I had always heard people talk about signs from loved ones who had passed, but it was never something I had personally experienced. Because of that, I never really had an opinion on whether they were real or just comforting ideas people held onto. But now? Now I know.
Before Garet passed, my ex-mother-in-law—his grandmother—would always talk about butterflies being a sign from loved ones. She and her mother firmly believed that those beautiful creatures were visits from souls who had gone before us. After Garet’s great-grandmother passed, I remember wondering if the black and blue butterflies I saw were truly her way of saying hello. It always warmed my heart.
So, when we lost Garet, I found myself desperate for a sign. I clung to the hope that spring would bring me butterflies—that somehow, the warm weather would also bring me him. I even planted a butterfly garden, wanting to create a space where they would come, hoping that maybe, just maybe, one of them would be him.
And then, something beautiful happened.
Every time our oldest daughter went outside, a bright, stunning Eastern Tiger Swallowtail butterfly would hover near her. It didn’t just pass by—it stayed. It circled her. It followed her while she played on the swings, as if watching over her, as if he was watching over her. Garet was so excited to have a sister and had always adored her. I know in my heart that if he had gotten the chance to have a daughter of his own, he would have spoiled her endlessly. That butterfly? It was him.
After we moved—because staying in the house where I found him was too much to bear—the signs didn’t stop. The very first time my husband took a shower in our new home, the bathroom filled with the strong, unmistakable scent of Garet’s cologne. We hadn’t even unpacked yet. We didn’t have his cologne—it was taken by a friend. There were no boxes in that bathroom, nothing that could have explained it. But we knew.
And then there were the dragonflies.
Time and time again, whether at the park, on the bike path, or just enjoying a moment outdoors, a dragonfly would appear—and not just briefly. It would stay, hovering close, keeping just enough distance to let me know it was there without scaring me. Each time, I felt a warmth wrap around me, a feeling I can only describe as a hug from heaven. But the most undeniable moment? A dragonfly once led my car across an entire parking lot, keeping the same speed and distance the whole way. Every single person in the car saw it. Every single one of us knew. That was Garet.
One of the most profound moments of divine timing happened on his birthday—just three weeks after his passing. We were still waiting for the return of his ashes, and the pain of knowing that he was physically gone but not yet home was unbearable. That day, February 21, 2022, the day Garet should have been celebrating another year of life, the funeral home called.
“Garet is ready to come home.”
Of all the days, it happened on his birthday. It was raw, real, and heartbreaking—the hardest drive of my life possibly—but in a way, it also felt like a sign. Like a moment of alignment between heaven and earth, a message that he was still with us. That we didn’t have to celebrate him without him, because on that day, he came home.
I no longer question whether our loved ones can reach us after they’re gone. I know they can. And when we open our hearts to the possibility, we start to notice the little moments, the signs, the ways they show up for us even now.
💜 1. The Songs That Play at Just the Right Moment
Music has a way of holding memories, of bringing people back to us in unexpected moments. There have been times when I’ve been struggling, missing Garet, needing something to hold onto—and then, suddenly, a song that reminds me of him starts playing. It’s never forced. I’m not searching for it. It just happens.
💜 2. The Dreams That Feel Too Real to Ignore
Grief has a way of weaving itself into everything—even sleep (or lack thereof). Sometimes, it shows up in flashes of memories that feel more like nightmares. Other times, it brings moments so vivid, so full of warmth, that I wake up believing, just for a second, that he was here.
Some nights, my dreams take me back to the worst morning of my life. The sounds, the panic, the moment everything changed—it replays in my mind with a clarity that I wish I could erase. Even in waking life, there are triggers—certain sounds that pull me straight back to that day, places that make me see him there beside me, even though I know he isn’t. Grief doesn’t just live in our hearts. It lives in our senses. It is in every single thing we do. But then, there are the other dreams. The ones that feel like more than just memories.
And then there are the flashes—moments when I’m awake, just going about my day, and suddenly I’ll see something that takes me back to him. A place we went together, a favorite food he loved, a person we used to run into. It’s like pieces of him are scattered everywhere, and sometimes, they show up just when I need them.
I don’t know what dreams really mean. I don’t know if they’re memories or if they’re something more—a way for him to let me know he’s okay, a way for us to still have stolen moments together, even now. And for that, I am grateful.
💜 3. The Random, Unexplainable Coincidences
There are moments in grief that logic can’t explain. Little things happen—small, seemingly random events—that feel too perfectly timed to be coincidence. At first, I would question them, wonder if I was just searching for meaning in the chaos. But now? I am learning not to question them anymore and accept they are from Garet.
There have been times when I’ll be lost in thought, missing him more than usual, and suddenly, something happens—a dragonfly appears and stays just close, his favorite number pops up on a receipt, a song he loved starts playing in a store. It’s like the universe is nudging me, whispering, He’s here. You’re not alone.
These moments don’t feel random. They feel like connection, like love breaking through the barrier of life and death. Some people might call them coincidences, but I don’t believe that anymore. I believe that when we open our hearts to the possibility, we start to see the ways our loved ones are still with us. I might have called these moments coincidences before, but I don’t believe that anymore. I believe love finds ways to reach us, even beyond this life. Garet is still with me. He’s in the butterflies that circle his sister, the dragonflies that follow my car, and the songs that play at just the right moment. He’s in the memories that flash through my mind when I least expect them, the dreams that feel more like visits than imagination.
I used to wonder if signs were real. Now, I don’t. If you’ve lost someone you love, I truly believe they’re finding ways to reach you, too. Maybe it’s a song, a scent, a random object showing up at just the right time. Maybe it’s a deep, unshakable feeling that they’re near. Pay attention. Look for the little things. Love never dies, and the ones we miss the most are always closer than we think.
💜 Have you ever received a sign from a loved one? I’d love to hear your experience in the comments. Let’s share the moments that remind us we are never truly alone.
Light and Love ~Mandy💜
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