Two-way Street

December and January are the busiest months of the year for me. Of course there’s Christmas and New Years, and while I’m obviously not the only broke soul because of them, keep in mind, I have a ton of family to contend with. But it’s not the money, it’s just all so time consuming.

Adding to the strange mixture of holiday festivity and budget-busting shopping, this time of year also heralds no fewer than 5 close family birthdays and two death anniversaries. Most notably, December 13th was the first anniversary of my sister Margo’s passing. My wife’s birthday comes during this period, along with the birthdays of my mother, two grandchildren, one child, and that of my deceased father. That last one makes the heaviest impact; pulls at the heart strings pretty tightly; tends to move me in a prolonged contemplative way.

It’s because of my father that I began with this paranormal stuff in the first place. I first recorded EVP just to hear from him. I even wrote a book about it, and in many ways, I feel we’ve developed a second relationship because of it. I still quietly celebrate his birthday, and I talk to him regularly, but I’m way beyond needing his approval or partaking in any other psychological father/son thing – I just like the guy. He was a good man. In fact, I can’t even think of anything negative to say about him – he was a great parent, a fantastic role model, and someone I can’t wait to spend time with on the other side.

The fact that I started recording for EVP because of him, and was successful, makes the bond all that much stronger. If you asked me whether or not I’ve ever heard from him, my public reply would be an accurate “I don’t know.” But if really pressed; if we were in a locked room with thick steel walls and a polygraph, I’d sing a different tune. I’d tell you unequivocally that my father has indeed communicated with me often and that it’s been a huge benefit in my life. Knowing he is there allowed me to lose my sister with the certain knowledge she was going to be somewhere cool with dear old dad.

Mediums have described the spirit of a man who follows me everywhere. They’ve said he’s very proud of me, and appears to hang on my every word – “he beams,” they say – he’s very pleased with his son. Again, my public response to such things is to dismiss them out of hand with great amusement at the prospect of such obvious silliness. But likewise, again, I would secretly tell you that it pleases me no end to know he’s around, because I totally believe he is. I saw him twice during the first few months of his transcendence. Both sightings are very easy to dismiss on any number of levels, but the next time we enter that steel room, I’ll tell you all the details.

I’ve learned a great many things from my association with the spirit of my father. I give him almost all the credit for changing certain things about me. I think I’ve become a better person because he’s around and beaming over my shoulder. I feel his presence almost everywhere, and I often think twice before I do something just to make sure he would approve. Sometimes the deceased continue to help us in spite of the circumstances. I’m convinced of it.

I don’t care if the paranormal is real or not. Of course I think it is, but I like what this search for the afterlife has done for me and to me. I like the different point of view it’s provided, the way it’s opened me up, and how I’ve become more tolerant; more understanding; deeper, and I think I have a better sense of “what it all means” on a purely personal level. Most of all, I like pausing every January 12th to pay homage to dad – the only present I need to find is a way to remember. Frankly, it’s sort of like a retreat when you need one the most, but predominantly, it reinforces the knowledge that love is forever a two-way street – no matter how far you have to travel. I feel like I’ve got a lot more traveling to do too. It’s nice having company.
Voices From Forever by Randall Keller Available on Amazon
There Is No Silence by Randall Keller Available on Amazon.


2 responses to “Two-way Street

  1. You’ll never know how deeply this post affected me. My father died on January 29th, 1977. I was nine. I didn’t know him well because my parents divorced when I was just two. (I remember a handful of parental visitations, usually supervised.)

    As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve found out that I’m much more like him than my mother. I miss him terribly. Or perhaps it would be better to say I miss an idea of him.

    It always gets bad at this time of year because the winter weather literally killed him. (Well, that and the liquor.) It’s probably not surprising that I have all sorts of fear wrapped around snow and ice and cold. When the weather turns, I think about him and what happened to him daily.

    I wish I had the same sense of ‘father’ that you have. You’ve been blessed.

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