I wanted to share another incident where I felt my Father's presence in a way that provided me something to cherish forever. The story about The Painting.
When my husband and I bought our first home, my Dad was thrilled for us (to say the least!) It was old and outdated and needing a complete overhaul, but that didn't stop my Dad from seeing the potential. I remember walking him through the 'construction zone' prior to move-in, and we stopped and posed for a picture in the mid-renovation kitchen; this picture currently hangs on my wall and always make me think about how happy he was for us to be fulfilling this dream.
When we moved into the house, our walls lacked much artwork. One visit, during his illness, he brought down an enormous, gorgeous painting he must have had in his condo. It was by a Florida artist named Tripp Harrison, and the scene depicted was a serene island cottage on the water. My Dad told me he bought it because it reminded him of Bermuda (where he was briefly stationed in the Navy, and where my sister and I were born.) He wanted us to have it to put in our first home. It was the most amazing piece of art we had ever owned, and I loved having it displayed on our dining room wall.
A month after he passed, my husband and I were celebrating the holidays with my in-laws. We decided to have dinner in historic St. Augustine, and while waiting for our table, we strolled the boutiques along the street. We were walking past an open door and a painting of a boat on emerald waters caught my eye. I took a step back to look at it closer; there was something familiar about the painting. It turned out that we were at the entrance of the Tripp Harrison gallery. We roamed through shop and admired the many pieces of art, even recognizing the same painting we had in our home. I left that evening with a renewed spirit, knowing that my Dad would have wanted me to happen upon that gallery, certain that I would think fondly of him when laying eyes on the artwork.
Fast forward another couple of months, and my husband and I were again spending time with my in-laws; this time browsing a shopping mall that we don't usually frequent. We were only window-shopping, but a large home decor store was having a big sale, so we decided to walk inside. In the back corner of the shop, we again recognized these stunning paintings on display. Earlier this day we were discussing our upcoming tax refund, and my husband wanted to take a little bit of that money and buy something impressive that we would not usually purchase. Low and behold these paintings were on sale for half off. The sales clerk noticed we were interested in the paintings and mentioned they were on clearance because the artist would soon only allow his pieces to be featured in his personal galleries, so they could no longer carry them. What a wonderful sign from my Dad to lead us into this store, as if to say, "This is what I would have wanted you to have. Something you would never normally buy, but here it is on sale, this collectible piece of art that will always remind you of me." We purchased a piece that depicts a white-roofed bungalow set among palm trees and sea cliffs. On the dock sits a tiny tackle box, ready for fishing. A peaceful image. A haven. An idealistic retreat. Something I imagine my Dad is enjoying right now.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Visits in Dreams
Do you believe that when we dream about a loved one who has passed away, that they are actually visiting with us in our sleep? I've thought a lot about this since the dream encounters I've had with my Dad, and the more I think about it the more I hope it to be true. A few of the books I suggested in the other post even support this idea.
During the last several days in hospice care, my Dad was unresponsive and essentially comatose (breathing but unable to communicate, respond, or open his eyes). During those days, I sat for hours in a chair at his bedside and held his hand. Even during the last night with him I slept in that chair with our hands entwined. I remember one day I was telling him I wished he could tell me that he knew I was there next to him, holding his hand; I wishes that he could squeeze my hand back to let me know that he felt me next to him. Then one day, he slowly tightened his fingers to grip my hand, and then gently raised his arm in the air. I couldn't believe my eyes, and thought that he was beginning to come back to me. His lips moved as if he were about to form his first words in days, but then he began to tremble and shiver in a mild spastic episode. I didn't know what was happening at the time, but apparently this was the body's natural process of muscles shutting down. With tears in my eyes, I joked with him that he sure had a dramatic way of answering my request for him to squeeze my hand and let me know that he felt my presence beside him.
On a few occasions over the next two days he would have these episodes, and each time I wondered if it would be the last. The first time my Dad visited me in a dream was the first night I spent back at my house after he passed at the hospice center. As we were falling asleep, my husband interlocked his fingers with mine, and slept soundly next to me. In my dream, I was back at the hospice center beside him. Suddenly he squeezed my hand and raised his arm, again and again throughout the night. In a not-awake-yet-not-asleep state, I began to cry and comforting him, "I'm right here Dad", "It's OK Dad", and "I love you". When I awoke, I sobbed because it felt so authentic; crying because he was really gone, but also because I was overwhelmed by the feeling of holding his hand again - it felt like his hand in mine. My husband didn't realize he was moving his hand or arm at all, but promised to never hold my hand while sleeping, in hopes he wouldn't bring about this reaction again. But I truly felt blessed to have had the experience, because it was almost like having a few minutes with him again.
