I’ve always found comfort in the idea that the people we’ve lost are still watching over us. I first held onto that belief as a child after losing one grandfather at 7 and another at 9. Since then, it has been a way for me to feel that they are still with me in some small, meaningful way.
When I was younger, my mom used to tell me that if she woke up in the middle of the night, she would peek into my room just to make sure I was okay. Every time she did, she said she could feel both of my grandfathers there, like they were reassuring her that I was safe and being watched over. People often share stories about sensing a loved one’s presence after they’ve passed, but I never quite felt that in the same way.
One thing I remember from the countless Sundays I spent with my Gam and Pop is how my Pop was always sharing life lessons, even when I was just 5 or 6. One that stuck with me was to always carry cash wherever you go, even if it’s just a few pennies, because sometimes even the smallest amount can go a long way.
A few years after my Pop passed away, my Gam was out with some friends and had her purse sitting on the seat beside her at the bar. When she wasn’t paying attention, someone grabbed it and ran off with everything — her license, credit cards and cash. As she and her friends searched the place, hoping the thief might have dropped something, they made their way down the hallway. That’s when my Gam stopped in her tracks.
There was no sign of her purse, but what was left behind were five pennies.
I always kept that story in the back of my mind because it felt like my Pop was watching over my Gam, helping her when she needed it most. But it also made me wonder if he was looking out for me, too.
The transition from high school to college is never easy. Learning to live on your own, meeting new people and trying to figure out what you want to do with your life. Even though my transition felt smoother than most, there were still moments when I struggled and questioned everything.
One week in February of my freshman year, I was having a particularly difficult time. It was probably a mix of seasonal depression and the growing pains of being an inexperienced freshman. One morning, I went to the gym, and there was one bench left. As I walked over to claim it, I paused. Sitting right there on the bench were three pennies.
In disbelief, I picked them up and slipped them into my pocket.
The next day, as I was getting dressed for class, my eyes landed on a new zip-up hoodie I had gotten for Christmas. I hadn’t worn it yet, so I eagerly pulled it from my closet and put it on. Later, as I left my dorm, I slipped my phone into my pocket, but felt something else rattle inside. When I reached in, I was stunned to find three more pennies.
I tried to come up with a logical explanation for how they got there, but nothing made sense.
The following day, I came back from class exhausted. As I reached my dorm room door and went to grab my keys, I noticed something glinting on the floor. Right in front of my door sat a single penny.
This time, I didn’t question it. I just smiled. That’s when I knew it was my Pop.
By the end, that week didn’t feel so heavy. Looking back, I can’t even remember what made it so difficult. But I do remember this: I wasn’t alone. I had an angel by my side, and I finally understood the true value of a penny.