We don't stop loving them when they leave this world. And they don’t stop loving us.
Chapter Fifteen: Messages from Loved Ones in Heaven
This post is part of my book, Sea of Miracles: An Invitation from the Angels. In this series, I’m revisiting the book—reflecting on it, fifteen years later—with fresh eyes and deeper understanding.
If you’d like to follow along, all the chapters and reflections are gathered here.
Introduction
Over the years, thousands of people have told me stories—sometimes whispered with tears, sometimes shared with a soft laugh—about the messages they’ve received from loved ones who have passed. These messages aren’t always loud or dramatic. More often, they are subtle, symbolic, and perfectly timed. And they almost always bring comfort, peace, and an unexpected sense of joy.
This chapter is about those messages. About the many ways our loved ones—still alive and vibrant in spirit—reach across the veil to let us know: I’m still here. I still love you. And I’m okay.
Chapter 15:
Messages from Loved Ones in HeavenFirst, let me clear up a common misunderstanding: Our lost loved ones do not become angels. When people pass out of earthly life, they don’t sprout wings or halos. They don’t become birds or butterflies, either. But they can—and do—work with the angels to send us signs.
In fact, the most commonly reported angel experiences, by far, are signs and messages received after the death of a loved one.
If you’ve ever received such a sign, you know how deeply reassuring, loving, and liberating it can be. These signs free you from worry. They offer a balm to the ache of separation. They let you know that the people you’ve loved are not gone—they are safe and joyful in Heaven. And in their way, they are still with you.
From a spiritual perspective, these signs are Heaven’s responses to your call—your prayer for confirmation that life goes on. And it does.
Angels often accompany grieving families at funerals and during the tender months that follow. They send butterflies, feathers, and other meaningful messages of undying love. They soothe loneliness. They offer peace. They help us to grieve, and they help us let go.
Here are just a few of the many real experiences people have shared with me:
A woman, grieving the death of her mother, hears a knock at the door. Opening it, she finds a stranger standing there.
“I understand your mom just died,” the woman says.
At once, a wave of warmth floods the grieving daughter’s body. She feels an unexpected peace wash over her, as if some invisible weight has lifted. She thanks the woman and closes the door. But a moment later, questions rise. Who was she? Where did she come from? How did she know?
She rushes to the door—but the woman is gone.
Another woman tells me that after her husband’s death, she experiences nightly visits from him:
“Every night, I lie down in bed and raise my energy level—and he lowers his. And I feel him. He comes to visit. He’s protecting me, he’s happy for me. I can feel a depression in the bed, as if his body is there. But even without that, I can feel his presence next to me.”
In their letters, people shared all kinds of signs from loved ones in Heaven. This is a list of the most frequently mentioned—and most deeply cherished.
Pennies from Heaven: Coins found in unexpected places, often arriving in patterns or clusters. Each one whispers: I’m thinking of you.
Flowers: Lilacs, roses, or other blooms appearing out of season—often on anniversaries or meaningful dates. Sometimes a stranger offers a flower linked to the person you’ve lost. Other times, you’ll spot that flower’s image—a photo on TV, a T-shirt, a bumper sticker—just as you're thinking of them. When it happens, it’s unmistakable. The timing, the connection—it’s too perfect to be coincidence.
Emails, calls, or messages: A long-disconnected number appears on your caller ID. A meaningful photo flashes briefly on your screen. A voicemail plays from someone whose voice you thought you’d never hear again.
Electrical activity: Lights flicker when you say their name. The TV turns on by itself. A car radio suddenly plays your song. These subtle nudges often coincide with moments of grief, memory, or prayer.
Music: You’re thinking of someone you miss when suddenly, your song begins playing on the car radio. You’re in a café when lyrics that speak directly to your heart fill the air. You wake from a dream with a melody still lingering in your mind. Music is one of the most common—and most powerful—messengers from beyond.
Unusual encounters: You find an object that belonged to them or reminded you of them—in a place it could not logically be. You meet a stranger who moves or speaks in a familiar way. Sometimes they even say something only your loved one would say.
Dreams: Dreams are sacred channels of communication, and many people receive visits from loved ones while asleep. These visitation dreams are often vivid, comforting, and filled with love. Sometimes, they even carry helpful information—like the location of a lost document or piece of jewelry, a subtle warning about a physical symptom, or a gentle nudge to reach out to someone in need.
