SIGNS

I’ve wanted to write this piece for some time. I kept putting it off for one reason or another, the major one, being that skeptics would come out of the woodwork and be highly critical of my thoughts. Some folks like doing that just because they love to play Devil’s advocate. Regardless, something inside said to start typing anyway.

For those western movie fanatics out there, like me, almost every film has a scene where an American Indian is superior to the white man, when it comes to “tracking” or picking up the trail of a person or animal. Much of that skill has to do with them slowing down, and taking notice of minute signs, such as broken twigs on the ground, or something as simple as bent grass blades.

To most people, 911 signifies either an emergency, or reference to terrorists striking the World Trade Center in New York City. That infamous number represents an event much different to me. You see, my mother was born on 9/11. Each September 11 marks her birthday. Whenever I see the number 911, I think of her first instead of tragedy.

I tried doing stuff for Mom over the years, but she was a very independent woman until the very end. If anyone volunteered she’d generally refuse help. Most of the time, I’d perform things without even asking, like working on her vehicle and washing it as well. One thing my mother loved was a clean car.

On the day of Mom’s graveside service I decided our Chevrolet pickup needed cleaning. Even though the outside temperature was well below zero, and my truck door locks could easily freeze with moisture added to them, doing so seemed a priority. The vehicle’s white paint was exceedingly dirty with caked on brown mud, and I wanted it gone.

Driving to one of those automatic “touchless” washes, I waited patiently for a car in front of me to move on through. As I sat there thinking about what was yet to come that day, a white hearse pulled up at an adjoining stall. As it entered the wash bay, a coffin could be seen in back.  Surprised at this sight, I whispered out,

“Mom?”

Making note of the personalized vehicle license plate, LEGCY1, I couldn’t help believe this was more than ironic, because Legacy was the name of the funeral home we used. When I exited this carwash the hearse was long gone. Telling Joleen, my brother, Jim, and son, Gunnar, about it, they said we’d know in a couple of hours. The service was being held at Pioneer Cemetery in Palmer some 50 miles away.

Being the first ones to arrive, we remained inside the frosty truck to stay warm. Wind howling outside made the chill factor -30 degrees or colder. In a matter of minutes, a white hearse rolled up, and it slowly backed to the recently dug grave. I wasn’t surprised to see LEGCY1 on its rear license plate—at that point knowing it was a sign that all would be okay.

Mother lived in a small apartment. While under hospice care, her hospital bed was located in a bedroom—and that’s where she took her last breath. A few days after she was buried, my wife and I were cleaning this apartment before turning in keys to the landlord. That particular bedroom had an old style, roll up window shade. It’d been pulled down for several weeks while Mom lay there receiving care.

Just as we were preparing to leave that day, a strange noise come from the bedroom. This window shade had rolled back up on its own, revealing bright sunshine outside and snow covered trees. At that time, I didn’t take it as a sign, being more startled than anything. Weird stuff like that doesn’t always happen just in the movies as this event proved.

Since her passing, many interesting events have occurred regarding the number 911. The number pops up at opportune or inopportune times depending on how you look at it. Skeptics would say this is pure coincidence.

Joleen and I were contemplating the purchase of a home in Manhattan, Kansas. The old farm house, including huge limestone barn, was unique in it being one-hundred-ten years old. One thing that mother always chastised me about was my love of old stuff: especially cars and trucks.  She called them ‘money pits’.

I definitely wanted that house with Joleen not keen on the idea. Deciding to drive out for another look, we were stunned to find the home was located off Kansas County Road – 911. Neither of us had previously noticed this.

That made our decision an easy one—deciding not to buy the place. It was the right choice, because later on, we discovered the old limestone dwelling needed thousands of dollars in mechanical and foundation upgrades. Such repairs initially went unnoticed.

An antique Chevrolet truck I purchased in Kansas a year later turned out to have 911 connections. After buying the pickup and hauling it to Arizona, I seriously ruptured 3 vertebrae while dismantling the chassis.

