Do You Believe in Signs?

Because I didn't—until my mom died

A few days before my mother died, I was sitting at her bedside, holding her hand. I held her hands a lot in those final days, trying to commit the feel of them to memory. They were practical hands, the hands of a piano teacher: Nails neatly trimmed, no jewelry save for her wedding band.

She was in a hospice in the English countryside, her body slowly shutting down after a year of failed cancer treatments. It was springtime, and the woodlands outside her room had turned violet with bluebells.

The hospice was in a converted 14th-century manor house, its windows tall and arched. I stared at those windows while we talked about death and the afterlife, as if they were a portal to a world beyond ours, where she would soon go.

I asked her if she would send me signs once she had passed, something to let me know she was still out there.

She was quiet for a moment, considering my question.

“Feathers,” she told me, giving my hand a soft squeeze. “I’ll send feathers.”

In that moment, neither of us could be sure if what she said was true. After all, neither of us had died before. Was sending signs even possible where she was going? But it brought us both comfort, living in the possibility that we could remain connected after she was gone.

My mother died two days after that conversation in the early hours of the morning.

The following afternoon, at my parents’ house, I stole away to their bedroom. I took out my phone and opened up the last message from my mom.

“When [your dad] brings the watermelon will you send one sweet apricot? Love you so muchxxxxxx.” She was nauseous and the sweetness of the apricots helped.

The last time my mom and I messaged each other, four days before she died.

I typed a new message. “I love you. Are you there?”

I pressed send and waited. For 32 years she had answered me when I reached for her. The silence seemed impossible. And yet, there it was.

My chest tightened. I felt panicked. She would never answer me again. I went downstairs and slipped out the front door. It was an ordinary street in an ordinary neighborhood in England. But I felt as if I were walking through a kaleidoscope of color and sound. The trees were greener, the sky was bluer, the birds were louder.

I sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and the thought came to me, “She’s in everything. Those trees. That sky. The birds.” I said out loud, “I can feel you. Are you really there?”

And I can’t tell you why, but I chose to turn my head to the right at that moment, and watched as a lone gray feather gently floated toward the ground, landing a few feet from me.

It’s been nearly 10 years since she died, and more often than not, a feather enters my path at the exact moment I’m worried about something or thinking about her.

Whether or not it’s actually her doesn’t really matter, though I hope it is. What matters is that it makes me feel connected to her, and maybe that’s enough.

Have you received signs from loved ones who have passed? I’d love to know, if you’d like to share.

I shared an earlier version of this as a Note, and readers responded with stories of their own signs from loved ones. Here’s a taste:

Rachael Lala: Our mums would never leave us. Mine sends me white butterflies and compliments from kind strangers about my hair (which I used to fret about postpartum). Often the timing of these signs has been too immaculate for me to even consider that it might not be her! It makes me believe in life beyond, in magic and in the steadfastness of the love we share.

Janet Stahl: This week I hugged a friend and she smelled wonderful. I asked her what her scent was. She said “hairspray.” My mom was a beautician for 34 years and hairspray was an underlying scent. I took it as a kiss and a message from my mom. They love us.

Laura Apfelbeck: My dad loved the song “Heart of Glass” by Blondie. He was a dedicated country music fan while I prefer rock, so this was one song we loved together. He passed 6 years ago. It “randomly“ pops up on the car radio at perfect times in my life.

Marcia Diederich: My deceased husband plants words that have special meaning for us in the NYT crossword puzzles on birthdays and anniversaries. I’m sure of this.

Tantra Maat: Same with my son Jeremy who died over 40 years ago. He leaves a penny. Coming back from Hawaii my BP spiked. I was quite scared yesterday and walked into the kitchen and I saw a single penny right in the middle of the kitchen chair. Love never dies.

Jill Raisig: So awesome! Recently read the book Signs. So to test this theory, I asked my Dad to communicate with me through Eagles. I first saw an abstract eagle painting which kind of disappointed me. I said this outload….come on, I know you can do better. The next day while driving in the bayou in Louisiana, a golden eagle soared over our car! I’m a believer. Sure makes losses a bit easier.

Donald Johnson: My mom said a quarter. Like who drops quarters? Sure enough, when I’m missing her and chatting with her in my prayers, one will show up. I miss you, Mom.