An Owl From Heaven

Last Saturday morning, I woke up with an intense sense of grief regarding my wife's decision to discontinue dialysis treatment and consciously face death. She was so certain it was her "time to go" and assured me she'd send signs letting me know she made the right decision.

In particular, she said she'd send me an owl within 40 days of her passing.

"It's day 39," I mentally said to her Saturday morning, "and I haven't seen a single owl."

Like most mornings, I began my 7km run at the local TJ Dolan Natural Area. Entering the main trail entrance I was stunned to find a table with a volunteer from the University of Guelph's Wild Ontario Birds of Prey animal sanctuary. On the table were the dismembered wings, skull and talons of deceased owls:

Okay, not quite the sign I was looking for. I was expecting a living, whole, flying owl. Though the irony wasn't lost on me. Nonetheless, Nicole did not disappoint. The volunteer behind the table directed me to a handler, a little deeper in the woods, with the world's smallest owl perched on his hand: A female saw-whet owl named Atwood.
 
"Atwood? You didn't name her after Margaret Atwood, did you?"

"Yeah, that's right, actually," said the handler.

I'm a Canadian speculative fiction writer, and my wife sends me a small, female owl (Nicole was of small stature) named after Canada's most famous speculative fiction writer.

Needless to say, I wasn't feeling depressed anymore.

—John C. A. Manley

PS In case you missed it, the week after my wife's passing she sent these three other signs.

PPS I was a guest on The Fakeologist Show last night, where I talked more about my close encounter with the owl kind.

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