Signs.

Today I'm reprinting something that I wrote in September 1995. A fitting tribute, I think, because today it has been 18 years since I lost my dad.


I am a great believer of fate. In fact, sometimes we look so hard for something we almost miss the small miracles happening right in front of us.

Three years ago, I lost my Dad. It happened at a time when he and I had reached a common ground - we had become friends. I had spent years co-existing inside a tumultuous relationship with my father, thinking of him only as our family's disciplinarian and breadwinner. It was many years before we had any "meaningful" conversations but once we started, I regretted the years that I had lost. I looked to him often for guidance - searching for a new job, renting my first apartment, changing a fuse, or baking bread.

When Dad died, I spent a lot of time crying for the times that we would never have together - our walk down the aisle, his first grandchild..... Not a day goes by that I don't think of him at least once.

Everyone learns sometime during their life that grieving is never easy. Losing someone close to you means losing part of your soul. I held on so tightly to my Dad: all the memories, the feeling of protection and security, the smell of his aftershave, the look of a rare note that he wrote and most especially - the sound of his voice. My biggest fear was that I would forget his voice. For the longest time, I thought I could hear him everywhere. Now I have to sit very quietly and concentrate to recall something I remember him saying.

As time passes, I accept that I may not hear his voice any longer, but I have found a way to make peace with his absence. Slowly, I am recovering that lost piece of my soul.

Around the time I was getting married, I became a little more consumed with finding a 'sign' that my Dad was watching over me. I kept thinking he would send me some sort of indication to let me know he was with me. Two nights before my wedding day I cried for all of the things I could never share with him. I wanted so desperately for him to see me get married and to be a part of the most important day of my life. So I looked everywhere for him.

Someone set a stolen car on fire just outside the house. But it wasn't a sign from him.

The cold weather gave way to a perfect Indian summer day for the wedding. But it wasn't a sign from him.

A wild rabbit showed up at our ceremony. But it wasn't a sign from him.

I just kept watching for something, anything, waiting to feel his warmth. And so I was married. And it was the best day of my life. By the end of it, I had stopped looking. I wasn't sad. I wasn't even disappointed. I felt sure that he was watching and I hoped that he had sent a sign even if I had missed it.

It was chilly and rainy the next day as my new husband and I prepared to embark on our honeymoon. Late that afternoon after we had said our last thank yous to friends and family, we were in the car ready to leave when my father in-law frantically waved to us and pointed towards the sky. We stopped the car, stepped out, and looked up. There above us was a beautiful, clear, double rainbow. Two full bands of colour - end to end. Tears rolled down my face. I felt the warmth. It was the sign from him. A gift from my Dad. It took my breath away.

As we headed out of the city, we stopped one more time at his grave, to leave a keepsake from our wedding. And as we stood there, encircled by a brilliant pink sunset. I felt, once again, finally and completely at peace.