This is a true story which happened fifteen years ago. One day I came home and found paramedics on the living room floor trying to revive my grandmother. Twenty minutes before, my mother had entered her room and found her with her mouth wide open and a "strange" look on her face. After trying to rouse her and getting no response, she called the ambulance.
Paramedics tried for about an hour to revive her, to no avail. We were informed that she may have been dead for much more than the fifteen-minute limit during which CPR is considered effective. And so she was declared dead and shortly thereafter officials from the coroner's office arrived and took the body away.
Several hours later, returning home from our relatives' after informing them of grandmother's death, we opened the door to our apartment and, much to our disbelief noticed, on the floor in the middle of the living room, a white pigeon. At first I was afraid, but then my mother told me not to worry, that that was "abuela" (Spanish for "grandma"), and that she was trying to send us a message. It calmed my nerves a bit, though I still decided to take a trip to the grocery store while they dealt with this surprising guest.
My grandmother had professed interest in the supernatural throughout her life. Often as a child I'd go to her after dreaming the night before and ask her for the meanings behind the dreams, and she'd proceed to tell me. For example, I once dreamed that I was running from an angel. She'd later tell me not to worry, that it meant that I was being taken care of by a higher force. But her uncanny abilities weren't limited to dream interpretation: Once she told me that the Mets would win the World Series after trailing and coming back, and gave me a final score, which was very close to the actual one.
We no longer live in that apartment. It goes without saying, however, that I still get chills whenever I think of that day. Was it my grandmother, trying to send a message from beyond? I'm convinced that it was. Wherever she is, I'm sure that she's happy, and I'll never forget our encounter with the bird fifteen summers ago.
Loading comments....
