I am doubly grateful to Debby for sharing this story, as I know that many people will relate to what she recounts. I met my great-grandfather in very similar circumstances, a number of times…though it was always in a wood such as the ones we had often walked together… and only when I truly needed his sage advice.
It may be argued by some that these encounters are created in dream by the mind and imagination, born from a need for comfort and reassurance. Others will accept Debby’s suggestion of astral travel and some will see it as a meeting beyond life. Whatever the explanation, such an encounter can only be born of love…
I’m happy to be back here to share an intimate story from the beyond. I recently wrote a guest post here for Sue – Messages from Beyond, and was asked by Sue to come back and share a story I touched on in that post about my visit to heaven. It’s funny how some of the things we encounter in our lives are taken for granted by us that others may not have interest in. But as Sue and I realized by the interaction we received from my last post, it seems a topic many had something to contribute to. I also know that many people may not understand or believe in the afterlife which is understandably so because if you haven’t been touched or visited by spirit, it can be difficult to be a believer.
My father had passed a few months before I had this ‘dream’, although I hesitate to call it a dream.
I was very close with my father my entire life. I don’t say my father played favorites with his children, but he and I shared a special connection since as far back as I can remember. I had a most difficult time accepting his death and that he’d no longer be in my life ever since that fateful day he was taken away.
My father had no tolerance for our cold Canadian winters and had taken to spending a month down in Miami Beach, Florida every winter for years. He also didn’t like being alone so every year he’d send me and my sister a plane ticket to join him for a few weeks. I’d save my work holiday time for these occasions and as my sister’s family grew, we’d have her babies in tow with us. We all had a great time at the beach and of course, shopping. They were good times we looked forward to every winter.
Dad left for Miami just after New Year’s day 1991. He rented a condo and invited a friend of his to stay with him the first week until my sister and I arrived.
The day was January 7th, 1991. In two days, my sister and I were set to leave for Miami to join Dad. But on this day, I had just returned home from having a biopsy to determine the early changes of cervical cancer that I had been diagnosed with. I was lying on my couch when my sister phoned me to see how I was feeling. We chatted for a bit, making plans for our upcoming travel when she asked me to hold on the line because she had to answer an incoming call. I waited for what seemed a lengthy time, but still half dozed from anesthetic, I didn’t notice the wait. Suddenly I heard horrific screams come through the receiver. It was my sister trying to tell me something I couldn’t make out through her hysteria until another moment passed and I could make out her words, “Daddy died.”
It still cuts through me like a knife to relive that day even as I write.
After my sister delivered that blow I let go of the receiver and remained motionless as though I were in a catatonic state, unable to move or talk, with bursts of my broken heart expelled, painfully gasping for air. I lost track of time but not long after that call, my then boyfriend had come by to see how I was feeling. He quickly helped me dress and drove me over to my sister’s house. Plans had to be made pronto. Everything happened so fast. In our faith, we are to be buried the next day, but my father’s body was in Florida.
That night one of my brothers and my sister boarded a plane to Miami. The next morning while they flew back home with my dad in the cargo department, my other brother and I were making funeral and burial arrangements. We buried our father the next day, January 9th, 1991.
I will never, ever forget those horrendous 2 days as long as I shall live. I was distraught for many months to come. I was unsettled within, imagining my father’s last breath without his children with him. I was grateful he wasn’t alone as his best friend watched him take his last drag of a cigarette while sitting at the kitchen table and watched him drop to the floor as he succumbed to death from a final massive heart attack. I was pained that I wasn’t with him to comfort him or to say goodbye. I missed him terribly and prayed each day that God would give me a sign that my father was in peace. And one night I received an answer.
A few months had passed after my father’s death. One night I went to sleep and I know it wasn’t a dream I had but rather, some sort of an astral planing where my soul left my body and went to heaven.
I found myself on what appeared as a dividing line between 2 worlds – the world I existed in and the gates of heaven. I stood at that line knowing I could not cross. It appeared as though I was looking into a horizon of billowing white clouds filled with white light. Through those clouds my father appeared. He walked up to me, only a few inches from where I stood, yet he didn’t cross that invisible border to hug me and I couldn’t touch him. He was dressed in the same white shroud he was buried in and smiled at me with an abundance of love in his eyes. Beyond where he stood on holy ground, I caught a glimpse of some of my other loved ones who had long ago passed, but I was only focused on my father who stood before me.
My father spoke. All that he had said was that he loved me, and he would never stop loving me, and he promised that he would always watch over me. He assured me he was safe and happy, and asked me to stop worrying about him. He was at peace.
My tears streamed down my face as I reached out, attempting to hug him, but I couldn’t touch him, despite the fact that he was right in front of me. It was as though an invisible barrier wouldn’t allow me to touch him. After he gave me his message he faded back into the clouds.
I woke up startled immediately after, feeling as though my body had been plunked down from the air, and my soul landed back in my body. Then a mysterious calm came over me, a calm I had never known since before my father’s death. I knew then he had invited me to see him one last time to put my mind at ease and to say goodbye. I’ve never had that privilege again to visit my father. But I’ve felt his presence around me many times through the years, particularly in times of struggle. It is so comforting for me to feel his presence when he visits me, if only in spirit.
