my mom passed a couple years ago and we hardly had time to prepare. it came on suddenly which had her in the hospital for a week--the doctors said she "might" qualify for hospice (6 months or less) but they implied she might live longer and wouldn't qualify. she passed the following week. it was such a desperate time--six months sounded wonderful--it sounded like a lifetime! but it never happened.
losing someone we love is the hardest thing in the world. our grief seems like it is the price we pay for love. and yet it's worth it and we would do it all over again if we could only get the chance.
i agree with the other poster who said she thinks your dad will always be near to you. both my daughter and i saw, on many occassions, "signs" from my mom--one of the kitchen lights flashing on and off--sometimes it would turn itself on and later it would turn itself off; we both would smell my mother's perfume at the same time, and there were a lot of little things like that.
it took me a little over five months before i was able to actually sit down and read--to be able to focus and concentrate awhile--i finally decided to check out some books from the library on spirits and the afterlife. the first book i started reading was "we don't die: george anderson's conversations with the other side." as i sat on the couch, reading it, i heard several knocks on the wall behind the couch and the light flashed off and on with each knock. at first i thought a fuse blew but the light was still on. then i realized the knocking i heard was the signal my mom and i used so we would know who was there--it was the "shave and a haircut--two bits" knock. later my daughter pointed out to me that the wall behind the couch seperates the living room from my mother's bedroom.
signs. i had felt so empty, and lost, and abandoned, and bereft--but she was closer to me than i thought.
i'm sure your dad, whether he gives you signs or not--and he will do it or not in order to act in your best interest--will stay close to you and help see you through this time as best he can. and when the grief comes in waves just sit down and let it wash over you and hang on tight.
that's what i would do--and sometimes still do when the grief wells up.
i'm so sorry for your loss. take care.
after she passed. i was playing by myself in the basement, riding my tricycle. when i started to get off the bike i saw her. she looked just like she always did, seemed pleasant as usual and spoke to me. scared me to death! i started screaming and ran up the stairs--my mom and grandmother were just up in the kitchen. my mom ran and met me halfway up the stairs. i was hysterical and told them what happened.
after that i was afraid to go into the basement. after awhile i completely forgot what happened--and managed to block it out of my memory until i was 12. i think i finally felt safe remembering it. and i recalled every detail.
when she would talk about her sister she'd refer to her with MY name. when she'd talk to her sister about me she would refer to me with her sister's name.
it was funny because it happened so frequently and became predictible. she didn't mean to do it--and she'd apologize for doing it and sometimes she'd get mad at herself that she couldn't keep our names straight. and my name sounds nothing like her sister's name.
i know that my mom and i go back a long way. before this life. inbetween lives. the answer to "where have i known you before" is clear when it comes to my mother (daughter & grandmother too)--i have known them always.
i'm sure there are many people i have always known--but because the relationships in this life are so close it is easy to tell (or feel that way).
to clean out my mom's room, dressers, closet. i still live in this house and her room remains pretty much as she left it--i picked it up a bit, put some bills/papers away and made the bed.
her things are on her dresser, her clothes in her closet, her things in the dresser drawers. her shoes beside her bed.
sometimes i go in her room to surround myself with her--talk to her, cry for her. the bedroom door stays open and it's comforting to glance in there as i go down the hallway. at first it was heartbreaking--now it helps me feel like my life is back to normal, that everything is fine.
it's been over two years since she passed on but i feel, often, her spirit is still around this house and with me. sometimes i tell her to give me a sign that she's still here. i asked that last evening when i was putting the dishes away. i talked about how one of the lights in the kitchen used to go on and off during that first year. (she's given me countless "signs" from seeing her name on a license plate, to knocking on the wall with a signal we used to use, to the smell of her perfume and even turning off the tv when it up too loud--two times within ten minutes!) anyway, i got my sign last night--about two hours later when my daughter and i were reading through a play i wrote about spirits and signs based a lot on my mom. crash. the sound came from the kitchen. a pair of scissors that were on top of two boxes fell. no one had been in the kitchen for a couple hours and there was no way they could have fallen on their own.