I think we often look for our transitioned loved ones in what we know of them — the chair they used to sit in, their voice in the car beside us, through the songs they enjoyed, the walks we used to take together. We search for the familiar in familiar places.
Recently, we were driving in Namibia, having to reroute around a fire, and my step-dad Jerry came to mind immediately. I was surprised because he transitioned out of this physical world twelve years ago. He had been a fireman in this life — maybe that was the thread. However, I'd seen fire plenty of times since he passed, so I found myself wondering: why here, why now?
The day before he transitioned is still vivid to me — the room felt so full, he was surrounded and held by transitioned loved ones and Spirit, supporting him through his experience. And then in his frailness, he turned and looked at me, and all I could see were those piercing blue eyes, full of joy and love. The soul that had been living behind the human named Jerry.
Honestly, there was a time when liking him took real effort. But as I and he grew older, he became an advocate for me — believed in me, sometimes more than my own parents did. He opened doors to new ways of seeing and experiencing the world. But the thread running through all of it, the thing that kept surfacing, was the joy he carried.
Sitting with these images, I started crying — grief I'd been holding onto for a long time. Looking back, I remember very little of what I actually felt when he transitioned — I remember the logistics, the moving pieces, holding space for my mother. I never gave myself a moment to let it settle, to feel any of it.
So, yes, those tears were the grief, finally arriving and maybe they were gratitude too — for the awareness he brought into my life.
It's funny how these things work. We look for our transitioned loved ones in one place, and they show up in a completely different country, or somewhere we never would have expected.
With love and blessings,
Susan