Grief and Spirit
I struggled with including a section on that other realm – you know, spirits, dreams, miracles, visions, and gut feelings. What some people explain as otherworldly experiences. How would my readers feel when they see this section? But I wanted to include a range of my experiences and these other-worldlies were part of my grief journey. Some of you may relate, and others, - well, at the least, hope you find this an interesting read, and something to reflect on maybe down the road.
I realize there is a range of beliefs and experiences in our society - people who are of an agnostic world view, those who are skeptics of a spiritual realm, those who are devout within a traditional religious paradigm. Does someone have to have a belief to experience what I experienced after my beloved’s death? I don't believe so. And it is indeed sometimes in our tragic, darkest moments of life, that we can experience something spiritual, whether as a protective force or as a path to new growth. Either way, I reflect back and see the miracles, spiritual support, hope, which buoyed me and supported my survival.
Shelter Me
Shelter me, surround me with your love
If I think hard enough, it can be
You had been my joy, my rock
I need you to come back to me
Shelter me, carry me back home
A beautiful snapshot in time
Where I was simply yours
And you were simply mine
Shelter me, chase away the night
Searching, reaching for you in vain
Tears, for here, alone, I grow old
Never, never to hold you again
Shelter me, oh angels, oh spirit
Hear my sobs, feel my pain
Grant me grace, grant me peace
My tears to dry, my fears to wane
Walking with my Father
You cradled me when I was a baby
You carried me on your shoulders when I was a child
You walked me down the aisle, when I was a bride
And now, my incredible, wise, strong dad, you walked with me on this, my most brutal and horrific path. Incredible but unexpected. Why? Because you, my dear dad, died over 20 years ago. And yet, somehow, without question, I felt you lift me, guide me and walk with me from that first morning I woke to my new brutal reality.
I know this.
I know this to my core. How else to explain my strength, my abilities to tackle new skills, and ultimately, my survival.
What explanation for the feeling that someone lifted me out of bed every morning, during those bleak, painful early days, after my Love died. Messages entered my brain “you’re going to get up, you’re going to get through this day, get moving”. Like marching orders. These messages weren’t suggestions, but rather directives. I dared not disobey.
Dad, you were beside me and wisdom permeated my thoughts. I distinctly felt a fatherly presence – of someone older, of someone with a parent-like caring. The new skills I had to quickly learn, the tasks I needed to carry out – I felt I had instant knowledge of these things. I found myself saying things you would say, doing things in a manner you would do. And there was always that pervasive male spiritual presence. A good imagination some would say? Yes, some might say that. But that does not explain what people also saw in me – and commented. Those close to me became believers.
Dad, you were someone who had gathered a lifetime of lessons - experienced crushing loss, seen a World War, soldiered through grief, and now was lovingly but firmly walking me through the path of grief. I knew early in my grief journey that I had the best of the best with me – a learned coach. How grateful I was.
Your experience and skill as an engineer, a navigator, an athlete, a poet, a dedicated family man and friend.
Although dad, I lost you over 20 years ago, I felt our father-daughter relationship deepen on my grief path. I am compelled to tell the world what a wonderful man you were. This, my precious father, this survival and resilience of your daughter, is your legacy. Your light enveloped me. I love you so much.
And while I feel you less now, your visits and whispers intermittent, your time with me is a gift. I know you are probably busy in the spirit world and have work of your own to do. Yes, I am doing OK. Thank you for being in my life. I miss you.
EB
My Playlist
A tribute to my amazing father (my dad)
Dan Fogelberg. (1981).
Leader of the Band.
The Innocent Age. (Album)
A Beautiful Spiritual Connection
Of Grief and Hope
The Prose above is a tribute to my amazing father. To say my father's presence was powerful, would not be an overstatement. My father's spirit was beside me almost instantly, when my husband died. The sensation of his wisdom, love, support and direction was so potent that I could not deny the presence. I don't know how I would have survived otherwise.
What about my husband's spirt?
My beloved. The love of my life. One who was in such pain. This is still in many ways too painful to recount, even now.
To this day, I cannot give an explanation for what I saw and felt. I can say, I was given a precious and beautiful gift of love, peace and hope. I woke up around 3 AM on that third night after my husband died. And the ceiling appeared to be lit with a beautiful light I can only describe as a shimmering pearl-white and an image of my departed husband's image. His image appeared lit from within, and there appeared to be joy emanating outward and around the room, like it was swirling. I was filled with infinite peace and a reassurance that my husband was safe and surrounded with love. There was a sense of invasive, penetrating joy which ran through my spirit. And at that moment I was absolutely reassured of the continuance of life and our connections with those who have moved on.
My Playlist
Dire Straits. (1985). Why Worry.
Brothers in Arms (Album).
Sara McLachlan. (1997).
Angel.
Surfacing. (Album).