Signs

In 2022, I hopped on a plane to Alabama, excited to visit my son, Noah, and finally meet his girlfriend, Kitana. I had high hopes we’d bond over our mutual love of reading—especially true crime and murder mysteries. Maybe she’d have some hidden gems I hadn’t heard of.

Then came the plot twist.

When I asked about her favorite books, she lit up and said, “Oh, I love spiritual books!” My enthusiasm plummeted. Spiritual books? I had no idea how to connect with that when my preferred genre involves untangling murder plots and catching serial killers. But I wanted to make an effort, so I asked for a recommendation.

She suggested Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson. I decided to read it on the plane—no research, no expectations, just an open mind (okay, a slightly skeptical one).

Cut to three hours later: I’m that person on the flight, silently sobbing into my Kindle while strangers pretend not to notice.

The book is about how our loved ones send us signs after they pass—small messages to let us know they’re still with us, still loving us, still showing up in ways we might not recognize. And suddenly, I had a gut-punch realization:

Had Connor been trying to reach me all along, and I just wasn’t paying attention?

The rest of the trip was a blur of historic neighborhoods, modern art museums, and full-blown nerding out at a space center with Noah and Kitana. But when I got home, I told my therapist about my mid-flight meltdown.

I asked if she thought it was possible to get signs from loved ones who’ve passed. She paused, then asked if I wanted the “therapist” perspective or the “human” one. I told her to be real with me.

And she was. She shared personal experiences that convinced me it’s entirely possible.

For years, I had buried my grief, thinking it was “safer.” But if I truly wanted to feel Connor near me, I had to at least try to open up to the possibility. That moment—sitting in my therapist’s office, realizing I might have been wrong about everything—was like the first crack in a door I didn’t even know was closed. A door leading somewhere I hadn’t dared to go before.

Looking back, I can see it clearly—this was the nudge. The moment everything started to shift.

Life has a funny way of flipping the script. Sometimes, the biggest twists start with a book—the kind that cracks you open, shifts your perspective, and makes you remember truths your soul always knew but somehow forgot.

I used to think spirituality was just religion with looser rules and better accessories—crystals, sage bundles, and an affinity for moon phases. In my mind, “spiritual people” were modern-day hippies, floating around in a cloud of patchouli and enlightenment. And me? I was definitely not one of them.

But now?

Let’s just say I have a respectable crystal collection, my house has been saged more times than I can count, and I may or may not check my horoscope with alarming regularity.

I’m continuing to share this journey on Threads of My Heart if you want to follow along.

Another thread from my heart to yours.