First, let me say how much your comments and emails and tweets lifted me up after my last post. Wow. You are all so wise and thoughtful; I truly have the best readers ever. Some of you urged me to watch for signs that my dad is still around me. Oh, I do! And he has already come through loud and clear in many ways.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by the afterlife and the possibility of feeling, sensing and communicating with those on the Other Side. We live in a universe bigger than we can imagine, on a planet that spins with perfect timing, blessed by inexplicable synchronicity and serendipity day after day. With all these unfathomable miracles in our midst, it seems a given to me that God would have also orchestrated ways for us to connect with our loved ones soul-to-soul when hand-in-hand is no longer possible.
Over the years, I’ve read dozens of books on this, watched so many shows, and listened to stories from countless people who have felt the very real presence of angels, spirit guides and loved ones. Many experts who have studied this phenomenon say the spirits of our loved ones exist at a much higher vibration level than those of us left down here. We’re weighed down by worries and burdens and, of course, our physical bodies. This makes it tough to communicate directly, the way we’re used to. But there’s a common theory that the elevated energy levels in Heaven makes it easier for our beloveds to connect with us at higher vibrational levels – especially in our dreams {when our subconscious is most open}and via electronic devices like phones, radios, and TVs. Ever heard a song on the radio that you just knew was a little wink from above?
On the day we took my dad to the hospital because he felt so yucky, my brother and I were on our cell phones a lot with our mom, who had left for New York before we could catch her {don’t worry – she came back!}. After a few hours, my phone was running low on juice, so I borrowed my dad’s iPhone to call her. When I hit the button to “wake up” his phone, the screen showed the contact page for my Grandma Benson – his mom. He used to call her every single night, but there’s no way he had tried to call her earlier that day. She had died five months earlier. I proceeded to call my mom, going to her contact page in the phone and clicking on her number. After we talked, I hit “end call.” My dad’s iPhone screen immediately went right back to my grandma’s contact page. Again!? When I told him, he was equally surprised; I remember saying maybe she was calling to check in on him at the hospital. Now I wonder if she was actually helping to call him Home.
As I said earlier, I’ve been keenly aware of signs from my dad since he passed. Most feel too sacred and personal to share here right now, but as long as I’m talking about phone calls, I’ll relay this one to you…
My birthday was the day after my dad’s memorial service last week. Birthdays are a big deal in our family, so it was lovely to spend last Tuesday with relatives who were still in town. But I was so aware that, for the first time ever, I hadn’t heard from my dad on my birthday.
That night, I noticed there was a message on my cell phone. It was from my friend, Suzanne, who’s a professional intuitive. In the message, she said my dad had come through to her from the Other Side repeatedly that day, almost badgering her. “I hope you don’t mind me leaving this message,” she said. “But since 8am this morning, your dad has been begging me to call you and wish you a happy birthday. He insists I have to sing the song to you!” I nearly dropped the phone. On every birthday since I left home, I’ve awoken to a phone call from my parents, listening to them sing “Happy Birthday” to me over the phone. If my dad was on a business trip or had an early meeting, he’d find a way to call on his own; he was a terrible singer, but he always sang the birthday song to me with gusto. There were other details Suzanne shared in her message that validated for me it really was my dad. I was so floored that he’d made sure his latest trip – to the Other Side, no less – wouldn’t keep him from singing to me on my birthday.
Recounting these stories is healing for me; I’m reminded how thin the veil between here and there really is. I hope in some way they’re helpful for you, too. Of course, I’d much rather have my dad physically here. With every day that passes, my longing for another hug or a long chat gnaws at me more. But I’m confident he’s here in other ways, still very much part of my life, which is the next best thing.
