Eleven Eleven

I have always been just a little bit superstitious, especially about numbers.  One of my "lucky" numbers is eleven (mainly because it is the month I was born), and I've always been one of the "those" girls who kisses the clock for good luck if I happen to glance at the time when it reads 11:11.

Because Rip was born via a scheduled c-section, I knew in advance that his birthday would be 11/11 and I was thrilled.  Surely this was a good sign. 

Among the other ways I felt betrayed after he died, it seemed as if even my lucky number turned against me. 

And then it started turning up everywhere.  At first I thought maybe it was like "new car syndrome", you know when you get a new car and then you see that car all over the road when you never noticed it before?  If I looked at a clock, it was 11:11, if I went to the gym the treadmill was stopped at 11:11, if I got change buying lunch...yep, $11.11.

Not long after this phenomenon began, someone told me they believed that when you lose a person you love, that person will "check" on you from time to time.  I believe that those numbers, eleven eleven, are Rip's way of telling me that he is okay.  I've realized that I still have my lucky number, it just means a lot more now.   Rip's birthday was a lucky day, probably the best I have ever had, regardless of everything that happened before or after. 

This may all seem a little far fetched...and it is.  But I think if you will look at this, the first post I wrote after we lost Rip, the time stamp gives me a little more credibility.

I've started kissing the clock at 11:11 again, not for luck, but as a thank you.