Heaven…I’ll Drink to That

My father communicates with me through dreams, feathers and a few other things in between.

This weekend I toasted the afterlife with my dead Dad. Yes, this past weekend my Dad, who is deceased, and I, who am very much alive, toasted his fifth heavenly birthday graveside.

I know to some this might sound insane, but he really does communicate with me and we did toast graveside this past weekend.

You have to understand the strong minded, determined person my father was. The night before he died, I begged him to not leave me and if he had to (like he had a choice) to please send me signs from heaven. He held my hand, smiled, and told me, “Lisa, I will always be with you. When you need me just call my name and I’ll be right there, I promise you.” “Don’t worry and don’t be afraid, Heaven is beautiful and I’ll be right here for you.”

I was terrified because I was not ready to say goodbye and I needed my father’s wisdom and guidance. I STILL need his wisdom and guidance.

He knew I was absoutley heartbroken and terrified and he held my hand even tighter and said, “Even when I’m gone, I will always be with you.”

And my father always was true to his word and I believed him.

The past five years since his passing I have received beautiful signs from my father. There have been moments when I know he’s sitting right next time. Perhaps the greatest sign was when I felt my father wrap his arms around me and shield me from pain during a horrific car accident, during that moment I not only felt him holding me, I smelled him. So, I KNOW he’s always right there with me when I need him most.

Sunday, January 17^th was the fifth anniversary of my Father’s passing. I woke up angry, pissed off and really missing my Dad. I have found that no matter how many signs he sends my way I am missing “the big one.” And when I say “the big one” I want to know is he eating again. My father died from Stage IV base of the tongue cancer, he spent the last seven years of his life struggling to eat and the last four year of his life on a feeding tube inserted in his stomach. He was unable to eat or drink anything for the last four years of his life.

The night he before my Dad died I was alone with him in his hospital room and he begged me for a glass of water. I can still hear him whispering to me, “Lisa please just one sip.” I knew that one sip would go directly into his lungs and he would suffer and die. So, I freaked out and denied my dying father a glass of water. You think death is like the movies, loved ones huddle together hugging and crying and the person just peacefully passes on. And while we were gathered as a family the night my father died it was far from a Hallmark movie. It was gut wrenching and painful. I watched my father die yearning for food, a drink. I watched him lay in his bed frail crying for God to please take him. I watched my real-life superhero leave this beautiful earth right before my eyes and I denied him a glass of water.

I have spent the last five years of my life reliving that moment over and over in my head.

I really beat myself up about the glass of water on holidays, special occasions and the anniversary of my father’s passing. So, this past Sunday as I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself I started a conversation with my Dad and I pretty much demanded a sign from him that he’s “getting drunk in heaven.” I then rolled out of bed and went through the motions of my morning preparing myself to visit the cemetery.

I don’t know about you guys, but I hate going to the cemetery. I’m limited to bringing my father flowers and staring at dirt. It makes me angry. I feel robbed, my father suffered for so long and was ripped away from us piece by piece only to die unable to do what we all take for granted…eat and drink.

Our family owns a beautiful plot in a very well-maintained cemetery. My Dad selected his plot years ago and was thrilled it backed up to an Italian Deli. The irony that he died unable to eat and had such a love for food.

I quietly walked up to my father’s grave surveying the area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash, and something rolled on my foot. Then, out of nowhere, under my right foot was a tiny bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum. My first reaction was anger. I bent down, picked up the bottle, looked at my husband and yelled, “Is this a joke!! Who is drinking here, why is this here???” I cannot stress to you guys what a well-kept cemetery this is. My husband laughed and said, “You asked for a sign and a bottle of rum landed on your foot. I’d say Big Al is having that drink.”

And then I froze. I blinked, and couldn’t believe my eyes.

I looked up to the sky and said, “Cheers Dad, I hope we are making you proud down here.”

I miss my Dad every single day. I miss the sound of his voice, his fatherly advice, his laugh, the way he could command an entire room as soon as he entered it. Even in death my Dad is still my hero. Even in death my Dad is still there for me, finding ways to remind me that no matter what, he’s still with me, guiding me and protecting me. Even in death he’s proving to me that love never dies and knows no boundaries.

Cheers to you Dad on your fifth heavenly birthday. May your guiding hand remain on my shoulder forever. Thank you Dad, for always reminding me that death is temporary but love is infinite.

