Adventures of the Traveling Grief Case

Dreams, symbolism and signs of loved ones passed

February 23, 2019

Dear Dad,

I can’t decide if I feel better today or not. I’m still in bed at noon. Drinking my coffee and relaxing. I don’t know what I want to do today but for now it’s nothing. 

You were in my dream again last night. Well, I don’t remember if I actually saw you. What I do remember was someone telling me you were in Providence, and I was like, “Why didn’t someone tell me? I could go get him. Why is he stuck there?” Then I found mom, and she said you were in the hospital there. That you had an abscess. Someone said, “It took a lot out of him that first time he died!”

I just wanted to come get you and I was mad no one told me you were there. I just wanted to go get you.

I’m not sure what it meant exactly. If it was a lack of communication or it was feeling helpless. Or if I just wanted to see you.  I just remember being frustrated. I wanted to go get you. Is it because I couldn’t do anything?

Because I couldn’t save you? Or help you? 

I think we all felt that way when you were dying. There was no way to fix it. Or help you. I wonder if not seeing you or your body afterwards makes it feel like there was no closure. We had the memorial service but we didn’t see your body.

I know it wouldn’t have been you. You were gone before you actually died. I realized that it was just a shell. Just a vehicle for your spirit. I know your spirit is still here. I know I just need to be open to seeing you and feeling you around me.

I also know I have to let it happen. I can’t force anything. I have to let go of all the thinking and knowing because I can’t control some things. This is such a process. And a strange one at that. 

I can say I have no regrets for what I did. All those Sunday mornings I spent with you. Whether we were talking or just sitting quietly. Sipping coffee, eating donuts, and listening to books.

I don’t regret feeding you or cleaning your mouth when you would cough. I don’t regret every moment I sat with you and mom at hospice.

Or the night I slept over and dreamt about walking with you.

I swear it was our final walk goodbye.

It was your spirit back in a healthy young body.

All the memories of you taking care of me as a child and I could finally take care of you when you needed it. I will never regret being there with you. But I now regret all the nights I kept you up worrying about me because I know what that feels like. But I can’t change those. 

Now I am so thankful for all my memories of you. For all you did for Isaiah. For all I learned from you.

I’m thankful for all you taught me just by being you. I am thankful I could tell you everything you meant to me. I’m thankful I could be there to comfort you as you did for me so many times.

I don’t know why I’m so tired today. Is it stress? People? Emotions? I want to work through this all and understand it. I don’t want to hold it all in.

I want to lose this emotional weight. I want to be healthy physically, emotionally and spiritually. Please help to guide me through this every day. Please send me signs and messages. Guide me through this thing called life and love. Send me wisdom. Patience. Please help me understand and make sense of it all. 

Love,

Elissa

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Batman and Bullshit

“That’s all bullshit!” He replied.  I had just told my friend how I woke up to a bat in the living room at work that morning.  When I got home, I looked up the meaning of bat medicine in Native American symbolism.

“Well, I don’t care if it is or not.  It made me feel better!”

Bats symbolize rebirth.  Getting rid of old patterns and ways.  Maybe this is what it was supposed to teach me.  Is this what I should be focused on? 

Bats are also symbolic of my dad. Growing up, we always ended up with bats in our house. They would show up especially in August because that was mating season. Dad said they were a little loopy at that time.

My dad would always catch them and throw them back outside, which is how he became our batman.

Later that night I was having a conversation with a friend and once again she brought up rebirth and breaking old patterns.  

“Wow,” I said, “I bet it was that bat.  It really was a sign for me to pay attention to these old patterns and habits I need to break.” 

Symbol

I started thinking about it.  Bull shit. It’s all bullshit I heard in my head again. Maybe it is, I thought to myself.  But does it matter either way?  What if it’s what I need right now?  Like the days they brought us dad’s ashes and my sister, holding the box in her hands, looks at me and says, I can feel him.  When I hold this box, I feel his spirit.  

I looked at her, trying to verify her feelings but in my head I kept thinking, nope. Not me.  I’m not feeling it.  This is a box of burnt bones.  A very strange concept.  To me it’s more of a symbol.  Something that represents him.

I look at the box and think how he would have loved the pattern, the dark cherry color of the wood, the intricate carvings.  He would also not be impressed that it was most likely manufactured.   “Bullshit!” He would say. That’s not me. That’s a damn box of burnt ashes from my bones but that’s not me.  

The Dump

It wasn’t until I went to the dump that day that I really felt his presence. Yes, the dump.  It sounds like a strange way to connect with your deceased loved one, but that was where I felt him. Felt closer to him. 

Let me clarify this, you see our dump has this small building filled with books.  They call it the library and it is filled with free books.  Dad had this thing about going to the dump, usually on a Saturday morning, and sometimes the grandkids would go with him for the ride and to help.  Dad would usually come back from the dump with a couple of books ranging anywhere from gardening to carpentry to John Grisham novels.  

One Saturday morning I brought my recycling and decided to check out the books.  As I walked in the small, musty building I felt this wave of emotions wash over me.  This knowing that my father had been there, many times, standing in this same space.  Maybe even touching one of these very books. 

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.  Picturing some of the big hardcover books he had brought home and picturing him standing in this very place, browsing through the shelves of books quietly.  Maybe he mumbled a hello to someone who had come in.  Maybe he had picked up one of these books and put it back.

feeling his presence

And all of a sudden, just standing there, in that small building, I feel his presence.  I feel closer to him than I do holding some small box that contains his physical ashes.  I hear his voice a little clearer in my mind.  I picture his face, his smile a little clearer.  I feel comforted.

It’s bullshit I think again.  Maybe it is.  Maybe it’s all bullshit.  Maybe there is no afterlife, no beyond once we leave here but who cares?  The way I see it, even if bullshit is what brings us comfort, then I’ll take it. 

If bullshit brings us hope, so be it.  If bullshit is what I need to believe in to feel a little calmer, a little closer to my deceased dad, then so be it.  I’ll believe in bullshit, every time. 

Check out my podcast, Letters To My Father- Writing My Way Through Grief , on Spotify for Podcasters: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/gingerfunk