Happy Birthday, Dad
Today would’ve been my father’s 89th birthday.
He loved banana cream pie. Though there are tons of bananas here in the jungle, there’s no banana cream pie.
He rarely had bananas as a kid, so as an adult, he usually had a bunch in the kitchen.
Whether he ate them or not.
Though I often think of my father…his brown eyes twinkled when he laughed a rolling laugh that can’t be imitated…this morning I will eat a banana and smile.
He transitioned 27 years ago, about 2 weeks before his 63rd birthday.
I was given a glimpse of his heavenly party.
Mother Mary visited me in the early morning hours of his physical death.
I believe when angels show themselves so us they present as we may recognize them.
She was beautiful. Dressed in a light blue head scarf that flowed into a tan tunic dress, her dark auburn hair framed her flawless complexion.
She told me that she’d come for my father; that there was a place at the table for him; and they were preparing for his arrival.
There’s no need for the rudimentary mechanics of moving your jaw or using your hands for emphasis when you speak in the spiritual realm.
It’s telepathic communication.
And when she shared this with me, the love and joy expressed enveloped my skin like the warmth of a summer sun. The hustle and energetic excitement of those awaiting his arrival was palpable. Years later, their running around struck me as funny, as though they didn’t know he was coming.
She delivered her message and left without telling me when he was leaving.
I had to know.
I slipped out of my bed and walked the three feet down the hall to his bedroom.
About to enter his room, I saw her. Mother Mary stood at the foot of his bed and looked much larger than she did at the foot of mine.
Though I do not know what was said, she communicated with my father.
He listened intently.
I watched from the doorway for a moment, took a few steps back and returned to my room.
At the first sun light, my legs swung out of bed and I went to my father’s room to tell him about Mother Mary.
He lapsed into a coma.
Probably near the end of their conversation.
I scooched in the twin bed and placed his limp hand in mine. I told him what happened. I told him of the love and joy that awaited him; that we’d be fine and he should go.
Through his coma, he squeezed my hand.
An hour later, I felt an urgent push in my gut to leave the house. I hadn’t left my father’s side in six days and for some reason, needed to now.
In the twenty minutes I was gone, my father left his body.
Later, the hospice nurse and I stood at my father’s bedside. I was on his right and faced the window that looked out on the backyard. She faced me on the other side.
“Your aunt told me what happened earlier this morning,” she paused, looked down at the shell that once house my father and then at me, “You’d been through enough.”
“I only knew your father for a week. He captained his own ship,” she continued, “And I’ve worked in hospice for a long time. I know he didn’t want you to watch him die.”
Die? What an odd thing to say. My father didn’t die.
A crow stood outside on the fence. I watched it caw loudly and bob its head for several minutes.
In the spirit world, the crow symbolizes transformation; the magic and mystery of life; knowledge and wisdom.
The crow knew my father was alive, too.
WE ARE ALL ENERGY AND ENERGY NEVER DIES.
IT SIMPLY TRANSFORMS.
I regularly feel my father’s presence. After a recent moon dance, he spoke with me and gave me instructions. Once, he presented himself during a near death experience and mediated on my behalf.
During a recent shamanic journey to meet my spirit guide, I found myself in the woods, sitting in a tree as I often did as a child. As I waited for my guide to appear, my father joined me.
“Dad,” I whispered and looked around, “I’ll be with you in a sec, I’m waiting for my spirit guide.”
He sat there and waited. I stopped and slowly looked at him.
His brown eyes twinkled as he smiled.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HANDSOME. THANKS FOR WALKING WITH ME THIS MORNING!
I LOVE YOU.