Heavenly Dimes
November 11, 1983, six days shy of my 26th birthday. My father suddenly left this world, gone in an instant. Years later, I remain at a loss for words to describe how I felt. Devastated isn’t quite enough. I search the thesaurus for synonyms: shocked, crushed, shattered, heartbroken. None of these capture it, though together they paint a picture. I was lost. Yet now, almost 38 years later, I find I have lived many more years without him than with him. How is that even possible? My 26-year-old self would’ve said it was impossible, that I would never reach this time in my life. Yet here I am, a living testimonial to that which I thought could never be.
I remember very little of the year or two after my father passed, though recently I came across a journal I kept at the time. I peeked into it and saw pain palpable on the pages. Confusion, loneliness, despair. The feeling that no one understood. Constant questioning: How was I supposed to go on with my life?
But then, the dimes started showing up. It was innocuous at first. A few months after my father died, my mom and I went on a brief trip to the Bahamas. As we sat on a remote beach with absolutely no one around us, my mom put her hand in the sand between us and pulled up a dime, buried in the sand right between our chairs.
“Oh, that’s just Dad’s way of saying hi,” she said with a laugh. “You know, he was always finding coins.”
She was right. When I was a kid, my father found coins everywhere. When my mom found that dime on the beach, I shrugged, but I also thought how I, too, had recently been finding coins. Was it some sort of sign, or was I just imagining it? The scientist in me wanted to discredit it, but still… could it be possible?
After that trip, I found a lot of coins! Mostly dimes, though other coins were mixed in as well. Before I understood the significance of it, I pocketed the money and spent it. As I realized what was happening, I thought if it really was from my dad, I should keep it. About six months after he passed, I started collecting the money, and within a few years, I had over $500.00 worth of coins — almost all dimes — and they kept coming!
At one point, I googled this phenomenon and discovered many others have experienced this as well. Apparently, dimes are a choice way for people who have passed to the “other side” to communicate with us. Who knew?
I began paying closer attention and realized almost every time I found a coin, it was a clear message from my dad. He guided me through many periods when I was unsure what path to follow. If I took a few steps in a certain direction and found coins on the path, I would know it was the right way to go. This has happened over and over during the past 38 years.
One day, in particular, stands out in my mind. It was about three or four years after he had passed on. I was living in Boston, and one summer Sunday I found myself walking in the city, feeling sorry for myself. It was a blistering hot summer day; the streets were relatively empty, and as I walked, I saw coins EVERYWHERE. Finally, after a few minutes of collecting several dollars’ worth of dimes and quarters, I sat on the curb, held out my hands, and looked up at the sky. “I give up,” I said. “What are you trying to tell me?”
For a moment, there was dead silence. I closed my eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of my dad’s presence. It seemed he simply wanted me to know he was there, always around. He would always be there for me. I wasn’t sure what that was about, but after a while, I stood up and went on with my day. Later that evening, though, the message became clear.
My mom and I met for dinner that night, and she was extremely nervous. Eventually, she told me she had been dating a man (I knew that part) and he had asked her to marry him. She had not decided yet, but she wanted my opinion and was worried I might feel my dad was being replaced. In that moment, I realized what my dad was telling me.
“It’s okay,” I said. “He can never be replaced. He’ll always be my father, and you should do what feels right for you.”
Eventually, my mom chose not to remarry, but it was clearly her choice, and it would have been okay with me if she had chosen differently. My dad made sure of that.
About 10 years after that episode, I was in the midst of another life change. I had two young children at home, and I enrolled in a 5-day Yoga Teacher training retreat. It was my first trip away from my children since they were born, and I was nervous and unsure of what I was getting into. I arrived at the retreat center and checked into my room, which turned out to be a dormitory with about 15 bunk beds. I looked around, unsure of what to do. Some beds were clearly claimed, but a bunch remained empty and I didn’t know whether they were assigned. There was one other woman in the room and she must have noticed my naivete.
“Just choose whatever bed calls to you,” she said.
Once again, I wondered what I was getting myself into. “Whatever,” I thought to myself as I looked around at all the beds. I finally settled on a top bunk. I climbed up and noticed the top of the closet was a nice bedside countertop. And on that countertop — you guessed it! About $6.00 worth of dimes and quarters. Silently, I thanked my dad for confirming my choice to be there.
What does one do with sacred money? Once I was convinced the money had meaning, I struggled with that question. About 20 years after my dad passed, I opened a Yoga studio and put some of that found money toward a “karma fund” to give a discount to dedicated Yoga students who couldn’t afford the full price of classes. After all, he had encouraged me on the path of Yoga Teacher training. It felt like a way to pay his legacy forward.
Over the years, finding dimes has tapered off, but it has not stopped completely. To this day, I still find them in unexpected places. I know with absolute certainty it is my dad sending me a sign, and it feels like a warm hug.
Thanks, Dad! I am grateful for the guidance you’ve given me my entire life!
