The Magic Of Soul
Once again reflecting on the mystery of light in darkness, and healing in my brokenness.
This week marked 23 years since losing my dad, and I’m feeling inspired to write about what lingers from his final days. It was one of the darkest times of my life, to be sure. But that day is still teaching me lessons: has me reflecting on the meaning of this earthly life while reminding me of the existence of an ever-present spirit realm. The day Dad left us was my closest encounter with the space between earth and “heaven”–a mystical glimmer that is still revealing itself in layers, year after year.
I had written in January about my dad’s intentional approach to death…how he covered every base he could with laser focus, and that held true until the very end. This photo is a testament to his will to live until his first grandbaby was born–and he accomplished that goal like so many others. I recall the night before he died so vividly. Even without having enough breath to speak, he gestured his way through messages of love, asked for forgiveness, let us know he was done. When we returned to the hospital the next morning, August 16, 2000, we found him no longer conscious or communicating, his breathing was intermittent and shallow. In my desperation to talk to him one more time–I got really close, told him we loved him, that we knew he was suffering, that he could let go, and that we’d be ok when he was gone. Within seconds (everyone in the room saw it) his eyes turned toward me, he held there for a moment, and left. It was immediately obvious when his body no longer held him–that he was no more alive than the hospital bed, the walls, or machines that beeped around him.
I became really angry at God that day. I recall a coldness, an internal “screw YOU!” prayer as I left the hospital. I was not able to appreciate the miracle in those final seconds: darkness and light were fully present, side by side. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more traumatized than watching my dad disappear like that. I couldn’t sleep for weeks afterward, couldn’t get the picture of his body out of my head. There have been times I’ve wished I hadn’t seen it. But I had simultaneously witnessed something that defied “science.” I’d been given a window into another dimension—an awareness of a soul that indeed exists within, but also separate from, this human body. And on top of that, there was the precious gift of new life, replacing what I’d lost. By having five-week old Eddie to take care of, I was immersed in the peace of present moment and miraculously spared the overwhelm of grief.
But today I’m peeling away yet another layer, and experiencing a subtler magic. As I have allowed myself to go back, I realize how much that loss awakened my deepest, core wound. My relationship with Dad was loving– but broken by a story of abandonment: first through extended illness, and then through his workaholism, his obsession with financial security and success. Most of our connectedness revolved around my being like him: my efforts to please and impress him, to hold his attention by achieving things and being extra “good.” On the surface, it worked–I could often bring a smile to his face, get him to notice me for my accomplishments. But underneath that, I harbored an ache, an invisibility, a sense of being flawed, an anxiety: that I wouldn’t be able to sustain my performance and we would lose our bond. My dad and I even shared this—he was plagued by so much of the same pain. And then his death felt like the final confirmation of our fears. I’d lost the battle to hold onto him. He was completely gone and I was left feeling that God had also abandoned me that day.
This is the inside story that resonates at the moment, because I’ve been catching myself in “pleasing” mode–doing what I can to maintain connections in relationships that aren’t even requiring that of me. It’s a gift to intuit what others need and want, but along with that I’ve carried a burden, and continue to feel exhausted when I realize how little control I have to keep people in my life. I’ve spent decades learning to trust those who stay, and to pay attention when I’m drawn to the ones who will not. Deep down, I know that all my striving will never be the deciding factor, and it will never be enough. I’m finally paying attention to the “alone” part of me that waits to be heard and understood–ready to be healed just a little bit more.
This morning, spirit magic showed itself again—and as I welcomed my sadness– healing messages began flooding in. Telling me to stop running, striving, pleasing. Affirmations were flowing. Whispering that I am enough, I’m not alone, I’m whole, I’m loved, and I have everything I need. And then my soul called up this song– playing in my head like I’d just done a Spotify search. Like magic, it spoke to my alone-ness, my fear of abandonment, my striving and need for control, and the relief of surrendering all of it.
Oh this is so lovely. I remember talking to you when we first met about you Dad and never knew the hurt you carried. I am so glad you could reframe your narrative to see how perfect it was that you were there in that space with him. ❤️