Hello, everyone! I hope you all are doing just fine!
I am finally sitting down and doing a bit of writing. I CANNOT believe August is nearly gone even though I can see, with my own eyes, the sun setting earlier and earlier every evening.
I have been blessed and have enjoyed the summer months. Had lots of company, entertained, explored the outdoors, rode my bike, walked, read tons, attended plays, spent time with family and sometimes just walked the seashore with the surf creating white noise so I could still my mind.
My only regret is not putting all the thoughts in my head on paper these past few months. Enough to drive a person wacky with the gray matter congestion.
But, hey! No time like the present.
I have to be in the mood to write certain stories so the “Witches Tea” I stumbled upon in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont will have to wait for another day. It’s a good one. So just be patient.
My sister-in-law, Patty, lost her dad in March. So she’s been sharing a lot about being open to signs from those who have passed. She has received signs from both of her parents.
I have many friends who have also gotten signs from loved ones. They say, “Talk to them. Be open.”
I was feeling like, “Everyone else is getting signs from their people. What about me?”
Well, I always felt like I was open to receiving but here’s the thing. I actually received and continue to receive many signs. It didn’t appear that way because it just wasn’t enough for me. I was actually looking for more. I wanted to feel. Viscerally. Not just always look for a double meaning in a rainbow, animal or thunderstorm.
I wanted to feel my father’s presence but I really just wanted my father present. Sadly, the latter is not going to happen.
In a way, I finally realized I am not looking for a sign that my Dad is okay, in heaven and watching over me. Or that he loved me. I know that.
It all boils down to this. I miss him and wish he was still here. Simple as that.
Since my father died the only time I heard his voice was in a dream. It was a few days after he passed. The last thing I heard before waking up that morning was him sounding very concerned.
He asked me, “Are ya alright? Are ya sick?”
I wasn’t sick. Well, yes, I suppose I was. Heartsick.
It is what it is.
So, I will share one of the many, many signs I’ve received from Patrick, my father. I will write about others in future postings.
I’m wondering if it’s his power or mine.
Here is one.
Every so often I will buzz into the cemetery to pay a quick visit to the ould man.
Last winter, it happened to be on very gray day with white stuff in the forecast. Snowfall was predicted to start in about three hours.
I was the only person in the cemetery. Popped out of the car, checked the headstone and said, “Hi” along with a short prayer.
Then I said, “Okay, Dad, feel free to give me a sign that you hear me. That you see me.”
In that moment, little white flurries appeared out of nowhere. In the spot where I was standing. Not a lot. And not everywhere. Just a few white snowflakes fluttering out of the sky.
Wow.
Then they stopped. As quickly as they started.
Were they even there? Did that even happen?
I went back into my car. Sat a few minutes. Then I got out, stood there and said, “Do it again.”
It happened again. Just a bunch of white flurries. In that same spot.
Sure, snow was in the forecast. Nope, not one witness. No accumulation.
Just a few flakes fluttering on me.
In my spot.
It’s never going to be enough. But it was enough.
Just Being Mary 