One of my friends gave me a blueberry bush when my Dad died, over three years ago. This year, along with my two other blueberry bushes, it has gone crazy producing berries. I haven’t even fed them the acid fertilizer they love this year. For some reason they have just gone berserk. My friend knew that blueberries always bring up Dad memories for me. Picking them was one of the things we did as a family. We would go on a day trip looking for places to picnic, hunt for agates, and pick berries. Dad loved to explore the gravel roads of northern Minnesota and he knew how to spot a likely blueberry patch even from a moving car. As we set out on foot he would point out where bears had slobbered on the bushes and remind us to make lots of noise to keep the bears away. Evidently they weren’t likely to sneak up on noisy kids. We never actually saw any bears.
After Dad died I had some unsettling experiences where people told me they had felt his presence. The custodian who cleaned his apartment felt a touch on his arm that he was sure was Dad. A total stranger at a support group I went to came up to me after a meeting where I had shared about my Dad’s death. She asked me if “plaid” meant anything to me. Dad had several wool plaid shirts that he wore all the time. She told me that he was there and he wanted me to know that he was in a safe and comfortable place. I was flabbergasted. I am not one of those people who believe in that kind of other worldly stuff but I was kind of mad that Dad was obviously checking in with other people but not with me. I had not felt a touch on my arm or noticed his plaid shirted presence in the room. I wasn’t even dreaming about him, although I wanted to. Now I dream about him and my Mom all the time. My older sister who died in 1990 is in my dreams too as well as my twin sister who is still alive and well, living in Michigan. I love those dreams. We are usually all together on some family adventure, Howard and Inez and their three girls. The reality of my family was not always fun and pleasant and wonderful, but my dreams often are. I’m happy that I remember the good times. Yesterday morning I made my usual bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. I cook the old fashioned kind, not the instant pre-cooked variety. My Dad and I agreed that the instant stuff was for the birds. I like to put fruit in the bowl first. I was out of blueberries so I cut up some strawberries. Then I remembered my blueberry plants were producing like crazy and I went out and picked some from my garden. When I went back into the kitchen my bowl of strawberries was topped with three big blueberries. Where the heck did they come from? There were no blueberries in my kitchen when I went out to pick them. I tried to make sense of the random berries. Did I have a senior moment and put them there myself? I surely don’t remember doing anything of the kind. Was this Dad, finally trying to catch my attention? I called my sister. She agreed it was a Dad experience. I called a friend. She listened politely but it was clear she thought somehow I had put the three blueberries in the bowl myself. Now I’m afraid to tell anyone else. If I had been told this story I probably would be thinking more like my friend than my sister. I have contemplated this experience and decided that like any spiritual idea there is a leap of faith that has to happen in order to believe in something beyond our rational selves. It’s a conscious choice. It might be crazy but I choose to believe those three blueberries were a message from my Dad, whether or not I may or may not have put them there myself. Hi Dad!
1 Comment
Mary Blotti Anderson
6/6/2021 07:49:21 pm
Hi - yes, I believe. i think my husband moves things all th time. I laugh another has seen their late spouse
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Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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