A Timely Visit From the Other Side

I dreamed of my dad the other day for the first time since he passed away two years ago. The surprise wasn't that I dreamed of him—I adored my father and he adored me. We had a special connection. He was my best friend, my number one cheerleader. The surprise was that it took so long.

I am where I am right now largely because of him. He created the space for me to be who I wanted to be and go where I wanted to go. He didn't ask me to do things his way—he simply gave me the freedom to find my own path.

When he passed away, I expected to be devastated. He was my anchor in life, never mind my beloved father. But for two years, I had no sign of him. He passed away quickly an

d I wasn't able to be there—there's an element of guilt in that. I went to his memorial service forty days later, and then to subsequent memorial services, but I never felt the grief I expected to feel.

I thought perhaps Dad had fulfilled his life contract to be my guardian, and he succeeded. There was solace in knowing he'd had a good life—a long and peaceful life, a good family, a woman he loved. Yes, I was sad, but I didn't miss him in the way I thought I would. I didn't even feel him around. It felt as if he had departed straight back to the source, his contract fulfilled. No lingering spirit.

My middle sister visited me and we talked about it. "Have you dreamed of Dad?" she asked. "Have you seen him, heard him? I haven't." She was puzzled too.

Then, almost two years after his passing, I had this dream just before dawn.

I was in a car sitting next to my current manager driving to work. She was driving, in a good mood, jovial, treating me as her equal, a contrast to who she is in real life, a difficult person that has generated  a lot of stress at work. The car stopped and I got out. As I opened the door, I saw my dad standing in front of the building, as if he was waiting for me, beaming with the biggest, most beautiful smile. His whole existence was beaming.

He was well-dressed as always—a stark white, perfectly pressed shirt and trousers, like his Sunday best. He looked younger, exuding happiness and joy. So much light. It was amazing.

The moment I saw him, I ran over. "Dad, give me a hug!"

He kept smiling and said, "You know I shouldn't," as if implying he was no longer of this world. But he gave me a hug nevertheless.

I felt that hug like it was real. I felt him hugging me. I felt the love. I felt that everything was going to be all right. That feeling of being in my father's arms, like a child again, feeling the warmth and that particular smell of my father.

That was the dream, “you'll get through this, everything will be all right.”

What I saw was Dad, but also a luminous being—stripped of all characteristics of this life, just a pure version of him, still radiating so much love. A man of quieter, slower pace, taking his time as he always did.

I woke up with the sensorial feeling of that hug still with me. Right then, I received a message from my elder sister saying it was Dad's two-year memorial. She'd made chocolate cookies for the church to share—Dad's favorite. He loved anything with chocolate.

I responded immediately: "Yes, he received the chocolate cookies." I told my sisters about the dream.

My elder sister said, "He came to you because you were his favorite." But it turned out she'd also dreamed of him recently, though she couldn't remember the details. And my middle sister said she'd also dreamed of him just after she had visited me. In her dream, she was cooking and he came to visit. She asked him to stay and eat something.

It seems Dad decided to come through the veil to all of us at a similar time. But I had the most beautiful gift—that personal contact, that hug.

What does one make of these things? Where do we go after we pass away, and how do we choose to make contact with those left behind? Why two years after he passed away did he decide to get in touch? Or perhaps, why are we only now open to connecting with him?

My middle sister was very close to Dad, and she too was surprised she didn't feel the grief she expected. I said to her that perhaps it's because he had a mission in his life and he fulfilled it. He didn't leave anything behind that needed sorting out. He was free to go.

So yes, there was the dream—Dad's visit from the other side in his pure spirit form, a manifestation of joy and love.

Immense love.

Thank you, Dad.