I saw you today.
Not your body, of course—you’ve been in Heaven for two years now. But somehow, it was still you. It had been so long since I had physically seen you, yet there you were, showing up in the middle of a grocery store aisle. I felt you instantly, undeniably. The feeling was unmistakable.
I truly didn’t expect to be there that day. I thought I had already finished all of our grocery shopping a couple of days earlier. I usually pride myself on being prepared, making sure we have enough food to last at least three or four days. Packing up the baby and heading out every day isn’t easy, so I really try to make one solid trip count. And if I ever forget something, my husband usually stops by the store on his way home from work.
But that day was different. I decided to try something new—making pasta sauce from scratch. Our garden had produced an abundance of tomatoes, and it felt like the perfect time to finally give it a shot. I’d never done it before. I normally rely on store-bought jars, but this felt like a fun little challenge. Somewhere in the middle of cooking, though, I realized I had forgotten two important ingredients: carrots and bay leaves.
I was annoyed—more than I probably should have been. The thought of stopping everything, packing up the kids, and going out for just TWO items felt overwhelming. Of course this would happen, I thought. The one time I try something new, and I forget two of the most important ingredients. I couldn’t help but feel frustrated with myself.
Still, there was no way around it. So off to the store we went—kicking and screaming. I walked in wearing a messy shirt, my irritation written all over my face. My shoulders were tense, my mood was sour, and I was fully prepared to rush in and out as fast as possible. I was stone-faced as I approached the carts. And that’s when I saw you.
“Puppa Marvin?” I whispered to myself as I noticed an older man struggling to pull a cart free. From behind, he looked exactly like you. For a moment, I had to remind myself that you were gone—that you had been for a while now. Still, I couldn’t look away. I stood there watching him, my heart racing. He really looked like you.
I helped him pull a cart loose, then turned to grab one for myself. After settling the baby inside, I looked up—and there it was. He turned toward me, and his eyes lit up. It was your eyes. Your smile. It felt like a reunion I never expected to have. Hi, Puppa Marvin.
He struck up a conversation with that same jolly, warm personality you always carried. I knew it was you, but part of me was still cautious, trying to make sense of it all. Silently, I asked you for a sign—something unmistakable, something concrete, just to prove it was really you.
You leaned in to admire my baby and gasped at how big he had gotten. You joked about his double chin, comparing it to when you ate too much and fell asleep sitting upright in your chair. We laughed about how chunky he was, and you kept telling me how adorable he was, how handsome he’d grow up to be. You insisted I try baseball with him someday, pointing out his “big mitts.” You couldn’t get over the size of his hands.
Then you reached out and gently touched them. I didn’t stop you. I never let strangers touch my baby—but I let you. You softly stroked the tops of his hands and smiled. “You’ll be a fantastic ball player one day, my friend,” you said.
Then you wrapped your arm around me, pulling me in for a small side hug. I felt it. I felt you. I could even smell you. It had been so long since I’d felt your embrace, yet in that moment, it felt real—completely real. You squeezed my shoulder, patted my back, and said, “You are an awesome mom, Sis!”
Sis.
That’s what you always called me. From the very beginning. Whenever you saw me running toward you, you’d yell, “Hi, Sis!” When we said goodbye, it was always, “I love you too, Sis.” When I was sick or hurt, you’d say, “Oh, Sis… I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well.”
That was our thing. And out of all the words this man could have chosen, that was the one he said. Sis.
When I had silently asked you to prove it was really you, you did—without hesitation. It caught me completely off guard. My throat burned, my eyes filled with tears, and my heart felt like it might burst. It was you. Truly you. Somehow, I held myself together, even though every part of me wanted to throw my arms around you and never let go.
We eventually parted with smiles and a casual, “Have a great day!” But I didn’t let you out of my sight right away. I followed you through the store for a few minutes, watching your movements, listening to your voice as you spoke to others. I felt so connected to you that I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. Every time you stopped to look at something, I stopped too, pretending to be interested in the same aisle. I ended up buying more than just carrots and bay leaves—after all, you can only study five different kinds of rice for so long before you convince yourself you need one.
It wasn’t your face. It was your soul. I felt it the moment I saw you struggling with that cart.
Once I got back to my van, I sobbed. I cried from happiness, gratitude, and an ache I didn’t even realize I’d been carrying. I missed you so much. Life had been busy, and I hadn’t thought about you as often lately. That realization brought guilt—but also comfort. You showed up anyway.
When I got home, my husband arrived at the same time. One look at my swollen eyes and tear-streaked face sent him into a panic. “WHAT’S WRONG?” he asked.
I laughed and told him I had just seen my dead grandpa at the store.
“Like… his ghost?” he asked, horrified.
“No,” I said. “Like he channeled himself through someone who looked just like him.”
The relief washed over his face. As much as Tim thinks I’m a little crazy sometimes, he always supports my spirit stories.
Thank you for the visit, Gramps. Thank you for reminding me that you’re still here—always around me, always watching over us. Thank you for showing up when I didn’t even realize how much I needed you. The unexpectedness of it all made it perfect. The timing couldn’t have been better.
