“Don’t let go!” my Dad said, gripping my forearms so tightly that it hurt.
He was in process of his transition, and was terribly afraid. I could see my cell phone on the bed, but I couldn’t reach it. If I could have, I would have called the paramedics to come and help me. My forearms ached from his grip. I am quite strong, but his grip was stronger. He sat on the edge of his bed trembling in fear, and I stood there with him for nearly 30 minutes before I finally yelled at him, “Daddy! You need to let go of me and get back into bed right now!” as if he was being a naughty child. His eyes widened in surprise, and he complied, and I tucked him into bed and kissed him on the forehead.
Later that morning he grasped my hand, “Please hold my hand,” he said softly. I stood next to his bed holding hands with him for quite awhile, and then it dawned on me that the hand holding was prolonging his transition. As he dozed off, I pried my hand out of his, feeling sadness and a bit ashamed for doing so. It was the beginning of the end. I had to let go. And, so did he.
That was on the Winter Solstice, December 21, 2021. The day he passed away.
Early this morning, May 26, 2023, I was lying on my side in bed, awake, but with eyes closed, when I felt his hand in mine again. It was soft and warm and gentle. I could feel him lying next to me. The roles were reversed as I squeezed his hand hard, and asked him to hold mine tightly, too. “No, Summy,” he said, making it clear that if I held on too tightly, I would never let go. But, he softly allowed for our hands to enfold each other. I felt so grateful that I had this chance to hold his hand again.
In that moment, his hand became the hand of my mother’s, as they exchanged places. Although I couldn’t see my Dad’s face, I did see hers as she looked at me. Her hand was exquisitely soft, and when I saw her face I cried out, “Mommy!” and reached out to hug her. She pulled away, “No, Summy,” and I knew what she meant. I’ve written about this before, but for those of you who are new to my journey, my Mom has been very clear with me that I can’t hug her because I wouldn’t let go. It’s not my time to leave. I assured her that I would let go, and she allowed for me to briefly embrace her.
She began to cry. I pulled back to look at her, and apologized, “I’m sorry, Mommy, did I hurt your feelings?” She shook her head “no” through her tears, and a faint smile appeared on her lips. “It’s just that I have senses.”
I was a bit perplexed. “Senses? As in hear, taste, touch, feel and smell?” I asked. She nodded, “yes,” and in that moment I realized that she had just re-experienced her earth senses through that hug. I’m not certain that it was pleasant. It might have been familiar, but it was about as comfortable as trying on a shoe that is a size too small.
She soon left, and I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling in wonder as the room slowly filled with the morning light.
I often have out of body experiences, where I travel to amazing places, and experience amazing things that I am sure I will experience more fully when I make my own transition someday. It never dawned on me that someone on the other side might also have interesting “out of body” travels, such as to their old home Planet Earth where they can experience their earth senses again.
Today, I feel blessed in so many ways. And, I hear my Dad’s words, “Don’t let go” in a whole different way now, too. I will never let go. Why should I? We can hold hands through the veil, and someday we will complete the embrace again.
