Mysterious Five months had passed since my husband, Eamon, died in the attacks on the World Trade Center. It was an especially cold winter here in Connecticut, and I found solace in talking with others who had lost loved ones on 9/11. We’d meet frequently to share the feelings we couldn’t explain to anyone else. Eamon’s death still seemed unbelievable. To me, he had just gone to work and not come home. Then one day our meeting was interrupted by a knock on the door. I opened up to see my pastor and a police officer standing there. Eamon’s remains had been found. Featured Product Mysterious Ways Magazine Be inspired by everyday miracles when you claim your FREE ISSUE of Mysterious Ways magazine today! “Let’s go for a drive,” my pastor suggested. In a daze, I got in the car. We drove in silence. Where were we going? Did it matter? Eamon really and truly was gone. It felt so final. I recalled our vacations to Florida when Eamon and I visited my parents’ home. From their house on the water every morning we would watch for my father’s favorite bird, a great blue heron. “Look, Bonnie!” Eamon would say as I followed his gaze. The bird would fly low across the horizon, its wings silhouetted against the morning sun. Only Eamon knew how much that bird meant to me. From then on, when one of us spotted a heron, we would let the other know. My pastor and I kept driving. There was a sign for a cemetery. “Let’s turn in,” my pastor said softly. “You need to decide where Eamon will be laid to rest. This place is lovely. Very peaceful.” We drove through the cemetery gates and passed the first few rows of tombstones. Suddenly, right in front of us, something large seemed to fall from the sky. My pastor hit the brakes and we screeched to a stop. “Look at that bird,” he said. “What is it?” I couldn’t respond. I just stared. There in our path, stretching its wings and craning its long neck toward the sky, was a great blue heron. It stood still on the icy driveway for a moment before taking off again. Here, in the middle of a cold New England winter, was something to warm my heart. “Are you all right, Bonnie?” my pastor asked. “We can go somewhere else if you want.” “Oh, no,” I said. “We’ve come to just the right place
Posted on: Wed, 11 Sep 2013 11:19:34 +0000
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