My Husband Died. Was I Receiving Signs From Him?

The nurse stopped me before I left the intensive care unit and entered into the creeping hum of the hospital. My husband, Dave, had been wheeled off to the 14th floor, where he died a few hours later.

“You are going to want to take his wedding ring off… soon,” she said. I understood what she meant by “soon” — before he died and I could no longer get the ring off.

The last rays of sunlight filled Dave’s new room as I sat by his side. I squeezed some Aquaphor from a tube by his bed and, with his fingers in my hand, I tried to memorize the map of age spots before I gently tugged at the ring. It was a thick, smooth, dark silver wedding band, which he bought just a few weeks before our wedding. He stared straight ahead, his breathing labored through the oxygen mask covering his mouth. As I finally pulled the ring from his finger, he looked me in the eyes. I could feel him taking in the moment — the significance of what I had done — as I slipped it onto my right index finger.

A few days later, after the house cleared of visitors who had come to pay their respects and share their favorite stories about Dave, I heard a cricket chirping in the pantry. Later, it was in my bathroom, singing as I washed my face. This was before people began to ask me if I’d noticed any signs of Dave visiting me after his death.

I’d never heard a cricket in the house before — just a chorus of them outdoors on summer evenings. But I was dealing with so many unfamiliar experiences. I’d never had a front row seat to the devastation of cancer. I’d never seen a dead body before. I’d never lost someone so close to me. I’d never been a widow.

Dave and I had what I consider a traditional marriage. He worked, and I raised our boys. In the 17 years we were together, we never had a conversation about what we would do if one of us died. Dave assured me there was enough life insurance that I’d be able to pay off the house. I told him he’d have enough money to hire a full-time nanny to take care of the kids.

That’s as far as our planning went. I think I probably told him that I’d want him to keep going, live his life and make the most of his time without me. But the truth is, I didn’t want to think about him moving on. I couldn’t bear to think of him getting married again. I didn’t want to envision another woman putting her clothes in my closet, sliding next to him in our bed and raising our boys. I didn’t want him bringing her coffee every morning or…