Signs

 

They’re just as mysterious as triggers—you never know when you will get one and you can’t predict what they will be. They’re like little drops of water in the desert of grief. Whenever and however they come, they are precious. I am talking about signs and I’ve been lucky to have experienced several since Luke has passed. 

Some signs are subtle, like a cloud or a bird or a gust of wind, and others are more obvious like seeing him in my dreams. Some feel like they’re directly from Luke and others feel like they’re from God telling me it’s going to be ok. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference, but I just know it’s significant and it brings me comfort. 

I will share some of the signs I’ve experienced on this journey so far. 

Dreams are my favorite. I don’t know why some people get dreams of their loved ones and others don’t. I feel lucky that I’ve had multiple dreams with Luke in them and while I won’t take the time to write about every one, there are some things in common with each dream I’ve had. Luke usually appears kind of unexpectedly. I freak out and run to him and scream excitedly, “LUKE!!!” I rush to hug him. There may be a few words spoken, but then it’s usually over. It always seems like he can’t stay long, like he’s got things to do or is on his way. He always has an air of calm and I have absolute Mom hysteria. In one dream I had early on, he said to me, “Mom, why are you freaking out? It’s just me.” That was the most Luke thing I’ve ever heard. That felt like an actual visitation from my boy. 

I never want to wake up after these dreams. Whatever they are, I cherish them and crave more time in that moment, that space. The whole world stops. I had one dream in the middle of the day. I had fallen asleep on the couch and dreamed about Luke. When I woke up, I just laid there frozen for the longest time. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to leave that feeling of being with him again. It’s the closest thing to him I can have in this life. It’s precious beyond words. 

On the first birthday we celebrated without Luke, his 18th birthday, I woke up early in the morning and the song “Piano Man” by Billy Joel was playing in my head. It’s always been one of my favorite songs, but I hadn’t heard it in a while. I smiled. I felt peace. I felt my boy. He’s my piano man. I knew I could handle this first birthday. We spent the day at Lake Michigan and hiked the sand dunes. It was beautiful and relaxing and as perfect as it could be. We cried later that night, but I felt I had some extra strength given to me early that morning in the form of a song. 

I’ve had multiple times where I was having a particularly hard week and someone would send me a text or a message out of the blue to share a memory of Luke or something that brought me comfort. If there is a pattern to these signs, they do seem to appear more when I am struggling in my grief or having a difficult time. And they often seem so personalized to what I need, usually an emotional need, that they just can’t be shrugged off as coincidence. They feel like little kisses from heaven. That sounds silly, but it really feels like that to me. Just a little nudge to help me keep going. 

One of these moments happened at the start of the school year this year. I work at the high school. At the beginning of the year, we have a lot of training videos we have to watch. One day I came in and found out there was a mandatory in-person training meeting we had to attend and the topic was suicide prevention. That was unexpected and I internally freaked out a little. I planned to sit near the door so I could run out if necessary. I always have a plan for these moments. Shortly before the training, I happened to see a teacher that I knew Kate and Luke both had had. He approached me and introduced himself. I mentioned that he had my kids in class. When he realized who I was, he said he had something for me. He took me to his classroom and pulled out an envelope that he had saved in his drawer, something from the 2019 school year when Luke was in his class. He didn’t remember what it was but thought I might like to have it. He also told me he enjoyed having Luke in class and how smart he was. He remembered where he sat and pointed it out to me. I took the envelope, but decided not to open it until I got home. I just wanted to get through this training without crying or having a panic attack. So, I went to the training. It was heavy and parts were hard to hear, but I did ok. I got home and opened the envelope. It was one of those beginning-of -the-year informational things you fill out for the teacher with your name, info about yourself and goals for the year. Then the teacher gives it back to you at the end of the year. Of course Luke never made it to the end of the school year, which is why the teacher still had it. There was nothing particularly new in terms of information, but it was written by Luke in his own handwriting. He mentioned that he hoped to have a good school year. It made my heart so happy. I felt so connected to him. And a little sad. But what a beautiful little gift that was, and what are the chances that I got this little gift almost two years later on the very day, literally a few minutes before going in to learn about how preventable suicide is if you only follow these simple steps… ugh. Oh what a gift these signs are! 

One final one I’ll share. Probably the most sacred to me. It was small, but powerful. And it was so very needed. A few days after Luke passed when we were in a state of shock, not sure what day it even was, trying to simultaneously make decisions and plan a funeral and also make sense of a reality we couldn’t even wrap our brains around, I woke up in the middle of the night. I felt a feeling or a presence, not sure how to describe it. I woke up Greg and said, “It’s Luke. And he's at peace.” And the feeling left as quick as it came. But that experience has stayed with me and I have drawn strength from it many times over the last 2 years and 5 months.

In one of the online grief groups that I’m in, someone wrote, “It’s the small things that hurt so much.” I couldn’t agree more. But it’s also small things that can help and heal and bring comfort. That’s what these signs are for me, and I thank God for every one.