Like what you just read and want more?

Click here to join our growing Facebook family.

Thanks for the Memories…

Most days I welcome my happy little Facebook memories.

This week, leading up to the anniversary of my Father’s passing it’s a love hate relationship.

For those of you who do not know my Dad passed away after a long battle with Stage IV base of the tongue cancer.

The last 4 months of his life he was on hospice, and I was in total denial. I would walk around telling people hospice was to help him “get stronger.”

He was unable to eat orally for the last 4 years of his life; all of his nutrition came from a peg tube inserted in his stomach. Let me repeat that, he could not eat or drink orally for 4 years. He lived on Ensure and Gatorade all through a peg tube. He suffered from extensive nerve damage after his aggressive radiation treatments. He would shake and sometimes scream in pain. People often tell me to remember the good times, but if I forget how much he suffered then he suffered in vain and I can’t let that happen. I spoke to my father daily, visited weekly and with each visit another piece of him was ripped away. On my car rides home, I would punch my steering wheel and scream at God.

Why was I given front row seats to watch my beloved father suffer?

Five years later and I still do not have an answer for that.

The days leading up to my Father’s death were gut wrenching and emotional.

I had a very difficult time accepting that he was in fact dying. In my mind he was supposed to get better and eat again. See, I’m Italian and like many Italians we love our food. When my father lost his ability to eat a piece of me died. I became angry. Quite honestly, I am still angry. There is truth in the saying “you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” People spend their lives chasing fad diets, depriving themselves of various foods for vanity and my father suffered and yearned to eat something, anything.

I didn’t realize how much I still carried this pain with me until I clicked on my Facebook memories today.

Thanks for that.

Those little Facebook memories always seem so friendly and inviting. “You have memories.”

Memories like sitting in the sunshine watching the ocean waves ride up to your toes.

This week is quite the opposite.

What Facebook should have said is “You have a painful nightmare, click here if you want to throw up.”

Even now, I scroll through those memories and my heart is shattered into a million pieces.

With each post leading up to the anniversary of my Father’s passing my heart is shattered over and over.

How quickly we can slip back into a memory and have it feel so real and raw…and if no time has passed.

Today I clicked on my Facebook memories and once again my heart shattered all over, my eyes filled with tears and the gut wrenching pain all returned.

Instantly I was brought back to the moment when I was sitting next to my Father’s hospital bed hysterical crying begging him not to die. Making childish bargains with him to please not leave me. I realize how incredibly stupid and selfish that sounds, but death does that to us. We get wonky. We say stupid stuff. We get angry. My father’s body was ready to leave this life but I wasn’t ready to let him go. I needed him, I still do.

Death is final and terrifying for the people left behind. Our parents teach us everything in life but how to survive without them.

Five years ago I cried until I had no more tears left and then I cried some more.

Five years ago I knew my Father was dying in the days to come.

Five years later, I’m thankful for the time God gave us with my father despite how painful some of those memories are.

I feel incredibly thankful and blessed that God gave us these last moments with my Father. My Dad already knew how much we adored him, but I was able to tell him one last time. On the day of my Father’s death I held the hand of the man who guided me throughout my entire life as he took his last breath. My Father was my best friend and my deepest inspiration for strength. There’s something profound about holding someone’s hand as they leave this life. Even more if that person is the center of your entire universe.

Monday will be five years that my Dad is gone, but I can still remember holding his hand as he took his last breath and my assurances to him that it was okay to let go. That despite my childish pleas just days before I would in fact be fine and to not worry about me.

Five years later and I have created my new normal without him.

There are moments that I still go to call him for his fatherly advice and those waves of grief come rushing in. But I consider myself blessed to have had a father who had such an impact on my life that even now he’s still missed.

These Facebook memories truly are a love hate relationship.

Some are gut wrenching and shatter my heart into a million pieces, but they remind me of what an honor it is to be the daughter of a man who fought so hard to live for his family.

And as long as I have breath in me I will be my father’s living, breathing legacy. I will tell his story and remind everyone of how hard he fought to be a part of this beautiful life.

These Facebook memories are a love hate relationship, but they also remind me of what a blessing this life is.

Like what you just read and want more?

Click here to join our growing Facebook family.