May 2020
Today, in History, we learned about John James Audubon. As a boy, he became obsessed with wild animals, particularly birds. After marrying and traveling a bit, he made it his quest to document every bird he could possibly view in the US. He dreamt of painting each bird to scale, and in great detail, to publish for the world’s knowledge. After two separate attempts, he finally achieved his goal with, now famous, published volumes.
In present time, my littlest bird is broken. For over a year, she has worked hard to keep flapping.
But when the sun fades, she tires.
And if she is feeling plucked enough, the tears and words flow.
It is killing little bits of me.
Worn and angry; I am guilt ridden about the things my baby says and the fact that I have no resolve.
Baby birds follow their mother, my husband reminds me. They emulate.
From birth forward, I rocked her to sleep until she was nearly 4. It took hours. I often complained. Presently, I would pay 1 million dollars for one of those hours of rocking: Peaceful, Happy.
Restless as I tucked her in tonight, she pleaded.
“I wish we could go back and take her to the hospital sooner. Why? Why couldn’t she just get better? We thought she was getting better.”
“I wish I wasn’t ever born and none of this happened and we were just all in Heaven from the start. I am so confused.”
“I am so scared that I am forgetting. I think I can hear her voice, but it has been too long. I can’t remember.”
There is desperation in her speech and hot tears streaming her face.
I feel empty.
In flight, before placing the oxygen mask on your child, firmly secure your own.
When she was age 3, she used to sing me lullabies as we rocked. Her vocabulary and imagination large, I wrote a few down. Possibly, part of me knew I would need the glimpses back on nights like this:
“Walls come tumbling down and dreams can come true.”
“I need you to know, Keri, I need you to know George Washington. I need you to know…”
“Sometimes clouds drink back up their water and bees would rather just sit.”
This little girl of mine, she is not a shmacter. For 8 years, she has always shot straight.
My baby feels broken.
To research, John James Audubon went out into the land for over two years. As he located specimens, to measure each bird properly, he shot them. He stole eggs from their nests.
When his paintings were finally complete he went home and rested. One morning soon after, JJ went to retrieve his collection from the box where they were kept and discovered that a rat had completely chewed them all up.
Back to the wilderness……
Not That Good Grief 