There is an episode on the channel Off the Left Eye that speaks to a common question. 

Why Don't Those Who've Died Communicate with Us More?

It has had a million and a half views over the years, which speaks to the hunger of many hearts to connect past death. I know I feel a longing to hear my mother's voice, or see my father's smile. But such gifts are rare. 

There are fleeting moments when I sense their influence. When I am in the car, and wrestling with a question, I feel my dad's reassurance. He was a very careful driver, and it is almost as if he is steering my thoughts toward safety.

One time when our family was in crisis and I was looking for a counselor, I almost heard my father speak. 

"Spend a thousand dollars on this." 

As a thrifty man, knowing that money was tight for us as well, it was as if he blessed me. I calmed down over the next few months and calmly wrote check after check. After I had spent that grand, our family arrived back to balance. 

My brother had a dream about our dad soon after he died. They were in a theater, with hundreds of seats. Dad had his arm around a young couple and was listening intently. My brother was several rows behind and was excited to see Dad. He called, and waved to him, without a response. Finally Dad looked over his shoulder and smiled, before he went back to the people he was counseling. It seemed that he was already doing what he had loved on earth. 

When my twins moved to Europe they were immersed in a new life. The language, college, living in an apartment, and making a bevy of new friends kept them busy. Too busy to stay in touch with me, it turns out. 

It occurs to me that when we find ourselves in a new place, whether it is France, Spain, or heaven, we give it our full attention. It is not because we no longer love those left behind, but the transition asks us to be fully present. 

I can live with that.