Ya Gotta | Believe …

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.

There staring back at me was a white feather poking through the fabric just enough to hold it yet not enough to pierce through.

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.”

Then two days later after enjoying breakfast with friends I headed to the car and there to greet me was a white feather stuck to the trunk of the car.

A week later as I was set to start a tennis match on an indoor court … yep, you guessed it. 

And on and on it goes. He hasn’t forgotten … he’s everywhere. Thank God I believe. It helps.



  1. What a beautiful experience! ! I had a little bird on my shoulder after Aunt Theresa died . It stayed around me forever.even wanted to come into the house .

  2. Hi Carole,
    I believe!
    My daughter Shannon was in her last weeks of life. I gave her a little book that had a story of a woman who told her daughter that if all was well when she passed away she would send a white bird.
    My Shannon had a silly sense of humour and she said she would top that story and she would send me TWO white birds.
    A few months later, my dear daughter died. From that moment on I was looking for the bird sign.
    Her funeral was in Pointe au Baril . A friend who lived on Bruce Peninsula ( a long way away) came up to me with a gift in her hand. She said she had started out and felt she had to go back to her house and get me this. Who brings a gift to a funeral?
    I opened the lovely package and there they were…………two white birds to hang in my window!

    My love to you, Joan

  3. I still remember the story you told me about when your grandma died and how the decorative small ornamental elephant near your computor had moved locations;..

  4. Thank you for sharing this with everyone. We all need little reminders or signs but more importantly we need to pay close attention to see and acknowledge them. Yes I believe, you just gotta!!!

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