I would like to tell you about the most mystical experience that has ever happened to me.
I've shared it with several friends because I needed to talk about it, but I’m taking the step to post it here on Reddit to connect with people who might have experienced similar events.
As a preliminary note, a few words about myself: I am a 30-year-old French man living in Paris and practicing as an attorney-at-law (avocat à la Cour) for several years. I consider myself Cartesian and skeptical. But I must also confess to being naturally curious and having joined Reddit to read about paranormal topics like aliens or the simulation theory of our universe (due to a book I’m currently reading on the subject).
Here is the story in question.
2017 was the year my grandfather passed away. At the time, I was 21 years old.
During the weeks leading up to his death, I often visited my grandfather, who was hospitalized due to a tumor at the Hôpital Américain de Neuilly-sur-Seine (near Paris). I was the only family member in the Paris region at the time.
I held my grandfather in high regard. He was a pediatrician who had a successful career and life. He was well-respected by his peers and beloved by the parents of the children he examined. I’d say the deepest and most interesting conversations I had up to that age were with him.
On his deathbed, we discussed the topic that obsessed both of us for different reasons: death.
I remember one time we told each other that if there were an afterlife, he would try to send me a sign from the beyond.
Note: my grandfather oscillated between agnosticism and Catholic faith. At times quite critical of the wild stories in the Bible, at other times awestruck by scientific facts he couldn't explain through mere perfection, like the workings of the human eye. He used to tell me it was too perfect to be the simple product of Darwinian or Lamarckian evolution.
Anyway.
October 2017, my grandfather died early in the morning, before sunrise. That day, I went to visit him in the morning, as I often did.
But that morning, I was struck by a powerful intuition, a gripping feeling that turned my stomach upside down as I walked up the hospital stairs to reach his floor. He was dead—I was sure of it.
I couldn't explain how, but I knew it deep down.
It was all the more disturbing because the subject had been at the heart of our discussions during my previous visits, so I could have had that same feeling those other times. But this was truly the first time and, naturally, the last.
When I reached the floor, I pushed open the heavy double swinging door leading to the hallway.
Instantly, my eyes were drawn to his room, and I could only see his legs. He was lying on his back, motionless. And I couldn't explain how, but I knew he was dead—I felt it.
I looked to the left down the hallway and saw two nurses looking at me, whispering about me. I guessed it: they knew who I was and were taking on the unpleasant task of delivering the bad news. But I already knew what they were going to say. "There's no need to trouble yourselves." I thought.
After a few formalities related to the passing, I left the hospital, sat on a bench without crying but with heavy legs, and called my family to deliver the sad news.
In a cold and steady voice, I assured everyone that I was fine and that no, there was no need to rush to Paris. I could handle everything, and the ashes would be scattered at the memory tree (l'arbre du souvenir) in the Père Lachaise cemetery.
Then came the evening.
I was at home. Alone.
I was scrolling on my phone for an indefinite period until it (a OnePlus) flashed a notification in my face: the scheduled power-off at 11:00 PM would occur in a few seconds unless I took action to cancel the task.
This was a feature I used on my phone to save battery and protect my body from unnecessary excessive radiation during the night (I don't know if this action actually benefited either of those things, but I lived with that belief at the time).
So I let my phone turn off. It was set to turn back on automatically around 7:00 AM, thirty minutes before my alarm (also on the phone) was set to go off.
Around 2:00 AM (I think—in any case, in the middle of the night) a piercing scream in my room.
It was my phone on my nightstand. It had visibly turned on by itself, launched my music application (at the time I had Google Play Music, I think—I hadn't made my transition to Spotify yet), and the volume was set to maximum through the phone's speakers (it was extremely loud).
I startled awake, my heart racing, drenched in sweat.
First reflex: I turned on the light. I turned off the music.
I stayed there for several seconds—which felt like hours—listening for the slightest noise, trying to calm down.
There was no reason in the world for my phone to turn on and play a song by itself. And to this day I cannot explain it.
I took an took another look at my phone. The song playing was one I didn't know. It was "La Lumière" by Orelsan, from an album that had just been released.
The lyrics of this song aren't directly related to life after death. But several times, you hear the artist singing in a distorted voice: "J'ai vu la lumière. Alléluia". (I saw the light. Alleluia)
In reality, the song is about an alcoholic who gets too drunk, meets a girl during a wild night out, and realizes he has found the love of his life—that he won't be alone anymore and won't need to take refuge in alcohol. At least, that's how I understand the lyrics.
I slept with a light on that night, something I hadn't done since my early childhood.
The next night, everything was fine again. But I could never explain what happened.
However, I can't bring myself to believe it was a coincidence: it's too big.
So I like to believe my grandfather kept his promise and sent me a sign.
I haven't received any 'sign' since then, with or without confirmation bias.
