Is it Possible to Communicate with the Dead?

Almost everyone wants to know if it is indeed possible to communicate with loved ones that have passed away. It's only human to want to stay connected to people that they miss. Love cannot die with the dead. That's what makes grief and loss hurt so much. How do you love a dead person? They are no longer there to share things with. How do you cope with an empty seat at dinner? Some people still set out the dinnerware for awhile out of habit or comfort. It's common to follow people around that remind you of your loved one. I followed tall, thin, bald men around for a few months after my dad died. Intellectually I knew none of those men could be him. I just wanted to see him again. There were things I still needed his help with. It was incredibly unbearable to me at that time that I could no longer pick up the phone and call him. My first born son was about fifteen months old and the thought that he would not know his grandfather haunted me.

The initial shock and sadness of my father's death eventually evolved into unwilling acceptance because there is no other choice. I talked to him alot in my head mostly off and on everyday at the beginning for a long time. "Why did you have to leave so soon?' "Are you somewhere where you can hear me"? "Mom, is too young to be alone Dad what are we going to do"? There seemed to be a running line of questions that I was mentally firing at him all the time. When I was alone I did alot of it out loud and that felt better to me somehow. I did all that weird stuff people do when they are around clothes that their loved one wore. I smelled his shirts and his hats whenever I visited my mom when she went into the bathroom. It took her a long time to pack up his stuff. Anyone that knew my dad would laugh at the shirt sniffing because he was a believer in going as green as possible way before it was cool. He did not believe in deoderant because it was a chemical and it wasn't good for the skin. That's what he always told us. Most of the time he really didn't smell bad either. Every time I see a toothbrush I remember that he was apposed to toothpaste too. He only brushed with water twice a day because the flouride he also deemed unhealthy. For a guy that avoided as much unhealthy stuff as he did it didn't do him much good. That eventually helped me get through the anger phase. One of the last shirts of his that I smelled did stink and that really ticked me off. I was mad that he died, that his shirt stunk, that he left my mom, that he left all of us including his grandchildren. That lasted for about a week. I realized obviously he had no choice and I was thinking stupidly. If I could offer him a beer on my lawn as an apology I would but alas dead men don't drink beer and they can't talk to you no matter how much you talk yourself.

So, at night instead of my usually prayers to God I began to pray to Dad. "Dad, please make sure Mom is okay". "Please, help her with the kids left at home". "I'm afraid she is so lonely and I don't know what to do". "Dad, I wish you could know your grandson". "Dad, I want you to be in heaven but here too". "I hope you can hear me". "I am going to keep talking to you incase you can, like people that are in comas". "Dad, we laughed a little bit today and for a second I forgot you were gone, I'm sorry". "I will never forget you and I am going to believe you can hear me". "Dad, if you can talk to me somehow I will try to listen". These one way conversations and blips of thought went on like this for years. I eventually prayed to God again because after all we can have no other God's before him. I didn't want Dad to get kicked out of heaven for starting his own religion. I thought even one follower would be grounds enough to cast him out.

Life went on and I had my second son. Always in the front of my mind through my pregnancy was my father. Wishing he was there and knowing it was futile to always come back to that. Still, I talked to him. "Well Dad, here is another grandson for you and he is so cute". "Don't you think"? With two babies life got hectic and years were going by and I was beginning to get used to Dad being gone. It made me sad that I could have happiness again which is such a mixed bag of emotions. Our large family got together for Thanksgivings and Christmases and we always talked about Dad. We aren't a quiet crowd and a funny Dad story is always welcome and it makes us feel good to be able to remember him as a family. To trade Dad stuff and to realize that some of us had him longer than others. The youngest kids were still in high school when he passed away. Mom must have been thinking that she wished he would get to see them grow up while I was wishing he could see my children too. Well, baby boy number three came for me and again I silently introduced him to my Dad. "Look Dad, see how is blonde hair just stands up off his head like Lyle Lovett"? "Are you jealous that he has more hair than you"?
Grief has a funny way of evolving. It's still there but it eventually goes backstage as years go by. Grief turns into gratitude for the time you had with your loved one. It becomes less and good memories become more and life is just a continuum.

So it goes and so it went for me. Life and baby number four happened. A girl at last! I couldn't believe it when I delivered her. In the hospital I kept looking at her and I couldn't contain myself. I could barely sleep because I just wanted to keep her with me. Finally, a nurse said she had to take the baby to the nursery because I had to get some sleep. They didn't want me to fall asleep with her in the bed. I still didn't want her down the hall but I was exhausted. I remember drifting down into sleep and thinking, "Oh, I have to tell Dad". Then, I was out. I dreamt about my father. I used to beg to dream about him because I could talk to him in dreams and hear his voice. It didn't happen very often and I longed for it all the time. That night in my dream he came to me. He walked into my hospital room and I said, "Dad, it's you"! He took my hand and asked me to go for a walk with him. I told him I was really tired. He said, "it's just a short walk, you can do it". So, I got up and he led me down the hall of the hospital. We stopped at the window of the nursery. He looked at me and smiled, "she's beautiful",he said. I asked him what he was doing here because I sort of thought I should tell him that he was dead. He laughed and he looked at my baby girl. He said, "Honey, I always come to see the babies".