Permission to believe
Tonight, I worked up the courage to watch the This Is Us episode where, Jack, the father dies. Most (by most I mean all) episodes of This Is Us manage to make me cry, but I knew this episode would be especially tough to watch considering it still feels so fresh that I have lost my own father. My friend Iris previewed the episode for me and assured me that while there were tears, there was healing in the episode too. So, I watched it and she was right, there was healing.
My healing occurred during a part of the show that most online recaps skimmed over. Rebecca, Jack’s wife, in present day, explains that on the anniversary of her husband’s death each year, she is sent a sign, something that makes her laugh on her saddest day of the year. She is certain it is Jack sending her these signs. I never once judged her for her signs, not for a second do I think she is crazy nor do I ever think she is trying to hold on too hard to someone she lost. Meanwhile for months, I had judged myself harshly for my own signs, and denied myself the only true comfort there really is: connection.
It’s been just over a year and a half since my Dad passed. Many people told me that the first year would be the hardest. I was warned that each holiday or birthday in the first year would be experienced with a new void and had to be approached with tenderness, sensitivity, and self-compassion. I was also warned that the grief would hit at the most unexpected times. I found the warning of the erratic nature of grief to be more useful. I prepared for the sadness at the holidays (and I think I would have even without the advice). It’s the days I don’t think to prepare for that I struggle the most. Luckily, those days are also the days I feel my Dad super close, and know he is still present even though he has passed. It’s a comforting misery.
Even now, after I spent a year and a half building trust with myself, there’s a small hesitation to share this: I know my Dad is dead, but I also know we are still able to connect. I get signs that my Dad is still present with me. I’m prepared for people to pass this off as a “normal” part of the grieving process. I am also prepared for people to think I am crazy for saying this. I am even prepared for people to find rational explanations for my signs. Einstein tells us that energy cannot be created or destroyed and I know for a fact that my Dad’s energy is around me all the time. I get signs. I used to doubt them. I don’t anymore.
Here are some of the signs that I have gotten this past year:
Butterflies
When he first died, I saw butterflies and Dad would immediately come to mind. My dad and I never had a butterfly connection, but I just knew these butterflies were him. There’s no proof, only my story from my time of deepest grief. As soon as I believed it was him, the grief wiggled in and out of my brain, and just as quickly, I doubted that it was him. When the butterflies started to become impossible to ignore I trusted for a moment that it was him. I shared my story with others. No one argued with me that these butterflies were Dad. Still, I wanted more signs. Butterflies were not enough for me to trust this connection with Dad.
The flowers he sent
It wasn’t long after Dad passed that I became pregnant. I was still deeply grieving his loss. Add to that the grief and overwhelming anxiety directly related to spotting 6 weeks into my first pregnancy. I needed support. I had a doctor’s appointment when I was 8 weeks pregnant confirming that despite the spotting, the baby was growing as expected. It was a huge relief, but my body still felt tingly with anxiety. When I got home that day from the doctor, I received a letter from my life-long friend, Eleanor. In the letter was a picture of my dad. My friend had taken this picture during our 90’s teenage grunge trip to Seattle that my dad had sponsored. This picture of my dad was one of him holding flowers, my favorite flowers, tulips. I remember we bought those flowers as a gift to my dad’s friend whose house we went to for dinner that night. Now, these tulips felt like they were for me, straight from my dad, just when I needed them. The timing was too peculiar. The tears that rushed to my eyes immediately after seeing the photo were too instantaneous. It was him.
The time I had a dream he was alive
It was probably a few months after he died, that I dreamt that Dad was alive again. Considering my loss wound was still fresh and I was crying almost daily, I was not expecting to feel so happy or so calm after waking up from a dream that my Dad was alive. But, that’s exactly what happened. I remember, waking up and thinking “Oh man, it will be cool to see Dad again in the winter.” And then it hit me, he’s not alive anymore, I can’t see him. There was no more seeing him at Christmas, there was no even telling him about this dream. But, I didn’t cry like I normally did. Instead I shook my husband awake and told him, “I dreamt that Dad was alive!” in my most excited voice. “He was alive, and we were camping (we never camped) and we roller skated (remember skating with him but not roller skating), and there were Elephants (yep, for sure this was a dream).” I continued, “He offered me coffee through the kitchen window. I said that I wanted decaf (I only drink decaf). And, then he disappeared but Mom said he was ok, that he was hanging out at the playground I used to go to as a child.” Despite the insanity of the events of the dream, it was so real. And, I was so happy. I really felt for a second that he was alive. And I wasn’t upset. I can still remember it like I just woke up from this dream. I should stop calling it a dream. I don’t think this was a dream. It was a visitation. Dad was actually with me for that brief time. I have no idea what he was trying to convey other than he was with me. Or maybe he’s saying he is still with me every time I’m at Starbucks getting coffee (I still carry his gold card with me). Or maybe he was acknowledging the desire to have been more playful during our time on Earth. Who knows. It was still so good to spend this extra time with him.
