Daddy lived in a nursing home about two and a half hours from the large city where my older brother, my sister, and I live. Our younger brother, who lived with Daddy, served as his primary caregiver. We each took a weekend to sit with Daddy and give our brother a break.

Daddy’s emphysema made conversation difficult, so we shared quiet time watching Gunsmoke reruns on his small television. The plan worked well for years, until shortly after my October visit. My brother’s three children were involved in a fatal car accident. My brother and his wife were dealing with the loss of their three-year-old son and making daily visits to their other son, who remained in a coma. His daughter, who had two broken ankles, stayed with me when she was released from the hospital.

The family needed my help, but caring for my niece meant that I couldn’t make my trips to see Daddy or explain why I wasn’t coming. My brother wanted to tell Daddy in person, which made sense. Daddy doted on his newest grandson and hearing the news over the phone would be too hard. The only problem was that my brother wasn’t able to leave for a visit to the nursing home. I was worried because Daddy wouldn’t know why we weren’t going to see him.

My nephew came out of his coma and went home for Christmas Day. My niece also went home. After twelve long weeks, we made plans to tell Daddy about the accident. Unfortunately, we never had the chance. Our younger brother called in the wee hours of New Year’s Day to say that Daddy had passed away.

More grief was heaped upon still-fresh grief. Counseling helped, but I couldn’t get over the fact that I never had the chance to say good-bye to Daddy, or that he didn’t know why I hadn’t come to see him. I couldn’t shake the regret. It shadowed my thoughts like a dark, thunderous cloud.

After a couple of years, my husband decided that a trip to the local bluebonnet festival might help me shake the sadness. We hadn’t been to the festival since Daddy went into the nursing home. I knew the outing would only remind me of trips with Daddy. I didn’t want to go, but my husband wouldn’t take no for an answer.

When we arrived at the little town hosting the festival, the sun sparkled off the fields of bluebonnets. Colorful vendor booths lined the streets. People were laughing and smiling. The scene should’ve made me smile, but it didn’t.

As I headed toward the entrance, I heard someone call my name. I scanned the people walking nearby, but I didn’t see anyone I knew.

The voice called again, “Over here!”

That time I recognized Daddy’s voice. At first I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. When I looked up, there he was, sitting on a stump under a nearby oak tree not ten feet away. Bluebonnets circled around his feet. He looked so alive.

“The bluebonnets are beautiful this time of year,” Daddy said, and plucked one from the ground.

“They are.” I walked toward him slowly.

“You need to be smiling more,” he said.

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring his features. “I don’t feel much like smiling anymore. I miss you. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I never got to say good-bye.”

To this day, I don’t know if I spoke those words aloud or whether I just thought them, but Daddy’s warm eyes met mine.

“I know, sweetheart. You took care of your brother and held the family together. You quit worrying about it now and get on with living. This is our good-bye.”

Tears rushed from my eyes like a great waterfall and trailed down my cheeks. I reached for a tissue and when I looked up, Daddy was gone. This time peace, not sadness, filled me. I knew Daddy understood why I wasn’t able to see him.

“Good-bye,” I whispered.

Turning, I spotted my husband at the entrance. I waved, and then hurried to join him. My heart felt lighter. I even smiled.

“You okay?” My husband’s eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise at my sudden cheeriness.

“I’m fine. I’m finally fine. I just saw Daddy and told him good-bye.”

—J. H., Texas

I lost my dearest friend when my husband passed away. We’d shared many joyous occasions and overcame many obstacles in our happy years together. My husband was always the strong one in the family, and someone everyone depended on. I feel his strength and spirit guiding me even now, so I am not truly alone.

We’ve had a man coming to our house for over twenty years to clean the gutters and leaders of leaves that have accumulated, and to do other outdoor jobs. I never have to call him. He appears at my door every spring and fall like clockwork. In all the years that he’s been coming here, he has never come in August.

One Monday in August, my doorbell rang. The worker told me that I had weeds growing in my gutters. Evidently, there was soil in the gutters, birds dropped seeds in, and the weeds started to grow. I live on a street that’s off the beaten track, so I don’t know how he knew about the weeds. I told him to clean the leaders and gutters again.

There’s a large bush in between my front door and the garage door. When cleaning the gutter over the bush, a yellow jacket bee stung him. He said that there was a hive nesting between the gutter and the shingles of the roof. I called the exterminator, who killed the bees and broke up the hive.

