Part Two – “Remember me like this.”
Last week, I wrote about messages from the beyond and my wanting to discern if my father could be trying to communicate with me.
I would like to continue with that conversation today, but before I do that, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to all of you who have reached out to me over the last few weeks and to especially thank those who were willing to share their own stories and experiences of communications from loved ones and the gifts they bestowed.
Another form of communication from the beyond is when one feels the presence of their loved one, not on the outside, but within their mind’s eye. It may come as a feeling of being connected to the person or even finding oneself engaged in a conversation with a loved one as if they had not gone anywhere. One’s attention may be drawn to memories or people. This experience is very different than just thinking about the person. There is a sense of a dialogue versus one’s own thought processes and memories.
I have had a few of those. The first was at the airport on my way to be with him in the UK. It turned out to be just after my father passed. I did not know he had gone, but my whole body was aware and became agitated. It wanted to thrash around and cry, but being at a busy airport was not the place to do that.
I made my way to the restrooms and after closing the door, allowed myself to cry into my shawl. My body shuddered as waves of emotion, grief, and sadness passed through it.
After a few minutes, the overwhelming sadness diminished enough for me to leave the restroom. I immediately looked for somewhere to just be and let the energy pass through me. I wanted to sit and open my consciousness for whatever was happening and expand out. I found a bay of windows with beautiful light streaming through in diagonal shafts. I sat down on the floor and closed my eyes. I sat there for a few minutes when my phone drew my attention and there was a photo of my father; one I hadn’t seen before. A cheeky smile on his face.
I took a screenshot and sent it to my family who was with my father and wrote: “Love you, dad.”
He had just died.
Once on the plane, a vision of my father sitting on a hospital bed came into my consciousness, he asked me, “Can I move around?”
“Yes, dad. You can do whatever you like. You can go for a walk if you want”
He swung his legs over the edge, making silly gestures as if we were really ill and feeble, then started laughing.
“What does it feel like? Can you feel a difference?” I asked.
He smiled as he replied, “I am good here. Are you sure I’m here on this side?”
“Yes. I think so.” Tears pricked my eyes.
“Am I going then?”
“Can you stay a while? I want to be with you for a bit longer, dad. I don’t think I’m ready for you to be gone.” As I expressed these thoughts/feelings, I felt deep sadness well up in me. At that moment I wondered how am I going to do this: go home to my parents home for my dad to be dead. I won’t be able to bear it.
But each time any sadness or feelings of loss arose in me my father’s presence would bloom in my consciousness and stay there until I smiled or laughed. He stayed with me for 5 hours on the plane until I finally fell asleep for an hour or so.
I didn’t know for sure that he had passed but I knew he was going back and forth between the worlds. I was met at the airport by my brother and sister and knew immediately that he was gone.
The three of us embraced as children whose father had passed. Tears, words, affection and stories.
Since that day, my father has shown up many times, always with joy and laughter, willingly talking to me and wanting me to push past the barrier that separates the living and dead.
He came to me in a dream about 10 days after his funeral. He looked to be in his 40s. His whole being was alive and vibrant. It looked like every single cell in his body was singing.
“Dad! It’s you. You’re here!” I look at him wide-eyed and filled with gladness. Pleased that he looks so well and happy.
“Remember me like this. Not how I was when I passed. I am strong.” He says as he is eating a battered fish. We are standing in the kitchens of a gurdwara (Sikh temple). As I look through the windows I can sense we are high, high up. Somewhere celestial and light.
That was the last strong impression of him that I have. His presence is fainter now and that makes sense to me. He has given me a gift that I consider a life gift. It is the learning that our consciousness transcends the bounds of our physical bodies and that we continue on our soul’s journey.
The outlines of him as father, husband, brother, son, friend, Sikh, Punjabi, male and even the human identity begin to dissolve. He is absorbed back into the oneness, beyond light and dark.
Next week, I’d like to get into how to deal with the challenging side of loss and what can one say when asked, “How are you doing?”