Travel upgrades
One of the most obvious signs from my dad was the upgrades that he sent me on airplane trips. My dad and I had a huge thing about flights and upgrades and lounges and actually about cars and boats too. My dad loved travel. And, he loved travel perks and he loved to share them. He spoiled me rotten by gifting me countless miles so I could enjoy travel abroad in my younger years. He constantly updated me as to his airline status and was sure to tell me when he was upgraded and what benefits he received. He even gifted me an extension credit card so I could access some of his airline benefits (like free checked bags), and most importantly, get me into the long-awaited Centurion Lounge in San Francisco.
When we suddenly started getting airline upgrades after he passed, I’m sure it was him who gifted them. The first time it happened was Father’s Day. It was a few weeks after he had passed and my husband and I were traveling from my brother’s Ph.D. defense. I technically had Silver status, so an upgrade wasn’t out of the question. But it had never happened before and I had heard it was a rare gem with entry level status like Silver. We were not expecting an upgrade, yet, my husband and I both got upgraded to first class. I felt it was such a stroke of luck. I was beaming with joy, until I realized the only person I wanted to tell it was my dad and he was the only person I couldn’t tell. His loss felt even more immense than ever. My joy was immediately flooded over with sadness. I was drowning in sorrow, overly focused on wanting to tell him and not being able to. Then, it hit me, what if it was him who gifted it in the first place? It was technically the first Father’s Day without him, and he could have gifted me a little more comfort.
The next month, a day after his birthday, I was flying back home and I was upgraded again. Damn those warm chocolate cookies were good. This upgrade happened again on the lowest upgrade tier: silver status.
At Christmas, a time I was anticipating missing his usual thoughtful gifts under the tree, my husband and I were gifted two first class tickets on both legs of our trip. I thanked Dad for the gift right away. In case there was any confusion as to if this was from him, we were gifted a bit more. On our layover, there was no Centurion Lounge, but there was $120 left on the credit card perks that needed to be used that week before expiring. It granted us free access to the airline lounge ($118) which was conveniently plopped right outside our gate. Top that off with a free Uber ride from the airport ($65 credit). The fine print on the Uber email was sure to tell us this could only be used between December 24 and 31 and could only be used from 5 specific airports including the one at which we landed. With the Uber Black car, our ride used $63 of the $65. Too many coincidences. Thanks Dad. That was a dang good Christmas gift even though it wasn’t wrapped.
He answers when I call
My husband and I went to my parent’s vacation home for the first time since he passed. My dad loved this house. He planned out the house for at least 10 years before building it. It is where he went for refuge and inner peace when he first got sick. It was one of the few places I could see him relax and not work.
When my husband and I went up, we saw that before he died, he had left some work unfinished. My dad was very techie and wanted his vacation house technologically connected too. There was a Nest Protect that he had left on the counter, so we decided to install it. After booting it up, we realized there was another Nest Protect already installed in the house. This meant installation would be easy but it also meant the two Nests needed to be paired and we needed to find the original in person. No big deal, except we couldn’t find the original. It was labeled “basement” and we could “see” it online, but despite our 6 or more trips downstairs and 30 minutes of scouring the basement for this mystery Nest, we couldn’t find it. At one point I became so flabbergasted that I called out to him, “Dad, where did you put this thing? You NEED to show me.” Within seconds, I turned my head left and saw it on the ceiling, calmly glowing its green safety halo. How I missed it before asking him was beyond me.
He still calls me on my birthday
I woke up the morning of my birthday to another dream. This time, I didn’t see my dad, but it was still a dream that I can recall just as clearly now as I did the moment that I woke up that day. There were vivid images of a white house with a curved path up to the front door lined in purple wildflowers, a place that seemed familiar but I can’t recall seeing before. Inside the house there was the kitchen from my childhood, a place that doesn’t exist anymore. My mom and brother and I were all there. My husband was too. We were getting all ready to go out the door on a trip somewhere.
