After-Death Communication

Some people believe in after-death communication, while others do not. Here are three events that happened to me. You can read them and decide for yourself: Is it possible?

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague.

Who shall say where one ends and the other begins? ~ Edgar Allan Poe

Open to Possibility

Much has been written about communicating with deceased loved ones, and I am not going to try to cover the topic in any detail here. I have concluded that we are not human beings attempting to be spiritual, but spiritual beings trying to be human. We are uncomfortable with our bodies and fascinated by ghost stories. The author C.S. Lewis believed that these two facts prove we are spirits in human form. If I accept the idea of an afterlife, and I do, how can I not believe in after-death communication?

Briefly, communication with deceased loved ones cannot be forced. Obsession will only block your attempt. Relax and let go. Don't complicate the process. Soulful signs from our deceased loved ones are all around us if we look for them. Messages will come in simple forms, like a familiar smell or a loving thought, and little things do mean something. There are no coincidences.

You may have to wait until the powerful emotions of acute grief subside for your loved one to get through but welcome their presence when they do. My experiences of winter redbirds, Merlin's Gift and Jimmy's Visit are true, but let's face it, they were subjective events. Just as no one can convince me that they didn't happen, I cannot persuade anyone that they did. Whether you believe my stories, or not, is your decision. Please stay open to the possibility of mystery as you arrive at your own conclusions.

From Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman
December 12 entry:

...as we dwell in memory on our experiences with the one who is physically gone, his or her psychic presence, rather than being confined to the body we knew and loved, seems somehow to expand and surround us with its gentle understanding, its compassion and love.

So, we enter upon different kinds of conversations, often exchanges without words. We seem to come to a mutual understanding and appreciation for the goodness and the difficulty we were in each other's life. We're able to smile...at all the flurry, and to relish, instead, the deep love and peace. Dear One, continue to be with me, as I will with you.

Caution: You are Vulnerable Right Now

The death of a loved one makes us vulnerable to others because we are experiencing the powerful emotions of new grief. Our defenses are down, and we may not have clear thinking. Because we want the loneliness and pain to stop, or we yearn to know that our loved one is OK, we may turn to the services of psychics or mediums in our search for answers from the other side.

I offer a word of caution here: Not all psychics can communicate with souls on the other side, (animal or human), and not all people who call themselves psychics or mediums are on spiritual paths. Some just want your money. To be fair, most psychics and mediums sincerely want to help you. Because skill levels vary in every profession, there are gifted and not so gifted spirit communicators.

Please go to a medium for spirit communication only if that person has been recommended to you by someone you trust and be aware that a psychic and a medium are not the same thing. If you are grieving the death of a loved one, you are fragile, and sadly, there are people who will prey upon your vulnerability. Please use caution and take care of yourself.

A True Story of Redbirds

My mother's death was a deep heartache for me. Mom left a folder labeled, "To be opened by my daughters after my funeral." In it, she had prepared two sympathy cards with personal messages for my sister and me. Yes, my mother gave sympathy cards to her daughters for her own death. She wanted her last message to us to be one of comfort and love.

Mom liked songbirds and especially cardinals. She called them redbirds. She often wore a cardinal pin on her coat collar and gave my sister and me beautiful cardinal figurines surrounded with carnations, the State of Ohio bird and flower.

I had back yard bird feeders at the time that I enjoyed watching from the kitchen. On the morning after her funeral, I fed the birds and found the courage to open Mom's final card to me. I was overwhelmed that she would prepare a sympathy card for me to mourn her own death and I sank to the floor in tears.

As I pulled myself up by the kitchen counter, I looked out the back-door window and saw a college of cardinals surrounding my feeders. Cardinals are independent birds and do not fly in large groups, except in winter. I had never seen so many cardinals in one place. They were beautiful, like red jewels sparkling through a gray winter day, and I knew they were a gift from Mom.

Post Script eighteen years later: I still notice cardinals from time to time, although nothing matches the splendor of the original display. Now, whenever I see a cardinal, I smile and think of her. I am grateful to have an ongoing beautiful reminder of my mother's love.

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December~
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.
~Oliver Herford

Redbirds

Merlin

Merlin’s Gift

Merlin was a large majestic golden cat with a thundering purr. I found him when he was about three weeks old and bottle-fed him for another week, until he was strong enough to eat solid kitten food.

A feral tom attacked him a few years later and I found him unconscious in the back yard. I held together his open bleeding neck while I waited on the kitchen floor for a home veterinary service to arrive. He had surgery and made a full recovery. We had a strong bond—not many people bottle-feed their pets or must put pressure on their pet’s jugular vein to keep him from bleeding to death.

Merlin slept with me every night. He waited until I settled in, and then jumped on the bed to position himself against my legs. He usually purred us to sleep. Time passed and he finally succumbed to chronic renal disease at the age of eleven years, six months.

On the night after his death, I was deeply grieving for Merlin. Soon I felt something jump on the bed and settle against my legs. I looked but saw nothing. And then I heard his booming purr. As I drifted toward sleep, my heart was less heavy. I knew that Merlin had safely made it home. If this experience is in my imagination, well, God gave us our imaginations, too.

Jimmy

Jimmy's Visit

Jimmy appeared at my back door as a sickly stray kitten on my birthday. I opened the door and he walked into my heart. Best birthday gift ever. He died in 2024 from complications of lymphoma.

I had the privilege of living with Jimmy for 15 years. I knew our time together was drawing to a close and each day was a precious gift. I am grateful for our years of friendship.

Because of skilled and compassionate veterinary care, Jimmy's euthanasia was peaceful and gentle. He died cradled in my arms, surrounded by love.

Jimmy had the habit of quietly coming up behind me as I stood at the kitchen counter. I did not know he was there until he bumped my right leg with his forehead and my knee buckled. This was his way of telling me it was time to dine.

On the evening after his euthanasia, I was standing at the kitchen counter and thought I saw Jimmy in my peripheral vision. I looked in that direction and, of course, saw nothing. A few seconds later, for no reason at all, my right knee buckled, and I felt his presence. I told him that I loved him and he was welcome to visit any time. About a minute passed, and the sense of Jimmy being near was gone.

Was my imagination playing tricks on me, or did Jimmy's visit let me know that he was well again, and happy to be free of his broken body? The experience, real or imagined, comforts me, and comfort matters when grief is new.

Thank you, sweet Jimmy. You've left your paw prints in my heart.