Coming In Clear | Signs From The Other Side

When my daddy crossed, he came to say goodbye on his way to Heaven.

I was raised in a family belonging to a Catholic Parish (by reason of once-weekly religion courses).

Still, I had ditched beliefs associated with any one religion at a young age – especially those harboring untrue, prejudiced beliefs as a means to control.

I, like my Daddy, had innate spiritual ties to ~something~, a deep knowledge that there was more, and maybe I wasn’t supposed to know. I didn’t have much reason to think about it after an intuitive childhood gave way to the crush of adulthood, escaping deep grief until my twenty-second year of life.

In hindsight, my dad was the most spiritual person I knew, embodying the values of the Divine that I had not yet known to admire through a spiritual lens. He lived each moment fully and completely, forgave freely and apologized generously, and valued love above all. I have no doubts that he has found his peace, at least until his Soul decides it’s time to wreak havoc in a temporary meat suit once more (wait for me!)

I had intense spiritual gifts as a kid; I had vivid, astral dreams and knew things that I shouldn’t. I innately felt it was a part of me, like others could wiggle their ears, and didn’t feel inclined to practice it or speak about it. Somehow, as so many like me have reported, I lost touch with these abilities over the years, allowing stress and doubt to clog the channels.

Once my daddy crossed, though, the channel jolted to life; he must’ve used his energy to unjam every ounce of repressed trauma, denial, and grief – and untethered did it come! The moments and days that followed were the most excruciating of my life – and also, the most embodied. I became aware of the underlying sense that my dad’s energy was waking mine back up. Meanwhile, being back in my body granted me a front-row experience to the most devastating life path – and opened a line of connection between us unlike one we’d had on Earth.

I misinterpreted the very first sign I got from Dad, but I think he’ll forgive my optimism. Leaving the hospital on that first day, I noticed a message in the melting snow:

Spotting this heart through a face of tears and snot, preparing to call my cousin and inform her that the second-worst day of her life is here, I sobbed. I didn’t want to say Dad sent a sign out of fear of the implications (okay, so where is he that he can do that?), but I took it as irrefutable proof that he would be okay. At the very least, I knew he was around, here with us, helping me as I made the call.

That same day, I found an image of us from my senior prom with the most beautiful arcing light around us. It appears in every single picture of my dad and I from that day – and no other photos.

In hindsight, knowing that my daddy would never return to his body, I believe now that this was his first sign from the Other Side – or perhaps, the In Between – trying his hand at getting our attention. As far from the desired outcome I was hoping for that day as we are, I now know without a shred of doubt that this was Dad, this was his first sign of eternal love, trying his hand at our new language.

It is notable that I started dreaming again while Dad was in the hospital.

I stopped remembering my dreams in middle and high school, further exacerbated by my stoner habits after graduation. The sudden change in life routine, though, had me sleeping sober, and the dream world welcomed me back. Weird, vivid, complex dreams plagued my restful hours.

One night, the only dream about Dad I remember from those nights, sticks out in particular. In the dream, we were at my old house that my parents sold just under a year ago. Since then, this dream setting has become a key clue that I am in an astral dream and can become aware, though I hadn’t grasped that yet.

In the dream, we set the table for Sunday dinner, with the head of the table empty for Dad. We were all aware, dream-speaking, that he was in the hospital and not doing well, but I knew a secret: he was coming home. A knock on the door as the ziti was placed on the table, and euphoric shouts were heard that could come only from a miracle.

Dream-me knew it wasn’t real; I knew I’d never be in that house again, for one, and I knew I’d likely never see my daddy walk again in this life. I know Daddy knew it wasn’t real, too, that we were fulfilling a fantasy of the family that would never be complete again.

I knew that he knew that I knew, too, like we were playing these roles for them. Still, I sat back and felt the flow of relief, of joy, of love enter me as Daddy and I locked eyes, sending me back to the world without him.

A few days hung completely suspended above every possible timeline, feet dangling like a claw-machine prize, surprised to see it’s not rigged in its favor.Wait, this can happen to me? I’m only 22! He’s only 64!

My cousin, M, whose parallels to my own life are paramount, and with whom I have had a special (spiritual) bond since childhood, encouraged me to explore my spiritual beliefs again. I was hesitant, understanding logically why people turn to religion in times of despair, hating the implications, and fearing a downward descent into denial or worse – organized religion (jokes!).

One night in this time-warp, while my dad’s body breathed on a machine in the city, M and I chatted over Italian leftovers in the kitchen. She told me about signs from her loved ones, how she knows what she knows, and what I should look out for. A good friend of hers, a psychic, told her that our family’s previously passed loved ones were all with Dad, comforting him, supporting him, coaching him in this time.

