I don’t believe that those we love send signs. I can’t discount that God if He so chooses relays messages, but if my loved one has such powers. . . well, let’s just say there are other things I wish that he could do with it besides send daisies and butterflies. The language he spoke while he lived was one of logic and well-chosen nonsense.
I do believe however, that we who loved so well, are more attuned after the loss to those things that our loved one deemed important and of value. If we did not know, part of our frantic search after they are gone is to find those things. Perhaps this is what makes the handling of their possessions so difficult for us. We stumble upon things we did not know about them, and feel a bit cheated. Cheated because we did not know while they were with us, and now because we will never know the whole story.
My son liked (in no particular order – because that order could change daily) books, nature,puzzles, tea, hoppy beer, animals -to include a plethora of beasts including but not limited to- some snakes and all birds of prey, music -(anything to atonal to well, you name it), argument – in the scholarly sense of the word, art, movies, theater, video games. . .as you can see the list goes on and on.
So given the occurrence, appearance or encounter with the world at large, I am reminded in ways big and small of him.
Yesterday marked exactly 26 weeks. That is 6 months since I saw my son as a living breathing man. And yesterday while out near my husband’s garage I saw the hawk that I write about in the poem. It was on that Saturday, 26 weeks ago around 11:30 a.m. that I finished the painting, and came upstairs. Hence the time reference, just for your information. So I did thank God yesterday for the beautiful bird, and for the beautiful man who taught me about it. Was it a sign. Yes and no.
It was a sign that life and love cannot be contained, or bound – not even by gravity.
Time pressed its finger to my lips
Shhhh it whispered
stand here and look around just for this moment
I have stopped Myself, just for you
observe everything standing where you stand.
Salt white, the tear stained trail leads
back and stops here at my feet
where I stood astonished
the sky so blue it tried to break what was left of my heart.
The Hawk, a red-tail, or a broad wing
(I did not note the tail marking)
Sang out its “skreeeee” announcing its flight
Catching the updraft over the pasture
It soared, looping a lazy handwritten message
of freedom on the air
higher and higher the naked air held it
the mountain’s blew a kiss
I only, stood, strained eyes to catch the last glimpse
as it passed and out of sight
The conversation static buzzing
cleared and words became distinct
“do you know the bird,” a question came
my head understood
but whose answer could not adequately be provided.
My heart spoke first
“It is 11:30 I replied.”