15. Signs
[All grief posts are numbered for easy following or avoiding if necessary.]
“Mom. I hope you’re not too busy up there, ya know, playing the harp and all. But, you know what your Pippila has been going through,” Full clip from "The New Adventures of Pippi Longstocking" (1988).
I remember the first time I saw this movie and was moved by Pippi talking to her deceased mother as a sunburst in the clouds. I wasn’t surprised by this; I recall thinking that it made good sense. Of course her mom’s spirit was out there listening and shining down on her. Her mom could most definitely hear Pippi’s prayer-like speeches. And better yet? Pippi seemed to hear her Mom, too. Yep. Logical.
When I was old enough to roller skate and cross the street alone - both feats that Mom let me accomplish earlier than kids do today. Maybe age 5? I remember skating back and forth on our neighbor’s sidewalk. After all, it was smoother. It didn’t have as many root-lifted squares as our sidewalk did, forming jumps I didn’t care to try. As I glided in my ‘My Little Pony’ skates with pink wheels, a plane flew overhead. I hustled out from under the maple trees to ensure I was in “full view” of the aircraft. Then I stretched both hands to the sky and waved with all my might, saying, “Hiiiiii Daaaaaaaad!”.
To be clear, my dad was very much still alive. He was flying 4-5 days a week then. So he was more likely to be in a cockpit soaring over us than at home. I couldn’t be sure which plane was his, so I would just confidently wave at all of them.
“I saw you fly over!” I exclaimed whenever he finally returned home. “I waved and said hi!” I shared eagerly.
Without missing a beat, Dad said, “I saw you!!! I waved back!!!”
My heart swelled with this information and the knowledge that I had made a connection, even when he was all the way up above, soaring through the sky.
You might be thinking, “How sweet, but there is no way that was him or that he saw her.” I get it. I am now a cynical adult to some degree, too. However, it very well could have been his plane flying over, as we didn’t have constant air traffic in our small town. Also, Dad was the kind to take photos from the sky and knew exactly when he was over our street. He was also the kind to wave or say hello, not worried what his co-pilot would say as he sent love to his family.
So it was possibly true. Maybe. And Dad told me it was true, so it was.
This experience created a deep connection for me to my dad through airplanes and any traces of them in the sky (contrails - the white lines of condensation left behind planes when they fly). Even as a 20 year-old, driving on long commutes to and from my first jobs, if a plane flew over or I saw cool contrail configurations, it meant Dad was thinking of me or looking out for me. That was usually when I’d call him and he would “talk me home” as I drove.
Then I was 30, and he passed away.
You’d think I would see less planes or maybe even less contrails. But instead, they started to be everywhere. Was I looking for them? Sure. Did they have to show up? No.
Living alone for the first time in my adult life, I was on one of many walks with my dog around sunset. To say I was navigating a challenging time in life is an understatement. I had recently gotten divorced after 10 years of marriage. It was the kind of time that makes you want to call your Dad, hear his voice, feel his hugs, have him talk you through the chaos the way only he can. I wished I had a sign or something to help guide me.
Dad had a special “spidey” sense and would often call unexpectedly, (yet right when I needed him) and just say, “How ya doin’ sweetie?”. I would instantly dissolve into tears and sobs and he would wait for me to sniffle my way into sharing the latest heartaches in my life. “I thought you might need a verbal hug,” he’d say.
Anyway, so it was a time when I really needed that kind of Dad call. Just a voice on the other end of the line. A voice I have known since infancy and that could strum my heartstrings in a way only the sound of him could. The breeze picked up as I held Violet’s leash more tightly, my mind spinning and somewhat lost. She stopped to sniff a patch in the grass, forcing me to stop and look skyward.
A beautiful pink, orange, and yellow sunset caught my attention. But over those colors were two very strong, bolded contrast trails - and they formed a giant “X” in the sky. As a contrail/plane watcher, I can tell you that the X’s aren’t as common. Two planes have traveled across the same sky for a while, and their paths touched for a moment, then they continued on their journeys, independent of one another. It felt familiar to my recent relationship, but I didn’t make that connection immediately.
What I did see was a huge X. “What does that mean, Dad?” I wondered. As I tried to make sense of it, I decided he was letting me know that “X marks the spot”. Like a pirate’s treasure map with an X over the treasure, I was being assured that I was in the exact correct place where I was meant to be. I was doing the proper thing. I didn’t need to question my decision; it was a sign I was on track. He saw me and he wanted me to know everything was okay, right there, right then.
Fast forward to years later. I’m happily married and in the middle of the wild ride of growing our family via IVF. So much science, yet so much uncertainty. There are no “whoops” babies here, but there are failed attempts and heartbreak. There are eggs, sperm, petri dishes, countless decisions to be made. Teams of people involved in a process so intimate.
The IVF part was hitting all kinds of speed bumps. We were losing hope that we would ever have a baby this way.
I took our dog, Luke, out for a walk to clear my heart and head. “I could really use a sign”, I’d thought as we headed out from our driveway. As we mounted a hill, there is a point where you can look back and see our house down the road. The sun was setting and the sky was purple and pink. Rich and deep. Three fluffy contrails stemmed out from the same place, yet were pointing in different directions. One was bolder, stronger than the others.
