This past week I was privileged to connect two of my favorite women whose sons both died in the prime of their lives. But it was not loss alone that reached nearly 3,000 miles to open dialogue between them, it was the fact that both young men found ways to communicate with their mothers after death.
Below is a series of letters begun by Pat, who lives in upstate New York.
Since my son, Doug, died at age 17, I associate feathers with his spirit. No matter where I am, a feather appears. Only yesterday I was working cutting hostas, got all done, put my tools away, shut the shed door, looked down at my autumn joy plant, and on top lay the littlest fluffy feather. Strange how they always show up when I am not thinking about them. Or maybe I want them to show up. I am hoping you have some answers for me. Am I a nut case? Love pat
There is a whole world of sensitive people out there, who can be called nut cases if you like, but I would choose kinder more appropriate words to describe the eternal bonding between a mother and her son. I believe what you experience is fairly common, but folks have no place to talk about it.
I remember feeling distraught about this ‘gift’ of mine, when I was meditating, maybe 35 years ago, while sitting under a tree in Seattle. In my mind, I said, ‘Am I just nuts or are you really there? I need to know because it’s no fun being so different.’ I got up to make my way back to see a client and saw a penny shining from the ground in a way that got my attention. I picked it up knowing it was a sign. After that I saw a penny every time I had a client, and if the penny dropped from my hands or rolled away so I couldn’t get it again, they would cancel. At some point that stopped. Just didn’t need the proof anymore, I guess.
I forwarded your email to my friend Dicksie who lives in Arizona and asked her to write you. She also lost a son, only he leaves dimes in her path. Lucky you for having the comfort of that connection. Karen
You don’t know me, but I am a friend of Karen’s. She shared your email about the feathers because if you’re a “nut case,” so am I. I lost my son 16 years ago – and for me, its dimes. I’m not sure how it started, but when he was still with me, I once found three dimes in one day and something good happened – can’t even remember now – but from then on, I declared them as good luck. When I found one, I’d throw it in my car to help keep me safe, or stick it in a windowsill, that type of thing. After my son died, his wife gave me a little box with three dimes in it. When she was cleaning out his truck, she found them. She said she knew he’d thrown them in there because of me.
Since then, I find them at the weirdest times in the weirdest places – and I know they are a message from him, just saying “Hi Mom!” I have told friends and relatives about this – and then they started finding them too and would write or call and tell me about their “dime experiences.” I was visiting family in Utah once and told my two nieces about it. They were both silent and I was sure they were thinking “poor Dicksie.” Then my one niece, who had gotten in the back seat, looked down at the floor and there was a dime! That made believers out of them. My other niece wrote me a card a couple of months later – said she had been really depressed, had been out mowing her lawn and found two dimes!
So, I don’t care if I am a nut case, it makes me feel good when I find one – and it makes me feel good that others find them and call me or write me to tell me about it. Enjoy your feathers. It is a lovely way to stay in touch! Dicksie
A final note from Henry Miller:
Of course you don’t die
Death doesn’t exist
You only reach a new level of vision
A new realm of consciousness
A new unknown world