It’s October, my favorite time of year for sharing the synchronicities I’ve experienced over the past year.
I think I may have finally found a clue to what triggers these odd experiences if “channeling” is even the right word. For me, it seems to be travel.
Last year, we stayed close to home due to my husband’s surgery. This year, now that he’s recovered, we’ve been on the move again and with that movement came two unusual moments. One for him, one for me.
This week, we’ll talk about his.
On my mother’s 108th birthday, I made the three-hour drive to Chicago to have the last of our dual citizenship documents apostilled.
The date wasn’t intentional. I had planned to go the week before, but I was still recovering from the Sahara dust storm I encountered in Crete. April 14th simply became the most practical option.
The drive was anything but smooth; pounding rain, a major accident, closed exits, heavy traffic, and no convenient parking. What should have taken three hours stretched to nearly four.
At the clerk’s office, things went surprisingly well.
I had expected an issue with my mother’s record. Her official “birth record” was, in fact, a no record found document something I knew might happen. Family history and church records I obtained confirmed that her birth had been registered through a Roman Catholic parish, which at the time was acceptable. Later changes in the law complicated that.
What I didn’t expect was that the county would issue an official vital record stating the absence of a record. Several colleagues have since told me that shouldn’t have happened, that it should have been a simple letter.
The apostille clerk hesitated. Paused. Looked again.
Then approved it.
Some might call that a gift from the universe. I call it something simpler: common sense.
We didn’t linger. Severe storms were forecast, and we wanted to get home.
Crossing into Indiana, as we passed through Gary, my husband suddenly said:
“I’d like to drive by my old house.”
This was… unusual.
I’m the one who detours for old homes, cemeteries, and ancestral land. He’s the one who prefers the direct route. And we had already agree, get home as quickly as possible.
I nearly made the exit but couldn’t get over in time.
I asked if he knew another way. He did.
Then he said something that stopped me: “I don’t know why I just said that. I have no idea why I want to go there.”
We had just returned from Greece, where he had patiently followed me to a remote ancestral location tied to my mtDNA from two thousand years ago. So, naturally, I was willing to return the favor. Fifteen minutes out of our way seemed more than fair.
As I moved toward the next exit, he spoke again: “I didn’t know we had to pay a toll here. Forget it. Just go home.”
I asked if he was sure. He was.
Again, he said: “I don’t even know why I wanted to go.”
We made it home just before the storms hit. As we walked in the door, his phone pinged. An email.
He opened it, paused, and said: “Oh… you won’t believe this.”
The message was from his childhood friend, Bill, who now lives in California.
Bill had traveled to northwest Indiana to visit his mother who, as it turns out, shares the same birthday as my mom’s. Her 91st.
While in town, Bill decided to visit his old neighborhood. He stopped at their former elementary school now an antique mall.
And there, on the wall, were class photos. Not from every year. Not from every class. Just his class, grades 1 through 5.
At that exact moment, while we were passing through Gary on the interstate, Bill was standing there, looking at those photos, thinking about my husband.
He wrote that he wished he had thought to reach out. That they could have met.
We had been minutes away.
One exit.
One decision.
And yet we drove on.
I can’t help but think of the FAN Club in genealogy: friends, associates, and neighbors. The people who surround our ancestors and, in many ways, become extensions of family.
We trace them on paper. We follow their movements. We reconstruct their connections.
But sometimes those connections don’t stay in the past. Sometimes, the connection is still there.
We just don’t take the exit.