Moments That Feel Like More

After someone we love dies, the world can feel unbearably quiet. And sometimes, in the middle of that quiet—something happens.

A song plays at the exact moment you were thinking of them.

A feather appears in an unexpected place.

A certain bird shows up again and again.

A dream feels vivid, steady, comforting.

Many people describe these moments as “signs.”

In the book Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe, Laura Lynne Jackson writes about how deeply personal these experiences can be. She suggests that signs often carry meaning because of the connection we already hold, because of shared memories, inside jokes, symbols that mattered long before loss.

Whether someone views these moments through faith, spirituality, psychology, coincidence, or something else entirely, one thing appears consistently across cultures and stories:

They can bring comfort.

In the book Signs one parent shared:

“I kept seeing dragonflies everywhere after my daughter passed. She used to chase them in the yard when she was little. I don’t know what it means. I just know that when I see one now, I pause, and for a second, I feel close to her.”

These experiences do not take grief away. They do not erase longing. But for many people, they soften the sharpest edges, even briefly.

Some people notice signs often.

Some never do.

Some are unsure what they believe.

All of those experiences are valid.

Love creates connection. And connection doesn’t simply disappear from our internal world. Sometimes it shows up in ritual. Sometimes in memory. Sometimes in moments that feel like more.

For me, these moments feel deeply personal.

I was very close to my grandmother. I loved her dearly, and I still love her just as deeply. I chose to have her handwritten “I love you” tattooed on my forearm, a small piece of her I carry with me every day. Since her passing I’ve started noticing hearts in unexpected places. A puddle shaped just right when I look down.

A single leaf caught in the wind. A sticker on the back of a car while I’m driving. They may be coincidences. They may not be from her at all. But every time I see one, I pause. I think of her. And in that brief, quiet second, I feel connected again. I don’t need to prove what it is. I only know how it makes me feel. And for me, that feeling is enough.

If you feel comfortable sharing, have you experienced a moment—big or small—that brought you comfort after loss?

It might be a sign. A memory. A place. A song. A pattern you’ve noticed.

You are welcome to share in the comments. And if reading quietly feels more supportive, that is welcome too.

There is space here for many ways of understanding love and connection.

Written by Ashley Donovan

Reference: Inspired in part by Signs: The Secret Language of the Universe by Laura Lynne Jackson (2019).