When a loved one dies, things can be incredibly chaotic; especially when the death was unexpected. There are people to tell, arrangements to be made, accounts to be closed, questions to be answered and more.
Wouldn’t it be nice if our loved one could reach out to us from the other side and help out with some of that stuff? It’s hard enough when dealing with the details, let alone while
experiencing shock, pain, and deep; all-consuming grief.
The truth is, our loved ones can help us…sometimes.
In March of 2018, I received what was to be the worst call I have ever had in my entire life. My father, my daddy, had suffered from a heart attack and passed away in the emergency room just a short time earlier. As soon as I heard the ER doctor tell me those words, my knees buckled and I fell to the ground. “No! What do you mean? I don’t understand!” I cried to the doctor. “What do I do? I don’t know what to do!” He calmly said to take a few breaths and collect myself before anything else.
I was hysterical. I had a very traumatic childhood growing up, and as such, my Dad was the only parent in my life. Although I had moved out of state a few years back, we talked at least once a week (more when the Seahawks were playing), we emailed all the time, and never missed a birthday or holiday. We would even fly from our home on Maui to spend Christmas Eve with him in Washington State, which was not a cheap trip that time of year. We had our traditions with Dad and my Uncle Tom that were sacred and incredibly special to us. Every year, we enjoyed the same menu, we ate the same foods (if you consider little smokies food), listened to the same songs, told the same silly jokes, “Dad, fruitcake is not food! I will use it as a door stop, instead.”, and had an evening full of love and gratitude.
In the years leading up to Dad’s untimely passing, he would often take me up to his office and say, “Okay Pal (his nickname for me), you need to know where my Last Will and Testament is. It’s in this safe next to the cremation certificate (already paid for), the plot information (already paid for), and the headstone I have picked out (already designed and paid for). The keys to the safe are here he said pointing to the not so hidden hiding spot. He was organized and thorough.
My Dad being as young as he was, I would always say, “Dad, I don’t want to talk about this. You can show me in like 20 years, because you are never going to die.” He would chuckle and always reply, “Well that’s not true, Pal so pay attention.” Of course, like a stubborn child I refused to acknowledge that he may be right.
Then the day had come when he was right.
After receiving that life-changing phone call, my husband Steve and I packed up our youngest son and drove to Washington. We had moved to Coeur d’Alene, ID from Maui less than a year before. I was grateful for the move as facing everything I was about to face was easier via a 6-hour drive rather than a 5-hour flight.
We approached Dad’s house to find Uncle Tom waiting out front. It felt very strange to open my Dad’s front door and walk in without him. It felt intrusive and surreal. The house was cold and the lights were off. I noticed Dad’s coffee cup from that morning on the counter. “He never knew he wouldn’t be coming back home.” I thought.
The three adults slowly trudged upstairs to my Dad’s office to find his safe and figure out our next steps. As we looked in his office, a
thought of terror struck me: I had no idea where the keys to the safe were!
Why had I been such a brat and not listened?
Ugh! He had even pulled Steve into his office the last couple of times with me to make sure we both knew where everything was. Now, when it was time, we had absolutely no idea where the keys were. For the next hour or hour and a half, the three of us looked in every drawer, every box, and every briefcase in the house for the keys.
After some time, Steve went to the office by himself for another look. He placed his hands on my Dad’s desk, feeling desperate and defeated and said, “Jim, you’ve gotta help me out, man. Where are the keys?”
With that, Steve glanced to his left, still leaning over the desk and saw the key, hidden under a ‘Best Brother Award’ ribbon (likely a silly gift from my Aunt Barbara), hanging on a tack stuck in his cork board. We would have never looked there.
Thanks, Dad. We all agreed without question that he had helped us from the other side.
That evening, while unsuccessfully trying to sleep, I heard my Dad’s voice, “Pal, I need you to tell Uncle Tom to get his things in order. Write this down.”
As fast as I could, I began scribbling things down:
- Where is his Last Will and Testament?
- Who is in charge of his estate when he is gone?
