Monday, November 21, 2005

Thoughts on my Dad

My Dad died last Tuesday of a massive heart attack at the age of 77. His death was unexpected; my mother is 84, and he was her primary caregiver for the last twelve or so years. Mom is not mobile, and so now, care workers will stay longer with her, trying to fill the huge hole my Dad left in Mom's life.

I remember my Dad best through the golden haze of childhood memories. He was younger, then, of course, and now that is how he appears to me. It was not long after his death...a matter of hours...before I could sense him. He gave me advice...he wanted me to remain clear headed and balanced. And he wanted Mom to be safe. He wanted her daughters to work together.

Our family is fractured, but I felt, at a time like this, we could put aside our differences and work together. Not so. The negative bodies had attached themselves strongly, and were in a feeding frenzy. It was the first time I actually saw the negativity...I have always had the ability to sense it...and I was humbled and in absolute awe as to how quickly my words were banished by the black amorphous cloud of energy that swept over the room. And in the blink of an eye, my concentration and intent wavered. It was enough to let chaos reign once more.

My teacher, Shaman Maggie (http://Come) tells me I am not the only one that will have to bring the family together. My Dad now has many more abilities than when he was alive, and can orchestrate the meeting of the minds in my family with or without my help. And so it will be.

But Dad continues to appear. It is unusual, at least for me, to see the soul who has passed so often. I can usually walk awhile with a passed soul, offering reassurance and comfort and gentle persuasion to go further on their new path, but my Dad will not go. He was bull headed and very convinced he was right when he was alive. And now, he very much wants peace in the family. I believe he will manage it, too.

As much as he appears to me, in dreams and in meditations, I miss his physical presence. He always seemed so solid to me. Born in Germany, he played the Teutonic male all his life...even after immigrating in 1951, a long time ago, he never lost his accent. And that accent punctuated his personality, strengthened his words, even if he didn't mean them to.

He never liked any of my boyfriends, or husbands, for that matter. Once, when I was very young, I brought a boy of German descent was one of the few times I heard words against his countrymen. And I knew then there would never be any pleasing him with regards to the males in my life.

Dad made me a swing in the backyard. There were two very tall shaved logs, set in concrete deep in the earth, and another for the crosspiece at the top. Two thick long ropes were attached to a plank. And there were the logs that strengthened the vertical posts. It still is the best swing I have ever had the pleasure to use. There will never be another exhilarating moment quite like the ones I used to have pumping so hard, and reaching for the sky with my toes. Because the ropes were so long, it felt sometimes as if I were swinging high enough to go right over the top. But my Dad assured me it couldn't do that...and it never did.

There are so many stories...I am still hearing about the things Dad used to do; or more often than not, things that he wouldn't do...he never minced words. He never knew I had become one of Shaman Maggie's apprentices, but he does now. That is how he discovered he could still contact me. And, true to form, he expects me to listen...and finally, finally, now I will.

I miss my Dad.

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