Signs, Signs, Everywhere A Sign…

I’ve always known that we receive energy in a way that matches what we put into the world. I don’t say that to sound hokey or mystical in any way. It’s just the way I was raised. My grandparents were very involved in the medium community so it’s just something I’ve always been open to.

It’s probably the reason my reaction to living in a home that was once a funeral home is insignificant. Not in a way that is inconsiderate, quite the opposite actually. Just in a way that doesn’t create fear or angst in sharing space with those who have passed.

Both of my children have had experiences when they were very young with “the little girl in the closet” of one of the bedrooms in my home. The conversation with both was the same.

Be kind to her, and let her know she is safe to visit you, just as you are safe when she visits.

I digress….

Both of my parents have passed. It has taken me many years to be able to know when my mom sends me signs. I know now that that is because there is so much about her passing and that time in my life that I am still very protective of and working through. I don’t actually know that, it is just what I believe to be true.

My dad on the other hand? Whoa.

My dad was one of the most powerful human beings in my world. I talk about him openly today just as I have my whole life. His legacy lives in all of us in ways that sometimes catches us by surprise even four years later.

He started with signs immediately after his passing. And when I say immediately, I mean within the hour.

My dad passed peacefully in his home, in the arms of his most cherished ones. I left that day when the authorities arrived at my parent’s house to begin the next steps.

I came home and I sat on my front porch quietly, in an attempt to catch my breath. Within a few moments I became aware of a duck quacking so aggressively it was distracting. This obnoxiously loud duck landed in my front yard and sent a change of address postcard to all his friends to let them know he lived on Adams St.

He sat.

For almost an hour.

A duck.

In my front yard.

Nowhere near water.

Having never been there before.

He returned a few times that day and the next.

The following day, I walked into the funeral home a few minutes before my family arrived. I felt unsteady and sad the way most anyone does when navigating new grief.

I walked in and stopped at the stand where the signature book lives to wait for the rest of my family. I looked at the wall above the bookstand and there was a 4x6 framed photograph of a mallard duck.

My dad would randomly sing phrases or songs like dads do. In the car, waiting for something, you get the point. Sometimes he would sing “Of all the things I’d like to be, I’d like to be a duck……”

It wasn’t until I became an adult that I learned the rest of that sentence as he never finished it. It was just one of those Harryisms I collected.

And that was the day I began my affinity for mallard ducks. Do I have a house full of them as a reminder? No. But do they show up randomly and at the exact moment I need a reminder? Every. Single. Time.

His ability to let me know he’s got me is inevitable. If I wanted to deny it, I’d be a fool. It’s a beautiful gift that allows my siblings, my mom, my boys and I to know his presence, even in his absence. We share these times with each other and revel in their significance regularly.

I just returned from a family vacation that was six years in the making. It was a very big deal for many reasons, all of which my dad understood when he was here with us.

We left in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, so I instinctively grabbed my favorite baseball hat for the ride. My dad’s Notre Dame hat. His team. His hat.

A quiet “keep us safe dad” under my breath and we were off on the ultimate adventure as three.

Around 8:30 a.m. my ex husband called unexpectedly. We had been driving since 3:30 a.m. That part is important.

I answered the call and immediately asked if everything was ok after I said hi because the boys were with me so I wasn’t sure why else he would have been calling if not for an emergency.

He said hi pretty casually and then asked me the same.

Huh?

We were fine, just driving.

He said he had a missed call from me at 6:10 a.m. so he was just calling to make sure everything was ok.

We exchanged puzzled replies, confirmed that everything was fine, and that was that.

And then I looked at my call log because I had made zero phone calls.

Shawn at 6:11 a.m.

Dad at 6:10 a.m.

I made zero phone calls that morning. Zero. Yet, there he was.

Again, I acknowledged my dad, thanked him for letting me know he’s got us, and kept driving.

A while later, my oldest and I switched seats and he drove. HUGE milestone for both of us as the drive is 12 hours, so to have someone to share it with was a big deal. Also, we had been making this particular drive since before he was born, so for him to now be part of the process kinda rocks.

As we got back on the road with me in the passenger seat, we approached a light and I looked over at the street sign.

Asbury Rd.

My dad grew up in Asbury Park, NJ.

When he let’s me know, he does so in a way that stops me just long enough to truly know.

Our ride home yesterday was horrific. Traffic that felt like it was never going to end and a tired teenager left me behind the wheel for about 15 hours. My mood expired 10 hours in, behind a white car with Washington state plates about a hundred yards before the toll plaza to get on the George Washington bridge.

4.5 hours later, somewhere in Connecticut I had never been because Waze decided I needed to drive EVERY PAVED ROAD THE STATE OF CONNECTICUT EVER CREATED, I had to pull off an exit. I needed gas and to exit the car immediately. I couldn’t drive one more minute.

I pulled off this totally random exit and it was one of those super long, wide curves. As I’m coming around the curve, approaching a red light at the end, I look up and directly in front of me is a convenience store.

Not just any convenience store.

A Krauszer’s store.

I’m 48 years old. The year I was born, my dad began his career in the convenience store industry. As a twenty something with a wife and brand new baby, working in a convenience store in Bradley Beach, NJ.

I’ll give you three guesses the name of that convenience store. First two don’t count.

I didn’t even know Krauszer’s stores were still around, as it’s been almost 40 years since I’ve seen one.

Until yesterday. When I was literally too tired to keep going.

If you wonder if your loved ones send you signs, don’t. I promise you they do.

All you have to do is keep your eyes as open as your heart. Allow there to be space for them to find you. And don’t ever question their presence.

Every single thing he gave me my entire life allows me to carry on without him in a way that passes on to my boys. I find him in them every single day.

And when he needs me to know he’s there, he always finds a way.