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When somebody close to us dies, we often do not comprehend or even believe that they are gone.
For weeks after my brother died, I still felt his presence, his personality, his mind, his will, and attributed all kinds of emotions to him. I heard his voice, saw his influence in all sorts of little events from day to day. I "knew" he was pissed as hell that he had gotten himself and his wife killed, leaving four teenaged kids behind in a parentless house; I "knew" that he expected me to do my part to make sure that those kids found their way into a decent college and didn't mess up their lives; I "knew" that he wanted me to not get hung up on the fact that he was gone; and in these imaginings yes, indeed, I "sympathized" with him that this horrific thing had happened to him. I must have apologized to him a thousand times that I had forgotten to call him and wish him a happy birthday.
For several days after his death there were two ravens that often circled the sky above my house. I convinced myself that they were the the two spirits of my brother and his wife, and that they were floating around up there for the sole reason to reassure me that they were OK and that I should get on with my life.
I was living on an Indian reservation at the time, and several neighbors would look up at them and tell me, why of course those are their spirits. What else would they be? And when they go off on their way I should let them do so, otherwise they are not going to be at peace.
I think it's inevitable that survivors feel this way, it's really part of the grieving process. You just have to go through it somehow.
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