Signs...

(No, not the Mel Gibson movie.)

A friend of mine has said in the past something to the effect of "it's amazing the things people will believe or think, just to comfort themselves." I think he was talking about religion, a topic I (after 20 plus years of friendship) refuse to discuss with him. However, his statement hit a chord and I often return to it. I am a self-proclaimed believer in signs and always have been. In the past 2 years since my Dad's death, signs appear everywhere. Or are they? Am I squinting my eyes and looking too hard into the universe?

Shortly after his death, after the shock, the mourning period, the short work hiatus and the return to normality, I found myself praying one night. I was talking to someone (God, Dad, whomever was listening) and I asked for a sign. I asked for something to tell me that he was ok. That he was safe and I could be sure that he was safe. The next day in work, I read online that Hurricane Dennis had hit Cuba. I took it as my first official sign that he was gone from this life but still with me. Like him, the sign was anything but discreet and I was absolutely sure it was him answering my prayer.

Jump to exactly one year after his death, Father's Day 2006. My Dad's first anniversary was upon me, and I had overwhelmingly mixed emotions. I found myself alone in my house in the morning and I didn't want to be. So I donned my bathing suit and hopped in my Acura and headed to the shore, more specifically to Sea Isle, to see Aunt Jeanne. A day on the beach chatting with my Dad's sister was what I thought I needed.

I drove over the Girard Point Bridge, aka the Double Decker, a bridge that reminds me of him. With the music blaring and tears dripping off my chin, I cruised barefoot over the Walt Whitman and onto the 42 Freeway into Jersey. While going about 80, I was completely lost in thoughts about him and the last year of my life. My car shook a little and my tires felt a bit unsteady, but I kept flying down the left lane. I remember the exact lyric of the Kenny Chesney song that was playing as I started to smell burning rubber. No sooner was I able to process the thought "burning rubber, I hope it's not my car" before I started spinning. The steering wheel was no longer in my control and I just yelled at the top of my lungs. The car and I spun to the left into the grass divider and then back across 3 lanes of southbound traffic. The traffic was not heavy, but certainly steady. Spinning, spinning, yelling, gasping for air. I landed on the right shoulder, facing forward as if I had pulled over normally.

All I could do was cry. I was stopped, safe, alive. Cars raced by me on the left, un-phased and unaware of the bullet I just dodged. As soon as I was able to pull air into my lungs again, I called my Mom in hysterics. She was heading to AC that day with a friend, they hadn't left yet. I tried to tell her what happened and, through my tears, she finally understood what I was saying. We spoke briefly, and then a truck was pulling up behind me. I told her someone was there to help me and I'd call her RIGHT back. We hung up. Shaking from head to toe, I carefully stepped out of my car and around to the passenger side. I looked at the back right tire and saw that it was all torn and separated from the rim. I learned the technical term later, a tire blowout.

A man got out of the NJ DOT truck and rushed up to me. He didn't see what had happened on the road. NJ DOT Emergency Services patrols the Jersey thoroughfares and helps people in need. When he reaches me, he puts his hands on my shoulders and asks if I am ok. A rush of hysteria came over me again as I tried to explain what happened.

"Take a deep breath ma'am; I am here to help you. My name is Dennis."

Dennis was extraordinarily calm and collected as he put a donut on my car. I told him exactly what happened and he was in awe. We agreed that with all of the traffic that was on 42 at the time, this was nothing short of a miracle. No guardrails on either side of the highway, and if there were I would have slammed into not one, but both of them. As Dennis worked on my tire, I told him that he shared my Dad's name and this was the 1 year anniversary of his death. A slow smile spread across his face. "Now that's pretty weird, huh?"

Weird wasn't the word for how I felt about the incident. Amazing was more like it. I was fully confident in my Dad's presence as I evaded a serious accident and a possible tragedy. I drove home on the donut in silence.

After that, the second big sign that came to me and affected (really affected) me, there have been other, smaller ones. Earlier this summer on the 68th street beach in Sea Isle with Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Joe, as we settled into our beach chairs, a plane carrying a banner buzzed across the sky. The words read, "Hi from Dennis at Hair Cuttery." I smiled to myself behind my shades and magazine and felt the warm sun and his presence once again.

Signs of my Dad are absolutely comforting. And if they are what I need to handle the fact that he is gone, I will keep my eyes (and my heart) open to them forever.