Grief and I Went Birding

Whenever we lose a loved one, in whatever form they leave us, a new person enters our life in return for the loved one’s absence. Not a particularly welcome person, in fact, an entity that tears us apart inside. This uninvited guest barges his way into our heart and soul and demands lodging, and will not leave until he is satisfied. This parasite of the spirit is Grief, and his presence reminds us what we and our late loved one once had together.

One way to diminish his reign upon our lives is to be active with him. As any proper host knows, one should be proactive with a guest, perhaps sharing a favorite hobby or activity with them. My hobby is birding, so when he made his unwelcome appearance in the past two weeks or so, Grief and I went birding together.

I tried to keep my distance from him, trying to act as his casual host, not his good friend. However, Grief is not a gentleman, and he constantly held my hand, giving me nudges just as soon as my friend’s memory would fade. I tried to keep my mind active by sorting out the hawks that dotted the sky on that warm autumn morning, but each time I seemed to triumph with a successful distraction, he would turn to me and smile the same smile that she smiled at me so many times before. Perhaps this proactive approach to handling Grief is a fruitless endeavor after all.

Then one form drifting lazily along the horizon caught my attention. It must have caught my visitor’s attention too, because the twinges of pain were easing up. “In the world….?” I thought to myself. It had been so long since I had been birding that it took me a few moments to recognize the sharp dihedral of a northern harrier cruising the open marshland. The beautiful times I had spent on the Delaware Bayshore came flooding back in a deluge of happiness and contentment. To see them flapping or hovering or soaring made me relish being alive, and this one bird brought to my memory all the others I had seen.

I looked at Grief; he shot me a glance that split my heart in two, but I didn’t care. I shut my eyes, and let the cool autumn breeze take my essence and transport it elsewhere. When I opened the shields that hid my eyes from pain, suddenly I was at Jakes Landing in January. No, no, it was the Glades Refuge in February. I’m mistaken; it was Goshen Landing Road in early March. I don’t really know where I was exactly, but there were harriers flying across the waving meadows. There goes a grey ghost, perhaps the most beautiful raptor ever to grace the skies. But wait, what’s this? That’s a short eared owl giving me his best moth impression as he flies by on silent wings. To see these magnificent creations silhouetted against an orange, winter sky as the sun sets over the Delaware Bay; why, the glories of Eden scrape and bow in deference.

I had been so engrossed in the birds that I forgot I had company. I looked to my left, and he was gone. He was also absent from my right side. He had left me, but remnants of him still clung to my conscious mind. Every now and then I felt a sting that reminded me of what was, but that was all that appeared to be left of my detested houseguest. He was just a memory, just a painful rememberance…….

I opened my eyes and adjusted to where I really was. I was still on that dirt road in mid-September. Grief was still there, although his grip had loosened. He smiled his perverse smile, and we turned to depart. But as we did, I looked at him again. My trip ahead in the future showed me that he would leave; that status quo would return sooner or later. However, I also learned that he would be a constant visitor throughout my life. I could depend on him as I could depend on the seasons changing. His presence would be an intermittent visitor that I could count on in total faith.

But as we turned to go, I smiled. I raised my head up high and laughed because I knew something of which he was unaware. I knew that those harriers and those short eareds and the bayshore itself would remain. I knew that all these things would be as constant as he was, and that they will always be a place of retreat for those whom Grief seems to visit once too often.
p.s. This story is dedicated to my loved one, with whose company I must now do without , and to Grief, who is always welcome to join me birding whenever he comes to visit.