All of the preceding stories are fiction.

But fiction is often based on fact.  “Why Do We Need a Telephone?” is about my parents. James Longstreet did convert to Catholicism.  I have a fiddle named Florence and arthritis in my neck.  My husband’s cabbages were eaten by a rabbit, but an ordinary, non-speaking rabbit.

“Letter from Hildy” is fiction, but I believe it is possible for those who have died to reach out to their loved ones on earth.

It happens to me.

In 2006, at the age of 61, I discovered my ability to communicate with people who have died.

It started a week after my friend Pat died, when I heard her say, “Look after my daughter.”  If I had made this up, I would have used the daughter’s name.  I wrote to her that I wanted to be closer to her now that her mother was gone.

A few days later, I heard Pat say, “Be a friend to my grandson.”  Pat lived in a basement apartment in her daughter’s home.  The seven-year-old and Pat were very close, and on Friday nights they had sleepovers in her apartment. Ten months before her death, she told me that the thing that worried her most about dying was how the boy would take it.

In 2006, at the age of 61, I discovered my ability to communicate with people who have died.

It started a week after my friend Pat died, when I heard her say, “Look after my daughter.”  If I had made this up, I would have used the daughter’s name.  I wrote to her that I wanted to be closer to her now that her mother was gone.

A few days later, I heard Pat say, “Be a friend to my grandson.”  Pat lived in a basement apartment in her daughter’s home.  The seven-year-old and Pat were very close, and on Friday nights they had sleepovers in her apartment. Ten months before her death, she told me that the thing that worried her most about dying was how the boy would take it.

Pat and I had grown up ten miles apart in western Pennsylvania but didn’t meet until we were in our early twenties and living in the same apartment building in Woodbridge