Today I celebrated my fortieth birthday, the classic American “Over-the-Hill” milestone complete with a midlife crisis full of changed careers, changed spouses, changed vehicles, and changed lifestyles. I had been dreading this moment for a long time (too long, if you ask my husband). When I woke up at 6:21 AM to my teenage son kicking his dresser, I just wanted to roll over and fall asleep again. After all, I had taken the day off from work to avoid the hoopla and just wanted to be left alone for a while. But after the second round of kicks from my son, I reluctantly struggled out of bed and apologized to my now awake daughter that she could not make me breakfast in bed because I would be making breakfast for her brother.

That’s when my daughter rubbed her eyes and blinked several times while staring at the clock. “You woke up the same moment you were born,” she said.

True. But I didn’t think anything of the coincidence.

Later that day, I went out in the backyard to set my son’s wet shoes on a table to dry. A red dragonfly darted over to me and landed by my hand. I stood still, remembering the spirit of my Chinese grandfather who had visited my grandmother and my aunt as a blue dragonfly decades ago. The blue dragonfly came to answer my aunt’s question of whether or not she should marry the man who had proposed to her although he was not from the same Chinese community. My grandmother and aunt posed the question to my grandfather’s spirit who answered them with a visit from the blue dragonfly that landed on the windowsill with a resounding, “Yes!”

My aunt listened to the message from the blue dragonfly. She married the man and lived happily-ever-after.

But the dragonfly who visited me today was not blue, so I knew it was not my grandfather. My next thought was it must be Mah-Mah. My grandmother and I have always shared a special connection. When my grandmother was alive, she would either stay with us for a week in the summer or we would visit her at her apartment in San Francisco on the weekends. Although we did not speak the same language, a communication flowed between us. When she was in the hospital recovering from a massive stroke, she said my name while I was feeding her. She never said anything else. My father rejoiced when he heard her speak, and even at the age of thirteen, I knew the gesture was precious. Weeks later, during the Easter vigil Mass, I felt Mah-Mah’s spirit sweep through the church on her way to heaven.

Almost three decades later, I stood beside the red dragonfly and felt Mah-Mah’s presence once again. I ran inside and snatched my camera phone off the end table and tiptoed back outside, hoping the dragonfly was still on the glass tabletop. She was. I snapped a picture. She flitted up and darted around and settled beside me once again.

Chinese believe red is the color of happiness. Confucians believe dragonflies are the symbol of purity. Therefore, a visit from a red dragonfly brought a message of “pure happiness.”

What more could I wish for on my fortieth birthday?