These are just some of the signs the angels send. But the truth is, the most powerful sign is always the one that means the most to you—a personal, unmistakable signature. A message so specific, so deeply connected to the one you’ve lost, that there’s no denying who sent it.
These signs bring comfort. They bring closure. And they help ease the quiet guilt that often lingers after a loss—the words left unsaid, the visits we didn’t make, the calls we forgot.
Messages from loved ones in Heaven remind us: You’re not alone.
The bond of love is unbreakable. It may change form, but it never ends.And always, they whisper: I’m still here. I still love you.
Dad’s Homing Pigeon
When my father’s brother, David, died, Dad hadn’t seen him in years. David had been living in Florida, navigating the fog of Alzheimer’s. My father, himself aging and dealing with his own health challenges, had moved into a nursing home in New York.
The news of David’s death shook him. He didn’t want to talk about it. He changed the subject. But something was stirring under the surface.
About a week later, we visited Dad on a beautiful spring morning. We sat in a circle under a blossoming dogwood tree, sunlight dappling the ground.
“There’s this bird,” Dad said. “I’ve been coming outside early in the morning, sitting by the river. It’s quiet then. No one else is around, and the animals… well, they seem more willing to communicate.
“There’s this one bird—a pigeon. It’s different from the others. It follows me. Hops along beside me. Comes back. Comes back.
“Yesterday, it sat near me for a long time. I asked it, ‘What do you want?’ Then, I went inside, and it flew away. I thought that was the end of it. But the next morning, there it was again. I recognized it right away. All the other pigeons are gray and blue. This one… this one’s all white.”
My sister and I exchanged a glance. This white pigeon - it meant something to us.
Growing up, we often heard the story of Uncle David’s homing pigeons. As a teenager, Dad’s brother—who later became a decorated Air Force pilot—had raised pigeons in a rooftop coop atop their Bayside, Queens home. He’d always loved birds, and flying.
Dad especially loved telling the story of the wild pigeon.
“When David was 13 or 14,” he once said, “he built this rickety ladder up to the roof. I couldn’t always climb it—being younger and dealing with cerebral palsy—but sometimes I managed, and I’d go up there with him.”
One day, David spotted a wild pigeon flying overhead. “Watch this,” he said, opening the coop. His trained pigeons flew out, circled the wild bird, and a few minutes later returned—with the wild one among them. Just like that, it became part of the flock.
Dad had always been fascinated by that moment. And he told the story often—so often that it lodged in our memories. So now, sitting under the dogwood tree, my sister asked gently, “Dad, does the white pigeon remind you of anyone?”
He blinked. “Should it?”
I tried. “Anyone you know who had something to do with pigeons?”
“Oh... David!” he said. Recognition spreading across his face like sunlight. “Wow.”
As often happens once an angel message is delivered and received, the white pigeon stopped visiting, its mission complete.
Still, I know that if Dad begins missing David again, another sign will arrive—another pigeon or some other sign that means just as much, delivered just as lovingly.
Remember: Love doesn’t die. It changes form.
And through that transformation, it continues to reach for us—through birds, flowers, pennies, dreams, songs, and strangers who appear at the exact right moment.
If you need a message, ask for one. Then, be open. Let it come in its own way, in its own time.
Your loved ones are not lost. They are changed. But they are still yours. Still listening. Still loving you from just beyond the veil.
And sometimes, they send a sign—just to say hello.
It was especially moving to revisit this chapter with you. In a way, it served as a sign in itself. A message from my father, who’s now in Heaven. A reminder that he’s still here, loving me. So I thought I’d share this photo of a sign I received just after he passed. The angels find the most remarkable ways to let us know we are loved - always.
Thank you for reading along as I return to Sea of Miracles, fifteen years after publication. These stories changed my life and it’s my honor to share them with you.
If this story touched your heart, I invite you to share it with someone you love. Someone who might find comfort or guidance or a spark of insight for their own journey.
Next up:
Chapter 16: Transition into light - we are never truly alone
Until then,
I wish you blessings and love,
Amy
xxoo
I loved that….again! ❤️
Do you believe in reincarnation?
Bill