A bee stung me many years ago and I found I was allergic to bee stings. The doctor told me to carry an EpiPen with me at all times. If I were to be stung again, I was to use the pen and go to the emergency room at the nearest hospital immediately. The second bee sting could kill me.

I never would’ve seen the beehive that was found so close to my front door. A bee could’ve followed me into the house without my knowing it.

What made the worker come to my house in August when he’d never done so before? What prompted him to clean the leaders and the gutters an extra time that year?

I truly feel that my husband alerted the worker in some way, and that my husband is always watching over me. The bond we had for over forty-six years together cannot be broken because one of us is no longer there. I still feel my husband’s love and protection. My love and devotion to him is everlasting.

—Dorothy Rose Seiden, New York

My mom was a fantastic lady. My parents had six children. Mom buried her husband and two of her children before she died. Then she developed Alzheimer’s when she was in her seventies and we took turns watching Mom.

When my turn came around, Mom gave me a hard time. She didn’t know who we were. I knew that she’d be scared coming into a strange house, so I rolled out the red carpet for her. My sisters fared well, but no matter how hard I tried I felt like a failure.

Then Mom had a stroke and was paralyzed on her left side. We had to put her in a nursing home. I was able to spend three days a week with her. We got closer during the time Mom was in the home and I could tell that she enjoyed my visits. I always brought food, drinks, and dessert. Mom loved food.

Another stroke took her home June 8, 2005. That’s when strange things began to happen. At least three times a week I’d wake up and my TV would be playing. At first I thought that it was me and my grief, nothing more, so one night I decided to take the remote control into my bedroom and lock the door, since I was a little spooked. The next morning, the TV was playing. The only person who ever turned the TV on manually was Mom.

I stopped being scared. I realized that this was Mom’s way of showing that she really did love me. The visits continued until Hurricane Katrina came to Louisiana. I told Mom that I was leaving to go to a safer place. I told her that it was time she went to the light, that her husband and two of her children were waiting for her.

When I came back home, all was quiet. No TV playing, no Mom. I missed her so much. One year later, on the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, my TV was playing. Mom came back and I was filled with gratitude and joy.

—Linda Ladner, Louisiana

Mystery Girl

It was a hot summer day in June of 1997. My husband and I were both working that day and he came to pick me up for lunch. We went and got some burgers and fries and went to our local park to eat. We found an empty table and sat down.

I wasn’t my usual self that day. I was sad and I felt like I was moving on autopilot. My mother had just died of a massive heart attack the previous week. We began to eat our food when we looked up and saw a group of children playing. This one girl in particular, about ten or eleven years old, started walking toward us.

When she got closer, I thought to myself, oh my God, she looks so much like me. She came up to our table and sat down. She started talking to us, her attention on me most of the time. My husband did most of the talking, as I was still upset over my mother’s death. The girl would answer him, and then she would turn her attention right back to me. She saw my nametag that I had to wear at the hospital where I work and she asked if I was a nurse. I told her that I was the director of housekeeping. She smiled at me so sweetly.

I tried to make conversation with her, but I really wasn’t up to talking. The more I looked at the girl, the more I thought about how much she resembled me. The girl kept looking at me, with this peacefulness about her. It was so calming. My husband and I continued to talk to her for a little while longer, and then the person in charge of the group called out that it was time for them to go.

The little girl got up, looked me straight in the eyes, and just stood there for a moment, looking at me as if she wanted to say something. She then came around the other side of the table, put her arms around my shoulders, looked deeply into my eyes, and hugged me tightly. She raised herself up with her hands still on my shoulders, looked at me one more time and smiled, and told me that everything is going to be all right. She then ran off, never looking back.

My husband joked, “Have you had a child and never told me about it?”

“You thought she looked like me, too, didn’t you?”

He replied that she looked just like me. I reassured him that I didn’t, but it was strange how much the girl looked like me, and then to just hug me like that and tell me that everything was going to be okay when she didn’t even know me. My husband agreed that it was very odd. We had to go back to work after that.

I’ve often wondered who the girl was. I thought it was my mother coming back to tell me that she was okay, but I don’t really believe it was her. The little girl looked like me, but I always favored my father’s family. My mother gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, but both of them died at birth. I even wondered if it could’ve been my sister that came back to comfort me and let me know that everything was okay. I guess I’ll never know who she was, but I know she came to me for a reason. After seeing her, I have never felt more at peace and as content knowing that my mother is in Heaven and she’s all right.

