But when we returned home, I found
myself feeling sad and lonely. My own mother had not been with me and I missed
her…she had died twelve years earlier at the age of fifty one. And, my beautiful,
blue eyed, blond haired son had not been with me either. If he had been there,
he would have been nineteen years old. But he died at the age of five, from
leukemia. I was feeling a little sorry for myself for another reason, too. My
oldest daughter was eighteen hundred miles away getting ready to give birth to
my second grandchild, a little boy this time, and I would not be with her.
Sitting at my kitchen table that evening, I tried
to focus on the blessings I did have; they included three daughters who had
grown into amazing young women. But what I didn’t have that day, seemed to over
shadow what I did have. My nest was empty, and I felt very much alone.
I glanced up at my needlepoint picture hanging on the
wall above my table. It hung there for a reason. When I first saw and bought the
pattern, it reminded me of my four children. It was a picture of four birds
sitting on a wire. Three of the birds were facing me, the other one was facing
away from me, looking like it was ready to fly.
The little bird in the picture that was getting ready to
fly was like my son. I knew he would eventually
be leaving me to fly heavenward. The other three birds on the wire were like my
little girls who would be left behind.
The birds’ feathers were as blue as the May sky and their
breasts were the color of ripe peaches. The words on the needlepoint were
these: “To love and be loved is the greatest joy on earth.”
I started working on that needlepoint in 1982, while I
was sitting in a hospital room at Jason’s bedside. 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.
I
worked on the needlepoint for several months…until my son flew away to be with
Jesus. Then the picture of the four little birds went into a drawer as I
struggled with my grief, and tried to put our family back together for our
three little girls.
Several years later I came across
the picture again, and decided to finish 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 had
seen in my little girl’s story books?
Working on the picture reminded me
of those precious last days with my son.
It also reminded me that loving and being loved by him and my daughters was
the greatest joy of my life. The tear stained picture was eventually finished,
and hung on my kitchen wall, a constant reminder to me of the four small
children that had once lived in my home.
On that Mother’s day in 1997, as I wiped
the tears away, I turned my focus from the picture to my backyard. It was
peaceful. The swing set and sandbox sat vacant and quiet. As I sat thinking of
my children, I was startled when a bird flew up and landed on the deck railing
just six feet from my kitchen window. At
first I thought it was a robin, but its wings were a bright blue color, and its
chest was the color of ripe peaches. In the many years we had lived in our
home, I had never seen a bird like this one. It was the exact color of the
birds in the needlepoint on my kitchen wall.
I sat quietly, mesmerized by the
beauty of it. My first thought was that on this miserable Mother’s Day, God and
my son had put their heads together and sent me a special gift of beauty to
give me comfort.
As I watched the bird, he hopped around and began to
explore the bird house my husband had put up the autumn before. He’d found
it at an auction and put it on a pole about eight feet from my kitchen window. I
had no idea what was about to happen, but in the days that followed I came
to realize that the little bluebird had lofty ideas for that house.
After a few minutes, he flew away. 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 rarely seen. In fact, his
species had become almost extinct until the American Bluebird Society was
organized for the purpose of bringing the bluebird back. The box we had was
built by them, specifically for bluebirds, and we didn’t even know it.
I wondered if the bluebird had been a one time Mother’s Day
gift to me, or if he would return.
The next morning, while at the kitchen table with my
coffee, I saw him fly in again. Like the evening before, he went in and out of the
box several times, then settled on top of it. This time he began to sing. My
kitchen window was open and his song was like no other I had ever heard. It
wasn’t a chirp, it was a soft warble.
Then I saw her…drawn by the sound of
his love song. Her colors were not as bright as his, her feathers were a bluish
gray in color, but she had that same peach colored breast. It was her turn to
go in and out of the box while he sat and watched her. Was she pleased with the
home he had found for them?
Not
knowing the habits of the bluebird I didn’t know what to expect. But in the
days to follow I learned not only about bluebirds, but a few lesson about life.
I learned that God created every living creature with similar habits and
instincts. And I came to believe He created those two bluebirds just for me.
Mama and Daddy Bluebird decided the house
was an appropriate spot to begin new life and within 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, but in the end, my bluebirds
won. Several days later, their nest was completed.
The birdhouse has a lift up lid on
it. After reading about the bluebird, I discovered 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.
Mama bluebird sat on that nest with
the patience only a mother has. Daddy bluebird did what every good, expectant
dad should do. He sat close by, 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 ends of four very long
necks. The baby birds 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 pet store to buy
some. I couldn’t go; I was babysitting for
the bluebirds!
About three weeks later, while sitting again at my
kitchen table observing the morning activity around the bluebird
house, I saw a little head pop out of the hole. It was one of the
babies. I wanted to tell her to go back inside the house where she would be safe
and her parents could protect her. 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.
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.
Sixteen years have passed, and every
year, right around Mother’s Day, I see the flash of blue wings and know my
bluebirds have come home. 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! My three daughters have given me eight
grandbabies, and I get to share my bluebirds with them.
I share not only the joy of the
birds, but the lessons they have taught me.
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. That
summer they produced a second nest of eggs, so life could go on. And we made the hole of the bluebird house
smaller so the blackbird would never again destroy our baby birds.
Some years, the bluebirds remind me
of people who come into my life for no other reason, than to renew my spirits
for a season. Or perhaps so I can help renew theirs!
Every year it seems like I need my
bluebirds for a different reason. But every Mother’s Day since their arrival
into my life, they 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.
There is one special gift the
bluebirds have given me that I will always be grateful for. On a clear sunny
day this year, I opened the the top of the bird house, picked up a tiny baby
bluebird, and placed it into the open palm of one my grandchildren. Four other
grandchildren looked on with awe as we all experienced one of my life’s most
precious treasures.
Today, I sit
at my kitchen table and watch four 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 Mama and Daddy bluebird fly in and out of the box. And this
Gramma is in her own little paradise of babies and bluebirds…and every day is
Mother’s Day.
© 2012 Brenda
J. Young
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