I was comforted by this, and quivered regardless – does this mean he can’t come back? Not necessarily, she told me. He’s in-between.

In the midst of our conversation, the kitchen lights flickered – just the kitchen lights, while the TV and other appliances stayed stable. Before I could call attention to it, the lights went again – this time, clearly increasing and decreasing in intensity, as if someone were using the switch wheel. This continued for a moment, heightening our shocked yet knowing gazes at the communication.

M’s quick action to speak to the light-switch presence motivated me, comforted me. “Hi, Dad?”

As if on cue, the TV shut off, then came back on – but it did not reboot or reconnect in the way devices do after losing power. I joked that they must be trying to watch hockey, that would explain it – the TV turned off, then on, and behold! – college hockey lit up the screen. It’s so clear and obvious when retelling it, and I definitely experienced it as I did the traumatic events of the days before, though it sounds both so ridiculous and so obvious at the same time.

While my daddy was unconscious in the hospital, Harry Styles’ new album was released. Weeks earlier, this had been in a primary slot in my brain; now, it felt like another person’s interests in another realm. I asked the meat suits of the Internet for guidance on which songs to avoid in the current situation, then dove in, knowing Dad always appreciated Harry’s art.

I am normally turned off of songs named after someone (Carlo’s Song, Tim McGraw); for whatever reason, it muddies my personal associations and prevents me from forming a true meaning with a song. In this case, however, I was pulled to Carla’s Song, noting the similarity in title to Noah Kahan’s Carlo’s Song and wondering if they’d share themes of grief and change.

There is a bridge that leads to troubled waters /If you know, then you know /If you don't, then you don't /It's heavenly /From your head to your toes / Saw the light in the gold that you discovered / Through your eyes, in awe / Melodies like the tide /It's all waiting there for you

Of course, this song was long written and recorded when my family’s life changed. However, we’ve already established that signs (and the Other Side, in general) don’t adhere to any code of logic that can be understood by humans, even as it stares us in the face in all our Divine awe and ignorance.

Hearing these words for the first time, despite their vague images and ambiguous emotional tone, I knew it was from Dad. First, to state the obvious – my name is Bridget, and Dad called me ‘Bridge’ almost exclusively (if not ‘Baby’). Followed immediately by ‘if you know, you know’… a concept underlining the themes of parent loss, especially at a young age in traumatic and unexpected ways… then, a heaven descriptor and a confirmation that he sees me, he’s proud of me, and he knows about all of the amazing things waiting for me, in this life and the next, seen and unseen.

In the days that daddy’s body was still alive, this song came on at just the right moments – the first song that played on my walk around his housing complex, soaking in the unseasonally warm day without worryiig about climate change for the first time in years, pretending my life has not fundamentally changed, that a new identity would not need to be formed, that the worst was not pointedly sitting ahead, staring.

The song on shuffle after thinking “I could really use Daddy right now”… the song playing on my Instagram feed… the song that start as I arrive at my destination… the significance was clear immediately. I began to realize that no matter what way things went, my relationship with Dad had changed, and our communication was open in new ways. In fact, I almost felt more understood, seen, and in conversation with him than I had in the last few years, as painful and raw as that truth was in the physical of the situation.

When the faux-summer passed with our two-day reprieve from reality and landed us back in a meeting room with four neuroscience experts, the worst was once again revealed, this time with a glaring finality. One empty chair sat around the table, and I was too distraught to notice this, though I remember it clearly in my mind’s eyes. My partner, not an inherently spiritual or intuitive man, told me clear as day, “Kevin was in the room with us, in that chair, listening to the doctors.”

I knew it, too – Daddy knew now that there was nothing more anyone could do. He watched his children and wife realize the reality, understand the limited time, grapple with responsibility and decision that really wasn’t a choice at all, not if you knew my Daddy, even for just one chat.

In the days he’d been in the hospital, I had formed infinite timelines that I could learn to accept – I’d reteach him his left and rights, damn it, and wheel him to the bar if it means I can still talk to him, know him, laugh with him! Feeling these fragile realities shatter and fall away in one moment, as well as every reality I had ever lived in with him, was unbearable; he must have been there to shield me, or I never would’ve been able to walk out of the room. We stayed there for a long time, though, unwilling to face existence.

 “I love you, Daddy!” I shouted as we exited his room, planning to return tomorrow and the next day and the next, until we said goodbye.

I sat in the glass atrium for a long time after, watching the downpour streak the glass and wishing for a tornado. I watched the nurses and students and researchers go by, as normal a day as any; I watched the happy families with their babies and the elderly being discharged…why not my Daddy?