I had a few dreams that week in which he visited me. Each time for only a short while, without much conversation at all, but each time with a long and amazing embrace. I actually felt his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. And each time I woke up mid-hug, tears streaming down my face immediately for the same reasons - the reality was unbelievable.
Those dreams have since ceased, and it's been months since the last one. I've often prayed that I could receive a visit again, but have not experienced one yet. I think perhaps my Dad is afraid to come to me during my dreams, because he does not want me to awake so emotional, but honestly it's totally worth it to feel his presence, to see his face, and hear his voice so clearly, so absolutely, in this other world where we can both exist together.
During the last several days in hospice care, my Dad was unresponsive and essentially comatose (breathing but unable to communicate, respond, or open his eyes). During those days, I sat for hours in a chair at his bedside and held his hand. Even during the last night with him I slept in that chair with our hands entwined. I remember one day I was telling him I wished he could tell me that he knew I was there next to him, holding his hand; I wishes that he could squeeze my hand back to let me know that he felt me next to him. Then one day, he slowly tightened his fingers to grip my hand, and then gently raised his arm in the air. I couldn't believe my eyes, and thought that he was beginning to come back to me. His lips moved as if he were about to form his first words in days, but then he began to tremble and shiver in a mild spastic episode. I didn't know what was happening at the time, but apparently this was the body's natural process of muscles shutting down. With tears in my eyes, I joked with him that he sure had a dramatic way of answering my request for him to squeeze my hand and let me know that he felt my presence beside him.
On a few occasions over the next two days he would have these episodes, and each time I wondered if it would be the last. The first time my Dad visited me in a dream was the first night I spent back at my house after he passed at the hospice center. As we were falling asleep, my husband interlocked his fingers with mine, and slept soundly next to me. In my dream, I was back at the hospice center beside him. Suddenly he squeezed my hand and raised his arm, again and again throughout the night. In a not-awake-yet-not-asleep state, I began to cry and comforting him, "I'm right here Dad", "It's OK Dad", and "I love you". When I awoke, I sobbed because it felt so authentic; crying because he was really gone, but also because I was overwhelmed by the feeling of holding his hand again - it felt like his hand in mine. My husband didn't realize he was moving his hand or arm at all, but promised to never hold my hand while sleeping, in hopes he wouldn't bring about this reaction again. But I truly felt blessed to have had the experience, because it was almost like having a few minutes with him again.
I had a few dreams that week in which he visited me. Each time for only a short while, without much conversation at all, but each time with a long and amazing embrace. I actually felt his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. And each time I woke up mid-hug, tears streaming down my face immediately for the same reasons - the reality was unbelievable.
Those dreams have since ceased, and it's been months since the last one. I've often prayed that I could receive a visit again, but have not experienced one yet. I think perhaps my Dad is afraid to come to me during my dreams, because he does not want me to awake so emotional, but honestly it's totally worth it to feel his presence, to see his face, and hear his voice so clearly, so absolutely, in this other world where we can both exist together.
The Bracelet
The truth is, although most of these posts are about how much I miss my Dad, there are many days that I carry on just fine and don't think about it too much. I definitely have my moments, of course, but for the most part I am living my life and taking it one day at a time.
There are also some days, amazing days, where I feel my Dad's presence. It breaks through the sullen clouds like rays of sunshine and fills my heart with joy that is simply indescribable. The day I found the bracelet was one of those days.
It had only been a day or two since he had passed, and I returned home from the hospice center. The weekend before was the local Pancreatic Cancer Action Network Run. We had signed up to captain a team, and had recruited a few friends to run in my Dad's honor. In light of everything that was happening with him, we could not attend the race that weekend, but it was ever more important to me that our friends participated on our behalf.
This particular day, about a week following the race, I was walking through my bedroom and something caught my eye. A purple bracelet (the rubber kind), was sitting on my wood chest. I picked it up to look at it, and realized it was stamped with insignia for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network Foundation. I couldn't believe it was just sitting there. I certainly had never seen it before. I went to my husband and asked "Did you put this bracelet on the chest thinking you would wear it for the run last weekend?" He looked at it and said to me "I've never seen that before in my life. Where was it you said?" I told him where I found it and that I didn't put it there either.
