When my mom died, you know, she died of cancer at home. And all of us kids were home…and she died early in the morning. Aunt Pat was screaming and we were all really upset.
But we all went outside together. And there was this uh, these tracks, this railroad, between the yards and we sat on them. All my brothers and sisters were out there.
And we looked up at the roof of our house and there was a white dove. It just sat there on top of the house.
It was a sign, you know, that she had risen…if you look up the significance of doves, you know, they mean, uh, Resurrection and life.
And that really stuck in our minds as a sign that we was watching over our house…she was okay.
It’s sad, but it’s happy, you know.
It meant that our mother was, a sign, you know that even though she had died she was living on and watching over us. Kind of like an angel…she was still there.
Why do you think we retell this story?
It actually was very comforting. It was weird, uh, we’d never seen anything like that. Just a beautiful bird just perched on the peak of our roof.
It’s true, too.
I’ll try to that for you when I die (laughs).
I went home for Easter and the informant, my father, delivered this one on one.
I had heard this story before, because their mom died when they were all very young, years before I was born, and they (my informant/father and his siblings) tell and retell stories about her to preserve her memory, often speaking of her like people describe saints. This is a good example of that, as she sent down the dove as a sign and his emphasis on the truth of this story.