A Mother’s Day Gift
Hanging above the bed in my bluebird room is a needlepoint picture of four bluebirds sitting on a wire. Three of the birds are facing me, the other one is facing away from me, looking like it is ready to fly away. The birds’ feathers are a turquoise color, like a September sky and their breasts are the color of ripe peaches. The words on the needlepoint are these: “To love and be loved is the greatest joy on earth.”
I started to work on that needlepoint in 1982 while I was sitting in a hospital room at the bedside of my five year old son. I needed something to do with my hands while I sat and watched the toxic chemotherapy drugs dripped into his veins. With every stitch I made, I prayed. My prayers were desperate, heart wrenching prayers.
When I found that pattern, I stood with tears streaming down my face and looked at it for a long time. It reminded me of my four children. In my heart I knew the little bird in the picture getting ready to fly was my like my son. Soon, he would take off and fly heavenward from me. The other three little birds on the wire were like my little girls who were eight, six and eighteen months at the time. They would be left behind.
I worked on the picture for several months, and then my son did fly away. The picture went into a drawer as I struggled with my grief and tried to put our family back together for our three little girls. But that wasn’t the end of bluebirds for me..
Several years later, I came across the picture again and decided to finish it and frame it. As I worked on it, I wondered if there really were birds with feathers that brightly colored. I had never been a bird watcher, so how would I know? Or were they fictional, like the ones I saw in my little girl’s story books?
Working afresh on the picture also reminded me of those precious last days with my son. It reminded me that loving and being loved by him and my daughters has been my life’s greatest joy. I hung the tear stained picture on my kitchen wall when it was finished. It stayed there for years.
Fifteen years passed and then it was Mother’s Day 1997. The day had been a good one. Two of my daughters were with me and the other one was 1800 miles away, getting ready to bring my second grandchild, a little boy this time, into our lives. As I sat at my kitchen table that evening, I thought about how blessed I was to have three wonderful daughters. They had grown up smart, beautiful, sensitive and kind. But here they were, all grown up, and my nest was about to be completely empty.
My mind wandered back over the years and as always, it floated back to my “other child.” Like so many times before, I wondered what he would have looked like, what he would be doing now, what kind of man he would have grown up to be. Fifteen years after his death, the tears still ran down my cheeks. I always miss him so much on Mother’s Day.
As I wiped the tears away, I looked up, and sitting on my deck railing, not six feet from my kitchen window was the bird from my picture. At first I thought it was a robin and my tears were making it look more colorful, but the colors were real. I looked up at the picture on the wall and then at the bird on my deck railing. They were the same! I could not move as I watched it on the rail. My first thought was that on this Mother’s Day, God and my son had sent me a special gift of comfort. It was like he was saying, “it’s okay Mom. No matter where I am, I will always love you”
The summer before, my husband had bought me a rough looking little bird house at an auction just because I liked birdhouses and he put it on a pole beside my deck. As I watched the bird, he hopped around a little, and then began to explore that bird house. I had no idea what was about to happen right in front of my eyes, but that little bird had lofty ideas for that house and he was about to teach me some lessons about loving and living.
After a few minutes, he flew away and I went immediately to the computer and began to search for information about birds with brilliant blue feathers. I discovered that he was an Eastern Bluebird and they were rarely seen. In fact, they had become almost extinct at one time. An organization called the American Bluebird Society was doing all it could to help preserve the Eastern Bluebird and they were coming back. The box I had was built of cypress wood, specifically for bluebirds, and we didn’t even know it.
I wondered all night if that bird had just been a Mother’s Day gift to me or if he would return. The next morning, I was back at my kitchen table, drinking my coffee and I saw my bird fly to the house again. Once again, he went in and out of it. Then he settled on top of it this time and began to sing. My kitchen window was open and his song was like no other that I had ever heard. He didn’t chirp, his song was a warble.
Then I saw her, drawn by the sound of his love song. Her colors were not as bright. Her feathers were a bluish gray in color but she had that same peach colored breast. Then it was her turn to go in and out of the box. He sat and watched her. Was she pleased with the home he had found for them? Then together they flew away.
