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 17th 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.
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love is infinite 