10/08/2026
It's just a little grey feather.
After a very dear friend of mine passed, I had a conversation with him that went something like this -
'Who am I going to call when I don't understand this place?' -me, tearstained and all over the place.
'Me. You know I'll always be here for you and I'll be on time.' - oh, a joke? He always could make me laugh but not now. I'm not ready to banter.
'But it's not the same. You're my 20 year go-to. Who am I going to save the world with?' - me, now hiccupping through my tears and feeling a bit ridiculous.
'I'll leave you feathers. Little grey ones.' - grey? Beats the obvious I guess. Let's see.
'And you'll hear me when you least expect it.' Oh right. I see that celestial ambiguity is now catching on.
And then ever so gently, like a breath of fresh air, he stood in front of me sporting his freshly acquired angel clothes and looking at me with a love that I wanted to bottle for my 'just in case' moments. And then he was gone.
A few days later I saw one. And then I saw more.
The little grey feathers propped up between blades of grass, left on my laptop or in my car. An accidental finding left with purpose.
And then as promised, I would hear him 'Better than the rest' (Bruce Springsteen)
making me laugh and cry at the same time, sometimes in private and sometimes not, and sometimes I'd listen on purpose when I needed a hug.
Maybe I'm a sentimental old fool but I honestly think that these little grieving rituals are important on the ground floor. It's hard down here. They know this. And whatever comfort we can find, we should take it.
