Do you believe in getting signs from above? Maybe seeing a cardinal on your window sill or finding coins or white feathers on the ground? There are skeptics, of course, but I am not among them. On so many occasions, I have felt the presence of loved ones who have passed it is inconceivable I am imagining it.
I just never thought that spirits would try to come through with loving messages on license plates. Yes, licence plates.
Exactly two years after my mother died, I was having a rough day. I don’t remember a big event causing me to be blue, so I’m assuming at the time that my sadness was exacerbated by the fact that everyone was pissing me off and my writing life remained stalled.
I was leaving the supermarket, likely with a bag filled with comfort foods, when I tried to get into my car. Ugh. The lock wouldn’t open and I really had to pee. Just my luck, I thought. The key fob battery probably had to be changed which meant a trip to the dealer. Then I noticed several large scratches on my bumper. Oh joy. Some moron had let a shopping cart ding the metal. Could the day get any better?
Then I spotted the license plate and gasped. This wasn’t my car. I mean it was the same make and model. The same color. But the door wasn’t unlocking because MY car was parked next to it. And yet I couldn’t stop staring because the plate meant something to me.
My mother’s initials were DBH for Doris Belinkoff Hymen. And 322 was my late father’s birthday (March 22). And the 9? My sister’s birthday month (September). It had to be a sign to do a little less moping and a lot more appreciating.
And ever since that day, I have seen hundreds of license plates that resonate, though capturing them while driving 65 mph is a daunting and foolish task. But shhhh. I’ve snagged a bunch.
Here are only a few of the plates I’ve seen containing the initials of my parents, my children or grandchildren along with numbers I connect with as well.
Once, I was on the Cross Island Expressway and spotted a tan Mercedes convertible being driven by an older man with a cap. My dad went nowhere without a cap, tan was his favorite color and he lived for convertibles. But it was the plate that made me shiver.
HMJ stood for Harold (my dad), Mira (my sister) and Jerry (my brother). 8220 was our address in Munster, Indiana. I looked to the heavens and said, “You’re so good at this. I mean really good.”
But my absolute favorite sighting was the plate I saw on the anniversary of my father’s passing. His name was Harold Hymen and when I realized the Honda in front of me had a plate that read, HHHHHH, I almost drove off the road. Even the car started with an H. “Hi Dad,” I said. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
So what does any of this mean? For starters, someone must be watching over me because I’ve yet to rear end a car while snapping pictures of it, or gotten pulled over by a cop because it’s law in NY that you can’t use your phone while driving. On a deeper level, I’m certain my parents are letting me know they remain with me on my journey and are just saying hi.
It’s fine if you find all of this coincidental and preposterous. Not me. I delight in the comfort of getting random signs that my loved ones live on and can still communicate. Give me hope. Encouragement. Maybe a kick in the pants to stop worrying so much.
If only someone wrote a book about this. Oh, wait. I did. It’s called A LITTLE HELP FROM ABOVE and it was a sign from the heavens I had found my true passion.
Tell me about the signs you’ve gotten. I can’t be the only one…