Whispers From Beyond
This week, I’m celebrating my dad’s birthday. It’s a celebration that looks different than it once did. There are no cards to buy, no calls to make, no ice cream or cake to share. But in many ways, this new kind of celebration is just as sacred, maybe even more so.
My dad passed several years ago, and for a long time, his birthday brought a familiar ache to my chest. The kind of ache that creeps in quietly, reminding you of the space someone once filled with their fist-pounding laughter, their voice, and their presence. I missed him deeply, not just on his birthday, but on all the ordinary days in between. But something has shifted in me over the last year. My relationship with my dad hasn’t ended. It’s simply evolved.
Grief is never linear. One moment you feel peace, the next you’re swallowed up by longing. But somewhere along this path, I began to realize that while my dad is no longer physically here, our connection hasn’t disappeared. It’s just… changed form.
Now, I talk to him in the quiet moments. I feel his steady presence when I’m facing something hard. I see him in the sky when the sun breaks through the clouds or in the way my own son or daughter laughs. I hear his wisdom in my own thoughts, reminding me to take the high road, to stay grounded, and to always choose kindness. What once felt like absence now often feels like presence, subtle, quiet, but undeniable.
This year, I’m celebrating my dad in a way that honors who he was and who he continues to be in my life. I lit a candle and spoke to him as I sipped my coffee. I looked through old photos and laughed at some of his famous stories and everyday phrases. I let tears fall too, because love this deep doesn’t vanish just because someone isn’t here in the way they used to be.
And I’m allowing joy into the celebration. Because he would want that. I imagine him saying, “Go live. Don’t get stuck in the sadness. Carry me in the good stuff.”
In the early years of grief, I often felt guilty if I laughed or felt lightness on a day meant for remembrance. But I’ve come to understand that celebrating his spirit without being consumed by sorrow, is one of the greatest ways I can honor him. Plus our relationship was always surrounded in laughter, playfulness, and joy.
Missing him still hurts, but being sad doesn’t serve me in the long term. Joy does. Living fully, loving deeply, and noticing the beauty around me that’s what he would want. My grief has softened into something more whole. Something rooted in love rather than loss.
I don’t need to see him to know he’s still part of my life. And honestly, that realization has brought me unexpected comfort. It’s taught me that death may change the shape of a relationship, but it doesn’t erase it.
So, this week, I’m celebrating not just the man he was, but the deep connection that remains. One that shows up in signs and whispers in memories and in my own becoming. Because I carry him with me. Always.
If you’ve lost someone you love, I see you. Be gentle with yourself on the anniversaries, the birthdays, and all the tender days.
Maybe take a moment this week to celebrate their spirit in a way that brings you peace: light a candle, cook their favorite meal, or write them a letter. You’re allowed to grieve and celebrate. You’re allowed to feel joy again. So, if you’re hearing whispers from beyond know your loved one is near.
XO Sheryl
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