“What if it’s Grandpa?”

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On Sunday, a bird crashed into a window at my son’s house. I was in the room, relaxing, as was my daughter-in-law and a granddaughter. We heard the impact, saw feather stain on the glass, jumped up to see what had happened.

“What if it’s Grandpa?” the granddaughter burst out.

This startled me, though our more immediate concern was the fate of the bird, which now lay some distance from the window. (As it turned out, sadly it was dead.)

I’ve been thinking about the girl’s remark, made in that moment when we could still simply imagine  the bird wanted, as it were, to join us. She knows how much her grandpa — my late husband Helmut — loved birds.

In Winnipeg, his favourites were robins. To him, a robin building a nest in one’s yard was a bestowed blessing. I remember how thrilled we were by the delicate blue-green eggs in their nest, and how devastated when we found the nest emptied not long after, by some predator we assumed, and the parents gone too.

Here in Tsawwassen, B.C. it was eagles he loved, for they are numerous during winter months, and also hummingbirds, which he could watch year round at a feeder on our bedroom balcony. One day, about six weeks before he died, at a point when pain had once again intensified to a new level and the pain medication dosage once again inadequate, he was weepy. He went through four or five Kleenex tissues and I was crying too. We were both weary. He told me an eagle had swooped low by the window and there had been a hummingbird at the feeder. He would like, he said, to be “between”. I didn’t ask what he meant by this because I think I knew.

In many cultures and spiritual traditions, birds have long been considered links, even messengers,  between Earth and Beyond. (Perhaps because they have wings?) At the very least, they’re symbols — the eagle of strength, for example, the hummingbird of joy. There’s a saying, “When robins appear, loved ones are near.” I’m not dogmatic about such meanings, coincidence is perfectly fine for me, and I’m content in the mystery as well as my granddaughter’s response. But, while not a birdwatcher per se, I’ve had encounters with birds that not only reminded me of Helmut but brought profound consolation which seemed intended for me. I usually keep these moments for myself, for there’s vulnerability in them, but here is one instance I documented in a grief journal of words and little stick-people drawings I kept the first months after his death, which I hope makes you happy too!

13 thoughts on ““What if it’s Grandpa?””

  3. Thanks, Dora. This moved me deeply. I’m always happy to see birds—not too many around here. Even though it’s November, I’ve seen a convoy of mallards navigating the River currents Sarah  KSent from my iPhone

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  5. Hello Dora

    I think that was a lovely comment – especially as it shows your husband hasn’t been forgotten – as if he would be!

    I loved your drawing too – and it reminded me of the verse in Isaiah about mounting up like eagles!

    I also love this song “Eagle’s Wings”

    Blessings to you!

    Maureen xx

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  6. I’ve had a few bird encounters: the nuthatch that perched on my shoulder momentarily as I was kneeling in the dirt to plant a shrub. I had the garden hose resting in the hole at just a trickle and the nuthatch must have been in need of a drink, as it quickly swooped from my shoulder and into the hole where it did indeed take time for a few drinks. Then there was the little wren that nested in my Japanese tree lilac every spring and chittered all summer long, and also perched briefly on my elbow when I was sitting back in the lounging chair with my hands behind my head. This fall I found a crow under my peony bush. I was enjoying my morning coffee on the front steps of my house when I thought there was an ever so faint whiff of carrion once or twice, but forgot about it because it was so brief and almost not present. Later on, in the afternoon sun the iridescence of its black feathers caught my eye as I walked by that same peony bush. I held back the foliage to see a crow tucked in close to the peony stalks. The size of it took me by surprise. Why was it there? How had it died? was neither mangled nor spread out, and appeared to have crept there to lie down and die. I began planning what to do. I had buried a little Junco in my flower bed on the boulevard earlier in the year when I found it dead on my deck, but this crow was big! How would I handle it? Fortunately my neighbour walked by just then and I showed him the crow, to which he immediately responded with an offer to help. I was grateful. He said he would attend to it after supper, and so in preparation I dug a large hole next to where the Junco lies. When I returned home in the evening I saw that the hole was still there, but the crow was gone. The next day I learned that he had taken the crow to Omand’s Creek and buried it in the bushes alongside the Assiniboine River. Since the crow holds spiritual significance for him, he thought it would be important for the bird to rest in a natural habitat. I was deeply touched by his care of this bird that took its last breath under my peony. Bird visitations – I don’t know what they meant, but all have left a lasting memory, as did your experience.

    Thank you for the opportunity to ‘comment’. These moments come to mind every so often, but I rarely have opportunity to share them.

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    • Oh I do love these stories, so beautifully described by you. For those little ones to come so close and even land on you says something about you, I think. And that your neighbour took the crow to rest along the Assiniboine River, I too am deeply touched. Thank you for sharing these!

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