It was 9 pm on a Thursday in the northeast; for my family, it could have been any day at any time, the last day before an asteroid collision, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. That day, we were told without a measure of doubt (for the second time – apparently, there was room for doubt the first time) that Daddy would not wake up; he’s not in there; he’s not coming back to his body.

Even after a week of preparing for this reality and two weeks of knowing it was possible, the liveliness left us as though it would never return. How, oh wow, was it his this at the end? Such a smart, loud, fierce man reduced to wide gazes punctuated with beeps and distant footsteps.

The next time I’d be around my dad was hours later, as his Spirit passed through to tell me of the Divine Peace he felt, that he knew I’d need to hear, that he knew is my message in this world before I did.

It was 9:06pm when my daddy crossed – I was sitting in my car, absolutely sobbing while One Time by Justin Bieber played in the background. I didn’t know he was taking his last breaths, but he did.

At 9:06pm, he left his body and joined his brothers on the other side as pure light, departing this world at the symbolic time of his birth date (9/06). I hear you, Daddy. That message alone was enough to start me waking, though the pain confined me to the mind.

Before we knew, Mom’s phone ringing interrupted our anxious, pointless chatter. Without even noticing the caller ID, the air was missing from the room, sparking the fire of a new future. A primal instinct sent me down to the floor, fetal position on the kitchen tiles my dad had walked across just a few weeks prior. I didn’t need to hear what was said; we all knew.

Our sobs and gasps for air blurred together in the next expanse, the first moments accustoming to a world without my dad, half of my DNA, source of my life energy, primal supporter and protector… is gone. The only world I had ever known to exist in ceased to exist in a way the human mind can understand.

I don’t know exactly how long had passed when I felt him. We were huddled together – my mom, my partner, my cousin, and I, holding on for dear life, as if we could pull his living flesh from our skin. All at once, in the thick of this pain, I looked up at an empty corner of the room and felt an unfamiliar peace wash over me. The pain was still there, an unmutable fact of the human experience, but surrounded by a love and comfort so thick I could almost let it land on my tongue, swallow it whole.

Without thinking, in a hushed tone that may have been lost to the moment and was addressed to no one except the part of my being that knew I must note what is happening – “He’s at peace.”

I didn’t see his figure rising to the sky, I didn’t hear his voice whispering of angels in my ear – but in that moment, for the first time in my life, I truly knew. Not in a removed, ‘don’t-need-to-think-about-it’ way; in a deep, core I will see you again way.

Of course, this didn’t make the pain any less. Humans are notably inept at conceptualizing the afterlife or a realm of peace not dependent on time and physical presence. That moment, though, was a reawakening, and a powerful one – for now, this wasn’t just a normal sixth sense I possessed; it was an actual realm with my loved one, with a piece of me there, that I had actual stakes in thinking about and choosing to believe or not.

At the time, I still would’ve scorned my use of the word ‘Heaven’. Did I believe in some afterlife with a general feeling of peace, fulfillment, and love, ideally with other souls you’ve loved? Yes, absolutely, it’d drive me medically insane not to, but this was the first of an energetic opening triggered by unrelenting, cascading pain of life as a human, apparently now a preemie adult with one parent.

It’s been just over a month since my Daddy crossed now, and the world has opened up before me; I know I have Daddy to thank for my returned gifts and renewed perspective on life, though I wish more than anything this could’ve happened with him still in his meat suit, here, with our meat suits. The Divine doesn’t always work how we think we’d like it to. It’d be impossible to list every sign I’ve received from Dad – he’s one talkative guy, both on earth and in spirit – but here’s a piece of faith for those that need it.

The communication started quickly, even though I had prepared myself for an incubatory period. The strikingly appropriate ‘I don’t have to read your mind / you can hear it anytime’ began to resonate more as he seemingly was reading my mind.

I really need a sign from you, Daddy. Today is so hard, I’d think.

The very next song to play would be Carla’s Song, or his personal favorite Let It Be by the Beatles. Dad was a real music guy, especially classic rock, and he has been using this as his primary language, especially with my mother, who is slightly less intuitive to messages. This has happened so often with music at this point that I consider it a quiet day to not have some form of communication this way – which, spiritually and scientifically speaking, makes sense that radio waves would be an easier form of earthly manipulation.

He spoke to my mom rather succinctly:

Check ignition and may God's love be with you..../I'm stepping through the door /And I'm floating in the most pecuilar way / And the stars look very different today.../And I think my spaceship knows which way to go / Tell my life I love her very much, she knows...

I never get sick of hearing music from my dad, whether it’s a message or just a piece of his earthly loves entering my open window on a Spring day.

