I spent most of one year with my folks in Las Vegas. It was the year before Pop died and when I found out my wife and mother cannot occupy the same house for very long.
It was a Sunday morning and I was sitting on Mom’s back lanai having some coffee when I noticed a single raven land on the top of the back wall/fence.
Seeing ravens was not unusual for the area, but seeing a single raven was sort of unusual. Normally they fly in groups. But there it was, a solo raven, sitting on the wall, looking at me, looking at him.
It was probably 2 or 3 minutes when 6 or 7 more ravens landed on the wall, but separate from that first one by several feet. There was some caw cawing, or whatever sound ravens make, and the group flew off. The single raven sat there for a moment, and then he too took flight and I could see him join the group.
At that moment the phone rang and my mom told me it was Julie. I answered and my wife tells me “Honey, Monarch Jerry was killed this morning. He was riding back to the clubhouse and slid on a metal plate on Dillingham Blvd. He hit a wire or something and they said he died at the scene. Dallas just called me.”
I took a moment, and then told her of the raven and what had just transpired. I then said, “I think that was Jerry saying Good-bye.”
A few months later I related this story to the Monarchs at their clubhouse. It got real drunk out that night.