Look for the Cardinal

Sometimes comfort arrives in a flash of red.

I was writing a sympathy card to one of my closest friends, whose dad recently passed away, when I started thinking about cardinals.

Ten years ago, when I lost my own dad, this friend was one of the people who held me up. Our dawn-patrol workouts—those brutally early sessions when I could move my body before grief took over my brain—helped keep me sane during one of the hardest times in my life.

Now I was staring at a blank card, wishing I could offer her something equally steady. Something that might help when everyone else returns to normal and her world still feels anything but.

For me, that something has always been a cardinal.

My dad was on hospice, and my family had what I can only describe as an awful privilege: We had time to say what needed to be said, to say goodbye and to be with him as he passed peacefully. In those final moments, we asked him to send us signs that he was still with us. We told him to come as a cardinal.

And he has—not constantly or on command, but often enough. I’ll be walking through a terrible day and spot one perched on a nearby fence. Or I’ll look into the yard at the exact moment I need something hopeful and see that unmistakable flash of red.

Never dramatic enough to prove anything. Always timely enough to comfort me.

The cardinal became such a powerful symbol of my dad that the dedication in Your Fully Charged Life simply reads, “For Pop, my cardinal.” A handmade wooden cardinal bookmark marks that page.

There’s no single documented origin for the familiar belief that cardinals are visitors or messengers from people we’ve lost. The bird was named for its vivid red coloring, which recalled the robes worn by Catholic cardinals, and over time that impossible-to-miss color took on spiritual meaning in popular folklore.

But I’m not sure the origin matters as much as what the symbol gives us.

Maybe your cardinal is a penny, a feather, a firefly, a rainbow, a butterfly, a certain number or the song that somehow plays when you most need to hear it. Grief is enormous. Sometimes we need something small enough to hold it.

I don’t need to decide whether the cardinal is coincidence, faith or grace. I know that when I see one, I feel close to my Pop.

That comfort is enough.

So I didn’t try to solve my friend’s grief in the card. I simply wished for her a sign she would recognize when it came—and reminded her that I’m still here to walk/sweat beside her, just as she once walked beside me.

🧠 SCIENCE SPARK

Grief researchers call this idea Continuing Bonds: Healing doesn’t necessarily mean severing our connection to someone who died. The relationship can change form and continue through memories, rituals, meaningful objects and symbols.

Science can’t tell us that a cardinal carries a message from someone we love. It can tell us that maintaining a comforting inner connection can be a healthy part of grief. A red bird on a fence may not make the loss smaller, but it can make us feel less alone inside it.

⚡️READER RECHARGE

What’s your cardinal? Notice the object, song, creature or tiny coincidence that makes you feel connected to someone you miss. You don’t have to explain it, defend it or prove what it means. I’d love to know the signs that carry meaning for you. Hit reply and tell me: What shows up when you need it most?

Until next Monday at 8:37AM,

🧡 Meaghan