My dad would have been 78 years old today. He left the earthly realm six years ago, after a valiant two year battle with pancreatic cancer. I woke up thinking about him and he’s been in my thoughts all day, as I’ve flipped through memories like the pages of a photo album.
I looked up my dad’s name.
Curtis, you are cheerful and friendly, but apt to have an emotional life. You feel best when you have several lines of effort going at once. You are a good communicator and promoter and seldom worry over anything. At times, you can be impatient, and impulsive. You have the ability to bring an idea to completion. You express yourself joyously and constructively. You might be psychic, but unaware of this gift. Emergencies may raise your intuitive abilities in order to better resolve conflicts or situations. You become very creative under pressure, and have very original ideas.
You desire to inspire and to lead, to control other’s affairs. You are giving, courageous and bold, action oriented, energetic and strong willed. You want to make a difference in the world and cultivate your creative talents.
My dad was a very personable, friendly man. People were drawn to him, and his generous, fun, easy going nature. It’s not uncommon, six years beyond his death, to still encounter people who knew him and loved him and want to talk about him. I hear their stories and save them up, storing their memories with my own. Listening to others speak fondly of my father helps me to see him as a whole person, and not just my parent.
I inherited some of my intuitive abilities from my father’s side of the family. Although we seldom talked about those unusual gifts, we did have a couple of interesting conversations about our ability to perceive what lies beyond the normal range of the standard five senses. I also inherited from my dad the tendency to hold in emotions. I believe my dad felt great joys and great sorrows. Like me, he preferred to speak from a more positive space, and remain silent when he felt sad or upset.
Dad always owned a motorcycle or two. Some of my earliest memories of my father are of riding with him on his bike, a tiny girl sheltered within his arms. He loved to ride, and perhaps he found freedom and adventure as he roared down the highway on his Harley.
Today as I drove around town, I sang Happy Birthday to Dad. I spoke aloud to him, as if he sat next to me in the car. On birthdays, Dad called his children to chat, and we called him on his special day. I couldn’t pick up the phone and hear his voice, much as I wanted to. But I could speak to him nonetheless. I asked him if we could have a “signs and wonders” kind of day.
Immediately, I spotted a trike motoring toward me. My dad owned such a motorcycle at the end of his life, when riding a standard two wheeler became too challenging. I noticed motorcycles the rest of the day, and smiled as I thought of my dad.
Then he added a new game. As my niece and sister’s big Halloween party approaches, I’ve been assembling my costume. I still need fingerless lace gloves, easily found at the Halloween shop, and a black lacy blouse to wear beneath a corset. I thought I’d visit every resale shop in town, in hopes of finding what I needed at a great price. I didn’t really have time today to start my search. And yet…all day I felt compelled to go to the Goodwill Store to look. The sense of being drawn there took on urgency, and when I realized my last task for the day placed me near that second hand shop, I gave in and popped in for a quick look.
I immediately saw that today only, all purchases were 25% off for shoppers age 55 and older. Ah. Thanks Dad. That explained the sense of urgency. Tomorrow the sale would have been over.
But could I find the right blouse? I knew exactly what I wanted. I searched through the rack of black tops, and found several that, while not exactly right, could work. I turned toward the dressing rooms. Keep looking. I felt those words, rather than heard them. Keep looking. What you are searching for is there.
I looked at every shirt. The last hanger in the row of black blouses appeared to be empty. On closer inspection I saw that the shirt had slipped off its hanger and was tucked back into the tightly packed space. Pulling the blouse free, my heart skipped a beat. This was the shirt I had envisioned. It was perfect. And I almost missed it. I bought it, for 25% off.
I miss my dad. I miss talking to him and hearing his stories and telling him mine. I miss calling him on the phone and hearing his voice. However, I have no doubt that he was near today. I have no problem believing he called my attention to all the motorcycles on the road today and that he impressed upon me to visit the Goodwill Store and keep searching when I would have walked away.
These were simple, ordinary ways that a dad reached out to his child, to interact, to help. That he reached across time and space and energetic boundaries was extraordinary, but so like him. Happy birthday, Dad. I love you!
