Non Sibi

We arrived early that morning just an hour after the surgery began. I was told they would be waiting for us in the family waiting room, which was left of the information desk as you entered the revolving door.
Waiting rooms, I know them all too well. Being a sister with a handicapped brother, as bad as it sounds, I feel like my whole life is a waiting room.
As I shut the car door, I noticed  a white dove gracefully perched in a tree where we decided to park. Surely, this was a sign. I needed a sign. My brother was not well and this time, I feared was crucial. More crucial than all the other times. It just felt  different.
 A white dove, what an obvious sign. But my faith is so far gone, I hadn't even asked for a sign. Was it a sign or a symbol? Maybe it was a metaphor? Who  the Hell cared anymore. Not me.
I shuffled through the revolving door, another obvious metaphor. I hate revolving doors with their agitated sense of timing. One never knows when to enter or leave and there's that fear of getting sucked in and trapped.
The family waiting room had an air of false hope just like the decaffeinated coffee that the woman at the front desk offered us.  I thumbed through an out-dated  Self magazine with a fit blonde woman on the cover, which only angered me that much more.
A few hours went by and the surgeon came out to report. This was it, I just knew it. I was prepared. But, I was surprised to find he made it through just fine. I was at a loss. What now? More suffering??!! He's been through enough!
I am told I am not to know God's plan. I am not to question it either.
But, how much longer can my brother suffer? How is this fair?
Don't tell me life's not fair.
 I've heard that too much.
I wanted answers,
not symbols,
not signs,
nor metaphors.
I had to step outside. I searched desperately for the white dove, but all I found were trees full of grackles....