I was already missing his softness, his humor, and his unconditional love.

I always looked at my father with love; it never changed through all the years he was here. He was sweet, kind, and understanding of so much, and he had patience. He was a saint in work clothes. He worked for the government in a secret environment I found fascinating. A quiet and humorous man, he was also a great artist loved by many. He would never talk about his work, although he did tell me one day that the place where he worked had been buzzed by UFO's, and he had been on the airstrip when it happened, and had to hit the dirt. He did not know what I had seen, nor did he know of my intent to find out about the unknown. We never went there. We never talked about spirit, but we both had it, and shared it without the knowledge of each other's experiences.

In the year of his passing we talked of many things. He felt he had seen and done plenty in the sixty-nine years he was here. He said he was ready to leave, and a tear ran down his face, and I knew although he was strong, he did not want to leave yet. We talked about what was on the other side, but he did not believe there was one. He saw only blackness. I tried to express to him my feelings, what I had read and experienced, yet even my out of body episodes did not move him, nor the paranormal events that invaded my life at age four. He had given me a watch on my birthday that played "The Yellow Rose of Texas," and I loved it. Since his illness, I had not worn it.

My father wanted the world to be joyous, and he gave most of his life. And now, who would give to him? I could not be with him as often as I wanted to. My birthday is in July as was my father's. We were two of a kind. He was dying in July, and I felt he would not see another birthday. My husband at the time had planned a four-day trek to Mexico, and I did not want to leave my father. It was to be my birthday present. I had choices to make, and there was much pressure to take the trip as it was paid for. My father meant more than any trip. At the time he was on morphine for pain and was not always thinking clearly. Two weeks before I was to leave, I came to see him, and he asked for a haircut. As I cut the few remaining strands of hair and touched him, I knew he would not be here for another month.

I was already missing his softness, his humor, and his unconditional love. I said my good-bys and left to go back home which was about two hours away. I was in turmoil, the terror of not being with him at this time tore at me, and the walls of my heart were sobbing. The next week passed. A week before I left for Mexico, I got a call from my brother. I had not told my father I was going away, and of course my husband felt he would live another two months. My brother told me about a dream my father had. My bother knew me and the things that kept happening in my life, and he had to tell me, "Dad dreamed he was in Mexico; he was at a market place; there were lots of colors, bands, hats, dancing, and he was in the middle, having a wonderful time!" At that moment, I knew my father would leave the life he knew for the next before I got home. I asked my husband to stay, and he told me things I will not go into here. If my spirit had been stronger, I would have stayed. With heavy heart, I left. I had taken four days off from work, and I had the strange feeling that I would not be back to work when I had planned. On the calendar in the workroom, I drew an airplane going into my work week, and I said to my friend, "I will not be back, get someone to help out while I am gone."

I went to Mexico, and the trip was sad. We got our hotel and had one beautiful day and night. The second night I could not sleep and at four in the morning woke with the most unusual feeling I had ever had. My whole body was tingling; it felt as if someone was pulling something from inside me. I went back to sleep, and I found myself out in the streets and plazas of Mexico. There were men wearing the big sombreros, women dancing, music and food, and there standing very close to me was my father smiling his wonderful smile. He touched me with his face, and I felt something I had felt when my grandfather passed. My father's beard was growing, and he and grandfather were always clean shaven! He hugged me and smiled," I am here with you, and I am fine now, I want you to be happy. I am.

"But daddy, is it you?" He came to me and kissed me on the cheek as he had done in that other life; he smiled at me with eyes like mine, and I knew he had to have some belief in that other dimension. He was here, and so was I. He was having fun, he was not in pain, and he came to say good-by to me, his little girl who believed in other dimensions, other worlds, Spirit. I woke with a jolt crying out, "Daddy, not yet, don't go!" The tingling sensation came back two-fold. I got up and ran out on the deck, the sun was rising over the jagged mountain range; it was five in the morning. I stood there breathing in, sick, but realizing that the Spirit of my father, once so tied to me, was on another journey and that thread of awareness was reeling out to the infinite. That part of him, I had to release. Tears whispered down my face and dropped at my feet," These are all that is left of you daddy," I said, "and you be off now. I understand, that at last, you are in the real life!"

I ran in and woke my husband, I was ill, I could hardly stand, my body felt as if someone had shot me full of Novocain. He could not wake, he could not share, but he propped up on one elbow and half listened. "Dad just died," I said," and "because I wasn't there, he came here to see me, and tell me he was ok."

"What, no he did not! I told you he has a few more months! Go back to sleep."

I paced the floor, and the phone rang. There was static, I could not hear well, but I heard my sister-in-law's voice from ever so far away. Before she said anything besides my name, I said, "I know that daddy died just now, is that right?" There was silence on the other end.

"Did someone else call you? Oh, I should have known, you would know."

"Tell my brother I will be home as soon as I can and tell him he was right to tell me about the dream that daddy had. He was also right in thinking dad would come see me."

It took two days more to get home; there was a heavy storm and an earthquake the day before. Our plane took off without a whole load of passengers to miss the rest of the storm. We were put up in a hotel in Mexico City. The next day I was home and called work to tell them I needed a week more, that I was sorry I was in a day late, and what had happened. My co-worker said to me, "You did predict this you know." Take as long as you need."

When I returned home I went straight to my parents' home. My mother was angry and would not speak with me. She was never spiritual. She had wanted me to stay with her even if she did not know when dad would take his last breath. I knew and left anyway. There was nothing left to remember him by. She had removed every last moment of his life. She had wiped away his memories and his love from the home. It was as if I never had a father who lived there. In my soul though were the memories of him, his gentleness, and his great love of humanity. His Spirit now whole once more, I smiled at his word's left in my memory that of course there was no life beyond what we saw here.

Soon after, my father came calling. The watch he gave me years earlier, put away in a dresser, had not run in a year. I was in the living room, and I kept hearing music. I went into the bedroom, opened the drawer. My husband was there. I took out the watch, and it was playing The Yellow Rose of Texas. I never heard from him again after that. But for one year after his death he let me know of his new life and how happy he was to be in it. Now and then I still walk with him in my dreams, but he is different now, he is playing life on the other side of me, reborn.

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Judith Arianne was born in Wisconsin and now lives in Northern California. A person with many profound events happening in her life, she is always open to new secrets of the universe. She is an artist, writer, and works with older people who if given the time, have many life stories that have too long been silent. She loves and cares for the planet as a citizen of the earth and is grateful for the gift of learning that has held such great bounty for her.
Read Judith's Previous article - Young Heart, Ancient Wisdom.