Catch a Falling Star

Each morning, I stand on my back patio and watch my dog, Sid, run around the yard.  Her hound nose can sometimes take over, and she forgets her boundaries and even forgets what the purpose of this event is for.  She is out there to relieve herself, but the smells and sounds are like the Pied Piper, and she follows them, leaving all training behind. 
This particular morning, I stood staring up at the sky still darkened by the previous night.  Stars glimmered, resisting the giving up of the vigil, and I shivered in the winter cold.  I started to talk to my father, gone four months now.  I asked him to help us in our lives, and sited a specific situation that was bothering me.  As my eyes drifted back down from above to check Sid’s whereabouts again, my eye caught a flash of light in the sky to the south, and I saw that piece of light fall to the ground.  Ah, a falling star? I wondered.  I had never seen one.  In fact, I had been waiting for about ten years to see one – that was when my husband, his cousin and I were sitting around a fire outside, and his cousin had seen a falling star.  I was so envious.  I told them I had never seen one, and they were flabbergasted.  Ever since, I have watched and waited, but still had not seen a star fall from the sky. 
I was quite thrilled, but still hesitant to believe that it actually was a falling star.  Maybe it was a meteor.  I hurried back inside to tell of my experience to my husband, a veteran falling star observer.  He listened to my account and confirmed that this was most likely what it had been. 
I was pretty excited to finally be a part of the falling star witness club, but something else was standing out to me.  The timing.  The star had fallen after I had just finished talking to my dad.  Was it a sign?  Was he saying, “I am here.  I heard you.  And everything is going to be okay, because I am watching out for you?” 
Some would just call it a coincidence, but I believe it truly was Dad.  He used something that he knew would get my attention and make an impact on my brain. 
And now I know, whatever happens, even if it seems terribly unbearable, I know that it will all be okay. 
Thanks, Dad, for the reminder.  And say hi to my grammas and my friend, Robin, for me!  I love you!

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