Post-Death Communications: Receiving Messages from the Deceased
When a loved one dies, they usually visit us shortly after their death. Some call this a communication after death; I call it a rock star moment. This is your personal Big Bang moment with your deceased loved one. But please don’t despair if you’ve never experienced a rock star sign. Some people never do, or some get these signs years later. Personally, my biggest rock star moment was seeing my sister in my room shortly after she died. This jump started our initial communication. Maybe something similar happened to you, but you weren’t sure if it was real. Maybe you’re worried that you’ve ruined your big moment, that your window of communication has closed. It is not the case. You can start anytime by simply saying to your loved one on the other end: I miss you. I’m thinking of you. You are well? I’m here. Send me a sign. Let them know that you feel excited, happy, tired, angry, depressed. Whatever particular mood you’re in, share it. Ask (signs) and you shall receive.
Invite your loved one into your world. They have entered another and may be waiting for an invitation to return to yours. Trust the process and your communication will soon flourish.
Let me share a rock star example for animal lovers (that’s you, right?): Joyce and her family were obsessed with their only animal: a beautiful and vibrant German Shepherd, Leo. At the age of eight, he contracted kidney disease. It was a rapid and devastating decline that forced the family to put him down. Joyce and her mother couldn’t get over it. Although they were a spiritual family and knew that “their time” must have come, and even believed that they would see him again one day, their hearts and intellects were miles apart. Nothing seemed to ease his grievance. Even a year later, Joyce’s mother cried every time she saw another big dog. They wouldn’t let him go and had lost much of the joy of their family life.
When he was alive, Leo weighed 85 pounds and had a habit of pushing his heavy body against the sliding glass door of his dining room when he wanted to get in. It stood up on its hind legs and rocked the glass from side to side with its front legs. It was a loud bad habit, but they loved his energy and enthusiasm, and thought this was funny, marveling how the glass didn’t collapse.
Long after his death, Joyce was alone in the house, standing at the dining room table checking the mail, when suddenly the sliding glass door began to swing violently back and forth. Living in the Bay Area, he assumed they were having an earthquake and ran. But nothing else moved. Something whispered that it was Leo; he was trying to get your attention. He ran back inside and stared in amazement at the still moving glass. He knew what Leo wanted. He wanted her and her mother to get on with their lives, to stop crying. When her mother got home, she told her what had happened and they didn’t die another day. It worked. The crystal remained silent.
Letting go of a loved one is one of the greatest challenges we will ever face. We miss them, we want to freeze them in time and feel the comfort of their presence again. This, however, can freeze them both in place. Letting go makes room for evolution: of yourself, of them, and of what is meant to be. You can still communicate constantly. After all, they are with you day and night. But the grievance must give way to the celebration of who they were and continue to be. Letting them go is not forgetting about them, it is letting their spirit fly. In turn, they are free to love you, care for you and guide you.