I never thought about whether I would feel Terry Troy’s spirit after he passed. When he was alive he used to say, “When you’re dead, you’re dead!” So when I started seeing obvious signs that he was communicating with me, I’ll be honest, it kind of freaked me out.
After my father passed away, I was sitting alone in my car in the restaurant parking lot of Five Guys in Youngstown, Ohio. I was still in a state of shock and decided a vanilla shake and the largest bag of French fries known to man would probably be the cure. Eating myself into a carb coma and halfway to a lactose-intolerant reaction, I realized I didn’t know how to get to my dad’s apartment from there. Part of me didn’t want to go there at all, but I knew I didn’t have a choice; I had work to do. It was another one of those familiar “suck-it-up” moments. What I would soon find out was that I wasn’t just navigating the roads. I experienced a series of events that had me navigating amazing and surprising messages from my father.
Using the GPS on my phone I drove toward Salem, Ohio. My father’s passing still haunting my subconscious, I pushed forward and focused intensely on only the directions. About fifteen minutes into the drive Siri barked at me to turn left onto a narrow two-lane road. At first I thought it was a mistake because it looked like someone’s unkempt driveway; it didn’t look like a passable road. But as it turned out, it was a country road just like the ones Terry used to love to drive me down. The tight path was overgrown with tree canopies and a deep forest on both sides. The barely-there pavement had so many potholes I thought for sure I was going to end up with a flat tire in the middle of nowhere. My first thought was that my dad could come help me if I got stuck. But then my subconscious reminded me—not anymore—he was gone. I kept going and after several miles I finally made it to a stop sign where the road ended. As I exhaled a sigh of relief, I turned right and noticed a large building with a business sign that read: “Tire Repair.” I started laughing and said out loud, “Okay Dad—that was funny!”
When I drove into Terry’s apartment complex I was flooded with the memories of each time I had visited him. His black GMC pick-up truck was backed into the same spot it had always been. His neighbors were sitting out on their front patios enjoying the beautiful spring day. As I approached his apartment a lady named Ella, who I had met once before, ran up to me and hugged me tight. I started to tell her about what had happened and tears were welling up when she said, “Its okay honey, please don’t cry! Honey please stop.” I was immediately snapped back to the present moment because I had heard my father say this to me so many times in the past. Odd that she used his exact words. This stranger invited me into her home and told me stories of how Terry had helped her in so many ways. Then she said, “He was so proud of you. He really, really thought you were great.” It touched my heart and it felt like it was a message straight from my dad.
Another stranger whom I had only met a few days before, was my dad’s caretaker, Kay. She met me at his apartment to give me his keys. She shared some funny stories about Terry and talked about how he had helped her sister Sarah, when she needed money to pay her bills. I was humbled that total strangers were spending time with me and making me feel like I wasn’t alone. When I met both Kay and Sarah they made me feel like their long lost sister—which felt like the best gift ever.
Before I left Ohio, I had to chase down all of Terry’s belongings that he had in storage. He kept two old pick-ups with snowplows at a fabrication shop owned by his friend Frank. And he also had a freight trailer full of tools that he parked at a towing company’s lot somewhere outside of Salem. I had only met Frank one time on a previous visit to Ohio, but when I called him to talk about my dad’s stuff he didn’t even hesitate, he said, “Honey, meet me at the shop and I’ll show you where everything is.”
Driving the country roads toward Leetonia, the memories of going there with Terry came flooding back; felt like he was sitting right there with me. When I arrived at Frank’s shop I parked near his office door. It was pouring down rain as I skipped around the mud puddles and quickly ran inside, letting the old screen door slam behind me. Frank was sitting at his desk wearing a denim shirt and a green and white polka-dotted painter’s hat. His dog, a giant golden retriever named Tank, jumped up to greet me and promptly shoved his snout into my crotch and nearly knocked me over. Frank also jumped up and gave me a big hug and said, “Hi honey, I sure do miss your ole man.”
After some small talk Frank asked, “Honey, do you know what you’re going to do with Terry’s ashes?”
I answered, “I’m not sure, he didn’t leave any instructions. Do you have any ideas?”
He said, “Oh hell no. Your ole man always said, ‘When you’re dead, you’re dead.’ So I don’t think he cares—just do what you want.”
As I followed Frank out the door I tried to process our conversation. He reminded me so much of my dad that I wondered if I was feeling my father’s presence, or just experiencing someone who was familiar. After he showed me the trucks and plows, he said, “Come on honey, you can follow me to the towing yard where his tool trailer is.”
As we weaved through the small town streets and eventually found the highway I said out loud, “Dad, please give me a clear sign that this is real. I feel your presence so much I’m starting to think I’m losing it!”
I followed Frank into a large, pothole-filled parking lot and noted the huge collection of old school busses, trailers, semi-trucks and cars. It had been over twenty years since I had seen my father’s trailer so I wasn’t confident I could find it without help. My Uncle Joe had reminded me that I was looking for an old 44 foot, Fruehauf, double axel freight trailer.
With the rain coming down harder, I quickly parked my rental car and met Frank at the office where he held the door while I rushed inside past him. We were greeted by a short counter and a sliding window where a woman sat behind the glass talking on her phone. When she finished her call I introduced myself and asked to speak to Jeff, just as my father had instructed me to do. Unfortunately, Jeff wasn’t in the office so I explained to her that Terry had passed away two days ago and that I needed to see his trailer and determine if any of the keys I had would fit the lock. She said, “Well, let me see if Robbie can help you.”
A few minutes later a younger guy came into the office and said, “Oh yeah, I know exactly where your dad’s trailer is. I just pulled it out yesterday and put it in the main parking lot.”
“Why did you move it?”
“I don’t really know. I just came to work yesterday morning and decided to clean up that corner of the property. Your dad’s trailer had been parked in the same spot for like fifteen years, and it was buried and surrounded with junk so I dragged it out here. Let me show you,” he said as he pointed to the parking lot.
As we all walked outside, Robbie pointed, started to laugh and said, “Its right there. You parked right next to it.” I was stunned. The morning after my father passed away, for no apparent reason, Robbie moved his trailer where I could easily access it. What are the odds? I knew in that moment that I had received the sign I had asked my dad for on the way there. He was still busy taking care of details, and helping me along the way.
Later that day I spoke with Jeff from the towing company. He said, “I met your dad years ago when I took over running the towing business when the owner’s husband passed away. They had never charged your dad a storage fee and I wasn’t about to change their agreement. But for years when it snowed I would come home from work to a cleared driveway and I never knew who did it. Until one day my wife caught your dad plowing it. He never asked me for money and even when he was really sick he still showed up to keep our driveway clear. Honey, they don’t make ‘em like your dad anymore.”
I will always be grateful for all the strangers that stepped-up to help me when I needed it. I promise to be that “stranger” when it’s my turn. I am thankful my father had some really decent humans in his life, and people who thought the same of him. And I will never forget the strange circumstances that amounted to messages from heaven that comforted and reassured me that I was “not losing it!”
There have been so many other jaw-dropping examples that I will write about at another time. I don’t want to share any spoilers in case you haven’t read All But Six, yet.
If you’d like to read more unpublished chapters and more of the story, please sign-up to follow me on Substack, or find my blog at TerrinaTroy.com.
Be that stranger! And listen to the strange signs—they’re real!
Love,
Terrina
PS-Thanks for all the love and support for my memoir, and for leaving me a 5-star review on Amazon and Barnes and Noble! It’s so helpful and I’m so grateful!