THE MAGIC OF CONNECTING WITH OUR ANCESTORS

There’s a certain magic that happens when we sense an ancestor is visiting us, whether we hear their voice or feel their presence.

It’s been said that those who were close to you before they died commonly send messages in the form of bird spirit guides. Hummingbirds, in particular, resonate at a very high vibration, which makes them more connected to the spiritual realm. They are also joyful reminders and tend to open our hearts and make us smile. They’re referred to as messengers from the heavens because they often show up when people are grieving the loss of a loved one. In this way, they can also be healing.

If you ever watch a hummingbird, you will notice how it can stop in its tracks when traveling at very high speed. Their movements are often in the shape of an infinity sign, thus their connection to eternity. Some Native Americans believe the presence of hummingbirds brings unconditional love and harmony. The Aztecs viewed hummingbirds as brave and courageous fighters, and also said that they were immortal, thus connecting us with our ancestors. They believed when one appeared, it was a visitation from an ancestor or a manifestation of a dead person’s spirit.

Many intuitive individuals believe that hummingbirds are the greatest proof of messages from heaven. One reason is that when these birds go to sleep for the night, they have the ability to lower their metabolism down to near death. In other words, their metabolism comes to a near-complete standstill as a way to conserve energy. They also can easily travel backward, which reminds us that it’s okay to look to our past and connect with memories of loved ones who have passed away.

I’m quite sure that my grandmother Regina, who died of suicide in 1964 when I was ten years old, frequently visits me in the form of a hummingbird. She sends messages of love, offering me ongoing protection. She reminds me that everything is temporary, and how important it is to enjoy my time here on earth. She tells me that her time here was too short, and that being my grandmother and caretaker was one of her greatest joys and accomplishments. My grandmother reminds me to rise above the everyday rudimentary concerns of life and look at the larger picture. She tells me how with love we can accomplish almost anything, and that a life without love is an empty one.

A few years ago, I began noticing a hummingbird who regularly visited the garden outside my writing studio. She still arrives every morning and hovers over the red trumpet vine that bears delicious nectar. She stays in the center of the flower for a few seconds, levitates, then moves on to the next vine. Her movements are so quick that I have to keep a close eye so as not to miss her before she takes off. She seems to have a lot to do over the course of her day as she bestows her magic on plants and other sentient beings.

I believe that if we pay close attention there are signs we receive from the departed to help guide us on our path. Some people call them guardian angels, others might refer to them as spirit guides. They might visit in different ways, but we must open our hearts to the secret messages being sent our way. If we pay attention, somehow the universe has magical ways of bringing these signs to us.

I’m not the only one who receives messages from the departed through birds. Birds are like omens. Some people say they are a source of spiritual inspiration. After all, like angels, they have wings. This makes sense to me, as birds are able to fly close to the heavens and gather wisdom and messages to bring back to us here on earth.

Over the years, I’ve learned to be mindful of these messages. However, I feel that I’ve become more attentive to these messages as I leave my 60s, the decade that my grandmother moved into the next realm. So, whenever a bird visits me, I tune right in.

It's also interesting that a few of my ancestors have visited me. My father, Edward, who died about 35 years ago, visits me as a dove. The dove symbolizes peace. He arrives outside my writing studio when I needed his support the most. For example, he came when I was navigating challenging times such as raising three teenagers and facing, then dealing with, three cancer diagnoses in 23 years. Living through the Holocaust from the ages of 15 to 20, my father lost his parents and youngest brother in Dachau’s gas chambers. His life mission emigrating to the United States after the war was to bring as much peace and light as possible into his life and into the lives of those he loved. I believe he continues to remind me to do the same. I also believe that the dove’s visits are his way of reminding me of his presence, even though he left this physical plane so long ago.