Later on, after severely cutting my hand on rusted metal, I incurred several painful burns as well. On top of that, the initial estimate on getting it running quadrupled. Mom would’ve said something crass had she been alive about me even bringing it home. Joleen took over that task.

One evening, out in the garage, I took a long hard look at a rusty and faded license plate still attached to the Chevy’s cab. All of the plate’s glossy paint was long gone.  Barely legible through the rust were plate numbers, 2-911. At that point, I knew Mom was saying,

“I told you so!”

Miranda’s little dog, Dixie, was accidentally run over one morning outside their home by a school bus, with my daughter beside herself with grief. The next day, she heard barking in the back yard exactly like her lost dog. Looking outside, it was a raven sitting on a telephone line mimicking the deceased Pekingese. Raven’s are great mimickers. Miranda believed it was the same bird that liked to sit up there, playfully harassing Dixie. This happened quite often when the mostly black-in-color Pekingese was outside playing in its fenced yard.

A week later, Miranda was out running her favorite trail, hearing that familiar barking sound again. She glanced up, seeing it was a raven in a tree, undoubtedly the same one. For several mornings, she’d have a raven follow her while jogging, until one day it disappeared.

Jim Tweto was a popular Alaska bush pilot who just recently passed away on June 16, after a tragic plane crash. He was well known and loved throughout the world, having flown many famous people on fishing, hunting, and flightseeing expeditions. I recently read where his widow looked out her front window, on the morning his plane went down, spotting a large flock of ravens circling their house.

Not knowing at that time her husband was involved in an accident, and after getting the bad news, she immediately took the sighting of birds as a sign that all was going to be good. My daughter has no doubt the lone mimicking raven she observed several times, was trying to tell her the exact same thing regarding Dixie.

I’ve had family, friends, and complete strangers, tell me similar stories. One friend here in Lake Havasu City, saw a near perfect facial resemblance of a departed family member in the form of a cloud, not once, but several times. I’m no longer a doubter of such sightings as I might’ve been years ago.

Since I wrote this, another unusual experience can be added to my list—two of them to be exact. Our little Pekinese dog Simon left this world on December 27, 2023. He’d been with us 16 years. One thing Simon liked to do during that time was go for rides in the car or truck. His favorite things to observe, besides the drive-thru fast food restaurants, were birds and rabbits. I’m not sure he was so impressed with the wild animals—more curious than anything.

As I walked to the Lietz-Fraze Mortuary that sad day to make arrangements, a black bird and brownish bunny sat together just outside the entrance. I looked at them, believing they were those realistic stone creations seen in stores. Neither of them moved. Stopping to take a closer look, I saw they were real when their eyes finally blinked. Neither were afraid of me, standing perhaps 5 feet away. Right then and there, I knew this was a sign from God that all was going to be okay.

After going home that day, I went online and ordered an 8×10 photo of Simon from Walgreen’s. Picking it up on December 30, the photograph was mounted in a clear Lexan frame and placed on top of our entertainment-center for the time being, next to the grandchildren’s pictures. Joleen was going to make room for a permanent location.

The next morning, as I sat on the floor eating breakfast, a ray of light somehow came through a crack in our closed Venetian blinds, spotlighting on that one photo. Being it was so early, I sat there dumbfounded, until slowly realizing this too was a sign.

Deciding to take a picture, by the time I rounded up my camera, the light was just about gone. Opening the back door to look outside, there were clouds all over with no direct sun visible.

Wanting to see if this event happened again, today, January 1, 2024, I patiently sat in the same spot with camera in hand. I’d already glanced outside the window finding it just as cloudy as the day before. At exactly 8:27, the ray of light once again appeared. I did my best to snap a couple of shots without using a flash. The ray of light disappeared perhaps a minute later. Removing the SD card, I installed it on my computer to see what I captured. A bit fuzzy, nonetheless, they both came out quite good.

I firmly believe signs are placed there by God for various reasons, with a person merely having to slow down and observe them. I’d much rather think that way, than be a skeptic, chalking up these unique occurrences as mere coincidence.