On November 1, 2025, Spirit reminded me — again — that music is not just melody. It’s a messenger.
My father was the Dodgers’ biggest fan. If the game was on, he was watching. When he moved in with me, I had no cable — because I despise cable — but that didn’t last long. He made it abundantly clear that he had to have cable to watch his Dodgers, win, lose, or draw. So, I got the cable. Our monthly bill hovered just under $300, and even though it’s my practice to express gratitude for the ability to pay bills, that damn cable bill made me cuss every single month.
Still… he was happy. And when I look back now, that’s all that matters.
A couple days ago, my dear Brother from another Mother, Gary, messaged me with just five words:
“Dodgers win for your father!”
That simple message cracked open a memory I hadn’t touched in months. I was instantly transported to my father’s final hours — to his hospital room, where the hum of machines and the scent of antiseptic mixed with quiet prayers and intimate talk.
His last words to me were, “What time is the Dodgers’ game tonight?”
I told him. And with crystal clarity he said, “Tell the staff so they know I want it on my TV here in the room.”
The game started at 7:10 p.m.
Dad took his final breath at 5:40.
Maybe he needed to allow for travel time — L.A. traffic is legendary, even in the ether.
He passed in the Tommy Lasorda Wing of the hospital — poetic, right? It’s safe to say he was the Dodgers’ greatest fan to the end.
When Gary’s message came through, a storm of emotion rose in me. Not sorrow, but something bigger — a swell of love, memory, and spiritual recognition. I sobbed, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of release. I know my father is free now, watching every game from a celestial box seat with perfect reception and no commercials. And I don't have a pay one red cent!
After my allotted fifteen minutes of tears (yes, I give myself permissioned crying time), I turned to my best medicine: music.
I pumped up the volume, selected my playlist, and walked away without looking.
The first song in queue?
🎵 “Papa, Can You Hear Me?”
Of course it was.
I sang every note through tightened vocal cords and deep breaths, letting the melody wrap around my grief and turn it into grace. By the end of the song, I was lighter. The ache had softened. My soul had been rinsed clean by sound.
Music has a way with my being like nothing else.
The instrumentals.
The pauses.
The lyrics.
They live deep inside me — waiting to be summoned in doses of catharsis and healing.
Some people say Spirit speaks through dreams or feathers or flickering lights. For empaths like me, Spirit sings.
And on that day, I heard my father loud and clear — in the voice of a song, in the echo of a team that meant everything to him, in the reminder that love never dies… it just changes stations.
May the music that finds you today be more than sound —
may it be a bridge between worlds,
a whisper from the ones you love,
a gentle hand on your heart reminding you that connection never ends.
May every note that stirs your tears also stir your healing.
May every song that breaks you open also build you whole again.
And may you, too, learn to listen beyond the veil —
where love, like music, forever plays on.
Music is a messenger.
What song has ever found you at just the right moment?
Drop it in the comments — let’s build a playlist of love, memory, and messages from beyond. 🎵
With love and light,
Rhonda Kuykendall-Jabari
Reiki Master Teacher | Founder, Wellness Uprising