During the more than 20 years that my husband, Gary, and I have facilitated support groups, we are often asked, “Do you think our loved ones can communicate with us after death? Can unusual ‘happenings’ be signs of death? or messages?”
Some people will never accept that our loved ones can send us messages after death. Others believe and hold fast to signs and messages that may seem coincidental, but usually deliver a beautiful message confirming that love lives on.
The subject of post-death communications (ADC) has been the subject of scrutiny, hypotheses, and actual facts for many, many years. There will always be skeptics and there will always be defenders. Our newsletters have shared experiences over the years. We’ve invited experts like Judy Guggenheim and Lou LaGrand to our annual Spring Seminar to share their research. And, inevitably, such seminars are very popular. Perhaps the assurance that life goes on is exactly what we need to know when a loved one dies.
I’ve gotten my share of messages over the years… but it’s been a few years since I’ve had one as emotional and moving as an event in September that was epic for me.
For over 20 years, Gary and I have treasured this large 20-inch “milk” bottle that belonged to Chad. She deposited her loose change in it. After his death, we took the bottle and put it in the back of our closet on the floor. We’ve moved it about half a dozen times since his death, when we moved from one new house to another. But we never had the heart to empty the jar. It was as if his presence was a “message” that Chad was always with us.
This time, as we began to pack the boxes for another move, I lifted the heavy jar from its hidden corner on the floor of our closet. I talked to Gary about “resigning”, emptying the contents and letting it go — the fact is: “It was about time“We agreed to take it to the bank and cash it.
Perhaps this jar was just another connecting object that linked us to the memory of our son. After all, he touched the jar and the coins almost every day. No matter how long we hold on to something that was a precious memory of our loved one, at some point the decision must be made to give up the treasured piece. I reasoned that if we didn’t do it… someone else would. Anyone else would have no idea what the jar represented. Someone else would not understand how the message of this jar gave us a sense of peace! It’s not like money interest is growing in its hiding place. Every time I vacuumed the floor, the vacuum head bumped into the heavy canister. And I’d say, “Hello, Chad.” I finally justified our decision. I chuckled when I thought that Chad was probably wondering what the hell we were doing holding on to the jar since 1993.
Gary carried the heavy glass milk bottle to the bank and began depositing change into the automatic coin counter. The sound of metal clanging and banging as he spun in the machine was almost unnerving. Finally, he stopped, but the assistant tried only a couple more swirls, as there were several coins that didn’t count and didn’t go through the machine. He took out the orphan coins. One was a quarter with a hole punched through it. There were several Canadian coins, but the most amazing was a lead token. Gary scooped it up in his hand. In the car, he retrieved the file and handed it to me. The message on that chip in the bottle was mind-boggling. After all this time, there was one more message that we shared with Chad.
He wasn’t prepared for the impact of the chip Gary was holding. Chad got this token from somewhere. I don’t remember giving it to him. He deposited it in the bottle along with other loose change. And on this particular day, bridging the gap between past and present, he brought us joy!
During those 20+ years (since Chad’s death), we formed a non-profit organization called “Wings.” We selected the name based on a verse that I once cross stitched and framed. It hung on our wall during the growing up years. The verse simply said: “Two gifts we should give our children. One is roots and the other is wings.” When Chad died, we find comfort in believing that he “spread his wings” leaving this life for something greater. We, in turn, spread our wings to help ourselves and others cope with grief through our organization, which educates mourners about grief and how to find hope in living again.
I rolled the token in the palm of my hand and read the inscription with tears running down my face. Beneath a set of wings embossed on the token, it read “Spread Your Wings.”
For just a few moments, I felt a resounding sense of peace. And I thought, “I’m not sure, Chad, if the entry on that card was for you or for Gary and me, but I think we both achieved this sacred goal.”
Love never dies. There is beauty in messages from beyond!