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Week 139: Signs from My Daughter: How Caregiving Reopened My Grief and Brought Unexpected Comfort


Why I Believe in Signs from Loved Ones

I believe in signs.

I believe we don’t die — we change forms.

I believe death is messy and terrifying for the living, but it’s not the end. Not for them. Not for us.

That belief brings me a measure of peace. But peace doesn’t erase the missing. It doesn’t stop the way grief can feel like a phantom limb, a heart turned to stone, or a bottomless pit you fear you’ll never crawl out of.

On the worst days, it’s my own Dante’s Inferno — and if I give in too much, I worry I’ll be consumed.

That’s why signs matter to me. They are my glimmers of hope. And sometimes, they arrive in the most magical ways.



The Sign That Stopped Me in My Tracks

This time, my daughter, Lily, came to me through a friend.
She told me she had felt Lily so strongly at church this past Sunday — saw her clearly, radiating happiness. My friend said Lily had a message for me.

She knew I had been struggling with my own mother, helping my husband with his mother, and holding the weight of it all. Lily’s message was simple: I am struggling because of my grief of losing her.

Until then, I thought my struggle was solely rooted in old family patterns and childhood triggers. I hadn’t truly considered this angle — that my exhaustion, and even the flickers of resentment I sometimes feel, are grief in disguise, resurfacing in ways I hadn’t named.


How Caregiving Rekindles Old Grief

That message stopped me. I sat with it.

Because caring for our mothers has been stirring my grief like a spoon in a deep, dark well — bringing the loss back to the surface.

When my mother-in-law needs her compression socks put on and off and I’m on my knees, I remember countless times I did this for Lil.

Taking my mom to the hospital and being her advocate again pulls me right back in time, doing this for my daughter.


The Difference Between Then and Now

With Lily, caregiving was effortless — full of love, purpose, and a strange kind of grace.

With our mothers, it’s more complicated. The weight of history, old wounds, and unspoken expectations can press harder than the caregiving itself.

That’s when frustration and resentment creep in — not because I don’t want to help, but because it’s impossible not to feel the absence of what once was.


Other Signs Over the Years

This isn’t the first time I have gotten signs from Lily. Over the years, friends have told me she visited them in dreams or appeared to them during worship.

It always makes me wonder — how many times has she been with me, quietly, without me even knowing?


What Signs Mean to Me

Maybe signs aren’t proof.

Maybe they’re an invitation — to remember, to soften, to believe in something beyond the ache.

They are my reminders that love doesn’t end. That connection survives. And that even in the hardest seasons of caregiving and grief, I’m not alone.

Have you had friends or family tell you that they have had dreams and/or visits from your loved ones that are no longer here? How does that make you feel?

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