My heart raced, even as I slept, reacting to the profound intensity of speaking with my father. He had passed away three years ago, and yet here I was, talking to him in my dream and once more a few months later. Throughout the years, dreams have come and gone — some delightful, others harrowing — but these encounters with my father transcended anything I’d ever known. They were raw and palpable, far more than mere dreams; they felt like visitations.
Dad battled Parkinson’s since turning 65 and succumbed to it at 78. His decline was cruel and unforgiving for a man who had always embodied strength and hard work. Though he respected religion, he was not a religious man. He would have readily dismissed the notion of life after death, believing that when you’re gone, that’s it. If there is any continuation after this life, he’d be the last person I’d expect to make contact. I felt confused because they felt real, but at the same time, they felt out of character for him.
Yet, I am convinced they were genuine encounters, not figments of my imagination.
What Do I Believe?
My own beliefs lie elsewhere. Having served as a Tertiary and Local Minister in the Church of England for 16 years before stepping away in 2017, I still hold a strong faith. I view death not as an end but as a transition — a continuation of consciousness, much like how Buddhism interprets karma. I’ve heard life described as a drop of water that rises momentarily and then returns to the ocean. In that light, I can accept that Dad might have visited me in my dreams, making those experiences feel very real. Yet, there remains a sceptic within me, pondering whether grief was influencing my mind, body, and soul in unexpected ways, causing me to dream thus.
Regardless, I was left feeling both unsettled and comforted by those experiences.
As if that wasn’t enough, weeks later, while visiting my mother, I stepped into the bathroom upstairs and distinctly heard him say, “Alright, Steve,” in that mild, sheepish voice of his marked by Parkinson’s. Again, I heard, “Alright, Steve!” as I returned from the bathroom, clear as day. Driven by conviction, I had to check. But, of course, no one was in his bedroom.
Then, driving home, I turned on the radio, and one of Dad’s favourite songs, “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers, played.
What a coincidence.
Signs or Yearnings?
When coincidences keep happening, they cease to be mere coincidences, don’t they? When each moment is steeped in meaning and realism, the line blurs, doesn’t it?
Is it the case I’m simply yearning for these connections? Are they the result of wishful thinking? I wrestle between the comfort they provide and the rational scepticism that questions how real they are. But then in end does it really matter? They serve a good purpose. They help me negotiate my grief.
I’d love to hear your thoughts, but for now, I’ll leave you with these words by Richard Bach, and if you like, the song by Roy Orbison, In Dreams.
‘One of the great cosmic laws, I think, is that whatever we hold in our thought will come true in our experience. When we hold something, anything, in our thought, then somehow coincidence leads us in the direction that we’ve been wishing to lead ourselves’
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