Signs

Signs 

The stop overs, the passers by who may be bringing me milk or food are angels in my day. I do not always have the energy to visit long, but sometimes the connection and conversation are the medicine I need. 

Yesterday, a dear friend, one of Edmond’s soul-friends, brought coffee and conversation to my door. His expertise in medicine was another part of this puzzle. No answer will change this reality, but as it turned out what we discussed was what my son William needed to know later in the day. I was grateful I could share what I had heard from E’s friend, our friend, who is a doctor. It mattered and somehow settled something in my son. 

I was also grateful to hear how this same friend longed for Edmond, their conversations, and time together. Truly, two amazing humans who were lucky enough to find each other on this planet and who are now separated in a painful way. Sharing in this pain that comes from a place of love widened my cracks that began to splinter throughout my being on April 4, 2023. 

The four cardinals that interrupted my conversation with a beautiful human who walks our dogs these days (a gift from the community) was a sign of Edmond’s presence. The birds were four red exclamation marks upon the words we had just spoken about shared pain opening our hearts in deep connection.

Our dog Zeke solidified our family number in March of 2017. Six years ago, the night before we were to put him down, I heard him tell me that his death would occur at 11:11am. (Yup, I can hear dogs in my head.) This seemed impossible to believe, but his message was clear. I even told Edmond as we put our heads on our pillows to try and sleep. As Zeke’s heart stopped, and the vet nodded to confirm, I suddenly remembered and glanced at the clock. Sure enough, it was 11:11am, and he was 11 years and 11 months old when he left us. It has become a signal to us of mythic presence, some connection we have beyond this world. 

When the amazon package addressed to Edmond arrived about a week ago, I opened it. It was the UV light and filters for our rainwater system. He thought of everything, so timely and consistent. I felt the overwhelm of this task I had never had to do. I called our dear friend who said he would help. He instructed me to go into the pump house and look to see how many days were left on the current UV light. In bright red, I saw the number eleven. 

So, when the kind, even-voiced young woman wearing my favorite style Doc Marins at the green cremation facility handed me Edmond’s money clip sealed up in an envelope and told me of its contents, I was not entirely surprised. She revealed that there was exactly $11 dollars inside. I turned to my children and looked specifically at our youngest child. It was also her 11th birthday that difficult day. It felt like we were on track in a strange world where we had never been before. It allowed me to put one step in front of the other toward another major hurdle in the business of dying. Eleven was a sign post, a cairn, a trail marker keeping us from feeling so lost. 

Yesterday, the shattering of our world and of my body was so crackled, and yet the sweet visit with Edmond’s college roommate and his wife filled me with lightness. We compared notes and realized truly some of Edmond’s evolutions, and we laughed and cried. My sweet cousin came and brought me some of her over-the-top birthday cake and her nurturing care that comes with her presence. An old and dear one brought us jambalaya (E’s specialty) and hugs and kisses. It was an enormous day, and somehow all the cracks made room for this love to enter my world and heart. The day before had been so dark and desolate. This was surely my dear E’s way to comfort me.

Deep, sweet connection with my mom at the dinner table until the night had become today was perhaps the biggest freedom for me so far. These openings and conversations I know are possible because he has found a way through. Or, I have found a way to see him as he is now. His presence brings more light into the room so the people in the room can see each other better, hear more clearly what is under the surface, and say what we have failed to say to each other before. 

The signs are sometimes not enough, and I imagine there will be some more dark and difficult days that crack me open in other ways. I will not say I am willing or looking forward to those, but I am realistic about this process of grieving. I am still struggling to find my dream world that is usually so clear. I am sure the shock in my body makes that kind of sleep difficult. It has always been my clearest communications from the otherworld. I want to dream him in desperately. And, yesterday, the signs of waking-life were golden and precious in the midst of this loss.