Flight

Poppy woke up at 5 am today with the energy of a six year old boarding a flight to Disney World. Other days she’s like a senior in high school, sleeping in till 10 am on a Saturday. She at least granted me time to grind my favorite beans and brew my coffee. With a warm mug-in-hand, I followed the sassy nine pound hotdog outside; God I love this dog.  

While meandering around the driveway, I witnessed a hummingbird enjoying her own breakfast brew; succulent bee balm nectar. Instantly, my heart strings tugged at memories of my dad (he left this dimension in 2001). They say your children are your outside hearts. I guess this makes sense because when I think of his departure, I feel hollow; like my shelter of origin was ripped open in a storm leaving remnants of a past family life lived. I feel this especially in my solar plexus....a raw, gnawing convergence of my gut and lower chambers of my heart. 

How can a tiny bird bring me back to my dad? Hummingbirds are memory-connections because my brain wired several observations after his passing. Although my dad attempted to attract hummingbirds to his bird habitat with sweet nectar-filled bright feeders (at his home in Essex Junction) they never came; that is, until he passed. That spring, a plethora of hummingbirds enjoyed daily nectar-inebriation, a joy for my mom to witness. Coincidence? Maybe. 

Then there was my son’s middle school graduation. Graduations, and holidays in general, always intensify the cavernous grief space. We all know who’s missing, yet are too scared to mention his name. This would give way for the cavity to rise up to your throat and into your eyes before any chance of swallowing it back down. A snotty nose, guttural sobs, and bloodshot eyes are a sure way to wreck a joyful event. 

So, as dutiful moms we triumph. We make sure the khakis, shirt, and tie are ironed. We make the post-ceremonial meal. We get the graduate there early, and the wake of the family, including grandma, there on time, while choking on the lump, blinking humidity back, and breathing shallowly so as to not unleash the gasping grief that resides at the convergence of the heart and belly. 

However, on this warm spring evening the joy of his presence was felt above the pain of his loss. Inside the festive, graduation-gymnasium a hummingbird appeared. Perhaps attracted to the fuchsia decorative flowers used for the event, he joined the celebration. 

Maybe you too have meaningful signs that connect you to past loves. A butterfly, dog, bird, or specific atmospheric energies. We get to wire our meanings, and feel those we miss in uniquely connected ways. We get to feel to heal and wrap ourselves up in the mystery of it all.

And if we are all “made of star stuff”– according to astronomer Carl Sagan, then our loves are never more than a flight away.