- Where are the receipts for his plot, headstone, and cremation?
- What does he want done with his coin collection?
- Who will take care of his cat?
This went on for a while and then my Dad said, “Be sure to tell him to make sure to take care of that thing buried in his yard.”
What was buried in my Uncle Tom’s yard? Please tell me it isn’t a body.
I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know what was buried in Uncle Tom’s yard, however, the next day, I handed over the list and repeated the last thing my Dad said the previous evening.
To my relief, Uncle Tom had buried Folgers Coffee cans with change in them many years back and had forgotten he had done so. Phew! No dead people? Check. Not that I thought he was capable, of course!
Again, thanks Dad.
That day, we realized we needed all of my Dad’s passwords to access his accounts and shut things off such as the power in his house, or to delete his social media accounts. I knew he had them written down somewhere, because he had shown me. Of course, once again, I hadn’t listened. We went back up to my Dad’s office and looked everywhere. Every drawer, every cabinet, and every in every file. The sheet of passwords was nowhere to be found.
I said out loud, “Please help us find your passwords, Dad. We have looked everywhere.”
I closed my eyes, turned around and right smack on top of his shelf (where we had looked many times) appeared his password sheet. Not only am I positive it wasn’t there a minute ago, I also knew my Dad wasn’t careless and would have never have had his passwords out in the open. It was unbelievable.
Once again, my Dad came through.
The next few months were hard. I had been suffering from grief like nothing I had ever suffered from before. I was devastated. My husband and I decided I needed a break and we headed to New Orleans for my 40th birthday. Although it was a nice distraction, my heart was heavy. At midnight on my birthday, out of sadness and desperation, I sent my Dad a text before crying myself to sleep. It read:
I love you. I miss you.
I am 40 today. Where are you, Dad?
I need you.
The next thing that happened was mind-blowing.
When I woke up the following morning, I saw I had a missed call which was weird, because my ringer was on and neither myself or my husband heard it. As I scrolled to see who had called, I gasped.
The missed call was from my Dad. Un-flipping-believable.
I knew for a fact that his cell phone service was not only shut off, but that his actual phone was locked in my safe 2500 miles away.
His phone called me at 3:06 Eastern; 12:06 am Pacific…which is our time zone. The missed call registered minutes after I sent that text, and before I had fallen asleep. What would have happened had it rung and I answered it? I wish I knew.
My Dad had reached out to help me know I wasn’t alone and that he was there for me. I needed that confirmation and he made it happen.
He knew I needed him and he called me.
Our loved ones are here for us. They are around us, helping us, guiding us, and loving us.
Love never dies.
In life, my Dad was an extraordinary man who could find a way to do just about anything he set his mind to. Plus, he was stubborn. Those two things combined, I believe, helped make it possible for him to come through in not so subtle ways. We all agreed that if there was someone who could make things happen like this right after death, it was my Dad.
With the way my Dad came through (and as fast as he came though after death), I also could tell that he had a rather high number of incarnations here in Earth.
You see, souls reincarnate as often and as many times as they desire. When a soul has incarnated here a high number of times, it becomes easier for them to lower their energy in a way to not only connect with us but to also affect the things around us.
It takes newer souls (souls who have had fewer incarnations on earth) more time to fully integrate on the other side. They need to receive healing, come to terms with their death, and then ‘learn the ropes’, so to speak. Once they are ready, and if they choose, they can then begin to practice communicating with the living. It’s a bit more difficult at first, but becomes easier with time.
Your loved ones may not be helping you in such obvious ways as my Dad, and as fast as he was able to, but they are there helping you. It may just take a little more time for them to figure things out, and it may take you some time to see the signs they are sending as you work through the cycle of grief.
Remember, you are not alone and you do have help and the support from your loved ones on the other side.
Hi, I'm Shelly.
I am a mother, wife, spiritual blogger, and professional psychic. I am also sassy, down-to-Earth, and love to share my stories, tools, and connection to Spirit with all of you.
Welcome to my blog!
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