We Don’t Di – Mystical Motorcycles

This is a continuation of the “sign language” interchange that Craig and I developed after he died on July 10, 2017.  In previous blogs we discussed electronics, shopping carts, and feathers as communication tools.   Today we will talk about motorcycles.

When Craig was alive, he loved the freedom that he felt riding his metallic blue Harley Davidson motorcycle.  I have walked on the Great Wall of China, experienced the magnificence of the Taj Mahal, floated down the Nile and viewed the ancient pyramids, but have never ridden on a motorcycle.   I longed to experience this “freedom” Craig raved about and I thought riding on the back of the bike would be like starring in one of those “bad-boy” James Dean movies.  He promised me a ride the last time we were together − three days before he died.

Shortly after he passed,  I was driving aimlessly in my compact convertible and thinking about how I would never get that coveted ride on the Harley.   I was wearing my favorite stretchy blue jean shorts and my white criss-cross top when I noticed a blue Harley Davidson motorcycle adjacent to me.  A husky man was driving and a slight woman clinging to him on the shared seat.  The man had a helmet identical to the one Craig had shown me.  I thought Craig’s helmet was the silliest looking thing imaginable and had never seen another one like it until that moment.  And then, I noticed the woman had on my exact same shorts and top and was my size.  She looked just like me.  What a coincidence!

After Craig crossed over it took me a few days to put two and two together while I was driving in the car.  I would be thinking about Craig and suddenly I would see a motorcycle – usually a blue Harley.  Isn’t that interesting, I thought?  I never noticed how many blue motorcycles there were on the road.  Then I remembered every new car I had ever owned. I had never noticed the car make and model before purchasing the new vehicle and then it seemed like every other person on the road had my same car.  Given that, I didn’t pay that much attention to the hordes of motorcycles constantly surrounding me.

Once I was at a four-way stop and noticed there were motorcycles at the other three stop signs and one behind me.  There were no biker events in town.  Hmmm, I thought.  On the return journey I was flanked on all sides by blue motorcycles.  When I parked my car and returned to it, a shiny blue motorcycle was parked right next to me. Realization finally hit.  When I thought about Craig and asked him a question a motorcycle appeared.

Eventually, when I was behind the wheel I would just say, “Craig, if you’re here, please send me a sign.”  I felt like I was talking to Alexa, the virtual assistant developed by Amazon. Within seconds there would be a Harley Davidson motorcycle (usually blue like his) would be saddled up right next to me.

Not only did I see motorcycles while I was driving, but also on my morning walks, that always were at sporadic times.  For several weeks I found it ironic that when I went out my door and said good morning to Craig that a motorcycle just happened to be driving by.  And if one was not passing by, I would notice that the only garage door that was open in the quiet neighborhood was housing a motorcycle.  I began thinking that everyone in the Coachella Valley owned a blue Harley.

While escorting a group in Italy a few weeks after Craig’s death, I had some “alone” time and walking and talking to him.  I casually asked him if he liked Sorrento?  At that instant, I looked over the ledge from where I was hiking, and saw hundreds of motorcycles in the parking lot below.  Hundreds.  I took a picture.

On August 6, 2108, I was celebrating my birthday at the cottage of some dear friends in Cross Creek on Lake Michigan.  The tiny hamlet was Harley Davidson Heaven.  Motorcycles were everywhere.  I found it very fitting that I should be in motorcycle mecca on my birthday, but I was astounded how Craig figured out how to actually wish me a happy birthday.  Walking through the storybook town, I noticed two Harley’s parked on the corner.  Not wanting to get lost, I looked up at the street sign where the motorcycles were parked.  The name of the street was the same as Craig’s unusual last name, and when I glanced down, I noticed that someone had carved the name “Craig” into the cement below the street sign.

I was so astonished at all the motorcycle “coincidences” which I kept experiencing, that I started keeping track of them in my phone.  I named a category heading “Craig’s List” and that is how the title of the book I am writing came to be – Craig’s List for the Afterlife:  Follow Your Heart, Heal Your Grief, and Lose Your Fear of Dying.

Stay tuned next week to hear about more birthday gifts from Craig.

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