"signs"

2023

I never really believed in signs or an afterlife before. I saw them as comforting ideas, meant to ease the pain of mourning and offer hope that we’ll be reunited with loved ones after death. While I’m still uncertain about the reality of both, there have been far too many coincidences and synchronicities since my mom’s passing for me to dismiss them or belittle their potential meaning. Even on my toughest days, when sadness, anxiety, or flashbacks take hold, I’ll experience something that feels like a message from my mom, helping to ease the weight of it all. And on the good days, hours, or moments, I’ll still encounter something that feels like it came from her, making me smile or laugh when I least expect it.

Lowey; March 2023

One of the first signs I noticed in a repeated pattern was the presence of a beautiful red cardinal. While cardinals are a common symbol for signs, we had never seen them around our house before my mom passed away. This cardinal would appear whenever I sat outside to read and feel closer to my mom. It would stay at a safe distance, watching me for a while. Early in my grief journey, I began to see this cardinal, whom I named "Lowey," whenever I was feeling deeply depressed. Eventually, I started buying cardinal bird food to encourage his visits, and he stuck around, for which I’m truly grateful. Over time, he brought a few friends with him, and now all the male cardinals are named "Lowey," while the female cardinals are affectionately called "Llama Butt" or "LB" for short. This name was lovingly given by my wonderful niece, who drew from the nickname I used for my mom—Mama Llama.

Between the visits from the cardinals, the sightings of gnomes and sunflowers (which I chose to represent happiness, sunshine, my adoption from Ukraine, and the special bond between my mom and me), and a few other "smaller" things, I began to wonder if I could ask my mom for a sign. So, I did. I told her that it could be anything, but I hoped the sign would let me know that she’s doing okay, that she’s happy, and that she’s always with me. That day, nothing happened, and that was completely fine. I had noticed that signs tended to appear when I least expected them, so I knew it was just a matter of time before I would receive something from my mom.

The next day, I had to return an item I’d purchased on Amazon at a local retail store. After the return, I figured it would be fun to check out the fall candles if any had arrived yet. Conveniently, the candle display was near the Amazon return area, which felt like a little treat. As I browsed, I was excited to see that the fall scents were starting to come in (fall is my favorite season). At my exact eye level, I spotted a candle that read "Hello Sunshine," which immediately caught my attention. It was blue (my mom’s favorite color) and had sunflowers all over the outside. I felt drawn to it and thought, “This could be my sign.” I was curious about what it would smell like, expecting something fall-inspired or floral. But when I quickly lowered my mask to sniff the candle, I was stunned—it smelled exactly like a winter candle I had loved the year before, one my mom knew I adored. I thought, “There’s no way,” and flipped the candle over to check the name of the scent. It read, "Let's Get Cozy." That was it! The exact scent I had loved. I couldn’t believe it, especially since the scent didn’t seem to match the design at all. What were the chances that the day after I asked my mom for a sign to let me know she was okay, happy, and always with me, I would receive such a clear and wonderful sign? Naturally, I purchased the candle, and later bought a second one because I didn’t want to burn the original one.

At a later point in my grief journey, I decided to ask my mom for a sign that would be just between the two of us. While I had shared the signs of sunflowers, cardinals, and gnomes with some family members, and I loved that we could bond over those and keep an eye out for them, I wanted something special—something only for me and my mom. So, I made a request, telling her that the sign could appear in any form, especially since it wasn’t something one would typically see in nature or in stores. It would be a symbol of our continued love and connection.

Later that evening, I sat with my dad to watch Family Feud, a show we used to watch together with my mom (and still sometimes do with him). As a question was asked to the family, one of the members gave an answer that was the exact sign I had requested. I was honestly taken aback—it didn’t really make sense as an answer to the question. What were the chances? Then, just a few days later, I saw the sign again, randomly. I haven’t seen it since, but that’s okay. I’ve continued to see some of the other signs, including a funny new one, which brings me comfort.

I’m writing this post because I believe it can offer comfort to others—whether you’re questioning your sanity for repeatedly seeing or hearing certain things, or if you’re uncertain about believing in anything beyond death. I highly recommend staying open to the possibility of receiving signs from passed loved ones. For me, these signs have been comforting, sometimes perfectly timed, and always lovely surprises. They’ve also helped me maintain a strong, vibrant connection with my mom, keeping our relationship alive in a meaningful way.

I also make it a point to thank my mom for the signs I receive. I feel that expressing my gratitude helps her know that she and her efforts are deeply appreciated and continue to be meaningful to me.

If you're interested in exploring more about signs and reading others' experiences, I highly recommend the following book:

"Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe" by Laura Lynne Jackson.

-j🌻

"reshaping my relationship"

Image Source: Monstera Production from Pexels.com

I’ve reached a point where, when I think of my mom, I don’t see her as fully gone at all—and for that, I am truly grateful.

