Signs and Synchronicities
When Nick passed, I knew we would always be connected, that we had done this before, our souls forever entwined in our growth and love. I have found that when grief hits, it knocks out that connection like a power failure taking out an electrical grid.
All systems are down.
I blacked out when Nick died. My intuition, joy, free spirit, dreams—day and night, and my link to him.
Stephen was the first one to have a sign from Nick in a dream. Then my sister, girlfriends, and mentors dreamt of Nick, so I breathed a sigh of relief.
He was there but my personal grid needed to be powered up and connected.
Nick and I didn’t plan on how we would communicate when he passed because it never, ever entered our minds that this would happen. Black outs are never expected and they throw you into a tizzy of panic and mayhem.
How would my boy show me that he was still here?
Nick has always loved birds—especially hawks and falcons. His favorite is the Quetzalcoatl, a huge prehistoric raptor. Often when I walked, drove, or sat at Nick’s place in the cemetery crying in despair, I’d see hawks fly and feel peace.
Ah. There he is. Soaring free and clear watching over me.
We’d invite family and friends to celebrate Nick’s birthday, release balloons, and then go to a restaurant and order food he loved. Every year, it would rain and there would always be a rainbow.
Photos by Karen Patchell
Nick showing us his light.
I’d jump in the car and the song on the radio would be one that he loved. Drift Away by Dobie Gray, any song from Queen, Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen, which his chorus sang at his funeral. I’d cry in pain yet feel relieved.
Lights flickered. Phones rang and stopped just as Nick’s face popped into my mind.
Cardinals have always perched on my back porch when I’m at my lowest. Nick acknowledging that he knows it’s hard. Seeing that brilliant red bird makes me smile.
On Nick’s birthday, angel anniversary, or holidays, I write him letters. When emotions roil up and threaten a blackout, I feel his hand on my right shoulder, urging me to get it out and release all that’s festering and hurting. He peers at my words, nods. His curly brown hair brushing against my matching curls—ones we inherited from my dad.
I take a deep inhale and breathe out the sadness. Then I can move into my day filled with Nick’s message of love.
Hawks. Rainbows. Songs. Lights. Phone calls. Cardinals. Writing.