Learning to Listen
I suspect each of you either has had an experience or knows someone who communicates with a loved one who has passed into the next reality. One amazing book that shares many compelling testimonies is “Hello from Heaven” by Bill & Judy Guggenheim, but you don’t have to look so far afield to find examples of cross-realm communication.
My sister, Karen knows it is Dad saying “hello” each time she hears a specific bird call. The light in Karen’s eyes as she speaks of these experiences tells me that she is right. I am sure it is Dad reaching out from beyond.
The Residential Manager at one of Prairie Branches group homes has shared that the residents of her Home will frequently look very directly at seemingly ‘empty’ space and smile and laugh whole-heartedly when one of their former room-mates who has passed from this Earthly realm comes to visit.
Errol has maintained communication and relationship with me from very soon after he expanded into his Spirit form. The first weekend after Errol passed, we were home alone. It was during the time that we were waiting for the autopsy to be completed so that we could proceed with the ceremonies of goodbye. I had gone to sleep that night, but just as I was drifting into sweet oblivion I was suddenly fully wakened by a very strong mental ‘shove’ that felt like my entire body surely had been moved several inches toward the center of the bed. The shove was accompanied by Errol’s very clear, “Mom!”. Fully awake, I chuckled softly to myself and sent my sincere thanks to my son for letting me know he was well, and commented that a gentle nudge would have sufficed.
My next visit from him was the night we gathered at the funeral home to say our goodbyes to the cherished form Errol had used while we knew and loved him here. The funeral director had not captured Errol’s essence in preparing his physical form for the ceremony. The gamer hoodie we had brought for him to wear had the hood pulled up, shadowing his lovely face and hair – something he never did. The expression on his face was a scowl – an expression that very seldom marred his brilliant visage. Anyone who knew Errol would readily tell you that even while he was telling you he was having a lousy day, his face was still lit by his glorious smile. As I was standing at his side, I heard very clearly in my mind Errol’s voice, “aw, come on! That doesn’t even look like me!” I had to bite my lip to keep from letting my surprised giggle burble out to upset the others present, but I was comforted by him reminding me that this flesh wasn’t him – and he was just fine.
Over the years since then I have had several very specific moments:
The automatic water faucet in the washroom at the optometric surgeon’s office spontaneously turning on to prompt me to rewash my hands after accidentally touching the paper towel dispenser as we were deep into the COVID pandemic even though I was the only one in the room and was several feet away from the faucet.
The tea kettle turning back on at several different occasions as I waited for Errol’s favorite peppermint tea to steep – including the switch being flipped back into the ‘on’ position.
One night after I finished playing Beat Saber – a VR video game, Errol and I loved to play together – the session of play had been one of those times where I was just ‘in the zone’. Several full combos and a few new high scores left me sweating but happy. As I removed the VR headset and reached to put away the hand controllers, I was stunned to see the leads for the cordless controllers, both poised miraculously, holding to the edge of the desk in spite of me just letting them drop after unplugging them.
Every night when I stop in front of the mantle, resting my forehead against Errol’s urn to say goodnight, I can feel him, right there, nuzzled between my right shoulder and ear.
In addition to all of these wonderful visits, I get little touches from Errol throughout every day. He speaks to me through numbers – most often clocks, but sometimes video game scores, signs, etc. These days I rarely look at a clock that the numbers aren’t in some form of duplicate, triplicate, or mirrored configuration. I would say that this happens at least 90% of the time – I see combinations such as 12:21, 1:22, or 1:13 (Errol’s transition date) and I know he is just saying “I’m here” or “I love you.” It’s always especially powerful as now, when I am working on my blog. As I wrote today, each time I finished an anecdote, the computer clock reflected his ‘nod’. I feel that while my fingers may be striking the keys, that these messages I share with you are coming as much from him (2:44 pm).
I know that our loved ones communicate with us from their new reality, it is just a matter of learning to listen and embrace the new language they are using.
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