When my grandmother and father were alive they both gave me unconditional love, and they continue to do so on their visitations. They don’t give me direct detailed instructions, but they support and guide me. I feel their presence either as a bird or a feeling over my right shoulder, or as an energy, a physical sensation such as tingling or chills in the upper part of my body. My grandmother’s messages come to me in other subtle ways—an unexpected bird, an out-of-the-blue phone call, a certain book falling off my shelf, a light flickering in the house, or her whispering words over my shoulder into my right ear. It might only be a word or two, but it’s usually enough to relay an important message, much like seeing the hummingbirds. This connection with birds is also a way to connect with our souls.

When my grandmother died, my mother was in her 30s—too young to lose a parent. She’d always loved bird watching, but in the wake of her mother’s death, she spent more time watching birds in our backyard. My mother loved sitting in the yard and remarked on all the bird varieties and behaviors. She had all sorts of bird feeders sitting on stands and hanging from trees. She studied which birds liked which food and would fill the feeders accordingly. In the winter when I was growing up in New York, she’d fill the feeders with suet cakes embedded with assorted bird seed purchased at a nearby nursery. She said the fat helped them keep warm.

Similar to hummingbirds, my mother had a tendency to look back on life rather than to look forward. She became obsessed with the past, lingering there. In fact, as a child, she frequently took me on walks through the local cemeteries of New York. We’d stop and read the words on the tombstones, and I’d wonder if the person who died was loved as much as I loved my grandmother.

Over the years, I’ve learned how the difficult moments of our childhoods, like trauma or losing a love one, can continue to trigger us for the rest of our lives. I felt my grandmother’s love down to my core, so after losing her I felt very alone in the world. I also continue to have issues with abandonment which started when grandma died. She just made me feel so good inside. As Maya Angelou wisely said, “I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” After she died, it took me many years to feel safe and loved.

The fact is, as children we don’t initially realize the impact of the loss of loved ones. In his book The Body Keeps the Score, Dr. Bessel van der Kolk says, “If you feel safe and loved, your brain becomes specialized in exploration, play, and cooperation; if you are frightened and unwanted, it specializes in managing feelings of fear and abandonment.”

For the most part we all take things in stride, but sometimes we’re unable to express feelings and so our bodies provide us with messages. After my grandmother died, my parents began fighting a lot. It was difficult to watch and impossible to process. I’ve wondered if my childhood asthma might be an indicator that I was stressed by the circumstances at home. In studies, traumatized children have shown asthma rates 50 times higher than their peers, and I did develop asthma just after my grandmother died. As an adolescent, I hung out with those who did illegal drugs, and I stayed away from home as much as possible.

I felt adrift, searching for a way to reconnect with my grandmother. And now, I am left to wonder this many years later: are the hummingbird visitations a way to connect with my grandmother? Are her messages a way for me to heal from my grief of both losing her and not being a wanted child. My parents began fighting a lot and it put me between them, which inspired me to retreat to my room to write and connect with my grandmother and other ancestors.

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The fact is, I’ve been connecting with my ancestors for a very long time and have done it in various settings. As a memoirist, their stories have given me much to ponder and write about. Writing and telling our stories and sharing with others helps us navigate our own journeys. While I am blessed to have a wonderful writing studio, it’s often inspiring to write in different locations. For a number of years, I traveled to Maui for my personal writer’s retreat.

On one visit, I had a meeting with a shaman or Kahuna as they call them in Hawaii, who told me she thought I was Hawaiian in a past life. This confirmed my love for Hawaiian culture. The same woman said that she wanted to take me to Iao Valley in West Maui. It’s a very peaceful and powerful 4,000-acre piece of land and 10-mile-long park. She picked me up at my hotel in her Jeep, and we drove for about an hour through the gorgeous upcountry. When we arrived at the park, it felt as if I’d landed in a familiar magical forest. I felt so connected to the area.

After parking, we walked through the rainforest down a small hill to a narrow stream running through. She stopped and said, “You know, your great-grandfather, your grandmother’s father, had an herb farm here!” It was then and there I realized why I felt such an affinity to the place. When we arrived at the stream I had a very transformative moment. I began crying like a baby. On our way there, the Kahuna collected some palm leaves. At the stream, she handed them to me and told me to plant them in the water to honor my ancestors. “Your ancestors are embracing you and they’re still with you in your heart. They said that they hope you feel it.”

