Life and Death Unite in my Spring Garden

My Spring Terrace Garden Clean Up

Since my sister’s death I am often visited by her.

Have you ever had a dead person visit you?

It’s easy to explain it as wishful thinking. And, maybe it is? But the timing and unexpected nature of her visits lead me to think otherwise.

It can feel like she’s hanging out in the corner of a room witnessing my actions, (usually when I’m challenged by something or someone), and she chimes in occasionally to help center or advise me.

Other times, she suddenly appears as a large bird flying over head at a moment that would be meaningful to her. (Driving by her house, picking up my mom, leaving her thrift shop—The Very Sherry Boutique—now run by her best friend.)

The most intimate and recent way she visited was when cleaning up my terrace garden. (And, she had just flown overhead as mom and I drove out of the nursery the day before with new spring plants!) She always loved gardening!

I had many big brown bags from her thrift shop with The Very Sherry Boutique scribbled on them. I decided to use one to collect the dead plants that didn’t make it through the winter.

As soon as the bag was opened up and prepared to collect the prickly dried-out plants, there she was! But not at a distance, like usual. I could feel her steer my mind and body from the inside out.

• She reminded me of every tool I needed from inside, as not to make my usual multiple trips that traipses dirt through my apartment. I was so clear-headed.
• She directed me on how deep to dig the holes for the various plants, and I argued with her as usual, and she was right as usual. We giggled (as usual).
• She guided my hands when transplanting the young plants, tenderly splitting the root balls apart. She splits the roots a bit differently than I!

It was as if she wanted to feel the garden dirt through me.

She made me slow down, as not to miss the sensations my body was having. She reminded me that every moment of feeling life through my physical senses is fleeting. She reassured me, though, that death isn’t the end, but a new beginning.

She showed me that neither living or dying are absolutes. It is up to me to live fully enough—feel wholly enough—to bridge the gap between us. And so, I keep one eye open for her, and encourage my sixth sense to grow in the name of love. A love we did and didn’t share when she was alive.

Love is powerful. It’s an invisible gateway. It lasers through time and space, and is the most influential teacher of our Universe.

How have you experienced your loved ones after they’ve moved on? Please comment about it!!