We had some mail following an article on animals and signs from the deceased.
Without further ado:+
“I have a story about two butterflies,” writes Jeanann Perry. “My mom passed in April of 2018 and my dad passed in 2019. A couple of days later after my dad died, I was leaving the house.+
“As I closed my front door and turned the lock to lock it I was suddenly drawn to look towards my left. I saw a butterfly flying by the end of my house up near the roof. It was fluttering around as I was looking at it.+
“Suddenly, it looked like it split in two, and there was a smaller butterfly with it. And also all of a sudden, I was mesmerized and felt like I was in a different realm and a voice told me that was my dad and mom.+
“I stared at them and the smaller butterfly (my mom) flew away. As I stared at the bigger butterfly I knew this was my dad and I walked further toward it and stopped at my bushes. This butterfly flew over towards me and landed on the bush smack in front of me. We were inches apart. The butterfly was staring at me. I knew it was my dad. I told him we missed him but we were ok. I then went to take my phone out of my purse to take a picture and he flew away.”+
Says Mark Borcherding of Denver, Colorado, “I experienced my own animal sign from beyond. After my wife Mer died, I got a cockatiel bird. When giving me the paperwork, they said, “The cockatiel is female not male like we told you; do you still want the bird?”
“When I got home I looked at all the paperwork and saw my bird Tiela was born on May 30, 2020, which was the 33rd wedding anniversary of Mer and me, right after her death. That was not the only sign, because Our Lady of Guadalupe was also giving me another. The cockatiel, like cardinals (in the article) has a crest of feathers. The red cardinal’s crest of feathers is the red color of a Catholic Cardinal. But a cockatiel’s crest of feathers is green like the Quetzal bird feather headdress of a person given the title of Quetzalcoatl in Juan Diego’s native tradition. The real Quetzalcoatl was in the womb of Our Lady of Guadalupe…”+
“I lost my 24-year-old son on May 29, 2010, from a heroin overdose,” writes another reader. “He struggled with anxiety and depression and drug use. He had been to a psychologist, psychiatrist, drug rehab, and juvenile camp but his struggle continued.+
[And one more, from Raven Wenner, in Texas: “My dear stepfather, who had been raised on a small ranch, and was an old-style outdoorsman and hunter, who from childhood knew the ways of birds and animals in their habitat. That fine April morning of 1993 he was dying of cancer at his local hospital. I had come from elsewhere in the state and had stayed the night before in the house, surrounded by woodland, where he had been living, on Lake Houston. I was up early and had a hasty breakfast before going to the hospital; but being restless I first walked outside into the woodland which was the rural front yard.