I told her that I do and that her words really resonated with me. We spent about an hour near the stream sitting on a rock, watching the water run. She gave me my space and told me to pull out my journal to write. My words, written with my favorite purple gel pen, got a little blurred from the tears that dropped on my page. She intuited that I needed time alone with my ancestors. I wrote letters to them and thanked them for all they taught me and continue to teach me. “Whenever you’re ready to walk, you let me know,” she whispered in my ear.

We spent the remainder of the day walking and sharing more stories. We cried and laughed and I left feeling as if I’d come home. As we were driving away, we stopped at a roadside stand where a local farmer was selling fruit and some freshly baked bread. The farmer knew the shaman and spoke with her in Hawaiian. Then he smiled at me with a knowing smile. There was also something familiar and comfortable about him; the entire day was a mystical experience.

During that same trip to Maui, I spent a few full days with the Kahuna and at the end of each day together, she’d hug me good-bye and say, “Let’s meet again tomorrow to talk story.” I believe this is one of the reasons I love Hawaiians so much—storytelling is very important in their culture. It’s about connecting and passing time chit-chatting and recalling old times. Ancient Hawaiians expressed themselves through storytelling, also known as the tradition of mo’olelo. This is basically the oral telling of stories from one generation to the next. It’s an opportunity for people to channel their ancestors. The process is similar to what I’ve been doing with my grandmother through the hummingbird as a messenger.

There are also other ways how the departed might visit us. When I discuss connecting with our ancestors in my writing workshops, some of my students have said that if they pay attention, they get messages in different forms from butterflies, wild animals, pictures, rainbows, slogans, found coins, billboards, electrical interferences like flashing lights or cell phone, music, feathers and certain numerical sequences.

While I’ve had some of these occurrences during the course of my life is that there’s something even more powerful with my recent hummingbird visits. I feel a renewed sense of hope and ability to see life’s larger picture. They also have a calming influence on me, telling me that everything happens for a reason and that everything will be okay.

Having hope is so important, especially when dealing with challenging times, tragedy, illness or the possibility of death, or even living through a pandemic. Loved ones can help us through hearing and listening to their stories.

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I am a three-time cancer survivor of three different cancers. Some people ask if I was raised in a hot spot. That’s not yet been proven, but that’s not the point of this story. As a retired nurse and someone who believes that the body can heal itself, I’ve teetered on the edge of western and eastern medicine.

Some years ago, in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, I was preparing to meet my oncologist regarding my second cancer,—smoldering multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer that I’ve had for 16 years and is being watched, but I’ve not yet needed treatment. In 2001, I had ductal breast cancer, followed by a mastectomy and reconstruction, and five years later was diagnosed with smoldering multiple myeloma.

I went into my closet and instead of grabbing yet another set of jeans, I decided to wear a dress and high heels. I sat at my vanity and applied makeup. Getting ready to drive me, my husband at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of espresso.

I filled my water bottle and got ready for the one-hour drive to my oncologist’s office. He’d already reviewed the results of my latest bloodwork, which he briefly discussed on our phone call. He told me that over the past year, my multiple myeloma markers have been getting worse and he suggested I begin treatment soon. The amount and type of treatment varies with each person, but there is no cure for this tricky cancer. Depending on how I responded, the treatment could be two years or for the rest of my life. As a former nurse, the idea of treatment terrified me, especially since I had no apparent physical symptoms.

“We’re going to be late,” Simon yelled out.

“It’s fine,” I said, “I’m almost ready.” I paused and looked back at him. He smiled and got up from the counter. I left the kitchen and stepped into my office. I looked at the five-by-seven black and white photo of my grandmother, which has sat on my desk for nearly three decades. I believe it’s one of her modeling photos from when she lived in Vienna before emigrating to the United States.

I suspect she was in her early 20s in the photo, but like many historical pictures, she appears much older. Her brown eyes are penetrating and wise, but more importantly, they are all-knowing. I stopped and stared into her eyes with my green ones and asked her what she thought of my impending oncologist visit. I asked her thoughts on me beginning treatment after 14 years of remission. There was some hesitation in her answer, as if she was allowing space.

