It's a Sign!

Chapter 1
The New Moon
Entranced by the new moon
I want to dance in the rain

Owls were hooting, cicadae were buzzing, and a new moon rose in the sky. Although new moons generally can’t be seen, its energy was palpable. Magic was in the air.
A new moon brings new beginnings. It can fill you with positivity and joy, but it can also envelop you in sadness and intensify the darkness within. You may need to work hard to overcome negativity before you move forward.
I felt a curious jumble of emotions that set the tone for the remainder of the week. Looking to the moon for its energy, I lit a candle, set intentions, breathed deeply, and meditated. Excited about the maze of possibilities awaiting me, I felt the compassion and the tenderness of my heart as part of the Universe.
My dad’s birthday was March 4. He died twenty-four years ago, at the age of eighty-six. If he were alive, he’d be 110 years old. I don’t think of him often anymore, except for on his birthday or on Father’s Day or when he visits me in dreams. On the first day of the new moon, I cried for him bitterly.
I was daddy’s little girl, and I loved my dad.
He had a beautiful singing voice. While he was stationed overseas in the army, he sent “A Letter on a Record”—a paper record produced by the USO in WWII—to my mom. He sang “You’ll Never Know.” His honest, hypnotic voice, marred by scratchy sounds, blared through the apartment and filled it with love. My mom cherished that poor quality record because of the message it brought.
A little girl of five, I sat on my dad’s lap and pouted.
“Mommy has a song. I want a song too.”
My dad laughed. He was kindhearted and good with children. His spirit, child-like and playful, manifested in his understanding them. He kissed my cheek and sang, “I dream of Benita with the pretty blonde hair.” Even as a child I knew the song was really “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair.” My dad had changed the lyrics for me. Even as a child, I was honored and felt loved.

Chapter 2
Forget-Me-Nots and Marigolds
a sprinkle of seeds dusts the earth
a kaleidoscope of blossoming wildflowers

On March 5, I woke energized, and worked myself into a cleaning frenzy. On the way to the incinerator to throw out garbage, a neighbor stopped me in the hallway.
“Benita,” she said, “every time I see you, I think of Joseph.”
“I’m not surprised. A lot of people say that. We were very close. You know it’s almost four years since his passing.”
“Can you believe it? Time goes by so quickly. I remember talking to Joseph while he was still alive.”
“He was a remarkable man.”
“He was very lucky to have you. The way you took care of him. The way you spoke to him with love. You were much happier then, even when he was sick. I guess you were happy he was alive.”
“I was very lucky to have had Joseph. He wasn’t just my husband; he was my best friend, my support, my energy, my life. It was a major loss for me when he died. I still cry for him every day.”
I heard my voice quiver and felt tears flood my eyes.
“Joseph made my heart sing. Rich or poor, sick or healthy, I loved him. And you’re right, even though I was anxiety-ridden and scared, I was happier than I am now.”
All week I felt like a yoyo; my emotions were clearly not under control.
My friend, Eva, came on Saturday to help me with some chores. After our customary lunch of pizza and salad, on the way to the laundry room, she reminded me that Joseph’s birthday was almost upon us.
“If the weather is nice, we can go to the cemetery next Sunday. Do you still want to plant seeds around his grave?”
“I do. I’ve been thinking about wildflowers that grow in tiny clusters. Maybe forget-me-nots, in shades of blues and purples. Maybe marigolds, in bright yellows and oranges. What do you think?”
Walking up the stairs to get the mail, Eva said, “They’re both good choices.”
Joseph loved his birthday because it fell on the first day of spring, and everything was in bloom. He saw it as a new beginning, a time to revisit his life, and set the stage for growth.
In the lobby, we stopped short. Packets of forget-me-nots, marigolds, and wildflower mix had been left on the entrance table for a passerby who might wish to plant them.
My face lit up like a Christmas tree as I picked up the packets of seeds. “Eva, do you think Joseph had something to do with how these seeds got here today?”
“I know you do,” she said, “but I think it was just a coincidence.”
“I think these seeds are perfect. Let’s plant them on Sunday.”