It’s been over three weeks, actually two days and three weeks. Our friends Robin and Adam sent us a photo canvas of you. It is one of our favorite photos of you wearing your Disney Princess sunglasses. We placed the canvas on the mantle. Now when we see the photo, your dad and I smile.
I didn’t have a headache when I woke up this morning. I decided it was time to make the effort to drink more water and take better care of ourselves. Although, I don’t know if your dad is ready to cut down on his chocolate cake consumption because I saw him try to sneak a back up cake into the house yesterday because there wasn’t much left of his other cake and this made me laugh.
Yesterday your dad carefully placed translucent ultraviolet decals in the shape of hummingbirds and butterflies on the windows surrounding your sun room. Lately we have been hearing birds crashing into the windows and it breaks our hearts. We don’t remember this happening and are wondering if you keeping watch kept the birds from flying super close to the windows. The decals will act like a stop sign for the birds. They will see the blue shape and veer off in time. So your dad made sure to not only place the decals on the sun room windows but on all windows, just to be safe. The decals are barely visible to us but the birds can seem them clearly.
Just when your dad got the ladder out to apply the decals, a grackle collided with a window on the sun room and we found the poor thing stunned and lying on his back in the grass. He was breathing and able to move his head. He was disoriented and terrified. When birds fly into windows, they can be temporarily incapacitated due to swelling of the brain. So I watched him and he carefully turned over and was able to look around and move his wings.
Waiting, watching and hoping. This reminded me of your dad and I waiting, watching and hoping you would be alright.
I watched the other birds going about their business from inside the sun room. Flying, eating and singing. And I thought about how it feels to be in a funeral procession staring out at the world from behind the car window watching everyone going about their every day lives while your mind tries to catch up, understand and accept the loss of a loved one.
This little bird. Was he recovering or was he suffering. I kept vigil standing above your heated thinking circle and felt helpless.
Our world changes when we lose someone. The change is subtle but things just don’t ever seem to look the same again. It reminds me of the color gels used for stage lighting. Everything seems to be a different hue. It is subtle yet profound.
At dusk I went out to check on the little grackle At first I rejoiced as I thought he had flown away but then I saw him. He must have struggled to make it to the center of the yard. And that was the last of his fight. He was gone. I wept for this little grackle. I felt so sad that he was suffering.
I came back inside and just shook my head when Paul looked at me. He said I am so sorry. I know, I answered and we sat at the kitchen counter, just the two of us. You weren’t there for me to scoop up and hug but I closed my eyes and remembered how it felt to hold you and kiss you on the temple right in front of your ear.
I heard the silverware drawer open. Your dad was going to eat chocolate cake.
Your parents are doing better. We really are. You will always be here with us.
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