24 - The Dove

The Dove

Yesterday, April 29^th, I saw a white dove. It flew over the front of the car and seemed to fly ahead of us as we drove toward the nursery where I was to select plants for the house. I hesitated for a moment as I watched it fly and wondered, “Was it meant for me? Was this my dove?”

I know it may sound strange, but the fact is that I have always seen white doves before the death in my family. A white dove settled on the roof of our home when my grandfather died. White doves flew overhead when my uncle’s plane fell over Tours, France during World War II. White doves followed our car on the way to the hospital where my uncle Leo lay dying. So the appearance of a white dove is significant to me, even more significant than my own prognosis of impending death.

So how do I feel after having seen a white dove? I’m waiting to see what might happen and I’m double-checking all the things that my family and friends could need to know when I die. Things like information on the refrigerator that tells them who to call to arrange for my dog, Nicky and who not to call like 911. Calling 911 removes me from San Diego Hospice care and I don’t want that to happen. The San Diego Hospice has wrapped me in a silken web filled with love, care, respect, warmth and comfort. If I must leave home to face death then I must be able to deal with it there. Should I die at home, which is my preference, Hospice must be notified.

As for my children, grandchildren and by-marriage children, I believe they’re aware of how much I have loved them. I am truly grateful for whatever I did that was good for them. My children were my life. Mothers often feel that way and it is not always in the best interest of the child. It may be confining and overbearing with a lack of respect for the child’s independence and self-judgement. Before raising my children I should have read Kahlil Gibran’s concept on the parent-child relationship. He wrote the following:

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of  Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you. And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite and He bends you with his might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archers hand be for gladness. For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves the bow that is stable.

So now I wait to see if the dove I saw was meant for me . . . not despairingly nor consciously . . . but as easily as I wait for the sun to come out on a cloudy day. I wait while remembering a pleasant yesterday, looking forward to a promising tomorrow and grateful for today. All the while knowing that life is good.