On a Friday evening this past October, my sister-in-law and I sat at the restaurant bar of Los Poblanos in Albuquerque, sipping on a great Spanish red, sharing really amazing food, and giving the bartender a front row seat to some grief tears, some laughter, some hand squeezing. It had been two and a half years since Luke — my brother and her husband — died suddenly, upending each of our lives in unique ways.
The visit, the conversation — they had been a long time coming. This was the first visit we’d had since his death that wasn’t marked by at least one trauma (yes, lamentably, some visits were a two-for-one deal where we got to double dip in separate crises at once) — it was a mix and match menu including two memorial services, early months of grieving, an ash spreading, the eve of a surgery, a memorial garden dedication, and a serious car accident. This time was just…a visit! There was no big event to anticipate, no catastrophic news to metabolize, no reason to hold my breath. Just a trip, my kids and me, from Vancouver to Albuquerque, to visit family.
Over carrot cavatelli, we talked about who he was and what he meant to us and to so many other people in so many different ways. We talked about his loyalty, his sense of humor, what we miss about him, his complicated relationships, some hard things and beautiful things that happened in the couple of years before he passed, his propensity to sometimes be a jackass, and his actual being a badass [insert Luke’s resume here]. We talked about the fact that he was a bit of an enigma to both of us in different ways, and we wondered if he was a little bit of an enigma to himself, too. We talked about his deep goodness.
***
Almost immediately after his death, members of our family began finding Luke, sensing his presence. You might’ve experienced something similar if you’ve lost someone very close to you. There are signs all over the place. Some are too particular to ignore, too precise to be a coincidence. Others are common and frequent — they don’t take your breath away, but they are a comfort you can come to rely on. Either way, they’re all a visit, a hug, a gift, a reminder that the veil between those of us living here on earth and those living just beyond is very, very thin.
Since his passing, one of the ways Luke has visited me has been through dreams. (I’ve always had vivid dreams, and complain to Yancey on a regular basis that I wake up more exhausted than when I went to sleep because my dreams are so active.) Luke has spoken to me directly in a couple of dreams, giving me words that I’ll hold close to my heart forever. My other sign from Luke is the sun shining — in a way that's kind of startling and marginally dangerous [again, insert his resume here] — right in my face while I’m driving alone in the car. As the result of a story that’s not mine to tell, one of Luke’s signs for Shea and their kids is a roadrunner.
***
That October meal, that barstool conversation, was balm to my soul. As we were finishing up, I told Shea that I felt like Luke was really happy we were doing this, really happy that our kids were back at her house together, snuggled up on the couch watching movies, in one of their happiest places: anywhere together. She scheduled an Uber to come pick us up and when the driver canceled we ordered another glass of wine.
The second driver canceled too, but the third showed up. When he took a quick turn off of the main driveway of the restaurant property and into a little wooded area, we raised our eyebrows at each other in the back seat. He turned around and got back on track, and we started chatting. After a few miles, Shea paused the conversation and looked out the windows. She politely asked the driver what route he was taking; she wasn’t sure how he was planning to get us back to her address. He wasn’t impressed with her question, but showed us the map on his phone. “Ok, that’s fine. I’ve just never been this way before,” she told him. “I’ll go a different way if you want me to,” he said, his eye roll audible. “No, it’s OK. I just never would have thought to go this way.”
As he drove, we talked about plans for the next day with our kids: maybe a hike if the weather’s good? maybe the trampoline park if not?
We went through a green light then the driver stopped abruptly as the warning gate lowered at a railroad crossing. We were the only car in sight on a dark road Shea was unfamiliar with, riding with our third-time’s-a-charm Uber driver who took a very circuitous route to bring us to this particular point at this particular time, now waiting, apparently, for a train to pass. Within no more than five seconds of stopping at the railroad crossing, a train whooshed by us, the sides of its white cars emblazoned with an enormous red roadrunner.
If you feel like sharing in the comments, I’d love to know: is there something in particular that’s a sign for you of a loved one who has passed?
Worth It
A few pieces of random goodness that have been worth my time and energy recently…
My brother, Brett, just played this song for me today as I was about to start writing this essay and it got me right in the gut. I love a good, feely, acoustic song with a catchy chorus and a deep message.
One of my favorite veggie shakes to make, inspired by the Hula Girl juice recipe at my spirit-animal-of-a-store, the Kauai Juice Co.
Blend up: 1 bunch of kale, rinsed; half of a pineapple, chunked (fresh or equivalent frozen); a mango, peeled; half an apple, peel on, seeds removed; a big handful of fresh basil; some water to loosen it up and/or ice if you like. SO tasty.I’m pretty much allergic to traditional Catholic iconography and the artistic portrayal of saints. (More power to you if it’s your thing, but it’s never been mine.) BUT! I really love the incredible art of Gracie at The Modern Saints. St. Clare with dreadlocks? St. Francis with a full sleeve tattoo? Every portrayal of Mary with beautiful dark skin and piercings? I’m in.
Ohhh I LOVE signs (as you well know)!! My favorite lately is he many butterflies are on so many kids clothing right now. They remind me of Papa...I’ll tell you the whole story another time. I feel like every kiddo I see with butterflies is my dad saying hi and that he’s watching out for me! Love you!
A very nice read to start my day. And the ending gave me chills. ❤️