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mourning dove.
Feb. 27th, 2026 08:59 amJust finished therapy, we were talking a lot about my mom and grief in general. There was this bird call I didn't know and I opened my window to use Merlin to identify it - it is a mourning dove.
The first time I've heard one, here.
In the book I'm reading about loss, Sara my Sara, there is not god (thank god, lol j/k) but there are coincidences that are pleasant. I don't hate them, I get annoyed when people put too much into magical thinking, but I do understand the significance of feeling like the appearance of a bird or a flower can mean something to someone in the moment. It can be comforting without too much reliance on some sort of personalized force behind it. I have this with my mom with rainbows. Little messages (but not really, but kind of). Little comforts.
In the book, the author talks about her sadness as a "sorrow bird" that follows her invisibly. As I am reading this book by a very privileged person who experienced a very privileged and gentle sort of death of her mother (no less sad and no less meaningful a loss, but so different from what I experienced), I kept thinking, "I *am* a sorrow bird."
Sara my Sara by Florence Wetzel.
The first time I've heard one, here.
In the book I'm reading about loss, Sara my Sara, there is not god (thank god, lol j/k) but there are coincidences that are pleasant. I don't hate them, I get annoyed when people put too much into magical thinking, but I do understand the significance of feeling like the appearance of a bird or a flower can mean something to someone in the moment. It can be comforting without too much reliance on some sort of personalized force behind it. I have this with my mom with rainbows. Little messages (but not really, but kind of). Little comforts.
In the book, the author talks about her sadness as a "sorrow bird" that follows her invisibly. As I am reading this book by a very privileged person who experienced a very privileged and gentle sort of death of her mother (no less sad and no less meaningful a loss, but so different from what I experienced), I kept thinking, "I *am* a sorrow bird."
Sara my Sara by Florence Wetzel.
