Thoughts on Dad

The morning that my Dad died, Cath was sitting in the studio and she noticed a small bird that she had not noticed in our garden before. It was a small black bird with a brilliant orange beak and orange tips on its wings.

At about the same time I was looking out at the front gardens and noticing all of the new blooms and for a moment I was overwhelmed with such a strong sense of my Dad's presence that I knew at once that my dreams of bringing him to Mexico, where we live now, had become a reality. He was here with us. He lingers still.

I recognize that my Dad's body was worn out and that try as he might to keep it functioning it became increasingly harder for him to maintain his life's work as husband, father, grandfather, friend, advisor, caretaker and so many other roles that he played throughout his life. It was time to give up his earthly existence so that from heaven he might still watch over all of us.

With his passing those of us whom he loved without reservation are charged with the simplest task of keeping his spirit alive through remembering. Memory will be aided, if we allow it, by the feeling of that first warm breeze of spring on our faces as we look towards the sunshine, the source of all renewal. He will be behind the force that stands the hair on the back of your neck when you witness extraordinary, often impossible, events that have the capacity to move the human spirit in solitary celebration. I believe that these moments are gifts of life sent to us by those departed souls who have loved us in life. They are sent in forms that the muses of music, poetry, art, and humor would approve to still us for a moment as we absorb the message: I am still here.