Some time before Michael’s prognosis, I felt the presence of his father. I was widowed at my age of 33 years. Michael was nine. There are many stories I can tell you about my “interstellar” experiences with his father, but, that is not particularly what this post is about.
Other than… I felt his father’s “presence” a few months before all this dread with Michael began.
I particularly remember being in my kitchen, cutting onions, or dicing peppers, or… doing something and I “felt” him. I knew his presence. I had lived with him. I had loved him. I had fought with him, hated him, and lost him and became lost afterward, he was my husband, my hope and my dream.
His presence had rested from my spirit for many years and I wondered why he was suddenly coming to me “now.”
I believe it was some kind of forewarning. His presence was comforting. That is all that I can recall. I had no idea why he was coming back to me after all of these years.
I am sensitive, I am kind, I am the kid that my own mother accused of being, “….Susan, you let people walk over you like a rug!…” And I looked back at her and my sister, who had her fists in the air, and I said nothing.
If I need to be a carpet for you to find your way, then, so be it. I never stood up to my aged mother for her ruthless comment. She did not know how much strength it takes to be kind, to think as is my nature, about the “other guy.”
Speaking of “the other guy,” I recently learned about my own capacity for kindness. I know that I am different. I know that I let people walk over me. Maybe that’s because I’m strong enough to uphold them to where they need to go. Eh?
Back on track now…
So, I felt my late husband’s presence a month or so before hearing the news about Mike’s death sentence. I even “felt” his hug as I was working in the kitchen, making dinner. Gheez, it’s been nearly thirty years since his death. I still know his spirit, his touch.
I didn’t “talk” to him. Why was I feeling his presence after all of these years?
We had a volatile marriage. Mostly, I confess, it was probably my fault due to crazy hormones and an innate passion for drama, probably caused by the additional nature of being a firm Virgo and crucified ego from my youth.
Nevertheless, I knew the feeling of my late husband’s spirit but could not understand why he was holding me, comforting me, until I learned of our son’s death sentence.
My late husband’s spirit seemed to have abandoned me once I learned of Mike’s death sentence. I was on my own.
——– I never asked for “signs” after Gerrit died, Mikey’s dad. I was too busy trying to raise the kids, but, one day, maybe I wrote about this somewhere else in my blog, but I don’t care right now. I’m going to write about it again.
One day, coming home from grocery shopping and rushing to get the groceries into the house and rush to pick up the boys for hockey games or practice; with hands full and keys in my mouth, I opened the front door and was blasted with the presence of a “spirit.” It knocked me to the ground. Groceries were everywhere. I had no breath. I was between worlds.
When I regained my breath, I KNEW it was him. It was my late husband that passed through me. His SPIRIT passed through me.
We lived in the between world of here and there until I finally asked him to move on. — I have not had a dream or encounter since then.
I never asked for those visits from my late husband. I have asked for visits from my son.
I have asked for “give me a songbird in the night who doesn’t sing at night,” “send my bluebirds,” “send me an owl,” “send me something…”
We have songbirds where I live. We have bluebirds and butterflies and cardinals and all those other “signs” that people think are “SIGNS” from the afterlife.
I know what the “afterlife” presence feels like, I felt it with Mikey’s dad, he haunted my dreams for years — actually, it wasn’t a haunting, he was guiding me, but that’s another story.
These things are mere coincidence, the bluebirds, the owl, the butterflies. There is only one way to reach me and you, Mikey, need to figure it out because I cannot.