He’s ill, dying really. Metastatic cancer has taken over.
He sits in his favorite chair; in the beautiful modern home he’d designed and built. The enormous windows face east over a wheat field. In the foreground stand tall evergreens, survivors of a previous Christmas tree planting. Visiting one crisp November day I notice an owl appear in those trees.
The owl vigils.
Many cultures associate owls with wisdom, warning, and death.
Too soon I return to my job in another state, leaving my husband behind with his dying father. In my jewelry chest, I spot a pewter owl pin—a gift from a colleague years before. To keep me connected to my dying father-in-law, I wear this owl.
The owl vigils.
Several weeks later, while examining a patient, my pin suddenly clatters to the floor. I exclaim, “My father-in-law is sick…” My patient nods, adding supportive words. We proceed with her examination. Moments later, the medical assistant knocks.
The owl vigils.
“Dr. Fogarty, sorry to interrupt you—it is urgent.” Recognizing the number, I return the call.
It is my husband.
“Dad’s gone.”
Acknowledgments
With gratitude to Rebecca Copek, PhD, URMC Department of Psychiatry, for her substantive comments on this piece.
Notes
This article was externally peer reviewed.
Funding: None.
Conflict of interest: I attest that there are no conflicts of interest in developing this work.
To see this article online, please go to: http://jabfm.org/content/38/2/399.full.
- Received for publication August 2, 2024.
- Revision received October 24, 2024.
- Accepted for publication November 11, 2024.
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