—Rita Jewell, Kentucky

I mourned the loss day after day. In April of that year I was talking to him and begging for a sign. I promised that I would never ask for another sign if he would give me one then.

I was sitting around the pool and the wind suddenly picked up right over the pool. I was watching four pool noodles drift around from side to side. Two noodles floated off to the side of the pool and two remained in the center, turning around until they formed a perfect letter T. The two noodles were both green. I started crying immediately and thanking my dad for the sign. His name began with a T and his last name was Green.

I have never asked for another sign, but I talk to him on the other side. I know he is all right where he is because I know he hears me. I can talk to him whenever I need.

Our loved ones are aware of us, and of our love. They may be out of sight, but never out of mind.

—Sarah Guidry, Louisiana

One afternoon my brother-in-law came over to borrow our car in order to go out with his friends. Much later on in the night, a phone call from my father-in-law woke us up. My brother-in-law had been in an accident and was taken to the hospital. My husband went to the hospital to see him. I stayed home with our two small sons who were sleeping, oblivious to what was happening. Upon his return, my husband sadly informed me that my brother-in-law had passed away on his way to the hospital. I felt a sudden sadness upon hearing the tragic news and quietly remembered him from the first time I met him. I knew that I was going to miss him terribly. I felt a void in my heart that began to hurt.

All the students from my brother-in-law’s high school attended his funeral, as well as many other friends of the family and relatives, making the procession to the cemetery incredibly long. After an emotional day, we retired for the evening in hopes of much needed sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning the day after his funeral, dogs barking from the surrounding orchard woke me. I felt a sensation on my nose, as if someone had tweaked it, and my nose got icy-cold even though it was a warm night. I turned on the light and woke my husband. I told him that someone must’ve been outside because the dogs had been barking loudly. I also told him that my nose felt ice-cold. He touched it and was amazed at how cold it felt.

“It’s your brother coming to say good-bye,” I told my husband.

I felt better knowing that he came to tell me that he was all right where he was. Although my brother-in-law has been gone for quite some time, it seems like it was only yesterday that I last saw him. He remains in my heart to this day.

—Josie Ruiz, California

Everyone loved my son. I felt that he was with God and I wondered if he was okay. My daughter cried and cried. She didn’t know if he knew how much she loved him and would miss him.

At his wake, the funeral parlor was packed with my son’s friends, coworkers, teachers, and those who’d met him and were touched by him. The funeral at the church was also packed. My nephew had stopped at the crash site before the funeral. The sun was shining and the snow had melted. He’d looked down and there was my son’s watch and cell phone. I was so excited to receive these possessions that were my son’s. My nephew had to be at the crash site at the right time. It was meant to be that I should have these.

I often called my son’s cell phone and listened to his voice. I couldn’t turn the cell phone on and thought the battery was dead. I prayed to God and my son daily to help me through the day.

Two weeks after the funeral, we were still in shock and grieving. That night, I awoke to the sound of a tune. The sound was soft and pleasant, and sounded like it was far away. I was listening to this sound as it faded and then got louder. When the sound was loud, I realized it was a cell phone, and it sounded like it was outside my house. I wondered why someone was outside my house and didn’t answer their cell phone. Then I wondered why they were outside my house, and what were they doing?

I decided to get up and look out the window. I walked into the kitchen and there was my son’s cell phone on the stand next to mine and it was lit up and flashing. I wondered if the battery had recharged. I picked up the phone, but I didn’t know which button to push. As I held the phone in my hand, it stopped flashing and I heard, “Hi, Mom. I want you to know that I’m okay. Everything is fine.” He sounded so good.

My daughter had a new baby almost two months old, so she wasn’t getting too much sleep. I decided not to call her until morning, as we both would have trouble sleeping and would probably talk all night. I did go back to bed and to sleep.

In the morning, I awoke and immediately ran to the phone to call my daughter. She listened to me and then said, “He came to me last night. He stood in the doorway of my bedroom and I was able to tell him how much I loved him and how I miss him.”

I asked, “Did he hear you?”

She replied, “Yes, I know he did. When he left, he took a piece of my heart.”

“How did he look?”

“Just great.”

In the same night, we both received a gift from God.

—J. M. H., Minneapolis