a death
Dear Ciara,
This morning, we got up early to go for a run. We returned to find that our bird (the one that had been sick) had passed away. She looked so small, so delicate, curled up at the bottom of her enclosure. She was so underserving of this fate. I know that we did all we could to save her. We had even booked in to take her back to the vet tomorrow so that the vet could run some more tests. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.
I can’t begin to express how hollow I feel, as though somebody has taken an ice-cream scoop and scooped out my insides. If the wind were to blow, I think it would pick up the husk of my body and carry it out to sea.
The Organist is beyond devastated. It was his bird that passed away, and the two shared a close bond. He has taken the day off work to grieve. We plan to bury her later this afternoon in the garden bed near the sunflowers and the ginger. I’ve dragged myself to work, but I’m not present. My mind is absent. People keep talking to me and I’m only half-hearing their words. I tend to grieve quietly, internally.
I don’t often speak of my faith, as I worry it will isolate people in my life, but I feel as though God prepared me for her death. The other day at church, I kept hearing a fluttering sound at the back of the building. After a few minutes of investigation, I discovered a female sunbird. She was distressed and clearly dehydrated, attempting to escape but constantly bumping into the glass. I moved around some furniture so that I could reach her and managed to gently scoop her up in my hand. I then took her outside where she immediately flew free. I’d saved her. But I couldn’t save our sick bird at home. I think this was God or the Universe’s way of preparing me for her death. Does that make sense?
Before I left for work, I presented our deceased bird to her sister, just so she knew that she had passed away and not abandoned her. We’d separated them when she first got sick in case it was contagious. Our other bird seemed sad but hopefully will now understand that she won’t return. We will have to spend lots of time with her so that she doesn’t get lonely.
I don’t really have a song for today. I’d prefer some silence. Why don’t you go outside and listen to the birdsong?
Love,
The Gardener