A couple of weeks ago I told you about my friend Michael who died. Last week I shared the one message he wanted me to communicate to each of you: “If you knew how much you were loved, you would never worry again.”
But there is a part of the story I haven’t told you.
About a month before he died, Michael hid 48 love notes for Lynn for her birthday. There were 9 still hidden when he died. Today, 5 are still missing.
She doesn’t look for them, she lets them find her. It is bittersweet. Each time she finds one she gets to feel him close but also knows now there is one less note to find.
Each note is signed with a single initial, “M”. Last week in a very un-Lynn-like way she got the letter M tattooed on the inside of her arm.
“I know I should wait to do something this permanent” she said to me.
“F*ck that.” I said back. “I’m proud of you. Your healthy husband died in his sleep. There are no rules. Do what feels right. It’s your only guidepost right now.”
Finding the Messages
Yesterday I went to visit Lynn. We were going to talk about the communication she is getting from Michael. (He has not limited himself to those love notes he left around the house.)
He shows up everywhere.
She wanted to make sure she wasn’t missing nuance. There is an oracle card she pulls almost daily—even though she shuffles the deck over and over. Is there more to the message than what she originally thought? Is that why he keeps sending it?
I packed my bag with crystals and extra oracle card decks for her to use while working with the messages. On the way, I stopped to get her a journal.
I was hoping to find something that felt meaningful.
Alas, Target does not carry journals that say “Notes from my dead husband.”
So I chose one with mushrooms and flowers and nature—something that felt close to both Lynn and Michael’s hearts.
There were a few of them, so I picked one from the bottom of the pile. (I like the ones I think were touched less.)
The message in the journal
When I got to Lynn’s, I pulled it out and handed it to her.
“I thought you might like a fresh journal to track all his messages here.”
She opened it—and I saw a scribble at the top of the page.
“Oh my gosh, Lynn… I literally just bought this on the way.”
I was embarrassed. I didn’t want her to think I had brought a used journal.
She turned it around to me.
“It’s an M.”
I looked closer.
At the very top of the first page, it wasn’t a scribble.
It was a single letter—M.
The same letter Michael used to sign all his notes.
The same letter she had just tattooed on her arm to keep him close.
Light and Magic
So why am I telling you this?
First, because it’s a really beautiful story.
But more than that—I want it to give you hope.
I want you to know that even in the darkest moments, our loved ones are still reaching for us… still finding ways to send small sparks of light.
And I want to offer you a little bit of that magic.
Michael was, at his core, a teacher. He loved to inspire people.
And I think, if you ask him, he’d love to give you a sign too.
Ask him for an “M.”
And when it shows up, send it to me.
(Some of his other favorites are hawks, skunks, and anything black and white—but you get to choose.)
Just promise me you’ll reply and tell me when you see it.With love,
Patty
