Signs. Signs. Everywhere are signs…

Signs.  Signs.  Everywhere are signs...

Every day I talk to people who are grieving and every day I hear stories about the signs they’re yearning for or the signs they’ve received. It could be a dream, a rainbow, a butterfly, a spontaneous electrical event, a spontaneous turning on of something, something dropping or showing up unexpectedly… Some signs are so clever and so unique to the individual that it’s hard to see that it could be anything other than a sign.

One woman’s husband used to spontaneously bring her one yellow rose periodically throughout their long marriage. Never on an occasion, but on random days. One day, when she was especially missing him, she visited his grave. There, on his grave, sat one yellow rose. She said it looked battered, like an animal had drug it from another bouquet somewhere else and left it there. Since it was so battered, she dismissed the idea that anyone else could have placed it there. Still…it was one yellow rose on a day when she needed something…anything…from him.

My clearest sign came from my grandfather Irving…18 years after his death. He used to call my sister and I “Doll” in his unique way with his wonderful Brooklyn Jewish accent. In my dream, I was exiting a corner store in a mall. From around that corner, I heard my grandfather call out “Doll”. As I turned, he put his arms out and I snuggled in. My grandfather was a big man, about 6′ 4″, I think. My head nestled in his chest and we wrapped our arms around each other. I could smell him and feel him and I knew it was him. We didn’t exchange a single word. We didn’t need to. I felt loved and warm and safe in his arms.

As a rule, I rarely remember my dreams. Sometimes, when I’m distressed about something I’ll have a dream and then try to analyze it in the morning. It’s rare that I remember it past that day, but this dream? This I remember in absolute detail all these years later. That’s how I know it was a visit and not a dream.

What about you? What signs have you received?

Copyright Lisa B. Wolfe, Translating Grief, LLC

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