This morning, a phone call woke me up before dawn. As I stumbled in the dark half asleep trying to reach my cell, the call went to voicemail. I was about to go back to sleep, when my son, Kerrsen, came into my room advising me that an alarm had been ringing for several minutes and had just stopped. I must have been in a deep sleep, because the alarm didn’t wake me. When I went to investigate, I discovered that the door to the garage had opened ever so slightly, tripping the alarm. After, I called ADT to notify them of the false alarm, I listened to the voicemail message they had left before deleting it. The message took me by surprise, “November 23rd, 4 am, Robert Parkinson, you have an alarm situation. Please call us to immediately.” This was one of the only places where I didn’t bother switching the name on the account after my husband died. When I heard the date and time, followed by his name, it dawned on me that this was not a random incidence, but rather a message from the beyond. I had completely forgotten that today would have been our seventeenth wedding anniversary. Hearing this message, connected to Bob’s name, and the time, 4:00 am, confirmed to me that it was him. As I hung up the phone, I turned to Kerrsen and laughed, “That was your dad, wishing me a happy anniversary!”

Bali WeddingThe number four was very significant to Bob and me. We were both the fourth child in our birth families. We started our relationship together in 1994. We were married – almost to the day – four years later. We each were born in the fourth month of the year, as was our first baby together, Kaiden, who was Bob’s fourth child. When we worked together at Nabisco, they had us do personality assessments. We both fell into the fourth quadrant, which meant we were each results-driven. We often teased each other about being too “four-like.” He was forty-four when we met. I was thirty-one (3+1=4). We were thirteen (1+3=4) years apart in age. According to numerology, my life path number is four and his was eight (2×4=8). And, he died on the fourth day of the month – October. Since then, the number four and four sequences (44, 444) appear to me often. I have grown pleasantly accustomed to this and the many other ways that Bob continues to connect with me.

After I hung up the phone, my memory brought me back to this day seventeen years ago when we were married in Bali. The memory was crystal clear. I could see us at the Four Seasons resort in a beautiful thatched-roof pagoda on a cliff, jutting into the Indian ocean. Below, local fishermen scattering nets by hand into waist-high water. The pagoda had been converted into a mini temple with dozens of the same carnations hanging from the ceiling. Our alter was a simple table covered in white linen, exposing a red and gold ceremonial batik cloth underneath. In the center of the table, was a silver dish with a small arrangement of white frangipani.  The triple tiers of Balinese umbrellas in bright  blue, red and yellow surrounded the pagoda – each with carnations strung from their bottom tier. The sun hung low in the horizon as we exchanged our vows and simple gold wedding bands, each inscribed with: Love will keep us alive.

After the ceremony, we sipped champagne and took a moment, arm in arm, to look out at the ocean. It was as if we were looking out into the future that lay before us. Luckily, I couldn’t see the heartache that lay ahead. Bob carried me over the stone threshold, into our private villa, which had been transformed into a sacred matrimonial oasis. We held hands as we absorbed the beauty. The canopied outdoor living and dining areas were furnished in rich mahogany, crisp white linens and fine china. Champagne and Asian appetizers had been laid out around a flower centerpiece. In the middle of the villa was an infinity pool with a view of the ocean. It was filled with thousands of frangipani petals and surrounded by white candles that shimmered against the water. Next to the pool was the sleeping and bathing quarters. A large white Gossamer net covered the king-size bed, which was sprinkled with yellow petals. Indonesian music played softly in the background. Bob changed the disc on the CD player. He took my hand and whispered into my ear, “May I have this dance?” We danced under the moonlight sky, as Don Henley’s hauntingly beautiful voice filled the air, with the words to our favorite song – Love will keep as alive.

Eleven years later, those same five words – love will keep us alive – would be Bob’s last. Since then, I have searched to understand their deeper meaning. I have learned that true love, like the one Bob and I shared and the love I have for my children is unconditional. This kind of love is not dependent on how we act, what we say, the role we play, what we have, or any other condition. Learning to cultivate this kind of love for myself and then for those around me (friend or foe) has helped me move beyond coping and healing from loss, to actually transforming my life. I continue to feel Bob’s presence as he sends me gentle, often humorous and sometimes dramatic reminders that he is still very much with us, guiding me and our boys, along our path, together.