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For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scripture, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. (vv. 3-6)


My dad died four years ago, and I am deeply at peace knowing he is free of the inner torment he endured in his adult life.

Dad decided to undergo an elective surgery to open his carotid arteries. They do one side at at time, and his first procedure went well. He recovered, felt better, and decided to have the other side done right away. While in the recovery room after the second surgery, he had a stroke. The next six weeks, I witnessed my father preparing to let go, slowly going, and, on July 30, 1997, at 2:30 a.m., passing on. I had felt restless that day, awoke at the time of his passing, and received a phone call from my Mom at 3:00 a.m. confirming that he had died. Dad was free. We were stunned, sad, and relieved.

Dad came to me a number of times within days and weeks of his passing. The morning after his death, I was with Mom when I saw Dad, a shadowy figure, walking in the backyard. When I told Mom that Dad was visiting us, she was open and curious, and as I shared, with conviction, that I knew he was present, the hat Dad wore daily, hanging securely in its spot in the hallway, fell off the hook. Dad's first sign. We both knew he was with us and felt reassured. A gentle peace came to both of us.

The day of his funeral was incredibly powerful for my whole family. My husband and I and our three children surrounded Dad in his casket and talked to him in his physical form for the last time. My children, all school age, had written their Grandpa letters, and as we stuffed them into his pocket, we asked him to send us a sign that he was still with us. We ached and longed to see him again, and we told him so. The good-bye was more difficult than I had imagined.

My dad, Marlie, loved to hunt. He grew up on a farm and nature spoke deeply to him. We asked him to come back as a hawk, falcon, or eagle. We wanted so much to have a concrete sign that he was still with us. We then joined the rest of my family for his funeral procession. I felt a wonderful ease that day, surrounded by family, friends, and many guardian angels. It happened to be my birthday: a painful yet transformative way to mark my own passage into my forties.

The next day, my family and I left for a vacation at a family Bible camp in northern Wisconsin, which we had been attending for ten years. We proceeded to lose ourselves in camp activities, but I still carried a longing for my dad. I was consoled knowing I would have a week in the company of caring families with whom I could mourn, pray, and slowly regroup. On the first day of camp we were told that a man who trains birds was planning to visit and share with us. He had never visited the camp before, nor has he since. We were open and curious. Many of us went to see him that warm summer day. He had a beautiful falcon on his arm. We watched his bird soar with incredible grace. One of the kids shouted, "What is your bird's name?" He replied, "Marlie." We were stunned. Marlie! His name was Marlie! We knew in that moment that Dad was with us.