"Dad, Dad! Oh no, oh no, please, no," I cried, collapsing to my knees. My head spun, stars in my eyes, and I barely rose in time to reach the sink, retching.

The witnessing of Dad's passing hit me really hard, and deep pain gripped me.

The following day, I sat at the kitchen table with hot, salty tears flowing, my emotions uncontainable. Meanwhile, my daughter, Mollie, captivated by a little robin singing outside the glass kitchen doors, interrupted the heavy atmosphere.

With excitement, she called across the kitchen, "Mummy, look, I think the little bird outside might be Grandad." I lifted my tear-streaked face to observe the persistent robin, surprisingly tame and unafraid.

The little robin became a constant guest throughout the summer, nesting her eggs in a plant pot outside the glass kitchen doors. The routine of the bird caring for her young brought me some joy. In moments of sadness, she would suddenly appear on the fence, as if saying, “I'm watching over you, and you're going to be okay.”

I felt the little robin was a spiritual message, assuring me Dad was at peace. Though my husband playfully teased me about it, the strange events continued.

Following Dad's passing, curiosity led me to the local spiritualist church, attending the monthly Friday night gatherings with guest mediums. One particular evening, dressed in a distinctive red dress after a warm day's work, I opted for comfort in jeans, sandals, and a cool camisole top just minutes before leaving.

Libby, the guest medium, not known to me until that night, began the event by announcing a painting she had created earlier as a gift for a special person. The event was successful, yet no messages reached me from the other side. Hope dwindled as time ran short, my daughter seated next to me and another child of the same age nearby.

Approaching both girls, Libby inquired, “Which of you two little girls has a strong connection to Christmas with a grandfather figure on the other side?” The other child shook her head, but Mollie confessed to placing a note in Dad's suit pocket to express gratitude for the Lapland trip to see Santa, a special treat the previous year.

Imagine our astonishment when Libby presented us with a painting she had completed earlier that day—a beautiful image of a robin bird.

After the event, over coffee and biscuits, Libby said, “It's strange because I was looking for a lady in the audience wearing a red dress.” I gasped, replying, “I don't believe it; I've been wearing a red dress all day.” Libby nodded knowingly, pleased the painting had found its way into the right hands.

Since that day, whenever a robin crosses my path, I always think of Dad, feeling assured.

Today, I am no longer involved in any spiritism practices. I know it played a part in my path to finding the one true God.

Thank you, God, for answering my prayers.

To be continued

Dedicated to Robert Congreve Crossland - 20/12/1937 - 26/11/2011

Written by Lisa Precious- Copyright Reserved 

Read Part One Below

This Happened To Me:When Dad Died
Journey through loss, intuitive signs, and a surprising farewell call at a father’s funeral. A poignant narrative on navigating grief and finding solace.