Ya Gotta believe …
Ya gotta believe our loved ones remain with us well after they leave us. At least we want to believe that.
After the recent death of my husband, each of the kids would randomly and excitedly announce “Mom, I heard from dad today … ” and proceed to tell me of their latest and often timely visit.
For my eldest it’s the sudden, up close appearance of a Canada goose in unlikely places; for the other, it’s when he gets into his new car and suddenly the passenger seatbelt goes on; and for my daughter, it’s the arrival of a monarch butterfly fluttering nearby and coming to rest on her shoulder. Each visit offers support, encouragement and a long awaited taste of joy.
So after a number of weeks of such announcements, in one of my daily chats with Joe I ranted “C’mon Joe everyone else is getting signs, surely you have not forgotten about me so soon. Where are mine?”
(Perhaps I wasn’t really paying attention as I could have been preoccupied????)
Now leading up this, over a few days, I did find myself stooping to pick up little errant white feathers en route from my bedroom doorway to my bed. At the time I thought absolutely nothing of it except that a purple rug really does show every speck. And besides there are feathers in those pillows, encased in both a zipped pillow covering and then the pillow case. Just another minor housekeeping detail to contend with.
But then it all changed for me. One day I had worn my favourite purple cowl necked pullover, removed it midday then carted it around over my purse the rest of the day. Returning home, I immediately tossed it on a desktop beside my dresser. Only days later did I decide to put some of those tossed pieces of clothing away.
I went to retrieve my top and suddenly noticed a white speck on the front of it. The following trail of thoughts appeared as I walked it from the one side of my room into the closet … a mere 5 seconds
*how did that little stain get there?” as I immediately starting picking at it in hopes of not having to launder it.
*nuts, it feels like it’s caked on. I might have to use a purple marker to cover it.
*maybe the cowl neck will drop low enough to cover it
… still hoping to avoid laundry.
*geez I hope it’s not a pull in the fabric exposing white between the purple layers.
*if it is a pull in the threads, I hope Carol Ann can work her magic and pull it back through.
And it was then, standing in my closet that I turned the shirt inside out to see if my last thought was correct.
At that moment my practical, rational and pragmatic mind stopped in the realization that there was no frigging way that feather worked its way from my doubly encased pillow, across the carpet, up and onto the desktop and drop inside my shirt with enough force to stand still and embedded in the fabric. A smile came over my drawn face and I declared out loud “Ha, okay Joe, I got it. Keep them coming.”
And on and on it goes. He hasn’t forgotten … he’s everywhere. Thank God I believe. It helps.