My father was an outdoorsman. He was raised on a farm in New Jersey and he loved to hunt and fish. When I was a kid, after we moved to Maryland, he liked to take long drives to look at nature. He was especially fond of the Black Water Wildlife Refuge in Cambridge. I remember driving around the refuge with him trying to spot Bald Eagles and Blue Herons and other rare birds that you don’t see in the suburbs. I wish I could say that I appreciated it as much as a child as I do today, but maybe the fact that it means more to me now is the real gift.
He was an avid goose hunter, and I went on many a hunting trip with him up until my late teens. As I got older I realized that hunting wasn’t really for me; it was much more about spending time with my dad. What really sticks with me is his love and appreciation for nature, and while it might sound contradictory to some, I know he had a special affection for every animal that he hunted. Whether we were driving around Black Water, walking by the pond at the Lake Forest Mall, or just sitting in his back yard, he was always quick to point out a string of Canadian geese flying overhead. He told me that they made a very unique “key-honk” sound that could be heard from long distances. I never forgot that sound.
My dad passed away in 2007, and with that came the harsh realization that we will never speak again, or at least not in conventional terms. I can’t call him on the phone and he can’t call me. I won’t hear his voice again (except in my head) and I have nothing of him recorded or on videotape. I have some photographs and a few items to remember him by, but he didn’t leave much behind, and that can’t be undone. Shortly after he passed away I took note of the fact that I kept seeing strings
of Canadian geese, and hearing the familiar “key-honk” that reminded me of my dad.
I started to realize that I wasn’t just hearing and seeing Canadian Geese, I was actually communicating with him. Don’t believe me? Hear me out.
Before you think I’ve gone completely insane and I’m now channeling spirits from beyond, I’m not implying that the ghost of Don Tieff decided to possess the body of some unsuspecting goose and is now flying around honking at me. What I mean is this: my fathers love for geese, and nature in general, was impressed upon me when he was alive, and now I carry that piece of him with me; therefore, this is part of him that hasn’t gone away. While this doesn’t describe a normal conversation, or at least a conversation with words, I still believe we are communicating, and just because he’s gone does not make it a one-way conversation. Typical conversations between living human beings are subject to the boundaries of time, space, words, sounds, and expressions—while communicating with someone who has passed on, and whose subsequent energy has taken another form--is not.
It really doesn’t matter what religion or spiritual practice you adhere to, or even if you have no belief in spiritual matters at all, it is a scientific fact that we are all energy, and energy cannot be created or destroyed. When someone’s body dies their energy doesn’t die with it, it just takes on another form. I’m not going to claim that I know exactly what happens to this energy, nor can anyone else, but I do know that it leaves part of itself among the living in our thoughts, feelings, and memories—and these things are no less real than the body that once created them. Just because you can’t grasp this energy with your five senses does not mean it doesn’t exist. Any basic knowledge of protons and neutrons will corroborate that. Thoughts and feelings may exist on an infinitesimal level, but they are still tangible things.
A skeptic might say, “That’s a nice thought Dave, but aren’t you just remembering your father? This is not proof that you are actually communicating with him.” Here is what I mean by communicate: My memories of my father were created by the person that he once was, and now they reside in me as part of the energy that he’s left behind. His body is gone, but I still “speak” to the part of him that never dies, and it speaks back to me. Just because it is nonverbal does not mean we’re not communicating. I converse with the part of him that was left behind in me, and he hears every word I say, even if it’s not out loud. Remember, we are MUCH more than just our physical bodies. What we do and say reaches far beyond ourselves, and lasts long after our bodies are gone.
Whether you are living or deceased, you leave bits of your energy wherever you go (for better or for worse), and this does end postmortem. It is no secret that certain people throughout history had a greater impact on the world posthumously then when they were alive: Vincent Van Gogh, Emily Dickinson, Henry David Thoreau, Galileo, and Edgar Allan Poe just to name a few. They all left much more of themselves after they died, and they continue to do so today.
Here’s another example: Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a lifelong Grateful Dead fan (there’s got to be a pun in there somewhere). I was fortunate enough to see Jerry Garcia dozens of times while he was alive, and I was deeply saddened when he passed away. Lucky for me (and millions of other Dead Heads) Jerry left behind 30+ years worth of music; including recordings of almost every live show the Grateful Dead ever played since the mid 1960s. Not to mention his artwork, DVDs, interviews, writings, and other musical projects. Honestly, if I didn’t know Jerry was dead, I would swear he was still alive! For those of us who didn’t know him personally you can hardly tell the difference. Sure, I miss being able to go see him play every summer, but he left behind so much of himself that it seems foolish to say “He’s Gone.” His music still speaks to me the same way that it always has, the only that’s changed is that I’ve become a more intuitive listener.
I’ve always been comforted by the fact that by being a musician I will leave behind a lot for my family and friends to remember me by, but you don’t have to play music to leave a legacy. With modern technology it’s easier than ever to leave behind writings, videos, photos, poems, art, or any kind of message you can think of.
You can create your own virtual time capsule. I know I would love to have all of these things from my ancestors, but unfortunately I don’t. You can do future generations of your family a huge favor by recording who you are—so they will always know who you were. Who wouldn’t want to read or see a message from an ancestor from long ago? Maybe this is a subtle way to get comfortable with mortality instead of ignoring it, like so many of us in western culture are prone to do until we need to face it.
When I speak of “Talking to the Departed” it is not only the deceased I’m referring to. Have you ever had a conversation with yourself as a child? On a physical level, that child is gone forever and is never coming back. (In fact, the person that you were a week ago is never coming back. Many of those cells have died and have already been replaced by new ones). But that child lives on in your memory and the memories of others, and there will always be a piece of that child living within you—so why not communicate? Tell that child that you’re proud of the person they have become, and while your at it, tell the older You that you will do your best to make life easy for them when you finally meet up. It might sound corny, but I’ve been doing this since I was 10 years old and it’s amazing how the conversations have carried on. Writing them down and keeping a journal can have an even deeper impact.
Don Tieff was also a big car buff, and when he was alive he taught me everything there is to know about cars. Unfortunately, I retained NONE of it, and today my idea of “working on my car” is taking it to Jiffy Lube. My dad and I had many conversations that I wish I had paid more attention to, but now that he’s gone, I listen when he speaks. You may scoff at the idea that a honking goose is my dad’s way of telling me to slow down, appreciate what you have, and don’t make the same mistakes I did—but that’s what I hear every time. I know that’s what it meant to him, and the seed that he planted many years ago has now turned into a principal that I aspire to live by. If that’s not REAL communication then I don’t know what is. I’ll take words that speak to my soul over cocktail party jabber every time.
Maybe we should put less emphasis on the mundane word conversations that we have every day, and more emphasis on the non-verbal communication between animals, nature, life, or a departed loved one. I’m not saying that daily communication isn’t important, but I think we’ve been focusing on the waves and ignoring the ocean. There’s an entire realm of communication that we tend to ignore because we can’t see it or hear it; that is, unless we shut up long enough and pay attention. How much is said by one sunset? A child’s laughter? A babbling brook? A breeze through the trees? Laugh if you want, but I’m going to keep listening to my dad every time I hear a string of geese honking overhead. In fact, I think I hear one now. He must be telling me it’s time to get my oil changed.
