After dad died, my family took a vacation to Turks & Caicos. It was only a few weeks after the death and though I really didn’t feel like a vacation at that moment, we had booked the trip months before and going seemed to be the only option. Dad’s long term illness took its toll on all of us and recharging our batteries poolside didn’t seem that far fetched of an idea.
Three days into our trip, it was particularly hot and even though I sat poolside under an umbrella shaded from the sun, the pool and the shade offered little comfort to me. I took my book and towel and headed back to our room. As I entered, the cool air hit me and the darkness of the room had me squinting and feeling around for the light switch as my eyes and body temperature adjusted themselves.
I spread out my still warm towel on the bed and lay face down, with my head at the foot of the bed. I opened my book to the dog eared page and continued reading where I had left off. A small movement made me look up, straight ahead of me, to the desk and chair that moments before had been empty. Now my father was sitting there, leaning back into the wood and wicker chair that had been pulled away from the desk and was now angled into the room. He was wearing the white short sleeved undershirt that he favored while alive and loose tan pants. His feet were bare and his legs were crossed, one leg and foot gently swinging up and down over the other in a small, relaxed motion.
I took in the sight. I stared. I spoke. “Dad?”
“You think you’re in over your head, but you’re not.” He said it so succinctly, so gently, so decisively. I remember thinking that I had to hear those words repeated.
I knew exactly what he had said but regardless, I said, “What?”
He repeated it in exactly the same way. “You think you’re in over your head, but you’re not.” He was still sitting there in that chair, foot bobbing, looking more relaxed and content than I had ever seen him before. His expression was serene.
The weeks and months leading up to his death were not easy ones. As his eldest child and executor to his estate, I had tried to do my best tending to all of his needs – medical, financial, business, family, and so on. It was exhausting and at times I certainly did feel in over my head. Days before this trip, learning estate law and how to be an executrix consumed all of my waking hours. But it seemed my father knew this, as his advice to me was fitting.
A noise distracted me from staring at my father and I turned my head to the right only to see the bright light of day streaming into the hotel room as the door opened and my husband and children entered the room. I looked back at the chair, still pulled out from the desk and angled into the room where dad had been sitting seconds before. He was gone.
I looked back at my family. “My father was just here.”
“Oh yeah? Why was your father here?” my husband questioned.
“I don’t know. He said something to me.”
Not usually very inquisitive or one to pursue a line of questioning beyond himself, my husband commented on how cool the room was and how hot it was outside and went in to take a shower. I remained a little shaken by the visit from my father, but life and young children have a way of bringing you quickly back to reality.
Later that night, I stood in the darkness on the lanai looking up at the black July sky. I was tired and full, having just got back from dinner after this long, hot, strange day. I looked at the stars sparkling and wished aloud that my father could send me a sign. I asked for just one sign to let me know that it was really him. I knew deep inside of me that my father would never do anything as corny or trite as a shooting star to confirm his visit, but I was just hoping for something to tell me that what I saw and heard in that hotel room was real.
I turned to hear the sliding glass door open and Chris stepped outside with me. I asked him “What happens when a shooting star…?” but I wasn’t able to finish my question.
“You mean like that?” he asked. I turned to see a bright greenish white fireball shoot across the sky from one side of the horizon to the other. We stood there in awe of the sight which seemed to go on forever as the object traveled across the sky. “Why did you ask me about a shooting star at that moment?” he wondered and I told him why.
‘You think you’re in over your head but you’re not” is simple advice. Its the kind of advice that a father might give to his daughter as a reminder for her to tap into everything she’s learned from him and everyone else that was been supportive in her life. Its a father reminding his daughter of her own strength as well.
In the 20 years since my father’s death, I have meditated on his post-mortem advice when the going has gotten tough. At times, very tough. I’ve even turned to it when it hasn’t – before particularly challenging job interviews, when I find myself in complex situations at work, even at the dentist.
So today I write to let you know, curious reader, that if you think you’re in over your head, you’re not. I promise you.
Geneiveve Kaufman Writes 