I hiked alone in Death Valley on a pleasant December morning. The trail, a combination of sand and gravel, followed a dry wash to the rugged, treeless mountains. I’d released my thoughts and opened my heart to the solitude of nature.
Suddenly, I felt eyes on me. I looked around, but no one was there. I continued walking. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch of the gravel under my feet. Just to my right, something watches me. Then, I hear extra footsteps hitting the ground between my own footfalls. I freeze. The unseen footsteps stop as well. No one’s there. It’s wide-open at this point on the trail—no one could hide from me. I walk on, as does the unseen person. I realize the sounds come from beside me, in the same direction as where I feel the gaze watching me.
Then, it occurs to me: A spirit is walking beside me.
But who? When I asked myself this, an image, similar to a Polaroid snapshot, flashed in my mind: a fleeting photo of my Dad. Smiling, happy and healthy—before the ravages of dementia set in. He’d passed away six months earlier.
This walk was one of the few times I wasn’t thinking of him, yet that’s when he came to visit.
Heaven is not prison. Our loved ones visit us.
Our crossed-over loved ones visit us to help bear our sorrow, share in our victories and send their love to us. Most of the time, we’re unaware of their presence. They won’t make themselves known if it deepens our sorrow or strengthens our dependency on them. Instead, they help us find ways to manage without their physical presence.
During that blue-sky desert day, I opened myself intuitively—shedding disbelief and allowing myself to experience my Dad’s presence. I felt his love. His joy. And in return, I found profound peace—a lightness I hadn’t experienced since before Dad’s diagnosis years earlier. As I walked, I told him how much I loved him and how grateful I was that he came to visit. Shortly after, the invisible footfalls stopped. I knew that whenever I’d need him, he’d return to my side.
Evolve your grief by shifting from a view of loss to one of blessings.
For me, Dad’s visit came once I started seeing beyond the absolute darkness of grief. It’d taken work to get to that point in my grief journey. During meditation a month before Death Valley, I’d received Divine Guidance. I was told that whenever I sink into the depths of self-pity, to shift my perspective from what I’d lost to what I’d gained having my Father in my life.
My Dad had given me so much: support, empowerment, love, laughter and a belief that I could do anything. So, whenever I descended into the hopelessness of grief, I’d think about everything this outstanding man had given me. By shifting from loss to gratitude, I honored and celebrated my Dad.
This practice transformed my paralyzing grief: my crying jags became less frequent. My gratitude for all those good times overrode my need for sorrow. Gratitude became the life jacket I needed to navigate my earthly journey without Dad’s physical presence in it.
Our relationships with our heavenly loved ones still exist
Dad’s visit was pivotal in that it showed me that he’d never forget me. That he’ll visit from time to time. And that his physical death can never diminish our love for one another.
Know that your crossed-over Loved One is there when you need them, whether you’re aware of their presence or not. Don’t hold their love at arm’s length; let their heavenly reach embrace you.
Have you had a crossed-over loved one visit you? If so, how did they make their presence known?
#allmyown words