However, it wasn’t an easy road to get to this mindset, though I’m surprised it happened sooner than I expected. There’s often a belief that, when someone passes, you should completely move on. If you continue to communicate with them or hold onto them in any way, it’s seen as not fully accepting their passing.

To me, it’s entirely possible to do both—to continue your relationship with a loved one and to accept their passing.

It took me a little while to stop thinking that my mom was just away for a while and would come back, even though I had seen her pass away right in front of me. What helped with that shift was when we received her cremains and urn. It was like a confirmation: Yes, she is gone, and this is all that remains of her physical body. Even though I knew she was physically gone, a part of me still held on to the hope that she would walk out of her bedroom door and tell me it was all just a bad dream—that it wasn’t her time yet, and she was still here.

I found myself at a crossroads. Society, and certain people around me, seemed to expect that I would just move on, but I didn’t want to leave my mom behind. To me, there was no reason to do that. Of course, I understand and respect why some people choose to move on in their own way, and that’s perfectly valid, too. But through the books I read and the online groups I joined, I came to realize that it’s entirely okay to bring your loved one with you as you move forward.

So, I worked on reshaping my relationship with her. I was able to acknowledge her cremains and urn, but still think of her as whole, happy, and healthy. I continue to remember her beautiful smile, hear her encouraging words, and laugh at her jokes. While she may no longer be with me physically, she is still very much a part of my life—whether as her vibrant self, an embracing light, or in the beauty of nature. And for those who believe in signs, I’ve received and continue to receive them, which brings me a great deal of comfort.

Reshaping my relationship with my mom has been one of the most healing things I’ve done in my grief journey. Of course, there are still days when the absence of her physical presence shatters me, and the wound in my heart feels deeper than ever. In those moments of overwhelming sadness, I allow myself to feel the pain fully. Then, I do my best to remind myself of all the ways she is still with me.

It may take some time, but if you feel called to reshape your relationship with a loved one who has passed, I say go for it. Find what works best for you, whether it’s a ritual like visiting their grave every Sunday, talking to them nightly like I do, or even going to their favorite café and ordering their favorite coffee. I’ve also seen many beautiful tributes to loved ones at important milestones, like weddings and pregnancy announcements. There are countless ways to carry them with you as you move forward in life, and I hope you find the path that feels right for you.

-j🌻

"transferring"

Trigger warning: This post discusses ashes and the transferring of ashes.

2023

Recently, I had to request a replacement urn necklace after the closure unexpectedly popped out of my original one. The night it happened, I thought my earring had fallen out of my ear, but I quickly realized I was mistaken. I grabbed a flashlight and knelt on the floor of our family room, trying to locate the source of the noise. Soon, I spotted a ruby gemstone and felt a wave of panic. Looking down at my necklace, I saw what almost looked like a wound—what had fallen was the closure, which wasn’t supposed to come off once secured.

After frantically checking to make sure none of the ashes had fallen out of my necklace, I moved to our kitchen table to try and fix the closure. As I placed the necklace on its back, a small fragment of bone shifted into the opening. Even though I had read about what ashes are made of, it still unsettled me a bit. I managed to secure the closure back in place, but I wasn’t entirely confident it wouldn’t pop off again. So, I reached out to the customer service team. Thankfully, they understood the situation and sent me a replacement urn necklace for free. My dad and I decided to handle the transfer of ashes to the new necklace ourselves.

The morning after receiving the replacement necklace, my dad and I prepared to transfer my mom’s ashes. When I removed the wooden base and saw her ashes in the plastic bag, my stomach dropped. I tried to remind myself that even though this was all that remained of her physical body, she was whole, happy, and healthy in spirit. My hands shook slightly as I transferred her ashes, careful not to drop anything. I even placed a few larger bone fragments into the necklace. Although I tried to approach this task with strength, my composure faltered when I began screwing the nails into the base. I couldn’t maintain the facade any longer.

I broke down. Tears blurred my vision, and I asked my dad if he could finish screwing in the base, which he kindly and thankfully did. It was hard to grasp that this was all that was left of my mom—a beautiful person with a wonderful heart, an infectious smile, and boundless love—just ash. The only thing that broke through the overwhelming pain was my cat, who started acting very goofy. I can’t quite describe his behavior, but it even made me ask, “What are you doing, Milo?” I like to think it was my mom’s way of trying to distract me or cheer me up.

After thanking my dad for his help and placing the urn back in the family room, I stood next to it, taking a moment. The transfer was an emotionally difficult process, but I’m incredibly grateful that I did it. The closure on this new necklace feels much more secure, which brings me peace knowing I won’t have to worry about her ashes falling out or losing the gemstone closure. I truly love and cherish this necklace, especially since it features her fingerprint, too.

If you choose to transfer ashes on your own and feel anxious about it, I recommend having someone you trust and feel comfortable with by your side. Having my dad there made a world of difference for me.

-j🌻