With gratitude, I share below the beautiful, insightful words of Keith Boyer, as I know they will speak directly to your heart. I chatted with Keith on my radio show last August (a link to that recording is below), and had the pleasure of meeting him in person a short while later. Today he wrote to me to:
Suzanne, today marks the 50th anniversary of Dad’s transition, and the past few days I’ve been working on a celebratory/gratitude letter to him. Your inspired teachings over the past couple of years have tremendously helped me cement in my mind and heart forever the wonderful truth that my Dad and I have never been separated, and that there is a vastly greater reality encompassing all that is. To be given a glimpse of such a reality as a non-medium has been the real highlight of my life and mere thanks just doesn’t seem powerful enough.”
I send my gratitude to Keith for allowing me to share his soul’s wisdom with all of us. En-Joy:
Happy Anniversary, Dad!
“Happy” as a descriptor isn’t generally applied to death. Not in our
spoiled and materialistic Western culture, anyway, blinded by the
shine of gold as it is. But now, a half century later, thanks to you,
I see the Light and I feel you, everywhere.
When you graduated Earth School I thought my world had ended. Your
little buddy, your “George,” the last of the immediate breed,
lost with your last breath, never to be found.
Seeing the family gathered around the living room when I arrived home
that evening, their faces told the tale I couldn’t bear to hear. It
was no surprise, yet it was abruptly shocking. I was 12, you 42.
Your life’s mission was, seemingly, prematurely accomplished and
suddenly I felt older than time itself.
The boy was lost and no one could find him, not even himself. But
guess what, Dad?
I found a new me.
Not necessarily improved, at least not noticeably until many more
miles had accumulated on my odometer, but new and different, with
adventures that lay before me over roads that would take me places I’d
never before dreamed. I wandered aimlessly down Bereavement Avenue to
Terror Street, around Mystery Circle to Ecstasy Highway, and
ultimately arrived via Grateful Valley back to the Land of Love, my
birthplace, my homeland.
Your love was lost to me, or so I thought then, but guess what, Dad?
Others have taken up your love torch during my lifetime, often to my
utter surprise and always to my total delight.
To no one’s surprise, Mom — my heroine, my earthly savior —
instantly took up yours and carried it with hers, higher and brighter
than any other, to my eternal gratitude. Bless her, she carries it
still. You chose well, sir, the best of the best, and I thank you.
More unmistakable, unconditional love was provided just in the nick of
time — humbly, graciously, and freely by grateful survivors of one of
your diseases, the one I inherited.
I thank you for it all.
For the laughs and the joys and the games with the boys, for the
kisses from the girls.
For the feasts, for the drink, for the hunger for more, for the
unquenchable thirst for truth, wherever it lay hidden.
For the gathering storms of self-inflicted trouble, for the questions
with no answers, for the sickness, for the wounds, for the healing.
For the fears, for the tears, for the nights under bright lights, for
the creeping, short-lived shadows.
For the grief, for the rage, for the simmering bitterness — the toxic
cocktail I guzzled so long that ultimately, helplessly erupted from my
guts like St. Helens herself and jolted loose my miracle out of
Shoot, thanks for the siblings, even. Wink/nudge.
You’ve known all along, and you came back. You knew time and space
were powerless to stop you, so, by and through Conquering Love you
reappeared to save me from myself.
You demonstrated with dizzying dazzle three decades and change after
your departure that, after all, you’ve gone exactly nowhere. Then the
best lessons began to rain down on me, drenching me with developing
insights and visions that have ripped a lifetime of scales from my
eyes and allowed me to see you and everything in existence as we all
really are, as we’ve been since before time was birthed.
Light. Energy. Vibrational beings, all. Love taking form, just for awhile.
When I sang my impromptu concert for you tonight, you were there,
front and center, thrilling with love and compassion for your new
George. And guess what, Dad?
I felt it in every song. I’ve been feeling you again for many years
now, at long last, after burying you inside myself for so, so long
while I wandered, lost, in search of US.
But I don’t have to tell you that WE are now found, and new George is okay.
Nay, blessed beyond measure. With friends in spirit I don’t always
feel I deserved in life, yet here they are. Have you met Mark the
mountain man, Carrie the tattooed hippie chic, my Colombian sparkplug
Adriana? And Big Rod makes a mean pizza from scratch, so be sure to
look him up.
All gone-but-not-gone, too soon.
“Daddy” Dick and Joyce will blow your mind with their talents, their
genius, both singly and combined. Your spirit hands will be red from
applause, if they’re not already. Joyce is a new arrival, but things
happen mighty fast in your dimensions, or so I’m told, and she’s quite
the quick study.
Oh, Dad! What an amazing, getting-my-money’s-worth life it’s been so
far. In its own time, the reunion to end all reunions will be ours.
I so look forward to the concert you and I and our friends will
perform, that royal bash I’ve been planning on the far side of the
moon, and to the zippy trips we’ll take across the cosmos and back.
Finally, to maybe give it a go in other lives with new stories to
Hope you’re well rested by then. We’ve got 50 Earth years and
counting to make up for.
Thanks again, Dad. Love beyond words to you, good sir. You and I may
be the only ones who appreciate our paradox, but the life you launched
me into, with all its apparent imperfections, is precisely perfect,
and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Happy anniversary, Dad. Mission accomplished, indeed.
Click here to listen to the August 16, 2018 episode of my Messages of Hope radio show in which Keith shared the story of how a post-death visit from his father changed his life.
I was 6 years old when my Dad died in a car crash Me and my two brothers were on our own for a male role model. My mother never had anything to do with men again. So I understand the loss and the challenge of growing up with no “man around” It wasn’t until my late teens did I begin to mature .the jury is still out on that one. thanks to you both Namaste’
What a glorious tribute to Life – and experience, and growth, and finally Joy!
This is so encouraging and inspiring and eloquent. ? Thank you.
This is such a beautiful tribute to your father. Well done ~