The Bevinator passed away one year ago today. It still smarts. Fortunately, she’s still with me, and she’s Bev-erywhere. Settle in for a story I’ve never told. So, the same day Mom passed on, a spiritual advisor I met while I was hosting KCL reached out to me. She told me to keep an eye out for signs from Mom — as they would come fast and furious. Except they didn’t, because I was looking too hard.

See, Mom had a larger-than-life, Ethel Merman-esque quality about her, except she never saw it that way. She was bossy, belligerent and brazen, but she just figured she blended in to the woodwork. So when I was looking for signs that Mom was around, I was looking for grandiose, over-the-top, Heaven-sent spectacles.

Turns out, that wasn’t Mom’s style.

My spiritual advisor, Steffany, quickly corrected me. I was to be on the lookout for small white feathers. “The tinier, the better. That’s your Mom,” she said. Minimalist was apparently Mom’s calling card.

In the last twelve months, I’ve seen five small white feathers appear—at the exact nanosecond when I needed to know Mom was still around. On a recent trip to Indianapolis, I was missing The Bevinator something fierce. No particular reason, mind you, just a weird wave of grief that engulfed an otherwise fun weekend. My friends Josh and Jenna asked about Mom while we were at a coffeehouse. I unleashed a torrent of tears that caught me (uh, and them) off guard. I was lamenting I hadn’t “heard” from Mom in months and I was beginning to think she had gone radio silent. I then did the unthinkable, I told them the white feather story. Until then, I had mostly kept that nugget to myself.

I managed to suck up the tears and finish my coffee without much fanfare. On the walk back to their condo, we took several detours to see the sights. As we were walking up to their front door, the smallest of white feathers gently wafted in front of all three of us. It was almost comical, like a movie feather that wafted back and forth Forrest Gump-style. It landed perfectly at my feet.

I sobbed. Ugly-cry sobbed. Guttural, heaving, ugly-cry sobbed. It probably lasted fifteen seconds, but felt like fifteen days. Sensing my sadness, Josh and Jenna lost it too, but only because unnerved hysteria can often be contagious. I gathered up the feather and tucked it away in a little nook in a picture frame in their abode.

To this day I’m still not exactly sure that actually happened, fortunately, I have two witnesses. But that moment helped me stop my incessant grieving. And the white feathers still appear when I need them most. (Don’t be surprised if The Bevinator sends you one when you least expect it.)

The Bevinator is Bev-nipresent. And she’s keeping a watchful eye over Dad and me. I miss her spirit, but she’s still around. She’s just a lot more subtle and quiet nowadays. Seems the afterlife finally mellowed her out a bit.

Miss you, Mom … thanks for still being there when I need you.