I cried this morning when I read about a man who just lost his parents to Covid-19. He didn’t know how they contracted the virus. They had just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.
The couple was admitted to the hospital at the same time. When it was apparent that neither would survive, the hospital staff wheeled the mother, in her bed, into her husband’s room to be next to him. The father wasn’t able to speak, but he was able to grab the hand of his wife who was heavily medicated. They died, holding hands, within one hour of each other.
It was a good time for me to take my morning walk.
As I started the uphill climb in front of the church, a sweet white cat seemed to appear out of nowhere. A woman was getting out of her parked car close by. I thought the cat would run away. I was hoping it wouldn’t because I wanted to take a photo of its bright white coat and the deep green hedge behind it. Stealth-like, I pulled my smartphone from my fanny pack. “She” seemed to wait for me to get my act together. How sweet she was. “Thank you, pretty cat,” I said as I continued my walk.
I can’t remember the last time I saw a white cat roaming the streets. But I do recall reading that white cats symbolize good fortune, rebirth, and a few more positive things. That sounds promising to me.
White seemed to be the prominent color this morning and yesterday, too, as I came across plumeria trees with clusters of flawless white blooms.
Finally, on my way down the hill, the street was pretty empty of people. Except for the jogger in full mask regalia I had noticed a block away in the middle of the street working his way uphill. As we got closer, I heard a beautiful male voice singing a tune. Is that guy listening to his iPhone? It sounds like Michael Bublé, the Canadian crooner.
Then, as we passed each other, I didn’t see him reach to turn down the volume, but the singing stopped. “Good morning,” he said to me, as he waved his hand.