Feathers in the Sand

I'd heard from a fair number of other widows and widowers I've gotten to know of things that come around that're signs from their deceased spouse. It's been a variety of things, from butterflies to dragonflies to electronics acting up and even finding heart-shaped things around them. It'd been something I wished I had happen for quite some time. I hadn't had that experience, of something that would show up that would let me know that she's still around, that she still thinks of me. That I matter to her still.

Until just recently.

I was at a family reunion in northern California. My Dad's side of the family got together for the first time in years. It wasn't all of us, but it was a good-sized majority, With the exception of my brother and three cousins, all of us were there. The aunt who put it all together has a house in a little town on the coast just north of San Francisco. She arranged for a couple other houses to be available for us, too. We were easy walking distance from the beach, maybe 30 yards or so from the front door of the house where I was staying to the start of the sand. And it made it plenty easy to go for walks along the water. Most of them were done with other people, either paired up or small groups. But I did one walk alone. I was needing to clear my head and work through some of my own stuff, because the last time I'd been out there had been with me darlin' wife. And that was pushing some buttons. I didn't want to take any of that out on anyone else, so I headed out on my own for a bit.

I still don't know what clicked. I'd been walking awhile and was feeling the effort, especially of keeping up a good pace in the sand. It wasn't completely dry, but it also wasn't completely wet and packed, either. I still wonder if it took me getting physically tired enough to get at least some of me out of the way enough for something to get through. But at one point I found myself looking down and noticing some of the feathers that were scattered along the beach. There were a fair number of them, fallen from the gulls and the pelicans that were always around. One, in particular, caught my eye. On an impulse, I picked it up and brushed the grains off of it. And then I stuck it back, quill-end first, into the sand so that it stood up, aligned with the wind. Looking at it, the thought hit me that it was the same color of brown as me darlin' wife's hair had been.

And it clicked. It was from her.

For the rest of the time there, I'd make a bit to go down to the beach and, if I saw other feathers that caught my attention like that, I'd stand 'em up in the sand. Each one made me a little sad. Even more, though, they reminded me of her, of what she looked like, of how she'd smile. Of how she liked to be outside. Of how there were a lot of times that she liked spending time together.

The funny post-script came the night after I got back. It'd been raining and windy when I went outside. In the driveway, I found a small feather, just about the same shade of brown. With that kind of weather, it shouldn't have been there. If the wind hadn't blown it halfway across the state, the rain should've washed it into the gutter and down a drain. But there it was. Another nod from her. I have it inside the house now, as I couldn't find any sand to stand it in.

I've kept my eyes open since. I'm sure there'll be more. She'll say “Hi” again.