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 sun.”
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.”
She went on to share a story about her grandmothers.
They always come to me when I’m cooking. On one side of the family are all our Italian family traditions. On the other side, all the Slovakian ones. Neither of them really wrote many recipes down, and when I miss them, I miss their cooking and those family recipes, smells, and traditions. I kid you not—I can hear them tell me how to do things, add the missing ingredients, use unlisted ingredients, and the amounts. It’s amazing. I just close my eyes and ask, and then I know, in a way that surpasses knowing, what to do.
I was also lucky enough to have another dear friend, Leslie Edwards, share her personal story about her mother, who, at this point, had been gone for seven years.
Sitting next to my bedside is a small silver touch lamp with a white shade, which I still have to this day. My mom had passed on January 1st, so the holiday season had always been difficult for me.
A few years ago, I was missing my mom a lot and was trying to figure out what I thought might be an easy way to connect with her. One Christmas Eve, I turned to the lamp and specifically asked out loud, “Mom, if you’re with me, please turn the lamp on.”
On Christmas Day, which had been the last day I had spoken to her before she passed, I was feeling especially sad, and I had forgotten about the request I had asked of her. I was in bed, not having the best day. I looked over, and my lamp turned on by itself!
It was as though she was trying to let me know I was not alone and that even in times of sadness, she is still with me.
Finally, just the other day, my late sister came through in a very sweet way. I had lost an earring in the shape of a star, and it had been gone for almost two weeks. I looked everywhere for this thing. I looked in my bed, around the bed, and between the couch cushions. I looked outside and even in weird places (like behind the toilet). You name it.
Lost forever . . . or so I thought.
March 28th is my sister’s birthday, and the 29th is the anniversary of my dad’s death. Needless to say, it is a tough time for me, and I dread it every single year. On the morning of my sister’s birthday, I was lying in bed and opened my eyes. The star-shaped earring was sitting directly in front of me on the mattress where it couldn’t be missed. It was just sitting there.
Now, to be clear, in the time that I lost that earring, the sheets had been changed twice, my nine-year-old had slept with me multiple times the week before (we always cuddle when he is on break from school), and we had played with our little puppy, Violet, on the bed. There is no way that earring had been anywhere nearby, let alone on the mattress, post side sticking straight up. I shared this story with my three remaining sisters, and they all agreed it was our sister Terre (now our shining star in heaven) making sure we know she is still around.
There are hundreds of stories like these. Some are a little more tangible, and some are more about the feelings we are given. They are all real, and all come from the other side. If you think you are receiving a message, you are. Plain and simple.
Tell those who have passed you love them.
And don’t forget to tell the same to those still with us here in the physical.
Love never dies.
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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