For those of you who have read my book, A Life Out of Context, the name Dig will mean something to you. Dig was one of my closet childhood friends and that friendship followed into adulthood. In 2001, Dig tragically passed away and my world changed forever.
Fast forward eight years and something amazing happened. Nola, who was two and a half years old, was playing by herself in her bedroom. I was one room away cleaning the bathroom when I heard her say, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
My ears perked up and I left the bathroom to make sure I was hearing her correctly. "What did you say my Bug?" I asked her.
She looked up at me and repeated, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
The shock on my face did not seem to alarm her and she went on playing. Now, Dig's name had come up from time to time but not on a daily basis, so I could not believe what she was saying. Then she stopped playing, pointed at the wall and said, "he's in there you know."
She said it so nonchalantly, yeah there's a guy in the wall and he's talking to me, big whoop.
My stomach nearly fell out of my body. He's in the wall, I thought. I couldn't believe it. What's he doing in there? Wait...is he really in there? I felt so confused.
Prior to losing Dig, I hadn't thought much about the afterlife but when we lost him, I prayed that it existed. Of course, should my prayers be answered then Dig's spirit living on was possible and I hated to admit it, but I was a bit scared.
I took a few deep breaths and searched for answers, "is he nice?" I asked my baby.
"Oh yes," she answered confidently.
After a few seconds of mental deliberation, I decided to drop the fearful act and embrace the possibility that my girl was communicating with one of my greatest friends.
Later that evening, when Nola's dad returned home from work, I told him the Dig story. Nola listened to me recall the event then pointed at the kitchen cupboard and said, "he's in there now."
My eyes widened and I looked at Nola's dad who seemed a bit nervous. "Nola," I replied, "what does he look like?"
She was only two and a half and didn't seem to understand the question.
"Honey, what color is his hair," I said modifying my question.
Without skipping a beat she replied, "brown."
"Okay," said her dad,"that's enough."
Nola knew too much and although it freaked me out, I found weird sense of peace, because Dig may have finally met my baby girl.
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