Dad is Alive and Well in Heaven

Today is Father’s Day and I am so missing my dad. He died about ten years ago. I wish I could pick up the phone and call him in heaven. I’m dying to know what he has been up to spirit-wise, which of his old pals he’s been hanging out with, what life in heaven is like, what work he is doing, how often he visits me, what insights he’s had about the meaning of life. I could go on and on with all the questions I would ask if only I could reach him on the other side. Wouldn’t it be amazing if Apple could come up with a cell phone that would connect you to your loved ones who have crossed over? If anyone could invent something like that, it would be Apple.

I am a firm believer (well, hoper is more like it) in life after death and reincarnation. After Dad died, I asked the Rabbi what Jews think of all that. He told me that we do NOT believe in life after death, although my father would live in my heart forever. Dad took issue with the Rabbi’s words and made his presence known to us in the days after he died. My mother walked into the kitchen one morning, and several light bulbs exploded. My grandmother’s potted flowers flung off the kitchen counter and over a coffee table on the night Dad passed away. On the day of his funeral, as I was putting on my make up and trying to decide whether or not to wear mascara, the bulbs around the bathroom mirror started blinking as if to say, ‘don’t bother, you’ll just end up with raccoon eyes.’

“I know you’re here, Dad,” I told him. What do Rabbis know about life after death anyway?

A few years ago, I went to see a psychic who can communicate with people on the other side. After a long conversation with a spirit that I was pretty certain was Dad, I asked the psychic to ask him to say something that would prove to me beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was his spirit in the room. She said something to him psychically, then said to me, “Who is trying to take his watch?”

“Excuse me?” I said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Someone is trying to take his watch,” she said, “and he doesn’t like it. He can’t speak and tell them not to take it. He can only speak with his eyes.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “Ask him to say something else.”

Again, the psychic talked to the spirit psychically. “He says I should say the word, ‘Tina,’” she said.

“Ahhh,” I said, “you’re definitely talking to my father.” Tina was his dog, a little white fuzz ball who was with him until the end. Dad adored Tina.

Later that day, I called my mother and brother to tell them about the session. They were both on the phone as I recalled what happened. When I told them what the psychic said about the watch, my brother gasped. “What is it?” My mother and I asked.

Michael told us a story he’d never told anyone. “On the day Dad died,” he said, “I looked over at him and realized he was wearing a very expensive watch. It occurred to me that if he died, we might forget about it and they would take his body away with the watch on and we’d never see it again. So I went over to him and started to take it off. He had been in a coma for days, but as soon as I started to take off the watch, his eyes opened for a few seconds and he implored me not to take it. He didn’t say a word. I just knew he didn’t want me to remove the watch. So I left it on him. That moment, when he looked at me and pleaded with his eyes, is the most powerful memory I have of the day he died. But I never told anyone the story because it was just this one moment and didn’t seem significant.”

If that doesn’t make you believe that the spirit continues after death, I don’t know what would.

Since I couldn’t call Dad today, I just spoke to him in my mind (as I do everyday), wishing him a happy Father’s Day, telling him how much I missed him, how much I’d love to talk to him just one more time. Whenever I go see my mother in Denver, I never have the urge to visit Dad’s grave. I think it’s because I speak to him so frequently, as though he were right here with me. I don’t feel he spends much time hanging around the graveyard.

So, happy Father’s Day, Dad! If I could, I’d give you the biggest hug and thank you for being there for me all my life. You were, and are, the greatest Father ever! I love you.

Love to you all, and to your fathers,

Karen

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