When my father spoke to me, he always began the conversation with "Have I told you yet today how much I adore you?" The expression of love was reciprocated and, in his later year, as his life began to visibly ebb, we grew even closer.

At 82 he was ready to die, and I was ready to let him go so that his suffering would end. We laughed and cried and held hands and told each other of our love and agreed that it was time. I said, "Dad, after you have gone I want a sign from you that you are fine," He laughed at the absurdity of that; Dad didn’t believe in reincarnation. I wasn’t positive I did either, but I had had many experiences that convinced me I could get some signal "from the other side".

Day after day I prayed to hear from him, but nothing happened.

One day, while I lying on a massage table in a dark quiet room waiting for my appointment, a wave of longing for my father swept over me, and I began to wonder if I had been too demanding in asking for a sign from him. I noticed that my mind was in a hyper-acute state. I experienced an unfamiliar clarity in which I could have added long columns of figures in my head. I checked to make sure I was awake and not dreaming, and I saw that I was as far removed from a dreamy state as one could possibly be.

Suddenly my mother’s face appeared—my mother, as she had been before Alzheimer’s disease stripped her of her mind, her humanity and 50 pounds. Her magnificent silver hair crowned her sweet face. She was so real and so close I felt I could reach out and touch her. She looked as she had a dozen years ago, before the disease had begun. She seemed to be waiting and did not speak. I wondered how it could happen that I was thinking of my father and my mother appeared, and I felt a little guilty that I had not asked for her as well.

She smiled—a beautiful smile—and said very distinctly, "All I remember is love." and she disappeared.

I began to shiver in a room suddenly gone could, and I knew in my bones that the love we give and receive is all that matters and all that is remembered. Suffering disappears; love remains. Her words are the most important I have ever heard, and that moment is forever engraved on my heart.

I have not yet seen or heard from my father, but I have no doubts that someday, when I least expect it, he will appear and say, "Have I told you yet today that I love you?"