I am constantly amazed by spirit and how it will help us during times of need, especially when we are experiencing grief or other difficult emotions.  During a recent bout of grief, something extraordinary happened in my living room, which I can only describe as a miracle created by Spirit.
While reading about grief, you may find yourself asking other questions.  How long does grief last? When we ask this, it often feels like the answer is both too long and not long enough.

Grief is not one-size-fits-all. The loss of a child, for example, often brings a deeper and longer-lasting grief.  The death of a pet or elderly parent may feel different, sometimes less intense, because we recognize they have lived a full life.  Still, loss is loss, and each experience is personal. 

If you’re waiting for me to give you a concrete answer about how long grief will last,  I’m sorry.  There isn’t a clear answer.  If your loved one is human, you may process your feelings through art, time in nature, or simply allowing yourself cry.  These are just suggestions.  Many paths can support healing.

If your grief seems to be especially heavy, it can be helpful to review the symptoms of depression.  Grief and depression often overlap, but typically, grief symptoms tend to ease within about two months.  If, after that time, the feelings remain constant throughout the day and resemble depression without relief, it may be time to seek support from a psychotherapist. With that in mind, I invite you to read on to consider experiences that might bring even a moment of relief. 

My brilliant son, who was accepted first pick to OHSU medical school, died 11 years ago. He left me with a grief which, at times, was horrific, while at others, more recently, is still heavy but is softening with time. 

Since his passing, I believe my son has created many incredible moments, what I see as miracles, and I have written about them on the pages of my blog.

In our home, we have two living rooms. The back living room is generally used by my living son, while I tend to use the front one.  I only use the back one in summer because it is cool and dark.  The front living room is warmer and has huge windows looking over our gardens.

Because I wasn’t using the back room, I left my son responsible for it.  When the lightbulb burned out, and he didn’t replace it, I let it go.  I assumed I would take care of it when I needed the room later in the summer. 

One day, I went into the room to speak with him and noticed that the back light was flashing.  It immediately caught my attention.  It had been dead for six weeks already. As I stepped further inside, I realized it wasn’t just flickering randomly; it was pulsing in a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.  I watched for a moment and then took a video.

This was not the first unusual experience I’ve had since my son’s death. I’ve noticed many things that felt meaningful: coins disappearing and reappearing in my path, more than the usual pennies from heaven, and there were many more than pennies.

Last year, for example, a string of tiny lights in my office began blinking in a specific rhythm: slow, quick, quick, quick.  That pattern lasted for months.  Then it shifted to slow, quick, quick for some months.  Recently, it has changed to alternating patterns: slow, quick alternating with just slow-on/off.  This string has been doing some version for a month.

Returning to the light in the living room.  Its rhythm felt distinct. This light is blinking in a very special rhythm.  It has the rhythm of the heartbeat.  Spiritualists say this means alignment with the divine, inner peace, and the pulse of universal consciousness.  

If that is true, perhaps I have made progress in my healing this last year.  But more importantly, I wanted to share with you that these things happened, and they bring me comfort.  While I continue to live with the grief over losing my son, these beautiful miracles happen around me, making me feel a sense of peace, clarifying for me that my son is doing everything he can to make up for dying, softening the weight of his absence.  He knows that no matter the reason, the loss was unimaginable.  And I hope these stories will bring you comfort too.

The experiences have extended beyond what I’ve described here.  I have witnessed objects disappear and reappear, like my phone, my computer, a cucumber, scissors, and crochet hooks.  All these stories and others are documented on my blog.