An Angelic Pat on the Shoulder

This morning, on the eighth anniversary of my mother’s passing, I found two dimes.

The first was lying on the laundry room floor. Bright and shiny, it caught my eye immediately. I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.

A few moments later, while walking toward the bedroom, I spotted another dime on the floor.

I stopped.

A year earlier, I had written a blog post called The Mystery of Finding Dimes: Signs from Beyond.
(https://thebowleggedblogger.com/2025/02/06/the-mystery-of-finding-dimes-signs-from-beyond/)

I wrote about finding dimes during my training journey back to race fitness and believed they were signs from my friend and mentor, Dave Orlowski (one of the Ironman triathletes from the 1st Ironman in 1978) who had encouraged me to go farther than I ever thought possible.

Today felt different.

I wasn’t heading out for a run, a swim, or a bike ride. I was preparing for an hour-long drive into Cambridge to visit my mother’s grave and place flowers on the anniversary of her passing.

My mother had been on my mind for days. Truth be told, I was long overdue for a visit.

I remembered writing about dimes, but I couldn’t recall exactly what I had said. I hurried out the door, deciding I would look up the post when I arrived.

Later that morning, sitting on the grass in front of my mother’s headstone, I reread words I had written a year before. Among the many interpretations of finding dimes was this thought:

“Finding coins is viewed by many as an angelic pat on the shoulder—a reminder that you are not alone and that you are on the right path.”

Another interpretation suggested that dimes may be signs from loved ones who have passed on, reminders that they are still watching over us and sending their love.

I sat quietly and let those words settle in.

I don’t know how heaven works.

I don’t know whether spirits can leave signs, move objects, or communicate through coins found in unexpected places.

What I do know is that on the morning I set out to honor my mother, I found two dimes and was reminded of a belief that has grown stronger as I have gotten older:

Love leaves traces.

The people we have loved and lost continue to shape us long after they are gone. They live on in our memories, our values, our habits, our stories, and in the quiet moments when we feel their presence near us.

Perhaps the dimes were a coincidence.

Or perhaps they were simply a gentle reminder to pay attention.

Either way, I received the message.

And sitting there beside my mother’s grave, I didn’t feel alone.