Thanksgiving was my dad’s holiday. He loved Christmas, but Turkey Day was his vibe.
The year after he passed away, my mom found a video we never knew existed. My dad had set up a camera in the kitchen and recorded himself making his family’s traditional sausage stuffing, pretending to be Julia Child (voice reenactment and all!) while sipping Baileys Irish Cream out of a whiskey glass. We were all blown away. Not only did he pull this off, but OMG, it was hilarious! Like, how many glasses of Baileys did you have, Dad? I’m not sure he would’ve wanted us to find it. Then again, maybe he did, because every year since, we make his stuffing and have a shot of Baileys in his honor. That’s the beauty of remembering the little things. They keep their spirit right there at the table with us.
I always knew my dad had a sense of humor, but it usually hid behind his dad hat. For the most part, he was an all or nothing kind of man, intense in his convictions. And you never wanted to have a serious discussion with him before his morning coffee and cigarette.
It’s funny what sends us down memory lane after a loved one passes, especially as the holidays approach. For me, the holidays are when I miss them most. It’s an interesting place to stand as a medium. I know my dad is there, experiencing things right along with us. But for those of us left behind, it’s just not the same.
My dad was never a big hugger or a love bug as I like to call it.So not him. But his presence in a room was undeniable. To be honest, I feared him as a kid. He made it very clear who was in charge. As an adult, though, I started to see him as just a human, like me, trying to figure it all out. Eventually, I stopped standing in the shadows and started calling him out. I’m proud of myself for that, and it changed our relationship. Those are my favorite parts to hang on to: the eye rolls when I knew I was getting under his skin and he wasn’t going to agree with me no matter what.
I think he even started to see me as an adult… “kind of.” As long as I wasn’t cursing or telling him he’d come back in his next life as a squirrel because of all the squirrels he shot in the backyard. In my defense, the man gave me a squirrel death toll every time I called. I’d say hello, and he’d say, “15 today!” I’m an animal person! What the hell?! (He hung up on me that day, for the record. He was so mad at me for saying it, but I’ll admit, I still laugh about it. Only fair!)
I was sure his sign for me after he passed would be a squirrel, but that’s more my humor than his. Instead, he sent the sign so many of us know: the red cardinal. I was driving on the highway after he had passed, thinking about him, and out of nowhere a cardinal flew right across my windshield. I just knew it was him saying hello. Now cardinals show up when I have a decision on my mind, or when I’m walking alone on a trail. It always brings me comfort knowing he’s letting me know he’s around.
These are the things our loved ones want us to remember. Not the pain, the illness, or how they passed, but how they lived!
Years ago, I did a reading where a dad came through with a message for his daughter: “Just because I’m not physically there doesn’t mean I stopped being your dad. I’m just doing it behind the scenes now.” My heart melted. Sharing love notes like that is one of the biggest joys of being a medium.
I’ll never forget being at the house when my mom was complaining about something my dad used to do. I leaned over and said, “You know Dad heard that, and he’s giving you the biggest eye roll in spirit.” It was so nice to see her laugh, because my dad was famous for his eye rolls. That’s what they want us to remember: the little parts, the bits in between.
So, if you have an empty chair at the table this holiday, set a place for them. Make their famous dish. Raise a glass. You already know what’s in ours. When we do little things like that, their souls know. They’re there with us. Even if we can’t see them, they wouldn’t miss it for anything.
It’s not the same, I know. But it can be a way of working through the grief, even if just for a moment. Don’t worry about putting on a game face or forcing yourself to feel festive. We all need to grieve in our own way.
Just know this, from someone who didn’t really believe in any of this years ago, and from all the sessions and experiences I’ve had with spirit since: they’re sitting right beside you. They’re just doing it behind the scenes now.