Twenty-four-years ago this month my father passed away. Unlike most people, I had to experience his loss twice. When I awoke up from my accident I kept asking where he was. I didn’t remember that he’d passed away four years before. Not only couldn’t I remember his passing but, during my coma, I had seen my dad so clearly. I had felt his presence. I knew he was with me.

My family couldn’t bear to tell me that he had passed away. Doctors and rehabilitation specialists advised my parents to withhold the information; to allow those memories to return to me when… or if they ever would.

They did.

The memories slowly emerged from darkness, almost like a bottle that had risen from the great depths of an ocean, with the contents stoppered inside… safe and sound. I was a daddy’s girl, no mistake. I miss him but I have humbly and thankfully accepted the comfort God has offered me in my grief. And I choose to remember my father with great joy and happiness.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4  “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”