Not knowing the habits of the bluebird I did not know what to expect, but in the days to follow I learned not only about bluebirds but a lesson about life and how God had created every living creature with similar habits and instincts.
Momma and Daddy Bluebird must have decided that the cypress house was an appropriate spot to begin new life and with in a few days they began to bring in grass. They were diligent, focused, determined. I watched one day as a sparrow tried to claim the box. It was all out war that day and in the end, my bluebirds won. Several days later, the nest was completed.
The bluebird house has a lift up lid on it. After reading about the bluebird, I discovered that they are not only willing to let you help them, they welcome it. One day I lifted the lid and peaked in.
What I saw was a teacup-size nest of soft grass, with two little blue eggs in it. Daily, I watched, fascinated, until there were four eggs. Then the wait began.
Momma bluebird sat on that nest with the patience that only a mother has. Daddy bluebird did what every good, expectant dad should do. He sat in a tree nearby, singing his love song to her and bringing her food.
One day, they both flew away, so I peaked again. Inside, I saw four little orange beaks at the end of four very long necks. They were eagerly waiting for lunch. Day after day the parents came and went, working tirelessly to feed and care for their little ones. I had read that bluebirds are partial to meal worms so I sent my husband out to the petstore to buy some. I couldn’t go; I was babysitting for the bluebirds! I was just one mom helping another.
About three weeks later, while sitting at my kitchen table drinking my coffee and watching the morning activity around the bluebird house, I saw a little head peak out of the hole. It was one of the babies. I wanted to tell the little bird to go back inside the house where it was safe and Momma and Daddy would feed and protect it. The world held all kinds of dangers for her and I wanted her to be safe. But even if I could have spoken her language, she would not have listened. She had a world to explore! Within a couple of days all of them were gone, mom, dad and babies. My nest was empty again!
I watched the sky in the days that followed their departure. Occasionally I would get a glimpse of a blue wing, but that was all. It was okay, the bluebirds had left their nest and were flying as God had created them to do!
After the bluebird family left, I wondered if I would ever see them again. Thirteen years have passed and every year right around Mother’s Day I see the flash of blue wings and know that my bluebirds have come home again. They are not the same birds as that first year, but the children, grandchildren, and by now the great grandchildren!
The birds aren’t the only ones who come home to me on Mother’s Day now! This year, I had eight grandbabies come home too. I love babies and bluebirds. When they are all around, I am at my happiest. When the blue birds are here, they not only bring me joy but they teach me lessons about life. Lessons that I can pass on to my grandbabies.
One year a blackbird got into the nest and destroyed the eggs. I will never forget the sound of those parents as they fluttered around their nest, protesting the unfairness of life as the blackbird was inside destroying those eggs. That summer they produced a second nest of eggs, so life could go on. We made sure that the hole of the bluebird house was made smaller so the blackbird would never again destroy our baby birds.
Some years the bluebirds remind me of the people who come into our lives for no other reason than to renew our spirits for a season. Or perhaps so we can help renew theirs!
Every year, it seems like I need my bluebirds for a different reason too. On this Mother’s Day, as I sit and think about my mom and my son who are both gone, I need the bluebirds to come and remind me that people like bluebirds come into our lives, and sometimes leave before we are ready for them to. But when they leave, we have memories of the joy they gave us.
Last summer, the bluebirds gave me the ultimate experience! On a clear sunny day, I opened the blue bird house. I picked up a tiny baby bluebird, and placed it into the open palm of one my grandchildren. Five other grandchildren looked on with awe and wonderment on their faces as we all experienced one of my life’s most precious treasures.
Today, I sit at my kitchen table and watch three of my granddaughters and a little white haired grandson with blue eyes stand on chairs at the kitchen window. They are watching and giggling as Momma and Daddy bluebird fly in and out of the box. I am in my own little paradise of babies and bluebirds. God has blessed me more that I ever expected. In return for His blessings, I intend to make sure that my grandchildren know that God delights in us, just like we delight in our bluebirds.
© 2010 Brenda J. Young
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