Then my father died. He’d had surgery 3 years previously for a melanoma which had required considerable plastic reconstruction and whilst never as able to get around as much, for three years had been reasonably happy. Then he began to get back pain, and in a matter of weeks was very ill, being cared for at home (luckily the local GP was experienced in palliative care) having developed metastases in his bones.
I remember two days before he died, he told me about his past, his childhood and how he and his younger sister were evacuees and shunted all over during the war. I’d heard these stories before and had a feeling that there was something else he wanted to tell me, but he was holding back. I didn’t press him though. There was one thing I did know about his past, but it was unspoken; he knew that I was aware of one particular event that had taken place around 10 years previously which I had put down to an aberration on his part.
Later that evening, Dad slipped into unconsciousness and he died two days later. Both I and my mother were with him as he died, and we both commented on the sensation of something filling the room and then moving off away and out of the house. Looking at his body, I felt that it was simply a shell. My father was no longer there. It looked like a younger, more peaceful version of my father,
A few months later, I began to dream of him. He would appear in my dreams, typically it would be a family occasion and he would be there, usually smiling, but never saying anything. In these dreams, we all knew he was dead, but accepted and enjoyed his presence. On several occasions, he wanted to communicate with me, but when he tried, his mouth was lined with what looked like black velvet, and no sounds could emerge.
These dreams went on for some time, and I figured it was part of the grieving process. However, an opportunity presented itself one day, when I was staying with my aunt and I asked her if there was a secret aspect to my father. Eventually after a lot of thought, she admitted there was, that she knew about it, and wondered what had made me ask. I told her about the event I knew about, but not the dreams. The following weekend, I asked my mother, and while she needed to be certain what I was talking about before admitting anything, when she realised what I now understood about my father, the floodgates opened. I heard about the terrible difficulties they’d had, the struggles, and how they loved each other despite some considerable problems.
I’m not prepared to go fully into the details here, as they are not relevant at this point, but needless to say, I appreciated that my father was a lot more complex than I’d thought and also a lot stronger than I ever could imagine. I now had a sense that the things he’d been trying to tell me in my dreams had, at last, been said.
At this point, I suppose it was convenient and reasonable for me to assume that the dreams were simply part of my grieving and based in part on the event that had happened many years ago. Unbeknown to me, this assumption was about to change.
A few weeks later, we went for a meal with some friends, and were happily enjoying a post meal glass of wine when I became aware of a presence in the room. I remember thinking ‘It feels like Dad is here’ and saying so. The others laughed, but then I distinctly saw my father, sitting in an armchair, grinning from ear to ear! Whilst appearing transparent, he was wearing a familiar tweed jacket, and looked surprisingly well for a ghost. I told the others that I could actually see him, and pointed to the chair he was in. The others thought this was a hoot and that clearly I was off my trolley. My friend’s wife went and sat on the chair, as if to say there was nothing there. I was laughing by now, because my father’s grin was even wider, and he evidently found the situation funny. I could still see him superimposed over her, still grinning.
Then he faded, and I became aware that he was in front of me, and slightly above my head height. Rather than being able to see him, I had a sensation of him being aware of my life, the mistakes I had made, the good things I had done and an overwhelming sense of love. It was as if he could see into my life and accepted and loved me for what I was. And he knew that the love was reciprocated and was glad I now knew the story he had been unable to tell me when he was alive. I tried to explain what was going on to the others who by now were feeling a little unsettled and wondering if I was completely mad. My friend asked out aloud if my dad would let them know he was there.
I remember the look on their faces when, seconds later, there was a huge rap on their back door. They were mortified, and scared. I was still laughing, still feeling bathed in the incredible sense of love and acceptance I had been shown. We opened the back door and peered outside. On their lawn, several toys and balls had been laid out in a perfectly straight line. I tried to reassure the others that everything was fine, but they were pretty shaken.
Following that evening, my dreams subsided and I felt that my father was moving on. I recalled as a child I once asked him to let me know he was alright after he died. He had kept to his word. And I no longer believed that once we died that it was over. There is something about us that is transcendent. And I had direct experience of it.
Since then, I have had more experiences, two notable ones being once with the father of a friend when we lived in New Zealand, and a more frightening experience that was down to my not understanding what I was dealing with. I may write about these events in the future.
I have written an article on after-death communication, hopefully due to be published with some re-working, but it is here for those of you who are interested.
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