Where ARE you? I find myself randomly asking this question, knowing of course that ‘Elvis has left the building’.  (No my husband’s name wasn’t Elvis) I keep a sharp eye out for anything I can construe as a ‘sign’ that his presence is nearby.  I get no answers.

Pennies? We used to find those suckers everywhere.  And like homing devices, they were promptly deposited in the grandkid piggy bank. Birds? My husband had a fondness for hawks. (just saying)  I never seem to see them when he did, but now they seem to be everywhere.  Does it mean he has a hand in that? Who knows. Some people say to keep talking to those who passed over because the dead want to keep the conversation going. Part of me says it’s hard to keep up a one-sided conversation but truth be told, my husband always had a lot to say. He was never at a loss for words.

It’s been said that those who’ve died are masters of energy, prone to fooling around with light and electricity. I haven’t seen much evidence of that except for those Christmas lights. Now that was a party trick! My little white lights were hung on the tree with care (a lot of care) and the night before Christmas, as I waited for my kids to arrive, one single row began blinking. I thought, great, how the heck am I going to find out which string that is? My next thought was – yikes! I saw clearly that it was one single string directly under the little framed picture of my prince charming, flanked by his initial ornament on one side and the little silver knight I had just bought in remembrance on the other.

The next morning, the lights were on – but not blinking. Coincidence? I think not.

But is that enough to convince me? Maybe not.  I remember that character on tv a few months ago who said he wouldn’t ‘belabor the point’.  I laughed out loud, I mean, who says that? Well, that husband of mine did. In fact, he used those words often — and effectively especially when he wanted to shut down a subject (or me lol).

When we want to connect so badly to the people we love, we’ll grab onto any thread we can and pray it’s a golden ring. Are those hawks a mystic sign or are they merely becoming as common a sight as the damn wild turkeys in my backyard. Maybe the float with Santa that blared “All I want for Christmas is You’ as they passed my daughter and I tearfully leaving a tree-lighting ceremony for those who died last year was a total coincidence.  Or was it?

It could be that the impulsive guy who was so perennially frustrated with his computer is now doing a bit of tech support for the heavenly Geek Squad.  Or just maybe that kooky man who was my ‘till death do you part’. . . is still talking.

Who is still talking to you?