Honoring the man who saw my destiny — even from a distance.
Seven years ago, my father left this world.
Most people don’t know this, but our relationship was complicated. He wasn’t around much when I was growing up — not entirely by his choice, but because life, pain, and distance stood between us.
There were long stretches — ten years at one point — where we didn’t speak.
For a long time, there were more questions than memories… more silence than connection.
And yet — the little bit of him I did know shaped me profoundly.
Because toward the end of his life, when time became precious and truth mattered more than the past, we found our way back to each other.
He lived in a little town outside San Francisco, in Pacifica — ocean air, quiet streets, and a sense of stillness that arrives near the end of life.
He was fragile, drifting between earth and whatever waits beyond us. Sometimes he would say strange things — like the buildings weren’t real, or every phone number was the same. Maybe it was the medication. Maybe it was the liver failure. Maybe it was his spirit halfway home already.
But even through the haze, moments of clarity came through like beams of light.
And I listened.
The Prophecy
My father didn’t give me a traditional childhood.
He gave me something else — vision.
He once told me:
“You’re going to write a book and you’re going to be seen.”
I remember laughing, telling him I didn’t even know how to write.
He looked at me and said, “Exactly.”
Today, writing is my life.
Speaking is my calling.
And my book — the one he prophesied — is about to meet the world.
That whisper he planted?
It became my roar.
The Conversation From Heaven
When I finished writing my book, I remember speaking to him — not in this world, but the next.
“Okay Dad, I wrote the book. What now?”
And I heard it — as clearly as if he were beside me:
“Build the teahouse.”
So I am.
And I feel him guiding me still — through intuition, synchronicity, courage, and destiny.
The Gift I Didn’t Understand Until Later
As a child, I was different.
Meditating at four.
Seeing energy, auras, truths under the surface.
Manifesting before I even knew what the word meant.
My mother gifted me creativity — writing, artistry, imagination.0
But that mystic thread? That inner knowing?
That came from him.
Before he passed, he told me:
“Everyone has a superpower. Yours is manifesting.”
I didn’t fully understand then.
I do now.
A Moment That Healed Everything
Once, driving under the tunnel at LAX, he turned to me and said:
“If I could order a daughter from the universe, you are exactly who I would choose.”
That sentence dissolved decades of longing.
It doesn’t matter that our relationship wasn’t perfect.
It matters that in the end — love found us.
Healing found us.
And closure wrapped itself around us like a soft blanket from the other side.
For You, Dad
Thank you for seeing my destiny even when you couldn’t always be here.
Thank you for naming me a writer before I ever believed it.
Thank you for loving me in the way you could, in the time you had.
And thank you, Mom, for choosing me, for grounding me, for holding space while I learned to fly.
Dad — I hope you see this from wherever you are:
the flowers, the magic, the intuition, the becoming.
This week, as I deepen into my Flower Prescriptions, my intuition, my purpose…
I feel you.
I honor you.
And I bloom — for both of us.
