8/4/2014
I have been talking about this case and Charley’s heavily for several days now and as always, when I am consistent and deeply involved with spirit, the cosmos throws me a bone. Afforded the luxury of spending many solid hours writing and absorbed in esoteric thought, I have been bathed in creative salve and done great work. The synchronicities have been numerous and glorious and I have said thanks to the cosmos for the inspiration.
Since Monday I have been struck dumb by the information that came through the victims to R- especially one victim in particular, SC. In working on this case and in tying it to the stranglings in Boston, so much headway has taken place behind the scenes that even I am in awe of the connections made thus far. Submerged in alignment, I have been able to intuitively download tremendous amounts of information…glued to my desk and to the countless piles of papers on my desk, I was up after 1:30 in the morning typing away.
Last night, exhausted after a long day…the day of my mother-in-laws 90th Birthday and the eve of my husband’s 64th, I had a visit from a person I have been missing for a very long time–my father. Prompted by a wonderful encounter and reverie with friends the afternoon before, my parents had been heavy on my mind.
For the firs time since he died, he made a visit without my mother. Dropped into a room with no windows or doors, stood a man in a navy blue shirt, with white piping on the collar…crisp blue jeans with his back turned to me. When another person brought me forward to be introduced, I noticed the cut of his gray hair just above the collar felt familiar…his stance a casual reminder of a mental images from my youth. When he turned, I saw the soft brown of his eyes, the chiseled angle of his chin and the warmth of his smile. Forgetting my age I ran to him, hugged his neck and chaffed my cheek against the roughness of his clean shaven face. Just like my childhood, he smelt of Old Spice and shaving cream. Home is what he smelled like. Home and childhood, safety and happiness…coffee and yard clippings…Smitty’s donuts and fireflies…everything I’d thought I’d lost in his passing.
The thinned face of an 82 year old man that had lain frozen, painted inside a satin lined coffin, with stiff hands folded in religious repose was suddenly gone. The man who stood before me was a younger man in his dashing 60’s… peppered gray hair, full rich muscular arms,large hands…vibrant smile and an uncomfortable boyish affection was flying solo through the cosmos without my mother to make a connection on his own.
In an awkward moment I thought I heard my father say, he finally figured out how to do this thing- this visiting and healing from beyond.
I laughed and thought I heard my mother laugh along from somewhere else, saying how proud she was that he had finally gotten the hang of this as well, as she was tired of traveling alone. Humbled that I could hug his neck and tell him how terribly I missed him and apologize that I had not been closer to him after my mother died… I cried uncontrollably in his arms and begged him not to leave.
Three times I kissed his neck, rubbed his cheek to make sure the sand-paper ruff was real. I told him how sorry I was that I had wasted time on work and other obligations out of a sense of distant mourning, which kept me at arm’s length from his love after my mother had died. Truth was, I did not know how to comfort my father in his loss anymore than did he in mine…or the other nine children, who were lost without their mother and by proxy, their father… who’s soul had left with her the day she died.
Whatever the reason and whatever I have done to be graced with such a reward, I thank the angels and the architect of the universe for allowing him the chance to come back and hold him tight. Though I cannot remember everything we discussed, I’m certain it was filled with faith.
I woke and held onto his scent and his ethereal presence as long as I could.
I love you daddy…please visit again soon!
P.S. Say hi to mom for me when you get home!
For papa.
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