Scrabbling around for my vibrating mobile, whilst Mr T rings me in a rescue attempt to locate my frustratingly silent phone, I have a thought. I’m drawn back to the words of the medium, telling me that Dad likes to move things to let me know he’s near. Finally, I legitimately have someone to blame for never being able to bloody find anything … thanks Dad!
Last weekend I had a psychic reading (challenge #74 complete). I’d met the medium at a spiritualist church a few months ago when she picked me out from the crowd, to tell me about my dad’s penchant for classic cars and his habit of sitting in the passenger seat as I’m driving. I’d been planning to book a reading ever since.
She arrived with ribbons and cards, though not the celebratory kind, and a warm composure. The reading flowed with ease and she spent much of the time communicating messages from my Dad.
Warm tears inevitably trickled down my cheeks and I was relieved someone had come prepared when she pulled a pack of tissues from her bag. I guess she gets that reaction quite a lot.
There were so many messages she left me with, but the most crucial was affirming that he is still so close. How he spends time watching over the grandson he adored and how he likes to stroke my hair when I wear it down. Knowing that he isn’t missing the life we still have in this realm, watching his grandson grow into the formidable character he is becoming, is reassuring and heart-warming. Oh, and I’m glad you like my new bedsheets Dad!
As my son looks up into the dark Parisian sky, he points and shouts, ‘ Look its Grandad. That star up there.’
‘No darling that’s an aeroplane,’ I respond.
‘No, not that one, the one underneath. It’s a shooting star.’
‘No it’s flashing, that’s an aeroplane too,’ I chuckle.
But I love the fact that my son thinks of his Grandad being a star in the sky, watching over us. He was my star throughout life and I now seek comfort in the night-time stars, as they shed a fatherly twinkle of love down on us.