The spirit of golf
I've always been fascinated with the supernatural. A few years back, I went to see a psychic. Although, I'm still waiting for that predicted trip to New York.
I had my palms read. That was before my anti-aging/wrinkle cream days. So it was a much smoother reading than one I would receive today.
I love movies and books that deal with the afterlife and different forms of energy.
And I'm not egotistical enough to presume that our earthly bodies are the only ones in this universe.
But until this past weekend, no matter how much I wanted to, I never truly believed in paranormal activities. Now I do.
As some of you may know, my brother-in-law passed away in July after a year-long battle with cancer. In his final weeks, my sister and her family talked about sponsoring a golf tournament in his honor. Those conversations cast a positive glow over all those trips to the ER, the bile bags and the chemo treatments.
And true to form, my brother-in-law participated in the planning, asserting his control over everything from the structure (creating blind teams) to the recipient of the funds that might be raised.
Well, that tournament just took place and there is no doubt in my mind that my brother-in-law was still in control, present every step of the way.
It started on our plane ride. We were stuck on the ground for over an hour while the flight attendants searched for the extra person on board. Of course, I knew who it was, but no one would have ever believed me.
My daughter had a nine-hour drive with two small children in the car. Their last hour was through a windy mountain road, notorious for deer appearing suddenly out of nowhere. Her cellphone died and she was down to her last few gallons of gas. And for the first time in her life, she actually prayed. Someone listened and she pulled into my sister's driveway safe and sound at midnight. I have no doubt who that someone was.
My brother-in-law's son, not really a golfer, won the putting contest.
His best friend took the trophy for the highest score.
My daughter came closest to the pin on the thirteenth hole, the one her uncle called his "nemesis."
The oncologist (yes, he came to play, too) won an entry fee for next year's tournament.
And after several Bloody Marys, I risked my life by getting into a golf cart with my eight-year-old grandson and my great nephew. They swore they knew how to drive. Driving me crazy, was more like it. I feared for my safety as we bumped along in a Mr. Toad-like fashion, without the security of the bars.
And no one could convince me that it wasn't my brother-in-law who saved us from going head first into that sand bunker.
You may be like me and need a little shove in order to believe, but once you get it, there's no turning back.