The most profound message from Dad (so far – he’s just warming up, I know it!) came just a few days ago, 7 weeks to the day of the start of this. I decided to take a walk on my lunch break, as the weather was beautiful. Ever since Daddy passed, the sun has followed me in a new way, always shining directly on me yet never blinding or burning; I know he can’t be the sun (if anyone could, it’s him), but I don’t doubt he’s sending me love that way. It makes sense to think about it – I may not be able to look directly at him from this vantage point, or feel his arms around me, but his rays are always there, no matter the conditions or time.

As I began my walk, the familiar chords of Let It Be graced my ears, and I smiled softly, sending a small Hello to my dad. From all the oldies he sang in the car and danced to in the kitchen, this song has always held so much nostalgia, love, and peace. Suddenly, a childhood memory came roaring to life in my mind: a Saturday drive to Wawa for slushies and hash browns, his arm around the passenger seat as he turns to reverse, his bright smile and deep voice singing, “Mother mary comes to me….”

Despite his lack of ties to organized religion, he brought his love for Mother Mary with him from his Catholic childhood. He always spoke of going home to Mary, Mary watching over us, the nurturing love of Mary….

I had never thought much about Mary, outside of the horrors of “they made a teenage girl do WHAT?!” At any other time in my life, the absolute power in this message would have completely gone over my head; I was ready, though, primed from returning to my gifts and researching the blank spots.

In my ears, as I heard, “Mother Mary comes to me, whispers words of wisdom, let it be….”, I locked eyes with a lone Mother Mary statue, small and strong in the grass of a lawn I’ve walked past dozens of times, and felt her to my core. The memory amplified in my head as a chill grounded me to the sidewalk, and I said, “Wow, Dad. Thank you. Message received.”

Before I could walk more than a few feet, my eyes fixed on a lawn sign a few houses down, the only sign on the street: GUARDIAN. It was, of course, an advertisement for home security, but the message was clear: MOTHER MARY. GUARDIAN.

Whether he hand-picked her for me or knew the whole time, I had my daddy and Mother Mary guiding my path, and this was one I just couldn’t deny. I did, of course, doubt myself and accuse my brain of spiraling into psychosis – but my friends and family validated the meaning and crazy synchronicity of the event.

Since then, I’ve seen references to Mother Mary everywhere – particularly in contexts that have no direct connection to religion. I’ve committed to further research about Mary and found I deeply misunderstood her and her story, specifically archetypal, and am grateful for the Divine Guidance and Redirect.

There have been many more profound moments – the lights flickering at my mom’s consistently (he wants her attention), the TV turning on (he loves TV!), and the deadbolt locking from inside the house when no one was home (he was supposed to fix the regular lock, too, but never got around to it. Silly Kev!)

He sent me shamrocks and four-leaf clovers. He delivered the same book into my hands, ‘Signs’, that his brother delivered to his loved one from the other side a few years ago. We discovered this parallel as she recommended it to me when I finally began reading it, which she had no way of knowing.

He helped my family open an “uncrackable” safe – either he helped from above, or he’s really pissed that we got it open. He placed his friends on Earth in my mom’s path to help her exactly how she needed it, and my cats (who loved Daddy) frequently meow at the spot he used to sit.

He has guided me to spirituality in a new way, showing me new ways of thinking and steps on my path that were previously hidden. His energy has revitalized me, and I know our energy will meet again in unrestricted form to reign unconditional love, support, and signs from that realm to this.

Just a few nights ago, I had another vivid dream. Once again, I was in my childhood home, and dream-me knew this couldn’t be. I recognized it as the cue that it was: my dad was cooking in the kitchen, bouncing in his slippers to scramble eggs, sprinkle cheese, flip a pancake. I took this opportunity to have the most beautiful conversation with him, and he shone light on some of the questions we’d been left with. “Tell your mom,” he said, “that I’m with her, too.” And so I did.

Knowing the power and love of these signs – and the very real afterlife that’s not so far at all – has helped immensely in my living, healing, loving, spiritual journey. It doesn’t, however, take away the pain – it reminds me why it’s worth feeling it, worth remembering, worth building this bond every day on earth until we meet again.

I love you, Daddy, and I see your signs. I’ll never stop accepting them with love.

---

Thanks for reading this incredibly vulnerable, special piece honoring the messages I’ve received from my father since his crossing. Grief/loss of a parent is a real sucker, and I plan to continue expanding Bridge the Gap in support of these values of love/healing/life.

Instagram: @bridgebtween / @bridgethegap.collective

Tiktok: @bridgebtween / @bridgethegap.collective

Podcasts: Bridge the Gap / Not Qualified 4 This