I’m Parentless in My 20s.

And I’m viewing angel numbers as my spirit guides.

Photo by Brett Ritchie on Unsplash

Statistically speaking, my single-parent mom died too early.

She passed away twenty-six days shy of her sixty-first birthday.

On average, women in America live to be somewhere around eighty-one years of age.

But she was nowhere near average—rather, far above it—so I suppose my assumption that her trajectory would abide by that of a medium death rate is where my insight was flawed.

Anyway, I’ve always been drawn to numbers.

Kinda sorta fixated on them, if you will.

I can spot patterns and numerical synchronicities as though I’m the real-life version of Jake from the oh-man-how-I-wish-it-was-still-ongoing television show, Touch.

And in a way I can’t quite put into words, I had an eerie feeling that my mom’s mortal absence was on the horizon.

Why?

I haven’t a clue.

But how, you may ask? Well, the numbers started lining up, which I only came to understand after the fact.

Have you ever felt that the world was preparing you for something yet had absolutely no idea what that something was going to be?

Yeah.