Hearts Will Always Follow

My mom texts a photo in our family group chat. I’m in class—over the years she’s built a habit of calling and texting mid-lecture—so I’m unable to answer right away, but not quite strong-willed enough to not take a peek at the text. It’s a heart-shaped imprint on the sidewalk that I presume she saw on her way into the grocery store or somewhere alike. Our catalog of photos sent and received in our shared thread is full of them. Winter to spring, summer to fall, they appear year-round, always when you just stop looking for them. It’s a sign from our dad, she says. 

My sister sees them too—on the ground at the gym or in class, a piece of paper crumpled up just so, a heart blinking up at her. I’m sure they follow my brother too, hidden in screens and blobs of toothpaste on the sink.

Mine aren’t as plentiful, but they follow me, too. In the clouds, in my food, in the leaves, never too far away. Truthfully, I never really noticed how they always seemed to pop up until my mom mentioned it. It’s like looking for something, until you realize you’ve been holding it the whole time, an oh, obviously moment. Of course they were signs from beyond, it was just the kind of thing he would do. 

It might all be happenstance, and I have no objections to someone who might argue so, but it’s prettier to think it’s something a little stronger than that. In the end, a little wishful thinking and misled, but good-natured, gut feelings that it was something more meaningful never hurt anyone. It’s the sort of thing that I find myself clinging to so much more as I grow up. If we can’t make the small things a little bit bigger in our hearts and minds, how much do we really have? A sign, an act of kindness, something maybe insignificant, but good—they all help carry me. 

I usually take them as a sign I’m on the right path, or at least doing the right things to guide me the right way. It’s also a prompt that, maybe, some things transcend long-standing beliefs in what is and isn’t plausible, especially as we face those limits daily. 

It goes beyond just the hearts too; it’s names seen on road and restaurant signs or random texts from my mom or a friend when I’m particularly in need of something sweet. My sister looks for, and always finds, specific initials in license plates when she needs reassurance, while my mom stumbles upon reminders online. God, a higher being, the universe, my dad—you take your pick. 

At its simplest, these little signs and manifestations add a sense of certainty, a buoy to find some rest on. A cue to think a little more about right now instead of later. A fleeting, but still sufficient cure to nostalgia and passing time. 

We can always count on time and change to come, the same way I can count on signs to be sent to me. In a carousel of photos posted online—an amalgamation of quotes following a common theme, often momentary youth and time and goodbyes—there was a quote from an old blog post that had made its rounds through different virtual spheres. It read: 

“july didn’t even say goodbye.

the years don’t kiss you goodnight anymore. they just

leave behind this empty space, a phantom pain.

and still i ache, i ache, i ache!”

And they’re right. Instead of lingering by the door prolonging goodbyes or agreeing to just one more glass of wine, time and transitions to unspoken adulthood practices race on. Time won’t say goodbye, but my dad can say hello! And then the ache is less so, even if the hurt of the two is different. 

A sign, a cure, a new faith, an indicator someone elsewhere is thinking of me…it can be everything. Anytime, anywhere, the hearts will always follow, out there waiting. 

• family
• goodbyes
• manifestation
• signs
• time