Author: Amy Goebel

“Sign, Sign … Everywhere a Sign”

What to make of Godwinks, 11:11 and Other Signs from Lost Loved Ones

What’s your sign? By this, I don’t mean anything about your horoscope or astrological sign. Or even the song (which is now stuck in my head, by the way). I’m talking about the signs you get from people you love that have passed away. Just little moments where they show up to brighten your day and remind you that they’re still there watching over you. 

I realize that not everyone believes in this sort of thing. Yet for me and some of my friends and family, these signs — that can come in various forms — serve as comforting and reassuring messages from above. 

The key is that you have to look for them. 

 
Just a Godwink and Smile 

Years ago, I was introduced to the concept of “Godwinks” when my dear friend Shelley gifted me the book When God Winks: How the Power of Coincidence Guides Your Life by Squire Rushnell.  

So, what exactly is a Godwink? Defined as “a seemingly coincidental event that can be interpreted as a sign of divine intervention,” a Godwink is a quirky “coincidence” that feels just a bit too on-the-nose to be random—like the universe is giving you a little nudge or a cosmic fist bump. These aren’t just chance happenings. They’re signs that someone is looking out for you, guiding you or just dropping by to brighten your day. 

Back when I first got the book, I loved reading the stories of people experiencing Godwinks, and I would be sure to let Shelley and other friends and family who knew about the Godwink theory whenever so-called “coincidences” happened in my life. But until I experienced true loss, I never fully recognized the sense of peace Godwinks can bring. 

In the context of grief, Godwinks take on a whole new meaning. They’re those oddly perfect moments — maybe a favorite song playing at just the right time or spotting a penny or a dime when you need encouragement — that make you stop and wonder if a loved one is saying, “Hey, I’m still here!” For me, these little winks from above are like spiritual comfort food: warm, reassuring and a gentle reminder that love never really leaves us. 

After Matt passed away, I started noticing the signs he was sending, and they’ve given me so much comfort. The very first one happened on the day of his funeral. 

Our oldest son Brendan’s varsity baseball team had a big district semi-final that day. After the service and luncheon, he went straight to the game, where his team was already trailing. But as soon as he arrived, things shifted. The team rallied and pulled off a wild 8-2 win in extra innings! 

Later that day was the district final against a team ranked #2 in the state. I slipped away from the post-funeral gathering at our house to catch the game with close friends and family. No one expected us to win, but somehow, we did—3-0! As Brendan held up the District Championship trophy, he looked up and gave a little nod, as if to say, “Thanks, Matt.” It certainly felt like he’d had a hand in this unlikely victory. 

 
Dig These Digits 

Truth be told, I’ve always been more into words than numbers, but it’s been hard for me to ignore the number 17 as it was prominent in my relationship with Matt. We met on 1.7.17, got engaged on June 17, 2018, and decided to get married on the 4th of July that same year (which turned out to be … you guessed it, 17 days after our engagement!)  

In numerology, the number 17 is viewed as a symbol of new beginnings and divine power. When I first recognized these correlations between the number 17 and our relationship, it made total sense to me. We truly were each other’s “new beginning,” having met after our respective divorces and creating our blended family.  

I like to think that the “divine power” part of the definition pertains not only to the importance of faith in our relationship, but now in Matt giving us signs through the number 17 that he’s still with us.  

A couple of examples occurred last summer, just months after Matt’s death. Our daughter Emma (now 17) and I went on a trip to Boston and Nantucket as a belated birthday gift. As we started our vacation, I was feeling strong reminders of Matt (especially since he and I had just visited Boston the previous Labor Day).  

My heart felt heavy as we left Boston and made our way to the ferry that would take us to Nantucket. Once we got there, the dock porters directed us to stow our luggage in a bin that was not in numbered order like the rest … it, of course, had the number 17 emblazoned upon it. Once we got to the island, I pulled out our Airbnb reservation information, and sure enough, our address was 17 Washington Street. Sure, these could just be considered simple coincidences, but during an especially emotional time, these signs gave me comfort that Matt was there, helping guide us on our trip. 

The numbers 11:11 (generally seen on a clock or a receipt) are another sign recognized by many as a message from angels. It’s a reminder to stay positive and trust in God’s plan—sentiments that Matt and I often spoke to each other. 

I really knew nothing about the concept of 11:11 until Matt passed and other widows mentioned it to me. From that point on, I started seeing it pretty frequently—particularly at times when I needed extra encouragement or a nudge from Matt that he had my back.  

Our oldest son, Brendan, and I had a major 11:11 occurrence this past Father’s Day. Of course Matt was top of mind that day, and we were all really missing him. We had gone golfing, and on the way home Brendan was giving me this smile and asked, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?”—something Matt often did when he not-so-slyly hinted for us to get ice cream. I, of course obliged, and we both stood there with our jaws on the ground when the cashier at Frosty Boy told us our bill came to $11.11. Brendan didn’t miss a beat and wished Matt a “Happy Father’s Day” right there. 

For the birds? 

Another sign that can hold symbolic meaning — particularly in the form of hope, love and guidance from loved ones who have passed away — is a cardinal.  In various cultures, these beautiful, red birds are seen as messengers from the spirit world, offering comfort, reassurance and a sense of connection to those who have departed.  

On the same Nantucket trip last summer, I was having a particularly tough day, missing Matt. I was holding back tears as Emma and I boarded a shuttle to another part of the island. First, I saw a “penny from heaven” sitting directly on my seat, and then right as we got off the bus, a beautiful cardinal was waiting to greet us in one of Nantucket’s famous hydrangea bushes.  

