This electric nervous energy has me levitating lately. Everything around me is just out of reach. Gravity is nowhere to be found and I’m trying to grasp and hang on to anything I can.

Sitting in a state of grief has opened me up to smaller nuances and things that I might not have noticed before my dad died. I am on high alert, paying close attention to any signs of him that may appear. 

So far, all I’ve been hearing are crickets.

My mom and dad had pesky little crickets in their house when they first moved in together 30+ years ago. Right before my dad left for his very last bike ride on September 29th, my mom yelled something like, “We need to get rid of these crickets in the garage!”

Since the day my dad died, crickets have been showing up at just the right time.  At first we didn’t want to believe it, hoping for something a little more glamorous than a cricket as his spirit animal.  A hummingbird perhaps? Shooting stars?

But the crickets are prevailing, in little, pay attention or you’ll miss it kind of ways.

At the end of the night at Lindsey and Brandon’s rehearsal dinner, the lights went out for a scheduled blackout and then silence; crickets. I came home for the first time after he died and what was chirping in our garage?

The crickets are also emerging in bold, clear as day kind of ways.

I had started a class on Tuesday nights in early September, a course on unblocking creativity through the workbook, The Artist’s Way. The week after my dad died I couldn’t get myself to go. I couldn’t drive anywhere, let alone think about anything other than my dad. The following two weeks I kept wanting to go, but didn’t have it in me.

Finally, I went. I was anxious, but looking forward to it, as the class had been a breath of fresh air every week. New people with unique perspectives, wild imaginations and a zest for life.

I walked in early and sat down next to our instructor. A few minutes into our conversation she paused and said, “There’s that cricket again! It’s been here for the last three weeks and we can’t seem to figure out where it is.” Three weeks, which means, the week I stopped coming, my dad had been holding court at the Soul Flow Art Studio in my place (and let me tell ya, that wouldn’t normally be his scene).

At first I thought she was joking because it was so perfectly orchestrated. I couldn’t stop smiling. He’s still guiding me, telling me to keep going, keep writing, and to stay on this path. I felt comforted. A quiet nudge, just as he would do. Thanks Dadio, I see you.

Crickets seem to suit him. We can only hear him in the quiet. He is peaceful, unassuming. He brings us good luck. He always used to get so mad at us for talking over each other a million miles a minute so he implemented a talking stick. Now he is still telling us to be patient and listen.

Yesterday I had this overwhelming sense and understanding that I now have my dad right next to me every day. Like a four leaf clover in my back pocket, Dad is with me through every big decision, every cheers, every airplane ride, and every down day; all of it. Our relationship is different, but maybe it will be even stronger somehow than before.  There’s no calling or texting, he’s just there. He’s got my back, him and God, and that makes me stand a little taller.

When I start paying attention, I feel myself slowly drift back to Earth. There is magic in the quiet. Crickets.