My father died on February 9, 2024.
Before I got the call about his passing, I went for an early morning run.
It was still dark.
I saw something in my path on the sidewalk. It was a black bird.
I wondered if it was injured.
The bird was not moving.
I pulled out my phone to snap a photo.
The moment felt special.
The bird stood confidently before me, but then it quickly flew away.
Upon passing the space where it had been, I heard a loud chirping in my ear. Piercing.
I thought of dad.
My mind shifted quickly.
"If anything were wrong, I would have received a call."
I decided my anxiety made me think of him. He was fine.
"Keep running."
I briefly passed a cemetery on my route.
The run ended with a vibrant pinkish-purple sunrise in the faint distance.
I captured the image.
The photo pales in comparison.
I walked through the front door and assembled ingredients for my post-run shake.
The phone rang.
It was my aunt telling my father had just died.
I can’t explain the feeling, but the message I received on my run that morning was special, clear, and consistent.