This blog is an excerpt from my earlier blog Telepathic Communication from a Soul at the Moment of Passing Over.
I have decided to re-post this excerpt as today is World Suicide Prevention Day.
I will blog more in the future about suicide in the spiritual context, as any suicide has a ripple effect that impacts on many more people than a death by most other means does. And suicide still carries some taboos, particularly in Western societies. However, I believe that this is not the case on the other side.
Without further ado, here is a very personal story about how my life was impacted and forever changed, when a loved one of mine chose to end their (physical) life by suicide.
In opening, let me share a quote of John Cali, Channel for Chief Joseph, in the ground-breaking documentary Tuning In Movie.
Every death is really a suicide—because nothing can happen to you vibrationally that you are not a party to…
I have had many challenging years—because I have chosen to take on many challenging experiences in this life. But 2005 was full-on.
Shortly into the final quarter of 2005 my dad completed suicide. And with this event my life changed indelibly.
Holding it together and toughing it out no matter what life threw at me was about to change—I was about to change.
I mentioned my floodgates opening in my mid-20s in an earlier blog. But in the months and years after Dad’s suicide, in my early 30s, not only did the floodgates open—but my wounded soul surfaced.
Dad’s suicide was like the faucet opening on a tap of grief that ran so deep—I didn’t know when it was going to end. At some point, I wasn’t sure if it was ever going to end.
But experiencing and overcoming grief and loss—as well as understanding and healing soul wounds—will be the topics of future blogs. For now, let’s rewind to just before my dad completed suicide…
In the days, even weeks, preceding Dad’s suicide I was aware of myself spiralling emotionally. On the surface, there were a lot of contributing factors. Debilitating injury following a car crash that might have claimed my life. Surgical operations and the undesirable effects of a cocktail of medical drugs that go with them. Workplace bullying. Temporary residency contingent on the continuation of specific employment. Dengue fever. The strain of having a romantic partner the other side of the world who just wasn’t coping as well with the geographical distance and enduring the temporary, but necessary, time apart as I was.
Each of these circumstances can, in and of themselves cause depression!
And, in the bliss of falling in love and into a new relationship, I had forgotten to take the anti-depressants that I was briefly on—not because I wanted to be, and not because I felt I needed to be—but because the workplace injury protocol required that I followed doctor’s orders and see a psychiatrist when I was exhibiting some symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)—something the bureaucracy had prematurely ticked off as being nicely and neatly averted following the workplace motor vehicle accident I was a passenger in. (Unfortunately for me the only shrink in town was classically Freudian and old school—but thankfully for me he was living on his own precipice and suddenly disappeared from his practice, going “walkabout” for an indefinite period of time, leaving his receptionist in the lurch to cancel all future appointments. I felt sorry for her, as she seemed to have no job security, but I was mightily relieved that I didn’t have to see him anymore to satisfy the workplace paper trail!)
So it was in September 2005, without the numbing effect of anti-depressants, I was spiralling emotionally, and it was escalating. I was in a fear-response—it was fight or flight survival mode. I just knew something bad was going to happen. I didn’t know what exactly, but I recall some sense that it wasn’t directly about—or of—me.
Then, just six days before Dad completed suicide, the penny dropped when he and I spoke briefly on the phone. Dad was unusually upbeat—chirpy even! This made no logical sense given the family circumstances at the time (details of which were not shared fully with us kids, but which intuitively I seemed to understand more than was actually spoken about).
Dad’s chirpy! What on Earth is he so upbeat about?
A memory kicked in for me from a movie I recalled having seen years earlier on TV. In this American movie—which I have searched for the title of without success—a promising high school student suicides, and his devastated mum confronts his psychologist and says something like “I know he had been depressed, but these last two weeks he’d been so much happier—upbeat even! I thought he was over the worst.” And in response, the psychologist explains that often someone considering suicide appears to be upbeat when they have decided upon their course of action—they can be calmer and happier because they have chosen a way out of their pain—rather than because they are freed from the grip of despair.
So, there I was, having a phone conversation in Australia, with my Dad in England who was being upbeat, in an out of kilter sort of way.
