The Birdfeeder

 Friday, April 14, 2023

I Cried A Little This Morning

 I have not been honest with Sadness.  Pretending she does not exist. Paying her no mind.

It's been a painstakingly long, brick by brick process to build a wall that she cannot penetrate.

Oh, I've had conflicts with Frustration and Anger.  Big battles in which they were the victor.  I would come away bruised and weary, guilty tears of regret readily flowing.   

I foolishly believed those bouts with Frustration and Anger gave me the strength to complete a wall that Sadness could not invade. 

Undaunted, Sadness whispers to me.  She says things like "You know the illness, it's what we call The Long Goodbye.  Surely that must make you sad, doesn't it?" 

With Anger egging me on, I defiantly reply, "He's still here! I take care of him,  I touch him, I kiss him good night. I am not sad.  We have not said good-bye!"

Sadness is relentless.  She follows me on my walks.  "Remember how you and he walked this same path, together?  Isn't it sad that he's not here with you today?"  

I quicken my step to try to out pace her and turn up my music to drown out her taunts. 

The other day, uninvited of course, Sadness came with me to browse around my sweetheart's and my local favorite garden center.   It was a springtime ritual.  He would look at the vegetable and herb plants.  My interest was the flower plants. 

That day, I impulsively purchased a $75 bird feeder.  Guaranteed to keep the squirrels at bay.  

"What would he have had to say about that?"  Sadness asked.  I thought about that for a minute or two as I carried my purchase to the car. 

Today I hung the feeder at the edge of our patio.  The spot is perfect.  I can see it from our kitchen window and also from our bedroom window where my sweetheart lies in his hospital bed. 

A few little finches immediately found their way and began pecking at the seed.  I watched from the bedroom window as empty seed pods floated onto the newly spring-green grass.

As I excitedly turned to tell Ross that the birds had already found the feeder,  I caught a flash of bright red  out of the corner of my eye.  

A cardinal was on the feeder, his mate waiting patiently on the ground for her turn. 

"Sweetheart,"  I said,  Mr. and Mrs.  Cardinal are here."

  I imagined his smile, and knew what he would have said.  

"See I told you buying that feeder would bring you joy.  Anything for my sweetheart, you know that."

It's okay, Sadness lovingly whispered,  it's ok. 

And I cried.