The little bird perched next to the bedroom window was exercising her loudest outside voice. The tiny sparrow has been coming to our bedroom casement since the beginning of the summer. But on this morning she was chattering at an octave four levels above her normal. The pale and grey bird has been arriving in correlation with sunrise serving as a “way too early” alarm clock. She sits on a branch of a large shrub that leans against our bedroom window. Prior to this morning Donna, once out of bed, stands right up to the window and carries on a conversation with the chirping bird. Donna is convinced it is the identical bird everyday. While I was a doubter at first, I am now convinced the songbird has found a new home. Donna talks to our new guest as if the sparrow is a human. The weird thing is the bird seems to respond in fowl language. With recent weather in the area knocking over trees and causing havoc over the entire Hudson Valley it seems a flurry of feathered birds are in the market for new homesteads.
While my wife talks, conjoles, and even endeavors to feed her new pal, I have taken notice that as this tiny sparrow sings her songs a major construction project is going on all around. The other day I finally said to Donna, “Do you realize while you are focused on that one little bird her buddies and their families are building condos around our gutters up and down the entire shrub?” My wife returned a stare as if she had no idea what I was talking about. The fact is after Donna leaves for work in the mornings I have been taking walks on our back porch to access the bird situation. Two large sparrow nests are in full erection mode in the shrubbery by the corner of our house that cannot be seen from our bedroom window. My initial reaction were visions of Alfred Hitchcock’s famed movie “The Birds”, a movie that gives me nightmares every-time I happen to pass by it on the Turner Classic Movie channel. In the movie birds get scarily intimate with people before attacking them in their houses. I headed back inside the house thinking ‘that’s a fictitious story Rich, let’s be welcoming to our new mates who have chosen to nest with us.’
It was a few days later while the sparrows must have been taking a mid morning nap that I heard a repetitive loud squawking. There, in my direct view, on top of a tree in the woods behind our home was a singular bright Red Northern Cardinal staring at me. I have very limited knowledge of all things related to fowl but I do remember hearing that when a Cardinal appears in your yard it is a visitor from heaven. For myself, “old wive’s tales” are nothing more than that, “old wive’s tales” but this particular Cardinal began showing up every morning for a week leering at me. Before long the two of us began a dialogue, well, he did most of the talking and seemed disinterested in what I had to say. I didn’t get spiritual and actually think my new acquaintance was from heaven, yet I was curious about this particular new caller. I did a bit of artifcial Intelligence research to discover Northern Cardinals got their name from the Colonists. The early settlers named the bird in reference to the deep red robes the beacons of the Catholic Church (Cardinals) wore. The male Cardinals are red and the female Cardinals sport a lighter brown color (No problems with gender identity among Cardinals). The male Cardinal loves to perch himself (mostly alone) on a high limb and sing out sweet mating calls. They are known to be excellent fathers who are not the best husbands (high infidelity rates among male Cardinals). As birds go, they are highly intelligent and extremely independent. ‘Hmmmm……sounds like someone I know.’
I am not delusional enough (or pius enough) to think the Cardinal was my dad coming to have some type of final goodbye before flying back to heaven, but it certainly did trigger a river of emotions that have been shelved. It has been two and a half years since I last spoke to my father and heard his voice in return. So much has transpired in my life since he passed, the biggest one being the fact that I haven’t had a chance to share all of it with my best friend. In the last ten years of my dad’s life I didn’t go a day without either traveling to his house in New Paltz, or speaking to him on the phone. In the present the red bird usually takes a quick look at me before floating away into his vast horizons. I end up alone before I get a chance to ask the bird to show me a sign that he is some sort of medium. I want to tell my dad how much I miss him. I want to fill him in on all that has transpired since his departure. A random list started flowing through my mind in regard to the type of conversations we emerged in over our two hour dinner’s. My father, like myself had a keen memory (very selective though), but unlike myself a brief attention span, so I kept the list short: They still don’t understand Covid 19 (he was right), Trump lost in 2020, (he was right), Tiger Woods won another major (he’d be wrong), myself and Gary (my brother) are closer than ever (he’d be smiling), his four grandchildren are independent and thriving ( he’d be smiling even more), his beloved Mets are the real deal this year (he’d be surprised), Mary Kate is working full time for the New England Patriots. (he’d be beaming), I haven’t played golf in two years (he’d be confused), I’ve changed my perspective on a whole bunch of things (he’d be proud), I’ve been lost without you (he’d be crying).
Several days after I had recited my list to the open air I walked outside around the back of the house hoping the Cardinal would return to be a regular guest like the sparrows. But he never did, he had flown away one day and hadn’t been back. I understood he hadn’t heard a word I had said but still I hoped. The bright red Cardinal had provided me with a metaphor I didn’t realize I had been searching for. Just like Donna had her sparrows, that are now part of our home I had my Cardinal, although departed. Whether reality, or not, the song bird had conjured up the emotions that were bottled up since my dad’s untimely death in the spring of 2020. Like male Cardinals my dad liked to say hello, sing his song, drink his drink, eat his food, and fly away without fanfare. Like my recent singing bird, once my dad was ready he would coyly disappear. When I look into the mirror the last five years my father’s physical features become more and more perceptible (yeah it kind of sucks). Growing up and being just like, or looking just like him was never the plan. In fact it was quite the opposite. My father had many admirable qualities, many of which I was able to adopt naturally. He also had a darker side filled past resentments of growing up in a rough New York City neighborhood during the Depression, one that he never fully let go of. He could be arrogant, stubborn, chauvinistic, and caustic. His personality traits never mixed well with alcohol. From a very early age I was determined to be just like the side of my father everyone loved and the opposite of the darker side I witnessed (My wife will tell me I have plenty of work to do).
In the blue hours when I can’t sleep, which is often, I watch the sparrows starting their morning work. Last Monday my youngest bird (Mary Kate) was flying away permanently from her nest. I wanted to be up to give her a final goodbye. I wanted to tell her that the last year, she unexpectedly spent with us, had helped me reshape my life at a crucial junction. Without knowing it, my second in succession had inspired me to make all the alterations I’ve been seeking in the last three years since her grandpa had left us. At 6:00am after our goodbye waves she headed down the stairs and out the door. I settled into a chair outside on the back porch. I sat in a recliner taking in the sounds of the breaking dawn. The two sparrow nests attached to our house were complete, and the parents were already moving about hunting for their families’ breakfast. With Donna still sleeping I was alone left to survey the nests of our new feathered friends outside while lamenting the empty nest inside. Scanning the tree tops I hoped to spot a bright red fowl hovering out on a limb over me. There was so much to say, but there was no Cardinal in sight to listen. After 15 minutes of gazing into the trees it was time to face the new day. For now I must find a way to take comfort and strength in all he left behind. All things die. All things come back.
