MMy mother, sister, nephew and I pulled over to the side of the road, which happened to be by the family cemetery, so my mother could turn off her cell phone. It was Halloween night. My 2-year-old nephew looked at the cemetery and said, “Nanny, there are three kids here,” and started to open the car door. My mother asked him where he was, and he pointed to some gravestones. He then started to motion for them to come over to him and said, “Come here, kids, let’s play.” Well, needless to say, I was starting to get a little scared, but what really made the hair stand on the back of my neck was when he looked at us and said, “There,” pointing straight to my grandmother’s grave. Out of the blue, he said his nickname, “PJ” (meaning my brother, my nephew’s father). My grandmother always called my brother PJ, we never called him that and there is no way that child could hear that anywhere because no one ever called my brother that except my grandmother and she died. At that point my mother said, “Daylan, where did you hear that name from,” and he said, “she.” He pointed to her grave and then he said, “I think that's my daddy!” I burst into tears and I know deep in my heart that this child saw something that we didn't.
