Thanks to Haley Hodge
Good things are frequently discovered where you least expect them to be.
Haley Hodge has gone beyond books and online in her quest for baby names as her due date approaches. This mother of three, who will soon become a mother of four, made the decision to search local cemeteries for names from earlier generations and former lives in order to find inspiration.
Hodge documented this extraordinary journey in a now-viral TikTok video that has elicited conflicting responses from its 2.5 million viewers. In the video, Hodge can be seen talking about names with her husband Rivers and their kids while touring the Old Smithville Burying Ground in Southport, North Carolina.
Thanks to Haley Hodge
Many viewers were moved by Hodge’s inventiveness and appreciated how she honored the memory of the deceased with her choice of names.
One individual remarked, “This is the first video I’ve ever seen like this; never would have thought about it.” But I adore this concept so much! particularly if you investigate the individual.
“This really is stunning. Another TikTok user said, “What a way to honor those that have passed away.”
Not everyone, though, had the same sentiments. The concept unnerved other viewers, who brought up beliefs about pregnant women not being allowed in cemeteries. Hodge tells PEOPLE that although she had always felt at ease in cemeteries, she had expected some criticism because of different cultural perspectives on death.
Thanks to Haley Hodge
“It seems to me like going to a site where people’s greatest friends, grandparents, and other loved ones are buried. It’s not an evil place, according to Hodge. “These are people who were good people who lived lives, hopefully good lives.”
Furthermore, Hodge finds it inconvenient to be close to the deceased.
She continues, “I don’t think spirits are restricted to cemeteries if they exist.” “We’re already surrounded by it; hospitals have morgues, and we have babies born above morgues.”
Hodge also remembers her own early years, when her mother would take the family on trips and visit graves to teach them about the local history.
Thanks to Haley Hodge
According to Hodge, “she realized we’d be more interested if it was a spooky story rather than just history.” “It just grabs your attention more, kind of like kids telling scary stories at a bonfire.”
Hodge had used more traditional means to find names for her first three children, Finley, 10, Banks, 1, and Crew, 3, frequently making notes of names she heard on television. When asked where her name came from, she wanted this fourth kid to be able to tell an intriguing backstory.
Thanks to Haley Hodge
In addition, Hodge made the decision to film their trip to the grave, hoping to show it to her daughter in the future. She had originally intended to keep the videos to herself, but she ultimately decided to share the naming process with everyone.
“At first, I wasn’t going to post them,” she acknowledges. However, I later decided that sharing this was sort of cool. I anticipated that because it was unique, it would draw attention.
I Met a Fortuneteller After My Wifes Funeral, The Next Day, Her Prediction Came True
The funeral was unbearable. Our daughters, Sophie and Emma, only four and five years old, kept asking, “Where’s Mommy?” I had no idea how to answer. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? Thankfully, Elizabeth’s parents and sister were there to help handle the arrangements.
After the service, as I walked to my car in a daze, I felt someone watching me. At first, I thought it was just my grief playing tricks on me, but then I saw her—an old woman standing near the cemetery gates.
She looked ancient, her face etched with deep lines, her sharp eyes piercing through me as if she could see straight into my soul.
“Excuse me,” she called softly.
I hesitated but didn’t respond. I was too drained for conversation, especially with a stranger.
“I know your fate,” she said, her voice serious.
I frowned. “What?”
“Cross my palm with silver, and I’ll reveal the joy and sorrow that lie ahead,” she continued, holding out her hand.
I stared at her, bewildered. A fortune-teller? At a funeral? I shook my head, muttering, “I’m not interested,” and started to walk away.
But her next words stopped me cold. “Elizabeth won’t rest until justice is served.”
I turned back sharply. “What did you say?”
“Twenty dollars,” she said, beckoning with her bony fingers. “That’s all.”
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve dismissed her. But in my grief-stricken state, I was numb to everything. Twenty dollars seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I handed her the crumpled bill.
Her hand felt icy as she grabbed mine, her grip surprisingly firm. She didn’t take her eyes off me, and for a moment, I felt exposed, as though she could see all the pain I was carrying.
“Today, you’ve lost someone dear,” she whispered.
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said bitterly. “We’re at a cemetery.”
She didn’t flinch. “Your wife’s death was no accident.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s more to her death than you know. Tomorrow, the truth will begin to reveal itself.”
I felt my mouth go dry. “What truth?”
She smiled slowly, an unsettling grin. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll see.”
Before I could ask anything else, she turned and disappeared into the mist, vanishing as if she had never been there. I stood frozen, torn between disbelief and a strange sense of foreboding.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elizabeth—her smile, her laugh, the way she kissed our daughters goodnight. But the fortuneteller’s cryptic words haunted me: “Your wife’s death was no accident.” Was there any truth to it? Could the crash have been something more sinister?
Unable to rest, I got up and sifted through Elizabeth’s things, desperate to feel close to her. Among her belongings, I found something odd—receipts from a car rental service. We had two cars. Why would she need a rental?
I stared at the receipts, my heart racing. The fortuneteller’s words echoed in my mind. “There’s more to her death than you know.”
The next morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I called Elizabeth’s best friend, Sarah, who worked at the garage where our cars were serviced. Maybe she could help me make sense of it all.
“Hey, Sarah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did Elizabeth mention anything to you about renting a car?”
There was a brief pause before she answered. “Actually, yes. She rented a car when both of your cars were in the shop. It was for a surprise trip to the beach, but she returned it the day before… well, you know.”
“But why didn’t she tell me?” I muttered to myself.
“She wanted it to be a surprise,” Sarah replied. “She even asked her sister Karen to return the car for her after the trip.”
A wave of unease washed over me. Karen? Why would she return the car, and why hadn’t I known about it?
Determined to get answers, I drove to the rental company. When I explained the situation, the manager pulled up the records. “The car was returned without visible damage. We accepted it as normal, but… something seems off. Only a few miles were added to the odometer.”
I left the office with more questions than answers. Why had Karen returned the car? What was she hiding? I decided to contact the police, as the suspicion that Elizabeth’s death wasn’t an accident gnawed at me.
I explained everything to the detective—the car rental, the fortuneteller, my growing doubts. He listened carefully and assured me they’d investigate. “Initially, we ruled it a tragic accident caused by brake failure,” he said. “But now, with what you’ve shared, we’ll take a closer look.”
The days that followed were a blur. Then, the police found something shocking—evidence that someone had tampered with the brakes. My stomach churned as the horrifying truth began to surface.
It wasn’t long before the investigation revealed even more. Karen had taken out a life insurance policy on Elizabeth just months before the accident. She had forged Elizabeth’s signature and made herself the sole beneficiary.
I was sickened. Elizabeth’s death hadn’t been an accident—it was murder. And the person behind it was her own sister.
When Karen was arrested, I couldn’t even look at her. The woman who had comforted me in my grief had been the one to cause it all, driven by greed.
During interrogation, she confessed to tampering with the car’s brakes, hoping to collect the insurance money. The betrayal was devastating.
Karen was sentenced to life in prison. It didn’t bring Elizabeth back, but at least I knew she would never harm anyone again. The fortuneteller had been right—Elizabeth couldn’t rest until justice was served.
A few weeks later, I returned to the cemetery. As I stood by Elizabeth’s grave, I whispered, “You can rest now.”
Just as I was about to leave, a butterfly landed on her headstone. I knew it was Elizabeth, finally at peace.
Though I never saw the fortuneteller again, her words had led me to the truth. As painful as it was, that truth was worth every penny of the twenty dollars I had given her.
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