3 Signs from Her Deceased Husband

After the sudden loss of her husband of 50 years, she wondered if things would ever be okay. Then she received some amazing signs from beyond. 

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- Posted on May 26, 2020

Illustration of a pair of boots

When my husband, Mike, died over Labor Day weekend in 2018, I was left reeling. On Friday, we’d rushed him to the hospital for stomach pains. It turned out to be pancreatic cancer. Stage IV. By Sunday, he was in emergency surgery. He never regained consciousness. By Tuesday, my husband of 50 years was gone. I never even said goodbye.

Before I knew it, I was organizing his funeral. Mike, a retired senior master sergeant with the U.S. Air Force, would be buried at Arlington Cemetery with a full military sendoff. But because of a backlog of funerals, the earliest his could happen was November.

It was already tough dealing with Mike’s unexpected passing, and now he wouldn’t be laid to rest for almost two months. Closure felt elusive. As the weeks stretched on, I couldn’t help but wonder… Was Mike at peace? Would I be okay? The answer came in the form of three signs from beyond….

The Strange Sounds
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…

The sound of heavy footsteps roused me from my sleep. I lifted my head from the pillow. It was after 11 P.M., weeks since Mike’s death. I was still not used to sleeping by myself. I didn’t know if I ever would be. I missed having Mike by my side.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…The footsteps continued rhythmically. The only other person in the house was our son, Nate. But I could hear him snoring in the other room.

Oddly, I wasn’t afraid. The footsteps seemed familiar. Almost like a memory. Wait a second. I knew that sound! I recognized it from when we lived in Michigan. I remembered cold winter nights and Mike returning from the base in his military boots. The front door closing behind him, then the sure and solid sound of boots as he walked across our hardwood floors. That sound was always a confirmation that Mike was home.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…

A feeling of calmness blanketed me, and I settled back into my bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I listened to the melodic steps. Now it almost sounded like marching, as Mike did on guard duty for the Air Force, back when I’d first met him. For eight hours a day, he marched around the air strip, guarding the B-52 bombers. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump…

I sank deeper into my pillow, feeling safe. Mike was on guard.

The Vision in the Doorway
A week later, I was drifting off to sleep when a flash of light suddenly caught my attention. A brilliant cobalt blue beam shot through the doorway, shimmering with an electrical charge. A softer white light, like moonlight, shone through the beam’s center.

Our terrier, Furby, stirred next to me on the bed. He usually barked at anything unfamiliar. But right now, he was calmly staring at the column of light, undisturbed. Was he not able to see it? Or was he just not threatened?

As I stared into the light, transfixed, I saw a face. It was Mike! He looked like he did when we first met. The lines on his face were gone, and he had a full head of hair. He smiled serenely. He looked so peaceful that I could only compare him to someone in prayer, someone having a private conversation with God.

Mike looked at me and moved closer, until only a few feet away. Again, I wasn’t afraid, just filled with awe. I reached toward him. My outstretched fingers grazed the column of light, and an electrical charge traveled up my arm. It didn’t hurt; it just felt powerful. Then, as fast as they appeared, the light and Mike were gone.

The incredible peace I saw in Mike’s expression stayed with me as I slipped into sleep, and I knew that I was meant to understand that he was okay.

The Bloom
The day of Mike’s funeral at Arlington finally arrived. There was a full honor guard and a military chaplain to do the service. After the funeral, I finally felt ready to work toward feeling whole again.

On the one-year anniversary of Mike’s death, Nate and I planned to visit the cemetery. I woke up that September morning feeling Mike’s absence more keenly than I had in a while. I knew this day would be hard. I went into the bathroom to get ready. My eyes passed over the shelf by the window, and I stopped in my tracks.

I’d kept a small prayer plant on the shelf for years. It never bloomed. It had actually wilted, dropping its leaves. But this morning, the plant looked completely healthy. And in the center was a single white bloom.

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