When My Dad Dropped an F-Bomb from the Spirit World (and Changed How I See Death Forever)

Dancing with my Father at my wedding December 21 st, 2014

In 2018, not long after my dad passed away, my stepmom Alice gave me a painting that he absolutely loved. It was one of those classic pieces from the 70s — you know the kind. Earthy tones, retro vibes, and a whole lot of history soaked into the canvas.

At the time, I was deep in grief. Tender. Raw. Moving slowly through the strange fog that comes after losing a parent.

I hung the painting up for a while, honoring that it had mattered to him. But one day, as I stood looking at it, something inside me stirred.

I’m an artist at heart, and I suddenly felt this strong urge: if I was going to keep this, I wanted to make it my own.

I envisioned adding my own colors. My own textures. My own designs. Turning it into something that carried both his energy and mine.

So I gathered my paints, set everything up, and stood there with my brush hovering over the canvas, ready to put on the first coat.

And that’s when it happened.

Clear as day, right in my inner ear, I heard my dad’s voice:

“Oh no. No no no no no. What are you gonna do to that painting? Do NOT paint over that.”

Then he added, verbatim:

“What the fuck!”

I froze for half a second.

And then I absolutely lost it.

I started laughing hysterically.

Not polite chuckles. Not quiet giggles. Full-on belly laughter.

Because there he was.

My dad.

Cracking jokes. Dropping F-bombs. Being exactly who he always was.

It felt like he was standing right beside me, watching in horror as I prepared to reinvent his beloved retro masterpiece.

And in that moment — in the middle of my grief — something miraculous happened.

I felt connected to him again.

Not in memory.

Not in imagination.

In presence.

Here’s the painting I’m not quite finished

At the time, I hadn’t started my spiritual journey yet. I didn’t know I had intuitive abilities. I didn’t realize I could hear loved ones who had crossed over. I wasn’t calling myself an energy healer or talking about multidimensional consciousness.

I was just a grieving daughter holding a paintbrush.

But that moment cracked something open inside me.

It was playful.

It was unexpected.

And it was profoundly healing.

For the first time since he passed, I didn’t feel separated from him.

I felt accompanied.

From that day forward, death stopped feeling so final to me. I began to sense that relationships don’t actually end — they simply change form. That love doesn’t disappear. It just learns how to speak in different ways.

I started to feel like I still had access to my dad. Like I could call on him for guidance or support whenever I wanted. Like he was part of my unseen support team now.

I held that experience quietly for a while, letting it integrate.

Then one day, I attended a group session with a psychic medium.

There was a room full of people. The medium suddenly paused and said:

“Okay… there’s a gentleman here. He’s using really bad potty language. And he’s talking about a painting that somebody painted over that he really liked.”

I burst out laughing.

Of course he was.

Of course my dad showed up exactly the same way.

Not only had I heard him joking about the painting — now here he was, coming through a medium, confirming it in front of a room full of strangers.

That was the moment I knew.

I hadn’t imagined it.

I hadn’t made it up.

I had genuinely connected with my dad.

And the peace that washed over me is hard to put into words.

It brought such deep closure to my grieving process. It reminded me that just because someone changes form in the physical world doesn’t mean they’re gone energetically. Our loved ones are still around us. Supporting us. Loving us. Sometimes even swearing at our artistic choices.

I feel incredibly blessed to have had that experience.

It shifted my entire understanding of death, spirituality, and connection.

And it’s why I share this story now — because if you’re grieving, or missing someone, or wondering if love really survives beyond the veil, I want you to know:

It does.

Sometimes it shows up as a whisper.

Sometimes as laughter.

And sometimes… as your dad yelling, “What the fuck!” from the spirit world while you’re holding a paintbrush.