D.G. Kaye is a Canadian nonfiction/memoir author. She was born, raised, and resides in Toronto, Canada. Kaye writes about her life experiences, matters of the heart and women’s issues.
When she isn’t writing books, you can find her on her blog at DGKayewriter.com where you’ll find an eclectic mix of life lessons, rants of injustice, writing tips, book reviews, and featured interviews of guest authors. She’s known to inject humor into her work whenever it’s warranted. D.G.’s motto is: Live Laugh Love . . . And Don’t Forget to Breathe!
Find and follow Debby
Books by D. G. Kaye
Click the images or titles to find these books on Amazon
A Lifetime of guilt — What does it take to finally break free?
“Somehow I believed it was my obligation to try to do the right thing by her because she had given birth to me.”
Burdened with constant worry for her father and the guilt caused by her mother’s narcissism, D.G. Kaye had a short childhood. When she moved away from home at age eighteen, she began to grow into herself, overcoming her lack of guidance and her insecurities. Her life experiences became her teachers, and she learned from the mistakes and choices she made along the way, plagued by the guilt she carried for her mother.
Conflicted Hearts is a heartfelt journey of self-discovery and acceptance, an exploration of the quest for solace from emotional guilt.
Read Stevie Turner’s review of Conflicted Hearts here.
“I often found myself drifting from a state of normal in a sudden twist of bitchiness.”
From PMS to menopause to what the hell?
D.G. adds a touch of humor to a tale about a not-so-humorous time. While bidding farewell to her dearly departing estrogen, D.G. struggles to tame her raging hormones of fire, relentless dryness, flooding and droughts and other unflattering symptoms.
Join D.G. on her meno-journey to slay the dragons of menopause as she tries to hold on to her sanity, memory, hair, and so much more!
Read Tina Frisco’s review of Meno-What? here.
“I have been a great critic of myself for most of my life, and I was darned good at it, deflating my own ego without the help of anyone else.”
What do our shopping habits, high-heeled shoes, and big hair have to do with how we perceive ourselves? Do the slights we endured when we were young affect how we choose our relationships now?
D.G. takes us on a journey, unlocking the hurts of the past by identifying situations that hindered her own self-esteem. Her anecdotes and confessions demonstrate how the hurtful events in our lives linger and set the tone for how we value our own self-worth.
Words We Carry is a raw, personal accounting of how the author overcame the demons of low self-esteem with the determination to learn to love herself.
Read Judith Barrow’s review of Words We Carry here.
D.G. Kaye is back, and as she reflects on some of her more memorable vacations and travel snags, she finds herself constantly struggling to keep one step ahead of the ever-changing guidelines of the airlines–with her overweight luggage in tow. Her stories alert us to some of the pitfalls of being an obsessive shopper, especially when it comes time for D.G. to bring her treasures home, and remind us of the simpler days when traveling was a breeze.
In her quest to keep from tipping the scales, D.G. strives to devise new tricks to fit everything in her suitcases on each trip. Why is she consistently a target for Canada customs on her return journeys?
D.G.’s witty tales take us from airports, to travel escapades with best friends, to reflections on how time can change the places we hold dear in our hearts. Her memories will entertain and have you reminiscing about some of your own most treasured journeys–and perhaps make you contemplate revamping your packing strategies.
Read Christoph Fischer’s review of Have Bags Will Travel here.
“I hurt for her. She wasn’t much of a mother, but she was still my mother.”
Confronted with resurfacing feelings of guilt, D.G. Kaye is tormented by her decision to remain estranged from her dying emotionally abusive mother after resolving to banish her years ago, an event she has shared in her book Conflicted Hearts. In P.S. I Forgive You, Kaye takes us on a compelling heartfelt journey as she seeks to understand the roots of her mother’s narcissism, let go of past hurts, and find forgiveness for both her mother and herself.
After struggling for decades to break free, Kaye has severed the unhealthy ties that bound her to her dominating mother—but now Kaye battles new confliction, as the guilt she harbors over her decision only increases as the end of her mother’s life draws near. Kaye once again struggles with her conscience and her feelings of being obligated to return to a painful past she thought she left behind.
Read Deborah Jay’s review of P.S. I Forgive You here.
If you have had a strange experience or encounter that you would like to share, please get in touch with me at firstname.lastname@example.org (or my usual email if you already have it) and we can discuss a guest post.
I am not looking for sensationalism or fictional tales… but in light of the response to some recent posts, I think it would be both useful and reassuring to others to realise that none of us are alone in these strange encounters and experiences and perhaps we can open discussion on what they may be or may mean.
If you would like to share your story but prefer to remain anonymous, we can discuss that too. If you would like to share your beliefs and opinions on the nature of these experiences, I would be happy to talk about a guest post. Through sharing with respect we may learn to understand our world and each other a little better.