I was startled awake this morning by a vision of Steve reaching down to pick up our daughter in the aftermath of a little girl catastrophe.
The memory pulls at me like a secret, whispered in a language I do not quite understand.

I stumble out of bed, brew an espresso, collect tennis balls and Spike and try to ignore the very real detail that Sheri is overseas and the entire world is on fire.

It matters not that I am distracted or half asleep. Our tradition is to stop on the memorial brick path to the beach for a moment of silence in reverence for the beloved souls remembered here. As I lean down to unleash Spike, I read aloud the inscription on the paving stone beneath us:

“Dan —- September 16, 2010 – ‘Dad, I miss your strong shoulders.’”

My intuition is relentless.

My rational mind thinks it might be easier if messages from Heaven or the Universe arrived as ink on notepads or lipstick on the mirror.
But my intuitive moments – like this – nourish me, tickle every nerve ending awake and flutter kick at my heart. When I open myself up and make space my intuition is an excited puppy nipping around my heels to let me know in vivid sunrise detail that Sheri is looked after from Heaven as on earth.

And once again, life is rich and juicy and fascinating.

Deployment Note written to our then 3 month old daughter:

“One day your Mom is going to teach you about love and how to walk in high heels. I’ll teach you how to spit, shoot a gun, repel down a cliff and stare a boy down. Perfect these lessons and the world is yours, baby girl.  And when you’re afraid, just reach out. I will always be holding your hand.  Love, Dad” ~Steve Bukowski