The next day a call came from the nurse, “The lab notified us that you have 3 embryos,”… later we were told only one was highly viable.
Nine months later, our miracle baby was born.
Did his Grampa Steve let me know good news was coming that evening in the sky? Could his spirit see more than we ever could? Maybe. I just know those contrails gave me hope and reminded me to keep my chin up in the face of uncertainty.
The signs haven’t stayed in the sky. My dad was a biology major and a huge fan of insects. He would tell us their scientific names. He would help us catch them and escort them out of the house. I remember him explaining “Daddy Long Legs” to me as a child; how they ate mosquitos and were our friends. When we would go fishing together, dragonflies would land on him. He would encourage us to not move if a moth was around so it would have a chance to settle on our hands or shoulders.
So, Dad also shows up for me in bugs.
Does that sound like I am a bit mad? Sure. Do I care? Nope.
For me, signs are anything that feel like signs to me. They ping my soul in a different way, make me pause and wonder why they’re showing up. I have found that if you look for them, they will come.
Maybe it’s in birds, perhaps it’s in the weather or bugs. Did you just hear a song that your loved one used to adore? Maybe they wanted you to hear it or perhaps you needed the reminder of their love for you.
All I know is that there was a ladybug on our bathroom mirror in the middle of the winter on a day when I was exhausted from being a new mom and needed a Dad hug. And then a year later I went to make coffee and there was a tiny spider inside the filter area; a place we never had bugs or spiders before, but a place where my hand was about to rest. Playing outside with my son one day, I saw a leaf flickering in a nearby tree and felt compelled to look closer. A beautiful brown stick bug was settled in there! My dad would have loved it. I lifted my son and showed him the glory of this camouflage creature. Somewhere, I could feel my dad’s smile.
I got a phone call that a family member was having emergency surgery. I was panicking. Having lost both parents to emergency surgery-type situations, I couldn’t easily settle down. I stepped out on the front porch to try to gather my thoughts and breathe. Suddenly flocks of birds were swirling around the trees and the grass of our yard, swooping across the street and resting mere feet from me. It was amazing and I hadn’t seen this phenomenon up close before.
“Are you okay?” my husband asked as he stepped out and joined me on the steps.
“Not really. I could really use a sign right now,” I said. He knew my experiences and had some of his own, as well.
Out of nowhere an immense bomber jet, similar to what my dad used to fly in the Air Force, came out of the sky. It was flying far lower than planes typically do and seemed to almost buzz the roof of the school across from us. It was remarkable!
We both looked at each other in disbelief.
Was there an airshow that day? We had lived here for a couple years and never had that kind of plane fly over so low.
“I think he’s going to be okay…” I said.
…and he was.
One day, my husband and son were playing with stuffed animals that we had stored away. When I came to join them, my husband looked like he had seen a ghost. His face stunned.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I showed him this,” Max said, and gestured to a Beetle Bailey ”Sarge” doll that was given to my Dad by family friends. The doll looked JUST like him. Uniform, white hair and mustache, captain-style hat.
“He hugged it. Then he kept looking up,” my husband explained.
My eyes widened.
Rocco hadn’t seen photos of my dad in uniform. We talked about Grampa, but we don’t have a ton of photos of him, as he was often the one taking the pictures.
Rocco hadn’t hugged any of the other toys unprompted. Nor did he look up like that ever.
So, somehow Rocco knew his Grampa Steve. It was an amazing, if somewhat eerie, feeling. It validated my experiences further and reinforced my own “visits”.
My Dad might not be able to call when he senses I need a “verbal hug”, but the contrails are there, the birds and planes and bugs are there, and signs of his love continue to surround me, whether I’m paying attention to them or not.
Dad, I hope you’re not too busy up there, ya know, playing the harp and all. But, you know what your Wheatley Snow has been going through… thanks for the kind of love that cannot be separated, even by death. There are lots of unknowns in this world, but I never have to wonder if you love me, and for that I am eternally grateful.
Thank you for keeping on eye on us and waving as you fly over.
❤️
“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
Nor can spirits ever be divided…”William Penn
P.S. If you have lost someone and wonder if their spirit ever visits, pay close attention and see what you notice. Maybe it’s their initials on something or someone with the same name. Perhaps it’s a favorite of theirs that crosses your path (food, beverage, actor, team, color). It could be their favorite animal or creature or flower/plant. A scent on the breeze. It’s amazing what can come to us when we are open to it. I’m not an expert, but I am a griever. Hope can show up anywhere. You’re not alone in this journey.
No Generative AI was used in the writing of this post. Any financial boost goes directly to encouraging me as a writer who ‘does her own stunts.’
Such beautiful connections, Wheatley! It’s a real gift to stay connected to our lost loved ones. You haven’t stopped loving your dad & he hasn’t stopped loving you ! Ask for signs when you need them! That’s the power of love over death!
Thank you, Wheatley. This definitely made my heart lighter today. Love you, Auntie Barb.