signs from the dead | Pattern and Outrage : Dee Mallon

Two friends of Danny’s got married yesterday. The three of them were roommates for many years. Close friends, in other words. I wondered: would they feel his presence in any way? I wondered what it would’ve been like for Danny to attend (still heartbroken, with Ella there). I wondered what thoughtful, generous gift he might’ve have gotten them, because he was amazing that way.

I also put it out there that I’d love to hear from Danny here, though in Newton it is mostly business as usual. Grief central. Fall activities. A No Kings Protest.

So he showed up. Twice.

First, it was the puzzle piece. Danny has appeared in puzzle pieces before (here and here), so when we finished this month’s puzzle and a piece was missing, I wondered — what about this time? I was prepared to be disappointed.

The nearly complete puzzle sat out for days. I vacuumed the rug underneath the table at least three times, each time scrutinizing the surface for that lone remaining piece and not finding it.

Then yesterday, there it was. Blue side up. Not six inches from the edge of the rug. Plain as day. Huh?

Hello, Dan!

Even if I didn’t subscribe to supernatural influences, I’d be hard pressed to explain how that piece got there. Stuck to the underside of the table and later fell? Stuck to the bottom of a shoe and somehow ended up there? No and no.

Then, early in last evening’s walk, we saw either a young hawk or a falcon directly overhead and quite near. This is unusual. Normally we see them around the corner and up the hill, not here near the house.

Moments ago that raptor flew right into the living room window — not ten feet from where I’m sitting. That has never happened before. Other birds, yes. A hawk? Absolutely not.

Oh my. Dan?

In other news, poor Finn had an anxiety attack in the middle of the night when yet another smoke alarm started chirping its low-battery signal. Chirp. Chirp. Oh, how it frightens him! Typically he pants hard and endures whole body shakes for at least an hour after the noise stops. And it always takes a minute to figure out which device is going off. Fortunately, Ken takes care of removing the battery, otherwise you’d have me swinging at the ceiling with a broom, cursing.

Last night we gave Finn a trazadone. It helped. I might’ve said, I’d rather the house burned down than put him through that again.

Poor guy.

The Newton Center protest wasn’t huge, though it was bigger than usual. What was notable was all the honking. So much honking!

The penultimate text from the hospice social worker said, “I hope (if you believe in this), she will send you signs.”

I’ve been looking. Waiting. Would my sister send a sign? There have been three now.

Friday was my first trip up to Salem alone in a while and for some reason I was filled with dread.

I needn’t have been, for my sister made her presence felt right away when a solar powered lantern went on. Poof. Just like that! My sister got it for herself at Christmas and even though it’s been plainly visible for three months, not once have I seen it lit. Hi, Noreen.

The second sign came in the form of four turkeys: two strutting by themselves, one squished dead on the side of the road, and the fourth roosting in a tree up the street in the gloaming.

The first turkey showed up during Finn’s and my morning walk. Nothing unusual, though I was a little surprised that it was alone.

But then, a second bird in Peabody — also alone. I’ve never seen one on the North Shore.

My tingly-sense was activated.

Almost an hour later as I neared home, I saw the dead one. It was crumpled up against the guardrails dividing Route Nine, feet sticking straight up in the air. The glorious feathers in a heap. I gasped.

I’ve seen dead geese, squirrels, rabbits, cats, blue jays and skunks, but not once have I ever come across a dead turkey. It was heart breaking.

But later, just before full dark, I took Finn around the block and spied the fourth turkey — way up in the branches of a maple tree. On my street. I was stunned. I’ve only seen roosting birds one other time and it was an entire flock.

The thing was part shadow, part creature, its presence both spooky and majestic. Hallowed. Sent.

Lastly, today I came across a stack of box lids — the last things in my sister’s hall closet. I planned on keeping them because they make wonderful sorting trays for paper, which is why I was a little surprised that these were empty. Oh, but wait.

In the stack, folded up, was a map of Italy! Can you believe it? This last piece of ephemera came as a gratifying benediction, one week after reserving plane tickets to Rome.