This spring and summer we’ve also had a regular cardinal visitor on our back deck. It’s uncanny the way this bird keeps showing up, especially when I’m having a rough day and missing Matt. While its constant presence has been powerful itself, the cardinal almost always perches on the stand that holds a personalized wind chime with Matt’s name on it and a special quote that a family friend gave us when he passed. 

Not everyone believes in Godwinks or special numbers, but for me these “signs from above” are comforting reminders that our loved ones haven’t left us, and they will always be in our minds and hearts as we move forward.  

“Don’t Throw a Fit”

How to Heed This and Other Crazy Advice During Life’s Disasters

“It’s all part of the experience.” This tongue-in-cheek phrase is something my late husband, Matt, would often say when something less-than-ideal would happen to us. He typically said this with a twinkle in his eye and a wry grin on his face as he deadpanned about some trivial hardship that had come our way (having to wait in a long line at the grocery store, getting the wrong order served at a restaurant. . .you get the idea).

While many of his euphemisms have stuck with me, this one has spoken the loudest as I attempt to collect my somewhat random, occasionally humorous and (hopefully) inspiring ramblings on life, love, parenthood and grief into a blog — and perhaps someday a book — with that title.

Akin to telling a toddler “You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit,” Matt’s sarcasm was meant to downplay the circumstance, emphasizing that although these little setbacks can seem hugely annoying to us in the moment, we just need to accept the situation, laugh it off and move forward. After all, it’s all part of ultimately enriching OUR experience.

I’m not going to lie. It’s taken me a minute to accept this notion (and some days I’m more accepting than others). Throughout my nearly half-century of life, my children and I have experienced significant losses — particularly within the past decade — that have caused me to ask “why?” or weep about the utter unfairness of it all.

And, believe me, when I was navigating low points such as the death of my mom weeks after Matt’s stage IV cancer diagnosis or trying to keep some semblance of our tight-knit blended family after Matt died (still a struggle to this day), it hasn’t been easy to “not throw a fit” and chalk life’s punches up to being merely “part of the experience.”


What choice do we have?

Borrowing another one of Matt’s signature phrases — “life is full of choices” — I have made the difficult choice to try to be positive and find the silver linings amid the series of unfortunate “experiences” my family and I have had. Though, I promise you, I didn’t face these nightmares without punching the lights out of numerous innocent pillows, using what seemed like more tissues than Kleenex could produce in a year, and having my faith tested more than I thought was humanly possible.

So, I guess, in a way, I have thrown my fair share of fits.

But, like a good cry, those fits (mostly in the privacy of my own home or in my therapist’s office) have helped me clear my head, let out my frustrations and recognize that I have the strength to move forward despite seemingly insurmountable “experiences.”

By no means do I pretend to have all the answers. But, like I often tell my disbelieving teenagers, I actually do know “some stuff” and that “it’s not my first rodeo” attempting to overcome challenges. At the very least, I’m hoping that communicating how I’ve waded through and lived to see the other side of some of life’s daunting challenges, will help you understand that you are not alone in the trials and tribulations of your own life.

And, at the end of the day, sometimes it helps to cry about it, sometimes it helps to laugh about it. . .but no matter what, you have to do something about it.


Wanna arm wrestle?

I can’t count the times I’ve had people ask me “How do you do it?” or “I don’t think I could be as strong as you’ve been through everything.” My first thought in these instances was to respond with “Welp. . .I don’t really have a choice.”

But upon further reflection, I realized I did have a choice (see, Matt, you taught me well). I could’ve stayed in bed with the covers pulled over my head and not interacted with people for months after Matt died. And, honestly, part of me wanted to do that. Just retreat from the world that had failed me. That had taken my best friend.

But what good would that have done me? I had my children who were also grieving and looking to me for strength. I had a full-time job to get back to and mountains of paperwork to tackle in the wake of Matt’s death. In the immortal words of Sly Stallone’s character from one of Matt’s favorite ‘80s movies, “Over the Top,” about a guy determined to win the World Armwrestling Championship: “The world meets nobody halfway. When you want something, you gotta take it.”

So, I chose to take it. Take my life back.

I dove into the bills, forms and mail with Matt’s name on it. I made endless phone calls and choked back the tears when I had to say the dreaded words that “my husband died” or be asked to send in Matt’s death certificate to have a particular bill or service changed to my name. I chose to go to friends’ parties (even though no part of me wanted to go without Matt), put a smile on my face and wear my best “fake-it-till-you-make-it,” cheery outfit.

And you know what? There was satisfaction in checking off my to-do list, feeling somewhat human in my “party clothes” and sharing moments of laughter with friends and family. I never would’ve had those gratifying feelings or won my arm wrestling match with grief if I’d stayed in bed.

Now… over a year after Matt’s death, am I still in the depths of grief? Hell yeah, I am. I continue to arm wrestle this beast daily, but I can feel myself starting to get a little bit stronger each day. (And then a wave of grief will hit me — particularly on the weekends — and I’ll feel like I’m back at square one.) All told, as I work through my emotions, lonely situations and solo parenting, I’m starting to see some glimpses of joy.

I don’t win every match, but I can feel it in my bones that Matt is proud of me for trying—and giving me that knowing grin and an “Atta girl, you’ve got this!”

Though I miss Matt so much my heart literally aches, I know I need to keep pressing on — while throwing fewer fits and smiling more — for me, for our kids and for Matt. It goes without saying that I will forever carry his love, laughter and lessons in my heart. But at the same time, I’m choosing to move forward—one arduous step at a time.

That, I would agree, my wise husband, is “all part of the experience.”