A Request From A Father

Just a few days before writing this, I accidentally discovered a note I had written on a piece of paper on my desk while doing a quick cleanup. It was a reminder to write about an incident that happened eighteen years ago. I don’t remember exactly how or when I wrote that note or how it came to my attention that day, but I still remember all the details of that unusual incident.

It was late 2007 when I decided to invite a woman I was dating to my house. We enjoyed a pleasant evening together and had dinner. I felt drowsy after dinner, and I closed my eyes for a moment. Suddenly, an image of a man in his mid-60s appeared in my mind, standing on an empty theater stage. The scene was vivid and detailed, like a movie.

The man had curly, white hair, thinner on top, and wore a white cloak similar to those seen in ancient Rome. He looked at me for a moment, paused, and then repeatedly pointed backstage, signaling that someone wanted to come forward. No voice was heard, and it was all expressed nonverbally.

This vision was particularly significant, the most vivid of all my past experiences. It was a moment that would change the course of my life and my understanding of the spiritual realm.

I whispered, ‘Let him in.’

Surprisingly, I must have managed to make myself heard, as the man in Roman attire disappeared into the right wings of the stage and returned with another man dressed in a similar cloak. This man appeared to be in his late fifties, but unlike the first, he did not seem calm or at ease. He looked troubled and burdened by deep pain. His expression showed agony as he tried to tell something through hand gestures and sorrowful looks, but still no words came.

In my mind, I asked who he was. Although he didn’t communicate his message clearly, I sensed his desperation. At that time, however, I wasn’t capable of much clairaudient communication. His gestures became more intense. He pointed his finger at me, as if trying to communicate something urgent that words couldn’t express. All of this happened in the blink of an eye.

‘I see a man in my mind. He is pointing at me,’ I told her calmly. More than simply reporting what I saw, I was instinctively asking for help.

‘Really?’ she said in a playful tone, thinking I was playing a sort of game.

‘Yes, and he is pointing at me repeatedly. But I don’t understand what he wants.’ At first, she thought I was playing and asked me why the man was pointing at me, as if to continue the game.

‘I don’t know. He’s just staring at me and pointing. But this man doesn’t seem at peace. He’s trying to communicate something, but so far, nothing is clear.’

She must have realized it wasn’t a game anymore. Her tone shifted, and she began asking questions. I described what I saw: thick, shiny black hair combed back, a chubby face, a rather large chest with rather large breasts, and a mustache. She asked more questions, and I answered each one of them.

‘I feel this man is no longer alive,’ I said after a pause.

There was silence.

Intuitively, I realized that it was her the man was pointing at, not me. A sudden chill ran down my spine as I wondered what secret she might be hiding. I said:

‘I think he is pointing at you, not me. Do you have any deceased relatives who looked like him?”

My last sentence struck a chord. She suddenly burst into uncontrollable tears. She ran from the room. I opened my eyes and followed her, finding her digging through her bag for her laptop. She was sobbing as she tried to turn it on.

At that time, laptops took several minutes to start. I asked what was wrong, but she didn’t answer. She was lost in her emotions. Not being sure what else to do, I sat beside her, held her hand, and waited.

Finally, she opened one of her photo albums and showed me a photo. ‘Is this him?’ she asked, struggling to speak through tears.

I wasn’t expecting this. But it was exactly the man from my vision. My jaw dropped. For a moment, I couldn’t answer as tears filled my eyes. The truth was undeniable.

“Who is he?” I finally asked, my own tears falling, feeling deeply saddened.

‘My Father,’ she said with a heartbreaking sigh and continued sobbing. Years of suppressed emotions have poured out all at once.

Her words carried enormous weight. She began to tell her story. Her father had abandoned them when they were children to marry another woman. Her mother, filled with anger and revenge, had forbidden contact with him. The children, young and influenced by their mother’s rage, obeyed and cut all communication. This silence continued until his death. When he passed away, they refused to attend his funeral. His absence left a void that she had carried ever since.

Now the pieces came together. From the start, it was her that the father had been pointing to. He wasn’t at peace with his children’s rejection and wanted to end this long punishment. Through me, he managed to send the message.

She shared more details as she calmed down later.

At that time, my skills were limited. If it had happened today, I could have helped free him quickly and with ease. Back then, the only thing I could do was convince her to visit his grave to say a proper farewell. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Images of the desperate father haunted me—the years of waiting to communicate with his daughter, the agony of his rejection, the sorrow of the children, the mother’s anger, and the broken family bond. The father’s long, desperate waiting weighed heavily on me.

A few days later, she met her brother at the graveyard, and together they said goodbye to their father.

Afterward, I never saw her in person again. The emotional weight was too much for me to carry. We wrote to each other from time to time, but remained distant friends. I contacted her again after all these years. She told me she is happy and now living peacefully in a small village, raising her daughter.

Looking back, this haunting vision marked the beginning of my path as a healer—not just for the living, but for those lingering in the shadows of the afterlife. Eighteen years ago, my abilities were only starting to emerge, barely enough to guide her and the father toward closure. Today, I bridge realms with ease, freeing souls from unspoken burdens and helping to mend the painful fractures they leave behind.

The father’s request for reconciliation wasn’t just a message for his daughter; it was also a clear and powerful message to me. That night sparked a lifelong mission to heal unseen wounds. In helping him find his freedom, I discovered my purpose—and perhaps, in some quiet way, we all found peace.