I see that my mom gets a call from my dad but I couldn’t hear anything. There was only calmness. My brother relayed the message to me, “Dad says he can’t make the trip.” I replied without shock, hurt or disappointment, “That makes perfect sense, he should rest. I am so glad he is taking time to take care of himself finally.”
Then my phone rang and I picked it up. I heard his voice clear as day. It was so real that it was as if I was actually talking to him. It started the same way it always did. His low, flat voice said, “Hi Beth, it’s Dad.” I replied my usual equally flat and simple way, “Hi Dad.” He wished me a happy birthday just as he usually did. There was some usual birthday chit chat. It was no longer or no shorter than any other birthday call that he had done over the past 20-plus years. When I woke up, I felt the same as the time he had visited me: calm yet excited, comforted and secure. This time though, the tears did come. Dad found a way to call me for my birthday, just like every year and I missed him more than ever. I had not prepared for that call.
His words still come through
“Keep up the good work” was something Dad always used to say. It was basically how we ended every phone conversation. And it wasn’t just with me that he used it. My dad was quiet and succinct with his words. When he did talk, he had specific, key phrases he used with his powerful yet monotone voice. They were so to the point and so classic and used so regularly that there was almost a sense of accomplishment when you heard them from him. “Keep up the good work” was a standard Dad statement, not just with me, but with everyone he knew. So much so that we added it to his quotation board on his memorial website.
So, here’s where I get really hippie on you. I have these angel cards. I bought them soon after Dad passed. I use them in times of confusion or when I have some self-doubt. They have messages “from my angels” that bring me comfort. Things like, “What do you desire right now? Visualize it and it will come about. Negativity will block your progress.” I usually shuffle the cards, spread them out and feel around until I feel compelled to pull a card. The cards I pull are consistently on topic and address exactly what I am going through at the time, even when I want to deny or avoid reality. I know there are no coincidences pulling these cards. When I first got pregnant and I was anxious, I pulled the same “Isaiah” card at least 4 times. It read: “It’s a good time to give birth to new ideas and situations in your life.” In case the message wasn’t clear enough, there was a picture of a pregnant woman front and center. I never ever have pulled a duplicate card before, but this one kept coming to me while I was pregnant.
Recently, while thinking about writing this piece, I wanted to confirm my dad was still around me. I hadn’t gotten an obvious sign in a while, maybe because I am getting more certain he is really with me. I turned to my angel cards to get clarity. I shuffled, I spread the cards out, but before I went for a card, I said out loud, “Dad, I know you are there, what do you want me to know?” Here is the card I pulled.
When I asked, he showed me he really was there.
I totally get it if this is read with skepticism. I had skepticism too. I used to tell people stories of these signs because I needed validation, proof it was him. I would share my sign and wait for an “Of course it is him!” The best was when I got a similar story in return from someone else. That was the highest level of validation.
My husband didn’t often give these types of responses. Instead, I usually heard, “That must feel really good, sweetheart.” My signs did make me feel good, but didn’t he think it was Dad too? I wanted him to believe. The lack of assurance from him that the signs were Dad started me thinking on why I sought validation in the first place. I knew they were Dad, so why did I need other people to confirm them for me? Why was I second guessing?
My own “rational” brain was ruining my gifts from Dad and my sacred moments of peace during my first year of mourning. My own thoughts were telling me that there were rational explanations for all these events. My thoughts repeated over and over to me that these “signs” were coincidences were just as the definition stated: remarkable concurrence of events without causal connection. Why was I being so cruel to myself?
Now I know, my husband was the most supportive of my stories. By not confirming my Dad’s presence, I had to find the strength to shut down that bully in my head. And, I did. I gave more attention to what I felt when Dad was near instead of needing signs. Now I know it’s him because when it is, I get this sensation of tears behind my eyes without sadness. It comes on like chills and it never breaks through my tear ducts. Sometimes I know it is him because there is a calmness that is so palpable, it wraps over me like my favorite blanket. Other times, there is just an unexplained certainty to his presence. I don’t have to question Dad’s intentions anymore. I can feel when it is him.
But, I also know not every day will be so easy or every sign so clear, just like I knew a year and a half ago I would need reminders to trust when I first started receiving and doubting the signs I saw. I share my signs now, so in my own moments of doubt, I can once again be reminded of those feelings I had and be brought back to the truth and trust that was always there inside me from the very beginning. And, if someone else out there is looking for validation of their signs too, maybe instead, they will find the trust inside that has always been there waiting.
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