Now the likelihood is that somewhere, somehow, one of us had that bracelet and didn't remember putting it on the chest. But I'm telling you that neither of us had seen it before ever, and I choose to believe that my Dad put it there for me. I believe it was his way of connecting with me right after he passed, and letting me know it was him by using something that I would identify as him, such as PanCan. I put on the bracelet and have worn it almost every day since then.
There are also some days, amazing days, where I feel my Dad's presence. It breaks through the sullen clouds like rays of sunshine and fills my heart with joy that is simply indescribable. The day I found the bracelet was one of those days.
It had only been a day or two since he had passed, and I returned home from the hospice center. The weekend before was the local Pancreatic Cancer Action Network Run. We had signed up to captain a team, and had recruited a few friends to run in my Dad's honor. In light of everything that was happening with him, we could not attend the race that weekend, but it was ever more important to me that our friends participated on our behalf.
This particular day, about a week following the race, I was walking through my bedroom and something caught my eye. A purple bracelet (the rubber kind), was sitting on my wood chest. I picked it up to look at it, and realized it was stamped with insignia for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network Foundation. I couldn't believe it was just sitting there. I certainly had never seen it before. I went to my husband and asked "Did you put this bracelet on the chest thinking you would wear it for the run last weekend?" He looked at it and said to me "I've never seen that before in my life. Where was it you said?" I told him where I found it and that I didn't put it there either.
Now the likelihood is that somewhere, somehow, one of us had that bracelet and didn't remember putting it on the chest. But I'm telling you that neither of us had seen it before ever, and I choose to believe that my Dad put it there for me. I believe it was his way of connecting with me right after he passed, and letting me know it was him by using something that I would identify as him, such as PanCan. I put on the bracelet and have worn it almost every day since then.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Helpful Books
Shortly after my Dad passed, I received a book in the mail from one of my clients (who had lost her brother). She explained that the book was a bit unconventional. She explained that this book helped her feel more connected to her brother's spirit. The book could not have come at a more perfect time. It had only been a few weeks after my Dad's passing, but already I was feeling very incomplete - almost like a piece of me was amputated and everyone was telling me that it was still there, but I couldn't see it or feel it.
"Do Dead People Watch You Shower" http://www.concettabertoldi.com/books/
I read this book in only a few days. It was an easy read. It brought me great comfort. I wholeheartedly believe in the presence of my Father's spirit with me each day, and I also believe in the ability of a medium to make contact with spirits. This belief is not for everyone, but it certainly works for me.
After finishing this book, I read another book that expanded my knowledge and belief in this subject.
"Talking to Heaven" http://www.vanpraagh.com/store/books
More recently, I have read a book written by a doctor who had an extreme Near Death Experience of being comatose for a week with no neocortex brain activity, during which time he experienced the afterlife. As a man of science, he had always discredited the possibility of life or consciousness after death, until he experienced it himself, and made it his mission to share his story. Really quite remarkable, and yet comforting to know that life does continue after death in such a beautiful and loving existence as he describes.
"Proof Of Heaven" http://www.lifebeyonddeath.net/
I mention these books because they were helpful for me, and may be helpful for others, but I'm open to suggestion for other books that people found helpful when healing after the death of a loved one.
"Do Dead People Watch You Shower" http://www.concettabertoldi.com/books/
I read this book in only a few days. It was an easy read. It brought me great comfort. I wholeheartedly believe in the presence of my Father's spirit with me each day, and I also believe in the ability of a medium to make contact with spirits. This belief is not for everyone, but it certainly works for me.
After finishing this book, I read another book that expanded my knowledge and belief in this subject.
"Talking to Heaven" http://www.vanpraagh.com/store/books
More recently, I have read a book written by a doctor who had an extreme Near Death Experience of being comatose for a week with no neocortex brain activity, during which time he experienced the afterlife. As a man of science, he had always discredited the possibility of life or consciousness after death, until he experienced it himself, and made it his mission to share his story. Really quite remarkable, and yet comforting to know that life does continue after death in such a beautiful and loving existence as he describes.
"Proof Of Heaven" http://www.lifebeyonddeath.net/
I mention these books because they were helpful for me, and may be helpful for others, but I'm open to suggestion for other books that people found helpful when healing after the death of a loved one.
