It had been nearly two years since Dad passed away, but the wound was still raw. I thought time would dull the ache, but the absence of his presence felt as sharp as ever. It was during this time that I interviewed a medium for a story, a piece on the rising trend of people seeking solace in the supernatural. The interview was fascinating, filled with tales of ethereal whispers and ghostly apparitions. Afterwards, over a casual lunch, the medium offered me a reading.
Skeptical but curious, I agreed. I made it clear I wouldn’t confirm or deny anything he said, keeping my emotions and expressions guarded. I hadn’t mentioned my father’s death to him, though it was possible to find out online since Dad had been a somewhat public figure.
The medium closed his eyes and began, “There’s a short, chubby woman with red hair here, saying ‘Ethel, Ethel.’”
My heart skipped a beat. My grandmother had been a short, chubby woman with red hair, and the spitting image of Ethel Merman. I kept my face neutral, not giving anything away.
He continued, “There’s a man with Ethel. He has a message for you. He wants you to tell Ruth that he loves her.”
A chill ran down my spine. My parents had been married for 35 years, their love the kind of fairy tale romance you read about. And my mom’s middle name was Ruth, a name only Dad ever called her. To everyone else, she was known by her first name.
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The medium’s voice softened, “He says it’s time for her to get rid of his neckties. Does that make sense?”
I was stunned. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Despite the passage of time, my mom hadn’t been able to part with Dad’s clothes. They still hung in the closet, untouched, a shrine to his memory.
After the reading, I called my mom. I relayed the medium’s message about Dad’s love for her, and she began to cry softly. “Oh, and you still haven’t gotten rid of his clothes, have you?” I asked gently.
Her voice trembled. “Actually, I cleaned out his closets and took everything to Goodwill two weeks ago,” she admitted. “But I didn’t tell you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “The medium said Dad said you could get rid of his neckties now. It was time.”
Mom’s sobs grew louder. “The only thing I kept was his neckties,” she managed between tears. “They’re still in his closet.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine. There was no way the medium could have known that. Not even I knew that. It was an eerie, unexplainable moment that left me both unsettled and comforted.
Christmas that year was bittersweet. We gathered at Mom’s house, the absence of Dad a palpable void. As we exchanged gifts, Mom handed my brothers and me beautifully wrapped packages. Inside, we found quilts made from Dad’s neckties. Each piece of fabric was a fragment of memory, a part of the man who had shaped our lives with his love and laughter.
Tears filled my eyes as I wrapped the quilt around me, feeling an odd sense of closeness to Dad. The neckties, which had once hung lifelessly in the closet, now held warmth and comfort. They were more than just fabric; they were the threads that wove our family together, even in his absence.
In that moment, I realized that the medium’s message wasn’t just about letting go. It was about holding on to what truly mattered—the love, the memories, and the bond that transcended the physical world. And in those quilts, we found a piece of Dad to hold onto forever.
Conclusion
As the months passed, the quilts became cherished possessions, draped over couches and chairs, providing both warmth and a tangible connection to Dad. The medium’s reading had given us more than a message; it had provided closure and a new way to keep Dad’s memory alive. Each time I wrapped myself in the quilt, I felt a whisper of his love, a reminder that though he was gone, his presence still lingered in the threads of our lives.
And so, Dad’s neckties, transformed from relics of the past into symbols of enduring love, continued to tell our family’s story. It was a story of love that didn’t end with death, but lived on in the hearts of those he left behind. It was a story of letting go and holding on, all at once. And it was a story we would carry with us, wrapped in the warmth of his memory, forever.
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