Helen wrote, I knew when I saw the music notation that it would be South Wind, because I was expecting a message from him.

My younger sister died in 1981 of heart failure. I flew to Austin to be with my mother, who nursed Jan until she died. That first evening I sat, looking around Jan's apartment and thinking how bleak it was without her.

This is the first and only time this has ever happened to me: I felt Jan's presence in the room. I thought "Oh, now I understand what that means." I heard her say, "I ought to kick your butt. You of all people ought to know I'm not gone. I'm fine! God's love is here and it's wonderful." [I was a bit surprised, because I hadn't thought of Jan as being at all religious.] "Here, this is what it feels like." I felt/saw what looked like outer space, filled with stars, and a Milky Way of golden sparkles. Then those golden sparkles started to fill me, starting at my feet and filling me right up to my head, taking away my grief entirely and leaving a feeling of peace and rightness.

I told my mom about the experience but reserved judgment on what it "meant," but I knew that no matter where it came from, it had been vastly healing.

Next morning Jan's best friend came over. She said, "Jan visited me last night. She said, Lynn, stop crying. Stop crying! Being here is wonderful. Jesus' love is wonderful." Both "visits" happened at roughly the same time of evening.

Jan's presence seemed to touch other people after her death. (I'm not surprised -- she was one of the most determined, stubborn, self directed people I've ever known. Rules to her were for other people. :-)

We held a service here 3 weeks later. My mother asked for Whispering Hope saying it was a favorite of Jan's. Next morning I had a sudden urge to turn on Stained Glass Bluegrass. I thought, "Well, in a few minutes." Then my mind said, "Do it NOW, or I'll miss a message from Jan." So I turned it on; they were just playing the first bars of Whispering Hope.