• palbee

Feather at the Grave


A strange yet comforting phenomenon started happening in my home in the mid 1990’s. I started to have feathers appear here and there in my house, yet I had no feather pillows, jackets or comforters. I would silently laugh to myself that they were sent by my beloved father who had passed away almost ten years before. I would share my feather tales with a few close friends and they remarked it was probably from my guardian Angel.

At that time in my life I had no knowledge or inclination to explore whether I had a Guardian Angel or not. While I was a Christian and baptized I didn’t get involved with the idea of “other beings” except for God and Jesus.

I was engaged to a wonderful guy with three children 9-15 years old and I had a 15 year old daughter. Interestingly, his father and my father passed the same year with the same cancer only months apart. We laughed at our first coffee date that maybe they had pulled some strings upstairs to get us to meet. We lived an hour’s drive from each other; me in the city and him in the country. As we would all travel around together I told or read our kids stories from my Chicken Soup books. However, the kids really enjoyed hearing about how feathers appear in my house. I told them I always thought they came from my father, whom I adored.

One weekend we packed up the six of us and drove to Oregon to visit my guy’s step-mother. Also to see if we could find his father’s gravesite. Not knowing where to start we fanned out all over the cemetery. After a little while the kids began to yell they had found grandpa’s grave. We all converged on a small hill to find the barely visible grave. It was full of debris and needed a little sprucing.

Then we held hands in a circle and said prayers over the rectangular flat headstone. His kids took turns saying a few words. Then I thanked him for connecting us all together as a family. A few tears were shed and then it was time to leave. As we all turned to go back down the small hill . . . on the grass right behind us was a HUGE white feather. Everyone turned quickly to look at me. Then my beau picked it up and held it to the sky and said, “Thanks Dad!”

Tears of joy and wonderment fell from each one of us and we walked back to the dually pickup to leave. As soon as the truck started up, my beau said privately to me that “maybe we should lighten up the mood.” As soon as he turned on his usual country western channel his dad’s favorite song was just starting to play. He was suddenly caught is the emotions of really feeling connected to his dad and began to break down. He had not seen his dad before he passed due to the estranged relationship with the step-mother. Then the kids got emotional because they didn’t know why he was so upset. I whispered to them, this was their grandfather’s favorite song playing. The kids went wild hooting and hollering about grandpa giving signs that he knew they were here to visit him.

The white feather became a permanent part of the pickup’s visor right above the driver’s head. I often saw my beau touching the feather and smile before we took off on a drive.