It'll Be Okay
It was not a particularly terrific day 11 years ago. My father had passed away two months prior. I had lost two beloved dogs within 4 months, Bear, my chocolate lab, and Sage, my Golden Retriever. Bear had died from a long battle of kidney failure, Sage was 15. My marriage had become intolerable with alcoholism.
Millie, Farah and Marco (my other 3 labs) were sitting in the kitchen while I was fixing my lunch, numb and crying. I split an avocado, put it on my plate, poured olive oil and balsamic vinegar into the pit holes, then added salt and pepper. I turned to tend to a half sandwich on the cutting board, then turned back to see this goofy face staring back at me. I stopped cold, then burst out laughing.
…I mean come ON, look at that face?! Even the tooth, a reflection from the overhead kitchen light. The olive oil and vinegar had spilled over and drizzled onto the plate to form this perfect, comical face.
I stared at this accidental creation. Then realized, this was no accident. I thought maybe it was my father reaching out, but who knows. I do remember hearing distinctly a gentle thought or voice, “All is fine, Vic. And all will be fine.” And because of who I am, it needed to be humorous so I’d pay attention. It worked. How could I not pay attention? That face is hilarious and sweet. Obviously, I took a picture of it and kept it all these years as a daily reminder the Universe is interactive, I just needed to be open to it. I’m sure many things like this had happened already, but I most likely missed every effort in communication to make me smile or put me at ease.
Since then, I consciously try to stay awake, “not go back to sleep.” I’m given a spectacular sunrise on a grief-stricken morning, or I’d be driving along, having a particularly difficult day with Mom, crying even, and one of my Dad's Med Express vans would be stopped ahead of me at a stop light, or one of my Golden Chain trees would bloom earlier than other ones. On every occasion, that same specific, gentle voice would tap me on the shoulder. I knew these things were more than, “Gee, isn’t that pretty…” or, “Wow, what a coincidence…” No, I knew the Universe or something, or God, or someone was telling me that “All is okay. All will be fine.”
Even in the midst of our difficult and very full day of caring for our loved one, it is so easy to not look up or not have peripheral vision. But today, take care. Be open. Look around. You just may get a “hello” and an assurance that all will be well. Try not to miss it.
What Is True For Me: The door between the worlds exists because these interactions take place at any time, whether I’m sad, or having a great day.
Matter of fact, last Saturday I had gone to the Air Races. One of my favorite planes, a P-38 was present. I haven’t seen a P-38, much less see one in the air for over 15 years. Unfortunately, “Louise” was grounded, in need of a part. Usually I attend the Air Races only one day, but early Sunday morning, 9 T-6’s flew over my house, all lining up with the pace plane to head into the Stead Air Field race course. I absolutely could not stay home. I threw on a hat, flew out the door and headed for the Air Races for an unprecedented second day. Guess what got fixed and flew? My precious P-38. And it flew with a USAF A-10. Ever seen a grown woman cry at war birds in the air?
My home’s location happens to be directly below the flight pattern for the race planes. I did not know this at the time I purchased my house and I’ve been an avid Air Race fan for over 50 years. So, for a full week prior to the start of the Air Races, I sit on my deck and watch the race planes fly over my house, all lined up in horizontal formation, headed in for their qualifying runs. How cool is that? And no, I don’t consider my house location a coincidence.
Too many times I’ve been given a gentle, loving whisper from the Universe that I can’t help but take notice. And I can’t dismiss it as coincidence either. It’s taken a few years, but now I do believe the door between worlds is round and open. So nope, I will never go back to sleep.