“Pennies from heaven” is a phenomenon oft-referenced by
advice columnists in their discussions of grief. It is not uncommon for the
bereaved to find pennies that seem to have been sent from their deceased loved
ones.
I never gave much thought to the origins of the coins I
found at my feet. I’d occasionally come across a penny—find a penny, pick it
up, all day long you’ll have good luck!—but I never considered that they could
have come from anywhere more remote than someone’s faulty pocket.
That changed after Anna’s death. A few weeks after her
funeral, I found a dime on the garage floor. I found another one in a parking
lot…and then another one in my bedroom. Dimes were popping up all over the
place, seemingly out of nowhere.
At first, I figured it was random, just a weird coincidence
that I was pocketing ten cents on such a regular basis. It took me a while to connect
the dots between the specific denomination of the coin and Anna’s birth date,
October 10. Might it be some kind of sign?
I received a definitive answer at Key Lime Cove, a water-park
hotel, when my sister and I took the kids there for the first time. We paid for
a locker at a centrally located keypad and waited for the computer-assigned
door to swing open for us. The portal to our unit was labeled 1010.
When you start to notice a pattern in the events of your
life, it seems to appear more often. This uptick in frequency could be
attributed to heightened awareness. It may well be that you’re looking for it
on some sub-conscious level, that your brain is more tuned in, but that doesn’t
negate the fact that it happens.
I mentioned Anna’s propensity to send dimes in my
direction to Sammy, and she promptly found a dime. Scott reported that he too had
been finding dimes in the strangest places—in the washing machine, atop the
dryer, in clothing pockets that he had no recollection of ever using for money
storage.
I told my nephews about it as we walked down a city street
and guess what they found in the road at the next intersection? That time, it
was a whole handful of dimes—enough for each of the kids to have one to keep.
I’ve learned not to question it. Rather, I embrace each dime
as Anna’s way of making contact, letting us know that she’s somehow with us, just
out of reach. Magical thinking? Perhaps.
But just last weekend, as we stood in line ordering single
scoops of Peppermint Patty and Toffee at a carry-out cone window, Sammy spied
something shiny under the counter. Anna must have wanted ice cream, too.
Seated at the kitchen table Sunday evening, I noticed our
dog chewing on yet another unsanctioned item. Scott reached into Teddy’s
slobbery mouth to retrieve said object and pulled out…a dime. We’re not sure
where or when he found it, but we do know who gave it to him.