All Around My Island

Over the weekend, Bryan and I watched the movie “P.S. I Love You”, which pales in comparison to the book (as is usually the case), but that’s beside the point. During the special features, they interviewed the young author and inquired about her inspiration for the novel. Her answer was, in acknowledging a fear of losing her loved ones, the thought occurred to her that it would be wonderful if those we care for could continue to communicate after his/her passing. Since my father died almost eight years ago, I have learned from experience that, while my family didn’t receive letters like the story above, he has communicated with us on multiple occasions.

One that has a prominent place in memory took place a few Christmas’s ago … My mom had just returned from spending two weeks in the Mexican sun. She was rejoicing the holiday that was fast approaching, and her recent voyage had allowed her the luxury of purchasing a good portion of her gifts while enjoying the rejuvenating change of scenery. Shortly before she was due to depart for the festivities taking place at my home, she called with a mixture of sadness and disappointment saturating her voice, like the sudsy sponge that remains in the sink basin long after the water has been drained away.

After inquiring about her current state of despair, I learned that she had misplaced one of my Christmas gifts, her favorite one, and she and my brother had spent the better part of two hours turning her house upside down in search of it. I gave the typical lost item advice; retrace your steps, look here or there, stop looking, as it’s probably right under your nose, and so on. It felt as though it took hours to convince her that I understood her disappointment (I love giving people their “da-ta-da-da” present), but that I was more interested in her presence than presents. Then, just as we were concluding the conversation, a though popped into my head with crystal clarity … she needed to ask my dad for assistance. I had done this very thing on multiple occasions in the years after his passing for a myriad of reasons, and, though the results were not always immediate, he had always come through for me.

This time the results were almost instantaneous. The bubble containing her plea for help was not quite fully formed when it collided with the exclamation, “I found it!” There, lying in the middle of the floor, were the earrings I would receive a few hours later. Both she and my brother vouch continuously that could not possibly have been there before that moment due to the fact that they had crawled over that same area a multitude of times in order to peer beneath the surrounding furniture. Once again, her husband, my father, had reached out to us from his cozy place above, reminding us that we were not alone.

Although those we love may leave this plane before we are ready for their departure, and, unfortunately, don’t leave letters to be discovered in times of necessity, they do communicate. They continue to give little signs of hope, comfort, and love; you just have to know what you’re looking for.