My grandmother, the seer, looked deeper and deeper into my soul, and I suddenly felt a physical shift inside of me. Comfort rushed through me as she asked me what I thought. My grandmother always told me to follow my heart and that our brains can fool us. She asked me what messages my heart was sending me and suggested that if my heart is unable to answer, I should direct my attention to my gut or my solar plexus. Without hesitation, I shake my head no. I’m not ready for treatment,, Grandma.

“Well, that’s your answer, dear.”

So, does that mean? I don’t do what the doctor says?

“You’re not ready. You’ll know when you’re ready, and now is not the time. You’ll be okay.” And then with her eyes, she sent me on my way. Before I exited my office, I glanced at a crystal on my desk and it shimmered like the colors of a hummingbird. My husband called to me from the garage.

“Coming!” I replied.

I sat quietly in the car’s passenger seat. I didn’t feel like talking, plus I didn’t know what to say. He is a scientist who insists that if he were me, then he’d definitely begin treatment before any symptoms occur. I’ve always believed that medicine is an art more than a science, which is why we often look around for doctors whose philosophies are aligned with our own. Either way, it’s tough being a patient.

I looked at my husband, who had already put on his seatbelt, placed his water bottle in the holder, and proceeded down the driveway to the street. We halted at a stop sign. I glanced at him again, wanting to catch his eyes, the mirror into his soul. He glanced back with a knowing smile—both of us realizing that this would be a tough day of decisions. Like when we were raising children, we sometimes had differing opinions, but always found a compromise that worked for both of us. What would be the compromise regarding my treatment? It’s my body and I needed to listen to its messages and, of course, the messages relayed to me by my grandmother.

We proceeded through onto the quiet suburban street. There were no other cars around. As usual, he had his left hand on the steering wheel and his right hand in his lap. I reached over and put my hand on top of his and gave it a light squeeze. With a slight smile, he squeezed back and looked at me with a loving wink.

I’ve heard that children are born with intuitive instinct because they need to be aware of everything that’s happening in the world around them, and those who have been exposed to early childhood trauma tend to be more intuitive. Unfortunately, most children are not encouraged to follow their intuition, and over time many lose that innate sense. But I believe my grandmother and I survived the challenges of our childhoods and dealing with mothers who did not love us by relying on and honing our instincts.

I also believe that we trust our instincts more and more as we age. When we focus on listening to our inner voice, we become more empathetic and hypersensitive. I believe this is what saved my grandmother during her turbulent wartime childhood of being unloved and then being orphaned. And it’s what enabled me to survive the challenges of losing my grandmother and caretaker at such a young age, being an unwanted child, and also dealing with the challenges of cancer diagnoses.

A few months ago, I was seated at the writing table in my garden outside my writing studio. So much has become clear to me as I notice the hummingbird fluttering before me. I realize that I will never feel alone again. I feel my grandmother’s presence continuing to empower me while reminding me to follow my heart and to listen to my inner voice. I’m still not in treatment for multiple myeloma. I close my eyes and soak up the rays of the morning’s sun at the beginning of yet another magical day in this beautiful universe.

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*Based on Hummingbird: Messages from My Ancestors, a memoir with reflection and writing prompts by Diana Raab, PhD (Modern History Press, 2024)

Diana Raab, MFA, PhD, is a memoirist, poet, workshop leader, thought-leader and award-winning author of 14 books and editor of three anthologies. Her work has been widely published and anthologized. Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and The Best of the Net. She frequently speaks and writes on writing for healing and transformation. Her latest book is an anthology called, Women in A Golden State: California Poets at 60 and Beyond (Gunpowder Press, 2025). Her newest memoir is Hummingbird: Messages from My Ancestors (Modern History Press, 2024). Raab writes for Psychology Today, The Good Men Project, Sixty and Me, Medium, and is a guest writer for many others. Visit: https:/www.dianaraab.com.