drive with the windows down. I longed for scenery this day, so I abstained from using the interstate. It was my habit to drive with the radio off on these trips to enable me to plan my day, comtemplate the future and past, and enjoy every inch of the countryside. The day (what was left of it) seemed like it would be uneventful. The only noticeable sight was an unusually large number of butterflies. They covered the fields for serveral miles, bouncing genlty on the millions of daisies. I surmised this accounted for the black cloud of birds. Little did I know this was a prelude to an encounter I would remember the rest fo my life. The birds and butterflies suddenly ascended out of sight. It was then, just ahead, that I saw a hitchhiker. A man. To my surprise he looked much like my father - more than seven years had passed since my father died. I slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road just ahead of him, adjusting the rearview mirror to watch his approach. He drew nearer, and I was shaken. The resemblance was frightening, yet I was drawn to him. "Dad?" (I don't know why, but I said that aloud). He was literally a double of my father. He wore khaki pants, black shoes, and a white T-shirt. He was tall and lean and tan and rugged. His face was my father's face, his hair was thick and black and wavy. I was mesmerized. He walked toward the car in long strides, opened the door, and sat beside me. He didn't look at me, nor did he speak. The man sat erect and stared ahead, his hands folded in his lap. His manner was nonthreatening. I stared (I'm sure my mouth was open). Imagine seeing your dead father get into the car with you. Was this a ghost or a vivid imagination on a lonesome road? I put the car in drive and slowly gained sppeed. Extending my hand, I introduced myself. He returned the handshake. His fingers were long, the palm calloused but warm, very warm. He did not give me his name. "How far are you going?" "Not far," he said calmly. It was my father's voice. God, who was this? I was scared. I was intrigued. I was joyous. I was stupid! This was not my father; this was just some old guy hitchhiking. Gain your composure, I kept reciting to myself. Breathing deeply through my nose and exhaling through my mouth, I asked, "Where are you going? Are you going to work?" His answer was direct. "No, I'm visiting with my son. He needs me." "Where is he?" "Not far. He is here." He was looking ahead. He turned his head as I did. Our eyes met, and he smiled fully. I nearly cried. His teeth were my father's teeth. His expression was loving. He turned away. My skin crawled. I felt as though I was exposed to a freezing wind and shivered. "Where do I let you off?" "This will be fine." "Here?! It's only been a couple of miles. Does your son live near here?" "Yes, he is near." His tone seemed patronizing. I pulled over and rolled to a stop. I wanted to plead with him not to go, but deep inside I wondered if what was happeing was real. As he got out, I asked, nearly pleading, "What's your name?" He didn't look at me. He stood close to the car facing me. All I could see was his waist. He did not reply to my question. He stayed there a moment and exhaled deeply. Lowering his head to the window, he revealed a full smile again. "Thank you." That's all he said. He turned and walked away. He never looked back, although he waved, knowing he was being watched. I sat in my car for the longest time before pulling away. And driving, I desire to turn around and find him, to follow him. I wanted desperately to see his son. I pulled over and parked again. Staring ahead momentarily, I finally adjusted the rearview mirror to look at my face. "You want to see his son? Then look." I did not know where he was going, nor did I know his name. Or, perhaps I knew all of these things. I will always remember the visit. ****************************************************************************** *************** If you believe, you never know what you may encounter.