Wings of a Dove

Wings of a Dove
By Angela D.
Written at Panera Bread 1/5/07
216 Words

Looking back, it seems like it was raining as the pastor said the Lord's Prayer over the flower-covered casket. I know it wasn't--I have vague impressions of sunshine and a warm breeze when I think of that day. But our memories tend to become tainted by our emotions.

Everyone around me was crying--so many tears that it felt like rain. I remember standing still, silent.

I don’t remember hearing the man's words. In all honesty I wasn't even paying attention. He never knew her. I knew her.

She was flower garden quilts and cheese toastie lunches, angel food cake birthdays and trips to Hawaii. Gentle but strict, toothy smiles and family photos. Warmth and security and inspiration woven into the carefully hand-sewn petals on blankets.

She was faith and strength in the quiet vegetable gardens, never harmed or touched by the early morning frosts. Never faltering or wavering despite the violent autumn storms.

I didn't allow myself the solace of tears until the doves took flight. It was the only real representation of her that rang true and touched a place inside me I don't often allow to be reached.

Their gentle wings beat high against the blue sky, against the sun, until they had disappeared from view. Only a breath away to where she was.