Last Thursday evening I went for a walk. It was a walk I’ve done plenty times before—up the street, through the cemetery, up another two streets to the drive way path of the SMA (Society of Missions African) to the statue of Mary that I sit and pray. Yes, I still pray to Mary. I’ll tell you about that in another post.
This walk was different though. Night was falling and I noticed something flailing on the ground. At first, I thought it might be a mouse, but then I realized it was a baby bird. One that had fallen from an unknown nest. It was on the ground, not grass. I immediately called two of my best friends, one of whom is a bird expert, like has a Ph.D. in biological sciences with a focus on bird migration patterns. I asked if I could pick the bird up and move it somewhere else. She told me yes, but that the bird would not make it, that wherever I placed it, it would be come food for another animal, part of the cycle of life. I was devastated, but I nonetheless picked up the little baby and put it in the palm of my hand and carried it with me to the bench across from Mary.
This little bird that I named Bailey, kept moving around in my palm, but eventually settled down, chirping and giving me side eye. I knew I couldn’t just leave it there, so I carried it to my apartment, hoping that I could somehow save it, but knowing in my deepest heart that I would not be able to. The rehab center closest to me was already closed, it was eight o’clock in the evening after all, and I knew I couldn’t bring the bird in my apartment because of my cat and my inability to care for it—I’m not a bird mama. After a bit, I put it under a bush near my apartment door and promised it that I would check on it in the morning and if it was still alive, I’d take it to the rehab center.
Friday morning, I went to check on the bird and it was barely alive. It was curled up and ants were crawling all over it. I saw it breathe its last breath. I buried it and then went back inside devastated. To say that I was full of grief is an understatement. I was beyond consolable. I was even more angry at the injustices of the world. I sobbed on and off all day. Writing this post has me tearing up. Yes, I know how the circle of life works. Yes, I know that baby bird was most likely never going to make it no matter how much I wanted it to, but that didn’t matter. That little one and I exchanged energy in our brief time together. I loved that little bird as much as I love my cat, or my brothers, or my niece and nephew. The Universe is always showing us our capacity for love.
The meltdown I had later that day was incredible. My best friend called me because I asked her to and when she did, I could not stop sobbing. I cried in a way I haven’t cried in a long time. I cried for that little bird’s soul, for it’s death, for my own death and transformation. I cried because watching something die is never easy. I still remember the gut wrenching howl I cried out when my abuelo transitioned six years ago.
I later went on to tell my friend that a piece of me died with that little bird. I understood the assignment the minute I picked that little baby up and held it in my hand—what will you let go? What will you not be able to save? This death is a new beginning. I understood all of that and yet, I still needed to grieve. To deeply, deeply grieve.
A few days later, three days to be exact, this past Monday, I found out news that was upsetting. It was expected, but there it was for me to see, the day before the new moon in Taurus, and the day after I saw some signs that had given me hope. To say the last two weeks have been rough is an understatement; more so since all of this happened as Mercury retrograde was ending (on April 25th) and the post-retrograde shadow is now taking place (until May 13th).
I wish I could tell you that I completely understand everything that has occurred, but I don’t. I’m still wading through everything. What I do know is that Bailey, that little bird, whispered a wish and dream to me with every last chirp it too—to begin a new. To take the risk and fly. I have changed in many ways and I’m being held back in others. It’s time to fly and commit to living this life of mine in a way that makes sense for me.
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Before I log off, I want to share a quick note, if you come across an animal that is injured of seems unwell, please contact local wildlife rehabilitators for assistance. NWRA (the National Wildlife Rehabilitators Association), offers a locator map resource on their website that is useful. Please use this tool and tell your friends, especially as we’re in the time of year where baby animals are being born and more visible.