a: something material or external that stands for or signifies something spiritual
b: something indicating the presence or existence of something else
My mom and I often discussed our love of “signs.” We both believed life is full of messages, it’s our job to be present to noticing them. We pledged that whoever died first would send signs to the other so we could continue communication. Death was not going to limit us.
What we talked about with laughter and promises came to pass on April 10, 2011 when my mom died. This blog, A Season of Signs, began then. I have written on and off about those moments of connection that remind me of her. On June 3, 2013, I gained another communicator from the other side when my dad passed away. As I have mentioned in some of my posts my dad communicates differently.
My folks never traveled much during their lives, but their deaths? It’s like they finally went on a huge vacation and we are just waiting for them to come home. In actuality, they went on the biggest trip of all and I think it’s really them waiting for my brothers and me to come home.
In the first version of this page about the blog, I wrote:
A dear friend who has helped to hold me during this year, referenced this time in my life as a season of sorrow. Season. Here’s the thing that all of us, who are blessed to live with the seasons, know – they change. We live those shifts in our bodies, through all of our sensory experiences. So too my sorrow. If I fully live this season, I believe I can more deeply embrace the rhythm of my life. A rhythm of daily life where my mom is no longer with me in the body. I must find new ways of communicating with her and be open to the new ways that she still cares for me.
-Tuesday August 23, 2011
I’ve found that in embracing grief and allowing myself to live it, my life has a fullness that feels right. I’m not interested in ending this blog. Grief has no end. But with tenacity, my grief invites me to delve deeper into this life of mine.
So I’ll continue to note the signs along my path calling out for deeper reflection. As I do so, I hope my relationship with my parents (both of whom I reflect) deepens. I pray my mom’s sensitivity and my dad’s humor shine through in my writing.
July 14, 2015, Grandma Wewers’ 97th birthday