We were sitting in the great room at Casey House, a new hospice center in Rockville , Maryland . The sun was shining brilliantly that late November day and its warm rays helped to lift my sadness. The unthinkable was happening — my beloved father was dying of a rare form of cancer.

Andrew Kostakos, 1990

My mother and sister-in-law were attempting to make light conversation, but I noticed my father had a far-away look in his eyes. He turned to the three of us and said that a nurse had come into his room the previous evening and talked with him about God and the Bible, and that she believed families live together in the hereafter. Dad looked directly into my eyes and said, “That's what you've been saying to me all along.”

He then proceeded to recount all the good things he observed about Latter-day Saints throughout my 25-year membership in the Church. At that point, Dad turned to me and said, “You can baptize me, or rebaptize me, whatever it is you do. You have my permission to do this.”

Stunned but clear-headed, I knew not to make waves with family nearby. Although they heard what Dad said, they remained silent so I whispered quietly, “OK, Dad.” Despite the fact that I had been completely unsuccessful in trying to interest my parents in gospel principles over the years, something incredible had just happened.

I cannot recall ever talking with Dad about obtaining permission to perform baptisms. At some point, we had discussed baptisms and temple sealings and making covenants with God. What amazed me that day was not just Dad's request, but his understanding of giving permission for baptism! Where did this come from?

Several days later, my brother and I were alone with Dad. He could barely talk above a whisper, but he leaned towards my brother and said, “Carol's people are so wonderful. If it wasn't too late, I would change my entire lifestyle to be with them.” Again, he expressed his wish to join the Church and did so in front of a third witness! My heart was pounding as I felt the silent but strong testimony borne from his spirit to mine: “The Church is true!”

It was at that moment I realized he had already begun to be taught, and that he would be a strong and faithful missionary to his family when he returned to them behind the veil.

What I didn't realize, however, was that others were also able to discern the spiritual environment that enveloped Dad. One afternoon as I entered his room, I stopped instantly. Although he was alone, there was something there — a presence of sorts — that was almost tangible. A nurse came in behind me and said, “There's something special in this room. All of us who come in here can feel it, and we talk about it to each other. There's no other room in this hospice that feels the way this one does.”

Although I didn't have an “official” answer until President Faust's remarks in Conference six years later, I innately understood at that time that my father had been visited and taught by his ancestors — those whom I had labored diligently to find; those whose names I had carefully verified; those whom I had lovingly served in the temple. They now had the knowledge — and perhaps the authority — to influence their loved ones here on earth.

On July 27, 2001, my father's dying wish came true as my husband and I attended the temple for his endowment. During that ordinance, I would silently think, “Pay attention to this, Dad,” or “Now you understand this better.” As final words were spoken, a blessing was pronounced upon those whose work was being done that evening, that they may know of our love for them and our appreciation for what they have done for us, that they are not forgotten, and that we are grateful for the part they played in our ability to be here. These were the exact feelings of my heart, and I could sense that my Dad heard these words and felt my same joy.

In the end, it was the concept of the eternal family and the example set by good, caring Latter-day Saints that touched my father's heart and brought him to the point where he felt at home and wanted to be numbered with us. It wasn't the doctrinal discussions, or trips to the Visitors' Center or my pleadings to read church literature — it was the sure knowledge of eternal relationships that made the gospel message a reality to Dad.

Dad's and Mom's wedding; they are third and fourth from left, back row.
All except three are now deceased.

Family history work is not just for the dead; it is for the living, even for those who may not now have an active interest in the gospel. As we do our part to search and gather, we will be aided and perhaps ministered to by those who have gone before.

Family history is a journey that takes us to places near and far, and connects us to individuals who share our genes and our dreams. How has your heart been turned? What words of encouragement or stories of inspiration can you share with our readers? Please consider sharing your comments and stories by submitting them to: meridianfamilyhistory@gmail.com.