As I sat in the passenger seat of our Camry, directly behind my mom's hearse, I sobbed. Her casket lay nestled in the back of the black vehicle, and I stared at it through the small, rectangular window. Flowers, arranged atop the lid of her final resting place in shades of serene pinks and peach contrasted my dreary, tense mood.
She was gone.
For many decades she'd battled several autoimmune diseases, each one seeming to spur on a new illness or symptom. From Lupus to Rheumatoid Arthritis to Ulcerative Colitis, they all took bits and pieces of her until nothing was left. In the end, it was Ulcerative Colitis that probably caused the cancer, which ravaged her body, reducing her to no more than 70lbs (31.75Kilos).
She'd been in and out of hospitals since diagnosed with Stage IV Colon Cancer. For many of those stays, I'd managed to be with her. The last five years of her life had been, what seemed to be, one battle after another. Even though she'd been in pain, frustrated with her ostomy bag, and exhausted, she was never ready to die. Not like the preacher — who didn't know her — told the congregation at her funeral. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't want to leave Earth, West Virginia, or the people she cared about. So, she'd fought tooth and nail to live. And when my Uncle asked me as she lay on her deathbed, if "we'd" have this to do over again wouldn't it have been better maybe not to have her go through all of "this"? My answer was terse, "No."
He didn't know her either.
Everything she did was her choice. And when you are faced with death, not everyone wants to give up. Some do. That's their choice from their specific situation. But my mom didn't want to leave. And the Preacher's lies, meant to comfort the bereaved, rang in my ears as I stared at her coffin...
—When something on top of the hearse caught my eye. I glanced at the movement as two doves landed on the hearse. I sucked in a sharp breath.
"Russ," I asked my husband, "do you see that?" Because I thought maybe my head was playing tricks on me. Maybe I was hallucinating. But I wasn't. The two doves walked around for a little bit on the roof of the vehicle and then, as if they'd fulfilled their purpose, they took flight. If I'd been one car back, or had turned my head left or right, I'd have missed them.
Thanks, Mom, I thought.
But my logical brain has always thrown doubt on that moment. Had the funeral home rented doves and trained them to land on the hearse? Yeah, I actually considered that. However, I didn't see anyone bring out doves. They weren't white doves but rather Mourning Doves. And they flew away after a few seconds. If the funeral home had put in the effort and money to "comfort" the bereaved, wouldn't they want to make sure we actually saw the birds? Was it simple coincidence that two doves would land on top of my mother's hearse just before we headed to the church? And if that were the only thing that occurred that day, I could brush it aside. Yet, it was only the first.
I still love you, Mom. And I miss you. 🕊🤟
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