Within a week of my wife Rachel’s passing, a series of moments occurred that have left me wondering whether they were simply coincidences, or something much more.
The first happened on a Saturday evening, one week after her passing. I’d gone to my parents’ as usual and, although I’d said I wasn’t having a chippy tea, I changed my mind and walked round to the village. On the way, I was completely stopped in my tracks. Sitting on a driveway was an old, small boat — shabby but clearly still seaworthy — with the hand-painted name ‘Grumpy’ on the side.
So what’s the significance of that, you might ask? One of the most endearing things about Rachel was how she gave everyone a nickname. Her dad was ‘Grumpy’. He also had a lifelong fascination with boats and, in retirement, volunteered maintaining two tall ships docked at the Albert Docks in Liverpool. Strangely, the boat even looked like him — two rectangular windows like eyes, and he always wore rectangular glasses himself. A little worn but entirely practical — that was him to a tee.
Then, on the night of Rachel’s funeral, I walked past the funeral directors where she had lain in rest. Taking a road I rarely used, I quietly pleaded with her to give me a sign — a car registration plate, anything. A random thought, I know. As I walked, I fixated on one plate that I thought spelt “Rach”, but it didn’t. Amused, I thought how lovely it would have been if it had.
But as I walked back the same way, just two houses further along, there it was: “T999 JEL”. Had I looked right at the time of my thought, I’d have seen it instantly. ‘Jel’ was Rachel’s nickname for me — one she used so naturally that even in public she often forgot it wasn’t my real name. And ‘T999’ — on the final night of her life, while at home, she had repeatedly told me to “T… telephone 999”.
So I couldn’t help but wonder — if this really was her — had she anticipated what I’d think, and guided me to see it? Or even planted the thought in my head so I’d notice it?
A week after her funeral, as I worried whether I’d ever see another sign now that she was physically gone, I needn’t have. I was cleaning her little Fiat 500 — a car she cherished — ready to sell. It was a warm August day, and I’d left the doors open to let the seats dry. As I crouched under the dash adjusting the bonnet release cable, a small bird suddenly dropped from behind the dashboard onto the footwell, flapping wildly before flying out of the car and away.
I just froze, heart pounding. It was such a shock — and yet, once the panic passed, I burst out laughing. In that moment, I could hear Rachel’s laughter and sense her mischievous grin. It was exactly the kind of prank she would have loved.
Looking back now — the ‘Grumpy’ boat, the car registration, the bird — the timing of them all feels impossible to ignore. The first, perhaps, was her dad’s way of telling me she was safe, even if she couldn’t tell me herself. The other two? They were her, without question.
And there’s more. Within the first few weeks, her brother Paul went for his usual jog along the River Mersey. His route was blocked, so he ran further and ended up near the RNLI station — his dad’s name is on a lifeboat. A man across the road waved at him. Thinking he must know him, Paul crossed over, but quickly realised he didn’t. The stranger simply shook his hand and said, “Everything is going to be alright,” before walking away.
Encouraged, Paul kept jogging until two blackbirds flew ahead of him and turned off. As he stopped to catch his breath, he looked down and saw children’s chalk drawings beneath his feet: ‘Love. Be Caring. Be Kind.’
Those were the exact words repeated at Rachel’s funeral — how people described her again and again: the most caring, the most kind person they had ever known.
Any one of these experiences would have been remarkable on its own. But for them all to happen within days of her passing — it’s hard not to believe they were signs from her, showing she was still close, still watching, still loving.
Maybe they were coincidences. But to me, they were Rachel’s way of saying she’s still here — just in another form.
If you’ve had similar experiences, I’d love to hear your stories too.
And if you have a moment, please take time to read and support the legacy of my wife Rachel through my campaign:
“Rachel’s Rule: Protecting Today, For Tomorrow”
everything seemed to be in slow motion, but despite being a very sensitive person I kept calm. I’m absolutely convinced that strong sensation I felt in my gut was around the time he passed. A few days later I had appt with his bank, I was stressed and decided to memorise the shop name so I would find my way back to the car, as I got to top of road I smiled as the shop was called Joseph Hospice, it was almost like my brother Joseph was saying you’ve got this sis. Another day I was sat outside M and S and there in front of me sat a beautiful car with a private reg beginning with JOE, There have been countless happenings, I’ve really struggled with grief, It’s the price we pay for love. I hope the experiences or coincidences bring you comfort.