The other day on FB a photographer that I follow put out a model call for a 2-3 year old, for a mentoring session that she was having. I sent an email offering my DD as the model then promptly forgot about it. I have always wanted to get DD photos taken professionally but is not something that I have ever had money for (well other things always come first). Not long after I got an email confirming that DD had been chosen.
I thought briefly that maybe my mum was watching over us as she always loved getting pictures of DD when she was alive and it is nearly the anniversary of when she passed. The date was confirmed for today. I had been watching the forecast all week and today was the only day that rain was not predicted (if you live in Melbourne you know what I mean about the weather ). It was a little overcast as we were driving to where we had to meet but as we got closer the sun came out. Then the photographer rang to say that they needed to change where we were meeting because the original place was too busy.
She gave me directions and then the name of the street... MARGARET Drive. It sent a nice chill down my spine because that was my mum's name.
Just a little too much co-incidence there for my liking. Maybe clutching at straws for others but I just had to share.
I don't think it is a coincindence at all hun, in my experience if you feel that she is there and watching over and had a hand in this trust that... it seems to me she was trying to send you a few little hints to let you know, beautiful, hold on to that xo.
This is lovely. Stories like this always make me smile and give me goosebumps. I bet you'll remember that day and the beautiful closeness you felt with your mother every time you look at the photos of your little girl. Thanks for sharing
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Someone is watching over me....
). It was a little overcast as we were driving to where we had to meet but as we got closer the sun came out. Then the photographer rang to say that they needed to change where we were meeting because the original place was too busy.
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