The Doctors finally left her body alone, and relief flooded me; I didn't want them hurting her anymore. Dad and I walked from that room, and an unearthly calm settled in me.

When something made me look up at the glass double-story windows that fronted this part of the hospital, there was an impression of a white dove on it with its wings outstretched like an image of the Holy Spirit from the Bible.

Logically I understood a dove flew into the glass, and the whiteness was the powder coating of its wings, but it was a sign.

Mother's death devastated our family, it floored my father, and I needed to be strong for them. When I saw the dove, that strange sign filled me with strength.

Even though I don't remember much after that, a preacher came to speak to us, and when he started mouthing the platitudes of death, I stopped him.

Words issued from me that calmed my family, words of God's grace and His meaning in my mother's life, and our lives, her belief and ours.

It was an affirmation and a testimony, and every time my eyes were drawn to the dove, a strange heat burned inside me.

***

The calm in me concerned the preacher, so I asked him if he believed in miracles. Although he said yes, there saw something in his eyes—a weariness that I recognized as loss.

His clothes were not neat, like that of a man looking after himself, but one who once had someone to do those things for him and now had to cope alone. I showed him the dove on the window, something only my father and I noticed of everyone there.

Father and I shared our testimonies of the last few years with him, the miracles we saw and lived.

We told him about a woman so strong that not even a heart attack could keep her down and her belief that never wavered or faltered in life.

We spoke about an ordinary family who had lived through so many things and who had the good fortune to have a woman like my mother in our lives to keep us centred. She was our heart and taught us so much.

Mom taught me to read the bible when I was only four and set the basis for my faith in God, but I was luckier than most.

Father was not a man for going to church, but like my mother, had a profound and unshakeable faith in God. A strange wisdom that drew people to him and shared his faith.

We spoke to the preacher a long time, and when we stopped speaking, we were all calm.

That peace lasted through all of the preparations for the funeral and carried us.

Sometimes tears would leak from my heart and flow through my eyes, but I was strong for those who needed me. That day, I believe that the preacher needed us as much as we needed him.

***

In years to follow, I often thought of that imprint of the dove. It had been such a perfect, serene image.

Mother had suffered much in her life, and I only realized how much she had physically endured, without ever saying a word, when we spoke to the funeral director afterwards.

Even though I was aware that she had a slight liver condition and developed a heart murmur after my birth, the doctor made it sound like something small, but the medication for this hardened her heart.

She had advanced osteoporosis which we knew but didn't realize had eaten away the bones of her right knee and hip to the point where her leg was actually two inches shorter than the other.

Although she had four massive heart attacks and a high blood sugar count, she died of a bug she caught in the ER.

She must have been in excruciating pain all the time, but with my father so sick, she hid her pain.

The doctors at the hospital said they had never met a woman of such strength and will to live, and she fought to stay with us until she had said all she needed to say to us.

Maybe it was her fear of doctors that made her keep her pain silent, but I think she didn't want to worry us. Only two things ever mattered to my mother. God and family.

You said I would miss you when you were gone, and as much as I hate to admit it... You were right, but then again, you always were.