My last words to my dad were “Dad, you know I love you don’t you?”—words that I have always been grateful for having said to him at that time.
Dad went quiet and handed the phone to Mum, but I knew that he had heard me—I sensed that he had. (After the event I realised that he simply couldn’t acknowledge what I said to him at the time—because he didn’t want to be derailed from his path.)
I also sensed that Dad knew that I was about to call him on what he was planning to do —and I was—I was about to say “You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid are you?” But he wouldn’t come back to the phone. Instead he fobbed Mum off to tell me he was busy. (“Dad’s never busy, Mum, please get him back on the phone…” I said. It’s important, I think he may be thinking of taking his own life, is what I thought, but didn’t say.)
So, I was emotionally fraught and spiralling, I eventually learned, not just because of the range of tangible challenges in my own life, but also because I was directly experiencing my dad’s emotions energetically.
I understand now, what I had no real comprehension of at that time—I am highly sensitive to energies—I am an empath. (These days I know how to manage being an empath – someone who quite literally feels another’s pain and emotions energetically. Having the tools to manage this beautiful, but enormously challenging gift, has changed my life. But again, this will be the topic of future blogs.)
In the moments before my dad passed over…
Ceinwen had just arrived late that Thursday night to crash over at my place. We were only going to get a few hours sleep as we needed to set off at 3AM if we were going to be successful in catching flying-foxes returning to the colony after a night’s foraging.
I was trying to be present for Ceinwen – trying to listen to her making conversation with me as she sat to my right—but I couldn’t focus on her words fully due to a build up of bodily sensations and growing discomfort in my upper back and neck. I remember the intense feeling of my neck and jaw contorting, and the pain building up until the pressure felt like it was going to pop my head! And then, suddenly, there was a dramatic release of the pressure, and the physical discomfort dissipated.
In this instant I heard—literally heard telepathically—a heartfelt sigh of relief as my Dad’s soul said “Ahhh… That feels better!”
This was around lunchtime in the UK, and late night in Australia. Ceinwen and I set up the nets before dawn, and I remember feeling numb, and fumbling with a knot – feeling frustrated and focusing on the knotted rope while trying to hold back tears that desperately wanted to be allowed to flow.
After an unsuccessful morning waiting to catch bats, I drove to the office. I was never good at sleeping after night-time ‘til early morning hours’ fieldwork. (Tiredness would generally catch up with me the following day.)
I sat down in my office, and opened an unprecedented email from my sister. It read like a telegram “Awful news. Please call.”
I called immediately. But I already knew what she was going to tell me. I could see it in my mind’s eye.
I knew what had happened. I knew when it had happened. I knew where it had happened. And I knew how it had happened.
Mercifully, I also knew that I had experienced something that suggested that Dad felt great relief and release at the point of his passing over. Deep down I knew I had experienced something that meant that Dad’s consciousness was not extinguished when his mortal body died. But it was another four years or so before I truly believed that the soul lives on.
These experiences turned my world upside down in more ways than I can even begin to describe here. In addition to the devastation of Dad’s suicide and the ripple effect of a family of suicide survivors each falling apart in its wake, I tried to convey my knowingness to others.
And I tried to understand why—oh Lord please tell me why—I was privy to experiencing some awful events that I could not do anything to change the course of?
And so, it has been a tough journey over many years to get to where I am now—to understand the whys and the how, and to confidently express that the clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsentient experiences that I had then were real—very real. But blessings really do come from the most tragic circumstances.
I am very grateful for my Dad’s communication to me at the time of his passing over—at the moment his soul consciousness left the confines of his physical body. It changed my life and how I see the world.
On Suicide and Applied Suicide Intervention Skills Training (ASIST)
Late last year I undertook ASIST with Lifeline—using the program developed by LivingWorks. It was a hugely valuable experience, and I would encourage others who are interested in learning some skills to support people who may be at risk of suicide to do this training, or something similar.
Have you ever had an energetic experience or intuitive knowing about the death of a loved one? Has your life been impacted by the suicide of a loved one?
I would love to hear about your personal experiences in the comments or via private email.