The Loss of a Father

Some losses tear deeper than the heart can fathom—reaching into the very fabric of the soul. Yet in the darkest valleys, the veil between worlds can grow whisper-thin. This is Amber's story: a woman who smelled heaven's fragrance when her father passed. Her journey reveals that grief isn't always the final word; sometimes it's the doorway through which extraordinary love flows, proving that the connections we cherish most aren't severed by death but transformed into bridges between worlds we once thought hopelessly far apart.

In the dim light of a hospice-darkened bedroom, Amber and her mother had kept vigil for ten long days, watching helplessly as morphine dulled her 92-year-old father’s pain but couldn't ease their own. They had prayed over him, sung familiar hymns, their voices sometimes breaking with emotion. His eyes had remained closed for days, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Please, God," Amber had whispered during a moment alone, "just take him home. This is getting too hard.”

Then something extraordinary happened. Without warning, her father's eyes fluttered open, focusing directly on her face with unexpected clarity.

"Oh, hi," Amber stammered, surprised by the sudden connection. "Hi, Dad."

Something in his gaze told her this was a moment of farewell. She leaned close, her hand covering his. "You know what? It's okay if you go," she told him softly. "I'll take care of Mom. We'll be fine. You go ahead and go.”

His eyes drifted closed again. Sensing the change, Amber whispered to her mother, "I don't think he's—I think he's probably gonna go." Needing a moment to compose herself, she stepped outside into the cool night air.

That's when it happened. A fragrance enveloped her, so sudden and powerful it stopped her in her tracks. It wasn't the scent of a single flower, but a symphony of blossoms—roses, carnations, apple blooms—every beautiful fragrance imaginable woven together in impossible harmony.

Amber glanced toward their apple trees, momentarily wondering if they could be blooming, before remembering it was May, weeks past blossom time. The scent intensified, surrounding her completely, transporting her into an almost trance-like state. Though she stood alone in the darkness, she felt immersed in something beyond description—something holy.

When she finally returned inside, her mother looked up with tears in her eyes. "I think he's gone. Will you check?"

Amber confirmed what they both already knew. Her father had slipped away while she stood beneath the stars, bathed in heaven's perfume.

It wasn't until several hours later, with her father's body taken away and the first pale light of dawn appearing, that her mother broke the silence with an unexpected question.

"I need to tell you about this smell?” she began hesitantly.

Amber felt goosebumps rise on her arms. "I already know what you're going to say.”

Her mother's eyes widened. "Did you smell it too?”

“Yes."

"Every flower," her mother whispered in wonder. "It came at that moment when you were outside.”

They sat together, two generations of women bound by loss and by something miraculous neither could fully explain.

"We smelled heaven," Amber said with quiet certainty. "When Dad went into heaven, the gates opened just enough, and we got to smell it."

Instead of weeping, they found themselves excited, even joyful—not despite their loss but because of what it had revealed.

Through this experience, Amber developed a perspective on the afterlife that brought her comfort. The boundary between this world and the next, she came to believe, isn't the impenetrable barrier most imagine, but something far more permeable.

"The veil is see-through," she insisted when asked, her voice gaining intensity. 

"It is see-through. Sometimes I'm thinking it's like a shower curtain. Does that make sense?”

She leaned forward, trying to articulate something felt more than understood. "Everything of heaven is right here. We're never truly separated from it or from those we've lost. I believe we can pull down what heaven has and experience heaven on earth in certain moments, certain situations. But so many of us run from that possibility. I guess God's presence feels scary to people." She paused, then added with quiet certainty, "Not anymore. Not to me.”

Through her grief, Amber learned to pay attention to what God was doing in every circumstance. "Just pay attention to what God's doing," she advises. "He wants us to hear His voice. He wants us to see Him, feel Him, and get comforted by Him…These things in life happen. Make the best out of them," she counsels.

"Find what God's trying to speak to you about during that experience, whether it's a death, a sickness, an abuse. 'God, can you show me through this? How can I get through this, come out better on the other side?'"

In the years since her father’s passing, Amber has discovered a deeper kind of love—with God, and with her family. There's hope in knowing that love transcends death, that healing comes in unexpected ways, and that one day, we'll be reunited.

She carries her father’s memory in her heart, finding peace in the promise that love never ends and that nothing—not even death—can separate us from those we love or from the God who holds us all.*

*Permission by Amber Wark for use of this interview transcript.

*Image created by Sabine Ojeil @sabineojeil and used with permission via Unsplash