Do You Believe in Signs?

When we lose someone, we long to have a connection with them. The natural reaction is to ask for signs.

One of the last things I said to Rich was, “Text me when you get there.” He smiled and squeezed my hand. Between our clasped hands was a small, carved, wooden cross. Rich had been holding it for the last few days. We held it there until he passed. Now it’s on my nightstand.

Rich was a deeply spiritual man who was open to mysteries we cannot comprehend. He listened to my “woo woo” beliefs with acceptance, never judging, never arguing even though both of us were raised steeped in Catholicism. And Rich had been a priest for 13 years.

I got a message from him. Not a text, but an undeniable message. On our phones, we had shared a note for Meijer, the grocery store. That way if one of us thought of something we needed, the other would be notified that the app had been edited. Imagine my shock when I read, “Rich edited the list” two days after he passed.

I’ve heard that for someone who has passed, the easiest thing to manipulate is electronics. Often, people report that lamps flicker or turn on and off after a loved one’s death. Last Monday night, when I got up for my usual middle-of-the-night bathroom visit, the light in our sunroom was on. That lamp is on a timer and shuts off from 11 p.m. until 6 a.m. It was 3 a.m.

Sometimes when I get up for my middle-of-the-night bathroom visit, I see a blue glow beside my desk because I’d forgotten to turn off my paper shredder. I have to stumble into my office, half asleep, and turn off the shredder before I climb back into bed. Two nights ago, after working at my computer in the evening, I closed my laptop and turned off my office light. Then I purposely checked to see that my office was completely dark so I wouldn’t have to stumble around. When I got up for my nightly visit, there was a blue glow in my office. Sidenote: Blue was Rich’s favorite color.

I heard you’re supposed to ask for something specific from your loved one. One woman shared that she had asked her father for a blue balloon. A few days later, out of her classroom window, she saw a blue balloon drifting along a nearby rooftop. I wanted to be very specific in my request to Rich. I know everyone says look for a cardinal, but we have a conclave of cardinals at our bird feeder all the time. So, unless Rich wore a nametag, I wouldn’t know it was him.

I asked him to send me a robin in January. Please note that I was in the midst of a seven-day blizzard and a polar vortex here in Michigan. After a while, I thought, a robin will die here in January. I don’t want a robin to die just because I’m looking for a sign. I amended my plea and asked Rich to send me something depicting a robin. Red Robin restaurant didn’t count.

A couple of days later, my daughter Kate and I went shopping to pick a “you solve it” mystery game. There were several to choose from.

“Mom, which one do you like?”

I chose the one about a missing spy. She laughed. “That’s the one I would have chosen, too.” We opened the game back at my house and spread out the clues. The name of the setting? A small town called Robin Falls.

Coincidence? I doubt it.

I miss Rich terribly, but I know he’s right here beside me. I can feel his presence. I talk to him, and that brings me comfort because I believe he’s listening. He was always a good listener.

Love,

Elizabeth