The date was March 5, 1995. It was a Sunday. I was living in a sweet little house in Memphis, Tennessee with my husband and daughter. It was a pretty spring morning, with sunlight streaming through the lace curtains in our living room windows. We had enjoyed a nice breakfast, and were sitting on the living room sofa reading the newspaper. Rachel, 5, was playing with a pile of toys on the floor. I remember how the light illuminated her golden hair like a halo.
I was overcome with a feeling. A rush of pure emotion so strong it made me gasp. My husband looked up from the paper, quizzically. "I am just so... happy. I have this feeling like all is well with the world. I don't ever remember feeling quite this joyful." And that was saying a lot, because there had been many joyful moments in my life up until this point. The feeling was so intense and overwhelming that I couldn't put it into words. I was ecstatic.
My father's heart had been troublesome for years, but his death was rather sudden.
The plunge of emotion, transported from the highest of highs to the most shattering of lows was an unprecedented plunge.
It was later that I had time to wonder... what caused that inexplicable wave of joy? Could it have been my fathers spirit passing by? A last visit? Was he on his way from home to whatever place he was going, just popping in to give me one final, lasting gift?
I'll never know. But I will always remember the feeling, gratefully.