Grief can be one of the hardest things that we, as humans,
have to deal with. After all, emotions are a human trait, and grief seems to be the “king daddy” of them all. It comes in waves, has many facets, and affects everyone differently.
What if there was a way to know that in times of sadness
and helplessness, we can have evidence, or proof, that even though our loved ones have left the physical plane, they are still very much with us and can give us signs?
A few years ago, I wrote this post on how our beloved pets can come back to visit and how our loved ones can assist us with
certain things after death. Showing us where missing items are, giving us helpful messages for other people, and sending symbols like butterflies are a few examples of this.
In my case, on my 40th birthday, I had a missed
call on my cell phone from my dad’s phone that had been turned off and was locked in a safe at home. You can read more about that here.
Sometimes the nudges are subtle, and sometimes those who
have crossed need to practically knock us over the head for us to acknowledge they are happening.
After the unexpected death of my father in March of 2018,
I wasn’t the only one who had unexplainable experiences. Dad had two sisters still with us at that time: Aunt Barbara and Aunt Gerry. Aunt Gerry had driven to Washington from Utah to support her
sister as the siblings were all very close—especially my dad and Aunt Barbara.
Aunt Barbara had lived alone (with the exception of her cat) for many years. As the ladies finished chatting in the kitchen, they came around the corner to the living
room only to discover a photo that neither had ever seen and certainly had not placed on the floor where it could not be missed. It was a photo of their parents (my grandparents) with my father
standing with them, all smiling. It was such an unexpected gift that their brother had left for them as a sign that he was there, and they were together.
A week or so later, Aunt Gerry returned home to Utah. She
was in the living room by herself when she noticed an odd light, like a spot, on her wall. Thinking it was something she needed to wipe off, she grabbed a towel and attempted to clean it.
The light moved, and she thought, “What the heck?”
Suddenly, feeling my dad’s presence, she grabbed her camera to capture the moment to show our family. The light disappeared and was never able to be seen again.
Just a little nudge from her brother.
Another example of how close the siblings were came just
recently when Aunt Barbara passed. To set up the back story, Aunt Gerry’s name is Geraldine. She was known as Gerry by everyone except my late grandpa, my Uncle George, and my dad, who all called
her by her proper name. Aunt Barbara never referred to her as anything but Gerry. As my Aunt Barbara took her final breath, she smiled and said one word: Geraldine.
It was as though she was being greeted as she crossed over
and wanted our family to know they were all together on the other side.
When I was thinking about writing this post, I decided to
reach out to some friends to see if they had any stories to share with me. My dear friend Andrea Reay was kind enough to share two stories of love and light after death.
My dad and I were really close, and he passed away
unexpectedly in August of 2014. He had a few medical conditions, but in no way were we planning to say goodbye. I was able to be there when he crossed over, and it was such an honor. Of course,
when people pass unexpectedly, there is a lot of emotion. I mean, no matter how people pass, there is never enough time, and it is so hard. I drove myself to the hospital and was there to say
goodbye and make all the arrangements. I got in the car, and John Lennon’s “Instant Karma” was on the radio. I didn’t think much of it. I was emotionally and physically exhausted and just dragged
myself home. A few days later, on our way to make arrangements with the priest, the song was playing on the radio again. I thought, “Huh, that’s kind of odd. What station is this that keeps
playing this song?” After we made arrangements, we went to a bar. I needed a drink. As I was drinking my Jameson, the song started playing on the restaurant PA system. After that, I actually
spent time listening and couldn’t help but think it was really my dad’s way of letting me know he was okay.
“We all shine on, like the moon and the stars and the
I also had a very vivid dream where my dad was able to
say goodbye to me. He was being honored for all the great work he had done in life, and all these awards were alluded to for the kind and great things he had done. He stopped and looked me in the
eye and told me what he was most proud of was my family and me—over everything else. That’s what mattered most. It was so wonderful because although I was able to say goodbye to him in the
hospital, he couldn’t speak, and I really felt like we were able to communicate. Now, when I hear that song, I know it’s “our song.”