Originally published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Miracles, Angels & Messages From Heaven.
Four months before Dad passed away, I went to San Diego to visit him. He was eighty-nine, his health was declining, and I wanted to spend time with him before it was too late. One afternoon, when Dad and I were talking, he suddenly asked, “Where do you think we go when we die? I don’t believe in all that heaven and hell stuff the church teaches.”
My parents were Catholic and had gone to mass every Sunday until they moved into assisted living. Mom often commented how much she missed going. Dad never mentioned it.
Having recently watched a documentary on death and dying, I decided the best way to answer Dad’s question was to share what I’d seen in the film. “People report seeing a bright light when they die and being greeted by loved ones who’ve already passed.”
Dad’s face brightened. “I want to see my dad,” he blurted out. “I have so many questions. I don’t know why I never asked my mom about him.” Dad had never known his father—he died when Dad was eleven months old—and he seemed excited at the prospect of reuniting. He almost seemed to be looking forward to it. From that day on, Dad referred to death as the next phase.
When I got word that Dad was nearing the end, I got on a plane back to San Diego. By the time I arrived, he was unconscious. As I sat in the chair next to Dad’s bed, holding his swollen hand, I heard birds singing outside the open window.
“Do you hear the birds, Dad?” I asked, knowing he couldn’t answer. “When you get to the other side, will you send me a sign to let me know you’re okay? That you’re at peace?”
In the documentary, a woman reported being visited by a cardinal after her mother died. Perhaps Dad could send me a cardinal.
He died the following afternoon. I wasn’t with him. I’d stepped out to get some fresh air in the courtyard, a quiet space with green grass, patio tables, and chairs padded with sun-faded cushions. I sat down beneath an umbrella and immediately noticed I had company. A hummingbird had flown up to a feeder twenty feet away. Mesmerized, I watched the tiny bird drink the red liquid. I wasn’t in the courtyard for more than five minutes when my sister-in-law came running toward me and shouted, “He’s gone!”
“What?” I replied. “I was just with him!” As it turned out, everyone except my brother and niece were out of the room when Dad took his last breath. I learned later that dying people often choose to spare loved ones from witnessing their death.
I hurried back inside. When I got to Dad’s room, my entire family had returned, and Mom was sitting in the chair next to Dad’s bed, holding his hand. I burst into tears and fell into my brother’s arms.
“The hummingbird! It was Dad! He was letting me know he’s okay,” I choked out between sobs. Then I told my family how I’d asked Dad to send me a sign and about the hummingbird in the courtyard. When I regained my composure, I walked over to the bed, leaned down, kissed Dad on the forehead, and whispered, “Thank you for sending me the hummingbird.”
The next day, the visits began.
I woke up early and headed out for my morning walk. As I passed a neighbor’s house, I noticed a flag waving in the breeze with an image of a giant hummingbird staring back at me. I’d walked by that house many times and had never seen the flag. I continued walking, listening to music through my earbuds. I had just turned the corner and was heading back to my parents’ house when my phone rang. When I answered, a familiar voice asked, “Hey you, how are you doing?” It was my friend Amy.
“I’m just finishing up my walk,” I replied. Then I told her about the hummingbird in the courtyard. “Oh my god! There’s another one!” I exclaimed when I noticed a hummingbird in a lavender plant next to the sidewalk. “Amy, I’ve been seeing hummingbirds everywhere!”
When I got to Mom and Dad’s house, I opened the gate, walked into the backyard, and sat down on the patio. “You’re not gonna believe this,” I told Amy, who was still on the phone. “There’s a hummingbird wind chime hanging right above my head.”
“Of course, there is,” said Amy. Then she texted me a meme that read: A hummingbird can be a sign that a loved one is near.
For the next two weeks, I was greeted daily by hummingbirds. Inside a curio cabinet, a photo of Mom and Dad in a frame adorned with colorful flowers revealed a hummingbird sitting just above Dad’s head. A bejeweled hummingbird perched proudly on a side table in the living room. A delicate, hand-carved wooden hummingbird was suspended from the bottom of a birdhouse hanging in the sunroom. I’d spent weeks in that house and had never noticed any of them.
Every evening as I relaxed in the backyard, a pair of hummingbirds came to visit. They’d zoom in, land in a tall tree in the corner of the yard, and, after resting a spell, fly down and dance around the lilies, orchids, blooming cacti, and Matilija poppies in Dad’s garden. They looked to be having a grand time together.
When I returned to North Carolina, they followed me home. One evening, I was sitting in my living room when two hummingbirds flew up to the window, paused, peered in, and darted away. It was the first time I’d seen hummingbirds at my house in the five years I’d lived there. Lately, I’ve noticed a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower in the orange jewelweed that popped up next to the fence. I watch him through the window as he lingers among the blooms.
Dad never got the chance to visit me in North Carolina. He was too feeble to travel after I moved. But every time my tiny friend stops to drink from the small, spotted flowers, I feel like Dad’s here, stopping by to let me know he’s okay and at peace.
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