When Doves Cry

Andy told me about them first. As is the case these days, I listened and then shoved it from my mind. There is too much sadness to think about it all right now. After a few minutes, the ploy worked: the story was gone from my head. His harrowing tale, more sad than frightening, was successfully purged, and in short order too. Thinking nothing of it, I hopped in the car and drove away, singing along to ‘Hamilton’ (the King of England’s trio of songs are my jams!)

Just as I rounded the turn, mastering my snooty British accent in song no less, I saw them. One dead, one alive. A pair of mourning doves on the road.

Andy had told me he had seen them. A flattened bird, and its partner, refusing to leave its side. Immediately, I burst into tears, as much for the sad lonely bird as anything else that’s been happening lately, and in my rear view window I watched the forlorn dove walk in a little circle. I cannot fathom the frantic desperation of death. My heart cannot stand it.

I returned home and tried to be kinder to Andy. That is all I know how to do when faced with suffering.

The world turned upside down.

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