Coincidence?

How do we know that those who leave this earth are still with us?  We absolutely don’t. We don’t have the scientifically agreed upon details or the proof.  But if you ask me, details and proof aren’t necessary.

I have a friend who saw a well-known psychic a few years ago. During her session she was actually given a message from one of her dear friends who had passed away recently. The deceased friend relayed through the psychic that she was trying to communicate with her family, but they were not paying attention. So, she sent a message through my friend instead. This story really makes me laugh. I imagine this soul who is no longer on this earth getting really frustrated with her family. Hello people. Over here!!

This is a very personal subject as it touches on our most sacred beliefs about life and death. Life after death. Religion. I won’t debate much on these topics, but I will passionately share my own experiences and rationale for my beliefs if you’ll listen to me.

A few days before Tim passed away, when we knew that death was imminent, I asked him, what do you believe happens after we die?  Of course, I already knew, but I needed to hear it from him one more time. His response was very brief. Scientific even. “We go into the Universe. Our energy becomes part of the lifeforce. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.” I then asked him, “what should I look for to know you are still with me?”.

Let me say that the few things he told me to watch for, do get my attention occasionally. But there is so much more. I have previously written about a few of these moments, the pennies and the double rainbow, but I could write pages and pages about all of them.

Some are simple –  the kite stuck in the tree in City Park where I walked alone on a cold snowy morning; the photo of us, along with Tim’s obit clipping, on the kitchen floor upon my return from a teary walk with Hank;  the lights that appear subtly yet perfectly in photos; the bizarre blue and yellow bird sculpture at the side of a bike path; the marigold bonsai; the solo deer staring straight at me as I turned the corner having just said aloud, Tim I can’t do this. The songs, the numbers, the pennies, the list gets quite extensive.

Other messages would seem to require a lot of orchestration which make them even more phenomenal to me. Here is one of my favorites.

It was September 20, 2019, and I had had a powerfully emotional day. It included exploring my vulnerability, questions about my own journey, and discovery of events that made me consider why I was on this path. 

I had decided to treat myself to dinner and chose the last restaurant that I knew Tim had dined in while he was in Denver without me – Angelo’s Tavern. This was a place we had discovered together and had been several times. On one of our early visits there, we had noticed the shelves lined with Limoncello, which they made in house. And we reminisced about the first time we tasted this Italian liqueur while traveling in Sorrento on my 40^th birthday.

While alone, on this night, the restaurant was crowded, and I grabbed the only empty seat at the bar. Tim and I would often choose to dine at the bar on a casual night out, usually so he could keep his eye on the kitchen.

I enjoyed their delicious calamari, Caesar salad, and a glass of red.  When I asked for the check, the bartender came back with another glass of red. She said, this is for you, but I can’t tell you who it is from. Tim knows how long it takes me to drink a glass of wine. I guess he wanted me to stay. I had no thought to look around, my silent thank you to Tim gathered in the corner of my eyes as tears, and I slowly sipped the wine. I chatted with a couple next to me for a while and eventually, I asked for the check again. This time I was presented with a shot of Limoncello.  And that really hit me.

This time I scanned the room and could see no one making eye contact with me.  I also had my “wedding” ring on and felt certain that no random person was trying to impress me. And, if you knew Tim, you know he bought strangers drinks and dinner nearly every time he was in a restaurant. All I needed to know right now, was that somehow, he got into someone’s head and said, do this for my Bug.

I couldn’t drink the Limoncello. I had to drive. And I also knew I was close to losing it. I paid the check, walked to my car, cried the ten-minute drive home, and sat in the garage feeling more vulnerable than ever, until the tears ran out.

These are the best of tears. They are full of memories, sorrow, love, questions, and amazement. And those tears are the only proof that I need to know that our loved ones who are no longer in their body will find us, by showing kites and birds and Limoncello and such, if we are willing to listen.

When Tim was still on this Earth, he and I would often be marveled by what some people would casually call a coincidence, most famously our number 10-10-10, which regularly appeared in our lives. We would look at each other and one of us would say with raised eyebrows and a head tilt, “coincidence?” and the other would respond, “I don’t think so.”