Greeting Cards
While going through my Dad's things, I found several greeting cards I had given him over the years. Some I had made and colored myself during early childhood years, and some were store bought with handwritten messages. I couldn't believe he had kept so many of them. While reading through my personal messages, I found myself wishing I had written so much more. Wishing I had written about how much he meant to me, how much I valued the time he spent with me, that he drove hours just to have dinner with me (even when he was sick).
Immediately I combed through all of the things I had saved in albums and scrapbooks. I saved every card my husband had given me. I saved only two greeting cards from my Dad. My heart hurt so much to recall the many wonderful cards I remember him sending, full of hand-written messages of how proud he was of me, how much he loved me, and all the wonderful things he never hesitated to say. All of those cards now gone. I somehow saved one random Christmas card, and the card he gave me at my wedding. Both were beautiful and wonderful, but I longed for so many more.
I thought to myself, "Maybe I have some old emails full of kind words" and I searched my email folders for any correspondence between us. I found only a few brief messages that read something like "Looking forward to seeing you this weekend for the baseball game", some email forwards of cute animal pictures or patriotic stories, and a reply for an old eCard he sent me on my Birthday. Those were always so wonderful and had a touching message. I attempted to open it, but the link was expired. During the last couple of years while he was battling cancer, he rarely checked his email, so we got out of the habit of communicating that way. I had hoped there would be some sort of tangible message full of loving words that I could print and save as some sort of mantra to repeat to myself when I began to miss him. To somehow remind myself of how much he loved me, and how readily and poetically he made that love known. But I only had these 2 greeting cards left.
I've tried not to torture myself over having thrown so many things away over the years, as I'm sure I'm not alone in this. But to anyone out there reading this, I hope you will save these special messages from your loved ones, because you really never know how important they will seem later. These words can renew your spirit, like the embrace I remember and wish I could feel again, these words are like my Father's arms wrapping around me telling me that he loves me. I only wish I had more of them, but I am so grateful to have any of them at all. He never hesitated to tell me all the wonderful things he felt about me; so often in fact that I automatically hear his voice when I think of those affections. I guess I'm lucky that I knew so clearly, so undoubtedly, so truly, how much he loved me.
Immediately I combed through all of the things I had saved in albums and scrapbooks. I saved every card my husband had given me. I saved only two greeting cards from my Dad. My heart hurt so much to recall the many wonderful cards I remember him sending, full of hand-written messages of how proud he was of me, how much he loved me, and all the wonderful things he never hesitated to say. All of those cards now gone. I somehow saved one random Christmas card, and the card he gave me at my wedding. Both were beautiful and wonderful, but I longed for so many more.
I thought to myself, "Maybe I have some old emails full of kind words" and I searched my email folders for any correspondence between us. I found only a few brief messages that read something like "Looking forward to seeing you this weekend for the baseball game", some email forwards of cute animal pictures or patriotic stories, and a reply for an old eCard he sent me on my Birthday. Those were always so wonderful and had a touching message. I attempted to open it, but the link was expired. During the last couple of years while he was battling cancer, he rarely checked his email, so we got out of the habit of communicating that way. I had hoped there would be some sort of tangible message full of loving words that I could print and save as some sort of mantra to repeat to myself when I began to miss him. To somehow remind myself of how much he loved me, and how readily and poetically he made that love known. But I only had these 2 greeting cards left.
I've tried not to torture myself over having thrown so many things away over the years, as I'm sure I'm not alone in this. But to anyone out there reading this, I hope you will save these special messages from your loved ones, because you really never know how important they will seem later. These words can renew your spirit, like the embrace I remember and wish I could feel again, these words are like my Father's arms wrapping around me telling me that he loves me. I only wish I had more of them, but I am so grateful to have any of them at all. He never hesitated to tell me all the wonderful things he felt about me; so often in fact that I automatically hear his voice when I think of those affections. I guess I'm lucky that I knew so clearly, so undoubtedly, so truly, how much he loved me.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Parting with Possessions
Recently my sister and I had the task of going through my Dad's condo and combing through his personal possessions, deciding which items we wanted to keep, and which items we wanted to donate or throw away. The only part of this process that made it a little bit easier was the fact that my Dad hadn't lived in the condo for a few years (he lived with his girlfriend during his illness) and his condo was more of a "vacation" home to him.
I have to admit that I only vaguely remember having visited his condo, even though he lived there for about 4-5 years before moving in with his girlfriend. When I walked in the condo, I looked around at all of these personal items that he acquired and treasured, and I felt overwhelmingly guilty for not having spent more time here. I felt immediate regret also for the fact that during that time, I really didn't see much of him at all. The few times we spend together over those years, he drove to visit me.
