Lily Rose
Beloved Grand Eagle
Three years ago, two evenings before Thanksgiving, while taking a shower, I had a clear 'message' that I would be getting a tragic phone call from or about my Father .....
The next night, Thanksgiving Eve, it came in the voice of my step-mother. My Father was in the hospital. He remained there until Christmas Eve, returning home under Hospice care. On Christmas Day, I called him, and he told me dreamily that we had been talking and having a wonderful conversation, and he was glad I had called him 'again'. I didn't ask the details of the conversation he envision, because it felt like I already knew. I told him we would be there the next day (8 hour drive).
Just before we got up the next morning, I had a dream that the lawn was covered with Praying Mantis, and I was kneeling in the midst of them with my hand extended. One would alight, looking directly at me, then it was move off and another would take it's place. It was a powerful dream, and I told my husband of it as we loaded the truck and left before the sun had come up. An hour later, my stepmother called on my cell phone.
He was gone. He had left at the same time as my dream.
As we continued our journey north, my husband gently told me that when I had told him the dream, he had known what it meant.
My relationship with my Father was riddled with complications and mis-perceptions and nightmares. My parents had divorced when I was 6. Throughout the years, legal battles were engaged relentlessly for visitation rights. The summer proceeding my entry into 6th grade, I came home from a 'visit' and my brother did not .... for 3 months. It was an ugly and terrifying time. When my brother did come home, he was changed. Angry, unapproachable. And he wouldn't talk about it. Years later, more legal battles, and the final skirmish where my brother was in danger again ... I stepped forward and said I would go with them. It startled the court-counselor, and everyone else. But it was accepted. 9-1/2 weeks later, my mom came for me, surrounded by the Sheriffs to extract me from the house. I was shattered and within hours my mind shut down. The doctors figured out I was drugged, thus the terrible symptoms, but they could not find out exactly what happened, as I could not tell them. Over the following years, nightmares scored my sleep, eventually driving me to seek drugs that would keep me awake, while taking opposite, prescriptions drugs, to dive into dreamless sleep.
Several years after my marriage to a wonderful man (he endured the nightly screams that tore through our sleep), I decided I'd had enough, and I made contact with my Father. I told him I was tired of being afraid of him. His responses were as defensive as mine were accusing.
Yet ...... we made a connection. Tentative, but it grew. Over more years, we reached a new level and communicated frequently. I never got over my basic fear and caution, but the nightmares dimmed and we developed a good relationship. He came to trust me more than he trusted almost anyone with his deepest thought. As for my side of it ... I treated him with compassion and I kept his faith in me.
His last 15 years were in terrible pain as his spine collapsed and twisted, finally culminating in his final words to me on Christmas day ... of our 'conversation', and how much he loved me.
That cold day after Christmas, we drove .. and over the next few days my amazingly kind step-mother included me in every aspect of his funeral preparations. This startled me, as I felt that I had no right to take any part in this. She had been with him for most of my life, and she'd been an amazing partner for him.
New Years Eve, he was buried.
This day, this Christmas Day ... I honor him, and I contemplate our 'conversation', those words we spoke between our souls. I remember how I would have feelings that he was going to call me, and I would tell my husband this. I would say, "My father is thinking about me." Within 24 hours, he would call. Every time. Now, this often happens with my step-mother.
He hears me, even now. Those who have left us always can hear us.
For my Father, this day .... I love you.
with grace and gratitude,
^_^
The next night, Thanksgiving Eve, it came in the voice of my step-mother. My Father was in the hospital. He remained there until Christmas Eve, returning home under Hospice care. On Christmas Day, I called him, and he told me dreamily that we had been talking and having a wonderful conversation, and he was glad I had called him 'again'. I didn't ask the details of the conversation he envision, because it felt like I already knew. I told him we would be there the next day (8 hour drive).
Just before we got up the next morning, I had a dream that the lawn was covered with Praying Mantis, and I was kneeling in the midst of them with my hand extended. One would alight, looking directly at me, then it was move off and another would take it's place. It was a powerful dream, and I told my husband of it as we loaded the truck and left before the sun had come up. An hour later, my stepmother called on my cell phone.
He was gone. He had left at the same time as my dream.
As we continued our journey north, my husband gently told me that when I had told him the dream, he had known what it meant.
My relationship with my Father was riddled with complications and mis-perceptions and nightmares. My parents had divorced when I was 6. Throughout the years, legal battles were engaged relentlessly for visitation rights. The summer proceeding my entry into 6th grade, I came home from a 'visit' and my brother did not .... for 3 months. It was an ugly and terrifying time. When my brother did come home, he was changed. Angry, unapproachable. And he wouldn't talk about it. Years later, more legal battles, and the final skirmish where my brother was in danger again ... I stepped forward and said I would go with them. It startled the court-counselor, and everyone else. But it was accepted. 9-1/2 weeks later, my mom came for me, surrounded by the Sheriffs to extract me from the house. I was shattered and within hours my mind shut down. The doctors figured out I was drugged, thus the terrible symptoms, but they could not find out exactly what happened, as I could not tell them. Over the following years, nightmares scored my sleep, eventually driving me to seek drugs that would keep me awake, while taking opposite, prescriptions drugs, to dive into dreamless sleep.
Several years after my marriage to a wonderful man (he endured the nightly screams that tore through our sleep), I decided I'd had enough, and I made contact with my Father. I told him I was tired of being afraid of him. His responses were as defensive as mine were accusing.
Yet ...... we made a connection. Tentative, but it grew. Over more years, we reached a new level and communicated frequently. I never got over my basic fear and caution, but the nightmares dimmed and we developed a good relationship. He came to trust me more than he trusted almost anyone with his deepest thought. As for my side of it ... I treated him with compassion and I kept his faith in me.
His last 15 years were in terrible pain as his spine collapsed and twisted, finally culminating in his final words to me on Christmas day ... of our 'conversation', and how much he loved me.
That cold day after Christmas, we drove .. and over the next few days my amazingly kind step-mother included me in every aspect of his funeral preparations. This startled me, as I felt that I had no right to take any part in this. She had been with him for most of my life, and she'd been an amazing partner for him.
New Years Eve, he was buried.
This day, this Christmas Day ... I honor him, and I contemplate our 'conversation', those words we spoke between our souls. I remember how I would have feelings that he was going to call me, and I would tell my husband this. I would say, "My father is thinking about me." Within 24 hours, he would call. Every time. Now, this often happens with my step-mother.
He hears me, even now. Those who have left us always can hear us.
For my Father, this day .... I love you.
with grace and gratitude,
^_^
