Reassurances: Signs From Departed Loved Ones Ease Grief

Posted on November 2, 2016 by Karen Wakefield Editor's note: In April 2016, Karen Wakefield's partner of 19 years—Chuck—died of end-stage kidney disease after having received hospice services at home from Care Dimensions for three months. With Care Dimensions’ help, Chuck was able to stay at home until close to the end, only moving to the Kaplan Family Hospice House for just over a day. Karen has welcomed the encouragement and healing she has received through participation in two of Care Dimensions’ six-week "Writing From the Heart of Grief" bereavement workshops, along with additional individual guidance.

I’ve lost enough people to “the other side” that I now expect to receive signs that they are with me and watching over me. This spring I lost my beloved life partner, Chuck, after 19 years, and have had repeated reassurances that he is still near.

What first solidified this idea for me was an occurrence decades ago following the passing of my mentor, Frank. During my working years, Frank and I co-founded an addiction recovery center in Boston’s North End. As the senior partner, Frank set the tone for our office. Born and raised in the North End, he considered the Italian horns his trademark. He had horns over his office door, in the back window of his car, and in various locations throughout the agency. After we worked together for 18 years, Frank sadly died of lung cancer.

At that time, I did not own an outfit appropriate for a funeral, and I dreaded shopping for one. Nevertheless, the next morning I trudged off to the mall to find the proverbial black dress. As I stepped out of my car, across the parking lot appeared a customized neon-yellow convertible. On the front hood were mounted what looked like long-horn steer horns that seemed to span the entire front of the vehicle. At that moment I knew I would breeze through this next task. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked Frank for his irrefutable reassurance, entered the mall, and in no time emerged with a black dress perfect for the occasion.

In the last seven years, I have lost my father, my mother, and my kid brother, and have received their endearing reassurances in the form of sea gull feathers, quilted things, Mustangs, and Ford 150s. Whenever these items cross my path, I feel watched over, reassured.

The most meaningful affirmations of all have occurred since my partner’s passing. Chuck and I shared similar life views, and over the years we helped each other grow in love and wisdom.

Chuck always had an affinity for turtles. When he began to have difficulty walking, I had a custom walking stick created for him with a carved turtle perched on top. He took it with him wherever we went. People came to know him by this cane, and total strangers would stop him and compliment him on his hand-carved turtle walking stick.

I have sometimes wondered if his Choctaw heritage contributed to this kinship with turtles, but will never know for sure. I do know that before we met, he visited the vortexes in Sedona, and had a sacred vision often attributed to people of Native American heritage. He loved the warmth, the desert, the cacti, and his memorable spiritual experience. During one solemn moment near the end, he entrusted me with his wish to have his ashes strewn in the Sedona desert, in a place reminiscent of his vision.

A week after his passing, we arranged to hold his memorial, which happened to be on Earth Day. His daughter and I ordered a huge purple and orange Birds of Paradise bouquet we felt was symbolic of his spirit.

If you’ve used Google, you are familiar with their delightful drawings for holidays or special events. That morning I pulled up Google, with their depiction celebrating Earth Day. On my computer screen appeared a smiling turtle happily poised among purple and orange cacti in the desert. What’s more, for no reason I can explain, that image re-appeared four or five more times that week.

Several of our family and friends have since confided in me that this was the most wonderful celebration of life they had ever attended. I can’t help but believe that Chuck had a lot to do with how well it turned out. I continue to receive his sweet reassurances, and I still keep his turtle walking stick by the door, just in case…

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