I'm sure everyone has these feelings of regret and remorse after a loved one passes. Thinking "what if...", and "I should have..." This has certainly been true for me. It sounds so simple, but if I had known how short our time together would be, I would have jumped in the car and made the short trip to spend a weekend together - whatever I was doing those weekends instead, I don't even remember.
While sorting through his items, I attempted to categorize them into those I would keep, my sister would keep, to be donated, or to be thrown away. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, that I found myself wanted to keep everything. Everything seemed like a piece of my Dad. My husband convinced me that we did not need the two old tube televisions, and they went in the donate pile. I remember finding his childhood pictures, his medals and awards from the Navy, and his Lacrosse items. Initially I thought my Uncle (Dad's older brother) would like these items (as a fellow Navy and Lacrosse colleague). But then I thought that he would only have these items for a few years, and then who would inherit them and determine their fate? I decided to keep these, and SO MANY things, in an attempt to find a way to honor my dad with them.
I made my husband try on so many jackets, as if somehow one might grow longer arms and actually fit him. But standing a good 4" taller than my Dad, nothing did fit him right. Bag after bag I loaded clothes to be donated. I couldn't bare to part with his military jackets, or a few pieces of his Oriole and Gator garb. I also held onto all of his white handkerchiefs - something I will always associate with him. At moments I felt like I was just going through the motions; trying to get complete this mission.
I knew I couldn't hold onto everything, so we decided to take any remaining items and have an 'estate sale' with a portion of the sales being donated to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. During the sale, I resented haggling with people over prices and defending the value of some items, but also found myself wanting to send these items home with people who enjoyed them the way my Dad did. The leftover items we decided to donate to a thrift shop that benefited Hospice.
Today I was walking through the thrift store, searching for a great find, and I noticed my Dad's fishing net propped in a corner. I felt such a mix of emotions. It reminded me of him, and made me question if I should have given it up, but also wish that someone liked it and wanted to take it home. I left before discovering any more of his items on display.
I have to admit that I only vaguely remember having visited his condo, even though he lived there for about 4-5 years before moving in with his girlfriend. When I walked in the condo, I looked around at all of these personal items that he acquired and treasured, and I felt overwhelmingly guilty for not having spent more time here. I felt immediate regret also for the fact that during that time, I really didn't see much of him at all. The few times we spend together over those years, he drove to visit me.
I'm sure everyone has these feelings of regret and remorse after a loved one passes. Thinking "what if...", and "I should have..." This has certainly been true for me. It sounds so simple, but if I had known how short our time together would be, I would have jumped in the car and made the short trip to spend a weekend together - whatever I was doing those weekends instead, I don't even remember.
While sorting through his items, I attempted to categorize them into those I would keep, my sister would keep, to be donated, or to be thrown away. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, that I found myself wanted to keep everything. Everything seemed like a piece of my Dad. My husband convinced me that we did not need the two old tube televisions, and they went in the donate pile. I remember finding his childhood pictures, his medals and awards from the Navy, and his Lacrosse items. Initially I thought my Uncle (Dad's older brother) would like these items (as a fellow Navy and Lacrosse colleague). But then I thought that he would only have these items for a few years, and then who would inherit them and determine their fate? I decided to keep these, and SO MANY things, in an attempt to find a way to honor my dad with them.
I made my husband try on so many jackets, as if somehow one might grow longer arms and actually fit him. But standing a good 4" taller than my Dad, nothing did fit him right. Bag after bag I loaded clothes to be donated. I couldn't bare to part with his military jackets, or a few pieces of his Oriole and Gator garb. I also held onto all of his white handkerchiefs - something I will always associate with him. At moments I felt like I was just going through the motions; trying to get complete this mission.
I knew I couldn't hold onto everything, so we decided to take any remaining items and have an 'estate sale' with a portion of the sales being donated to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. During the sale, I resented haggling with people over prices and defending the value of some items, but also found myself wanting to send these items home with people who enjoyed them the way my Dad did. The leftover items we decided to donate to a thrift shop that benefited Hospice.
Today I was walking through the thrift store, searching for a great find, and I noticed my Dad's fishing net propped in a corner. I felt such a mix of emotions. It reminded me of him, and made me question if I should have given it up, but also wish that someone liked it and wanted to take it home. I left before discovering any more of his items on display.
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