For most of you who know me, you know that I am not sceptic about life after death, ghosts, and things to that nature. Some may think I am nuts which is perfectly ok since sometimes I am...LOL! Honestly I really do not care about the negative opinions of others at this point in my life. What I care about is what I feel, experience and what is real to me.
Sitting here on my laptop working on my website, the room suddenly got 'still'. Yes, that is the only way I can describe it and no I am not drinking. I stopped typing only to feel like someone was blowing cold air on the right side of my body. And, it lasted for well over 10 seconds. Of course I am looking at everything that could be moving because of this 'wind'. However, the only thing moving was the hair on my arm. (Two of my cats were also on my bed....not even flinching.) Now my thoughts wander to ....which one of you is it this time? Yes, I do know that I am guided through life by all of my loved ones who have passed on. They let me know all the time that they are there. Consider me lucky since I am at peace with the idea that they are not really gone from me. Not many people experience the feelings I get, which may scare some people. I absolutely live for it. It makes me aware of the fact that death is not the end. It is just the end for our bodies.
I am trying to become more aware of their presence by stopping the moment I feel something instead of going on with whatever I am involved with. I take the moment to thank them and make them aware that I know they are there. Lately my grandfather has been speaking to me through the gift of writing. I actually forgot how good it feels to just sit down and write about my day. My grandfather was ALWAYS writing; stories, poetry, letters, you name it. I was the lucky one who inherited all of his writings. Most people would just toss it all aside, maybe even throw it out. Me...well it took me about 5 years to actually read it....mostly because it made me cry everytime I did. When it came down to it, I missed him. This Christmas I decided to open that drawer full with the memories, love letters and poetry that filled my grandfathers life and do something creative with it. This is where my scrapbooking comes in hand. What am I going to do with the piles of paper in my hands, most in which I could not read. Some were faded, disinigrating in front of my eyes because they had aged. Mostly I could not read some because my grandfather had the worst handwriting. Lucky for me, some were typed.
My wonderful neighbor Diane came rushing over when I asked her for help reading these. I needed an extra pair of eyes....at least. Once I photo copied some originals that I knew would never make it a couple more years, I had gathered enough to complete one full scrapbook for my father. The poems and letters that were hand written I typed up so that they were legable. In the scrapbook album I included my typed version and a photo copy of my grandfathers. My feelings are that it is always a gift when you see the handwritting of a love one who has passed.....even if you cannot read it.
There are no pictures in this book. Really, you do not need any. When you read my grandfathers writing, you see, feel, smell, and taste everything he writes about. Don't worry, he did write about food since he went out for dinner every single night. How he lived to be in his 80's I can say must have been his one true love. It certainly was not his diet.
I did manage to make a scrapbook for my brother as well. They were not identical but very much alike. I knew that he would appreciate the gift just as much as my dad. On Christmas day, the scrapbooks were one of the last two gifts given out. I had my dad and brother open them at the same time. I was not surprised when my brother busted out in tears. However, I was surprised that my dad reached for his hanky...ya know, red bandana in the back pocket. I swear he has had them all his life. It takes a lot for my father to cry....or at least in front of anyone. I look around the room to see everyone has tears but no idea what my dad and my brother had received. See, in my family once one person cries you can pretty much bet that most people in the room will join them....or leave. When my brother said the words, "This is a scrapbook of my grandfathers unpublished poetry"....the tissues started being handed out. Both of them thanked me in their tearful, shaky voices. I know they will appreciate it even more once they read it all. One of the poems my grandfather wrote was from 1939.
Now, the spiritual side to this is something my father told me and my neighbors a few days after Christmas. We were sitting at my neighbors table when Diane asked my dad if he liked his gift. My dad responded by saying that it was the best gift ever....wow, I didn't expect that! Anyway, he mentioned that he still could not read it because it was still to painful for him. However, he did manage to read the first couple in the book when he first opened it. My dad proceeded to tell us that a couple days before Christmas he decided to route through some of my grandfathers poetry...I am thinking....THERE'S MORE! Dad was specifically looking for a certain poem titled I'm Goin' Down to Wassergass. Despite his efforts, he could not find it and gave up looking. Then comes Christmas day. My dad opens his scrapbook to see that the first poem in the book is titled, I'm Goin' Down to Wassergass.
In closing, I will say that your loved ones who are no longer here on earth, speak through you...if you listen. My grandfather had everything to do with me putting that poem first in that book. He knew my dad was looking for it.