Pennies from Heaven: Signs, Symbols, and the Love That Lingers

They say that when an angel misses you, they toss a penny down from Heaven for you to find.

I’d heard that phrase before, long ago, but like so many charming ideas, I filed it away in the corner of my mind—sweet, but not something I gave much thought to. Over the years, though, I’ve come to believe otherwise. I don’t believe in coincidences. And I absolutely believe that the spirits of our loved ones reach out to us, often in the most subtle, ordinary ways.

For some, it’s a favorite song playing unexpectedly. For others, it’s a feather found in an unusual place, a butterfly landing on your hand, or a scent on the air that reminds you of someone long gone. And then, of course, there are the coins—usually pennies, sometimes dimes—appearing in places where they simply shouldn’t be.

When my grandmother passed away, I didn’t just lose a beloved family member—I lost a close friend, a confidante. Even though her passing was not unexpected, it still hit hard. Loss, no matter how prepared we think we are, never arrives gently. Years later, I still find myself catching my breath when I think of something I wish I could share with her.

Not long after she passed, I had a series of strange, quiet moments that I didn’t immediately recognize as anything more than mildly curious. The first came during a normal workday. I unlocked my office, flipped on the lights, and walked to my desk—where I found three pennies, face up, lined up perfectly in front of my keyboard. Odd, but I brushed it off and tucked them away in a drawer.

A few days later, while rinsing dishes at home, I noticed something glinting in the sink. Three more pennies. Also face up. Also in a perfect row. I had just finished using the sink moments before and there was no one else in the kitchen. They simply appeared.

The third time was the one that made me pause. I was browsing a local plant nursery—something my grandmother and I had done countless times together. We always left with something, and almost always with African Violets. As I walked toward a table covered in them, there on the floor were three pennies… face up… in a perfect line.

That was when it clicked. These weren’t just random coins. These were signs. And they weren’t just showing up anywhere—they were appearing during one of the most emotionally and mentally stressful times of my life. She was reaching out, reminding me she was still close. Still with me.

But the signs didn’t stop there.

That summer, I had a remarkable encounter while walking our dogs. We were heading to the barn when seven Eastern Bluebirds flew down and landed on the split-rail fence just a few feet from me. Despite two large Labradors and my footsteps, the birds stayed perfectly still, watching me. I laughed out loud—because let’s be honest, if seven bluebirds of happiness line up next to you, you’re either a Disney princess or someone is trying to tell you something.

My grandmother loved birds, and it was a love we shared. I had even given her a birding guidebook for one of her last Christmases. It was her. I knew it.

Then came the tornado.

In April 2011, a tornado tore through our family’s property in Virginia. While we were fortunate

that the damage was mostly to trees and not to structures or people, the loss was heartbreaking. Ancient trees that had stood my entire life were gone. But there was one tree I was especially worried about—an old one with a handmade birdhouse that my grandparents had crafted from a metal coffeepot. I had repaired it years ago and hung it there for nostalgia’s sake.

When I got the call about the damage, I asked about the tree and the birdhouse, assuming the worst. But to my astonishment, that tree was still standing. And for the first time ever, a bluebird had made a nest inside the coffeepot birdhouse.

That would have been enough. But the signs kept coming. Indigo Buntings—bright blue birds I had never seen in person before—began appearing at our backyard feeders. One even showed up in the chaos of the tornado aftermath, perched among the debris.

And then, a final gift: a single, vibrant bloom on my grandmother’s hydrangea bush—months after it should have stopped flowering. I stood there in the sunlight, looking at that unexpected bloom, and smiled. I took a photo. I knew.

We don’t stop loving someone just because they’re gone. And I don’t believe they stop loving us either. They remain—just out of sight—but never out of reach.

So if you’ve found a penny in an odd place… if a bird lingers longer than it should… if a song plays that hits you like a memory—pay attention. These aren’t coincidences. They’re conversations from beyond, whispered into the fabric of our everyday lives.

Have you experienced something similar? A sign, a symbol, a visit from someone you’ve lost? Feel free to share your story in the comments or email Lurk at lurkpodcast@yahoo.com. Sometimes, sharing these moments helps others feel less alone—and more open to seeing the signs in their own lives.

And if you ever find a penny from Heaven…Save it.