Just hours before my Dad's heart beat for the last time, I went into Wild Grace to make him up some herbs. I went to make up herbs for both my parents actually, because they were sick with a respiratory virus.

I look at these bottles now. Mum’s were all immune with a bit of emotional support with motherwort. The others were Echinacea, thyme, elderberry, licorice, saffron. Dad's had some for lung and viruses but htey were mostly in support of his body organs Elderberry, Bilberry Dong Quai, Gymnema Pleurisy Root, Hawthorn Berries. Lots of heart and vein tonic in there. His herbal tea was also full of heart support, yarrow, hawthorn berries, rosemary, rose, rose hips. The part of this story I am thinking about the most though, is the way my hand jumped when writing his name.

I've developed my intuition over the last 30 years of inner reflection and insights, however I am most naturally intuitive through my hands, and this is why I'm a massage therapist. I was intuitive first through my hands, and my hands showed me how to massage.

While writing my Dad's name my arm had a shot of energy forcing me to write in all capitals and outside of the lines. This is in contrast to Mums label which is neat and tidy, with lower case used appropriately. I was dismayed, how annoying to be so messy. At the time I din't think twice about it.

This has happened before while journalling, when there's been some kind of big energy attached to a certain person or word for me at that time my hand writing goes all rogue, but not recently enough for me to remember the last time and be able to locate the example.

I had been told that Dad was going to die, it was a thought and a feeling that actually started a few months ago when Dad first started feeling unwell, but was fleeting. Mum seemed to think he'd get better.

When my parents arrived for their interstate visit, I answered the door to find Dad there. I gave him a cuddle. Because he was unwell I didn't give him a kiss. I took his bag from him after a short argument. He then limped up the hall, me behind him, and I was shocked at the weakness and pain I could sense from him. I thought he was going to die.

Later, when he finally saw the guest studio, his face lit up with such beauty, like there were rays from heaven shining on him, and I thought 'you're going to die here.' Not 24 hours later he lay in that bed, dead. These thoughts repeated in my head until the event occured the next afternoon.

Even so, when you have difficult or fearful thoughts like that, you tell yourself they're just thoughts. The boundaries between your own brain and higher guidance, recognition of truth are blurred. What is intuition but universal wisdom? A kind of knowledge that hangs in the air, able to be read if you're open to reading it, and trust what you perceive. It's often difficult to trust or determine if what you're hearing is imagination, fear or universal truth. It takes practice and faith to know what's real. I've learnt to trust the thoughts that form out of nothing, but sometimes it's hard to be sure they came from nothing or a history of your own biases, patterns, fears and personality.

When he collapsed I jumped into action, and a part of me knew it was inevitable. There was nothing shocking about this.