Mourning Dove by Elaine Ambrose

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the song of doves is heard in our land.” (Song of Songs 2:11-12).

The lane from the house to the school bus took me 10 minutes to walk. That’s all the time I needed to remove the protective shell and clamor onto the bus to loudly greet my school friends. No one suspected my unhappy life at home, and I didn’t want them to know. It was a routine I perfected over several years.

As I walked the lane, I became aware of how the surrounding farms and fields permeated my senses. I smelled the fresh mowed hay, felt the morning breeze mess my perpetually frizzy hair, saw the thick bushes of raspberries along the fence, and tossed a few into my mouth because they tasted like the coming summer. But my favorite sense was the sound of the mourning doves.

The birds perched in the trees at the bottom of the lane, and I could hear their melancholy coo as I approached. During my childhood, I learned to mimic their soulful call. It was six syllables, with an accent on the second syllable followed by a single note and then three identical notes. The second note was higher, and I had practiced playing the call on the piano at home, fumbling with the keys until I found the right song. I played it over and over.

The doves seemed to sense my moods. On particularly sad mornings after a fight with my father, they would erupt with a chorus of low coos, almost as if they wanted to wrap a blanket around me during my walk. On days without drama, they often limited their songs, and I missed them.

I grew up and went away to college to experience my first opportunity at freedom. It was exhilarating, and I excelled. I returned home on breaks and during the summer to work on the farm. The doves welcomed me with their familiar chorus, and I opened my window each morning to hear and reply to their call.

After I graduated from college, I moved away and became immersed in the responsibilities of jobs, marriage, children, and life. When I took my little family to visit my childhood home, I always listened for the doves. They were waiting for me, and they sang.

It was in June after the first cutting of hay and when the raspberries were plump for picking when my father died. I spoke at his funeral and mentioned the mourning doves. Over the next few days, I heard them call. The sound was more mournful, and I mourned for all that had been and would never be. One morning a dove landed near the window, lingering just long enough to look at me, and then it flew away. That was my first angel bump.

Over the years, the doves have appeared when I needed to hear their song. The soft coo provided a soothing rhythm that calmed my angst. I needed and appreciated the repeated six syllables of tonic that was stronger and more healing than any medicine.

After one emotional and painful time in my adult life, I took a walk in a nearby park. The doves did not disappoint. Their sounds were particularly strong, and I stood still, closed my eyes, and absorbed the comfort with my every breath.

After that experience, I researched some facts about doves. I learned that the symbolism of mourning doves gives us optimism with its spirituality. Beyond their sorrowful song is a message of life, hope, renewal, and peace. I also discovered that they are monogamous nature. Mates typically stick together for the long run and become very devoted parents. This fact only compounded my gloom because I was going through a divorce.

That didn’t deter me from reading more about the birds. I was fascinated at how they are symbols of sacred life. They were mentioned in the Old Testament:

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the song of doves is heard in our land.” (Song of Songs 2:11-12).

Many important stories in the Christian faith incorporate the dove. The Holy Spirit, one of the elements of the Trinity, is depicted as a dove descending from heaven during the baptism of Jesus. The scriptures also describe a dove as a symbol of hope after Noah and his overloaded arc had been on the water for forty days and forty nights. He released a dove and it returned with an olive leaf, proof of life, trees, and dry land. The dove was a sign of new beginnings and deliverance.

The dove also represents peace. Pablo Picasso, the famous Spanish artist, when commissioned to design the logo for the World Peace Congress in 1949, drew a dove entitled “Dove of Peace-Blue.” It is because of their simple and maternal nature that doves have become a symbol of solidarity and good will among nations.

My mother was widowed for 26 years. She remained at the house at the end of the lane for 20 years. I finally convinced her to move closer to me and to leave the lonely farm. As we packed up a lifetime of accumulated possessions and prepared for the final departure, we stood outside one last time to listen to the doves. They responded with a melody that broke our hearts. But we knew it was time to go.

Mom passed away on a cool November morning after the harvest was over. She had slipped into dementia and couldn’t remember my name. I held her hand as she was dying, and I longed to hear the doves. But the sterile environment was cold and quiet. The only sound was her raspy breathing and my mumbled prayers.

Her funeral was in her hometown in her church.  Several years earlier, she had commissioned stained glass windows around the altar. The centerpiece of the exquisite and intricate work was a single dove surrounded by a burst of light and color. During her service, the sun broke through the clouds and shone through the dove onto her casket.

Now whenever I wonder about her, I hear the coo of the dove. And whenever I hear the sound, I think of her. The mourning dove’s melody is an angel bump from my mother. I believe that to be true.

Elaine Ambrose is an author, syndicated blogger, and humorous speaker from Eagle, Idaho. Preview her books, blogs, and events at www.elaineambrose.com