Birds, Baseball and the Coming of Spring

by M. Irene Daniel

                Last week I became alarmed when I walked into my living room and there was a layer of soot all over the floor in front of our fireplace. We hadn’t had a fire for several days, and I could not figure out how all that soot got from the fireplace to the floor. I got out my vacuum cleaner and began to try to clean up the mess, and the more I cleaned, the more I realized that a film of grunge had settled on my entire living room. When I turned off my vacuum cleaner, I heard a noise rustling inside the chimney. It appears that some kind of varmint was trapped inside the chimney.

                I went on to other tasks, as I do have to work for a living; and when I returned to the living room some time later, I could see a pretty little bird that was now trapped inside the fireplace. I wondered if it could breathe okay with all that soot, but I also didn’t want to let it loose to fly around the house spreading more soot. Moreover, I wasn’t sure how my dog, Maggie, would react. So I called my husband and told him to hurry home after work to help me get this bird out of our fireplace.

                We were able to trap the bird in a large garbage bag. I held the bird, with its head outside of the bag, and went to let it out outside. It chirped a loud bird scream until I let it go outside my front door and watched it fly away.  It seemed none the worse for the wear of falling down my chimney.

                As I watched it fly away, I remembered how my mother so loved birds, and I felt an unfamiliar sense of freedom. I thought about how I was so like that bird these past few months. I too had fallen into a deep darkness that was blinding and suffocating. The more I struggled alone, the more I fretted and wore myself out. I also lashed out at times at those who tried to help me, for in my dark state, I could not recognize the assistance that was right before me. I too screamed when help arrived in the form of matters requiring my attention, my talent, my love; things that only I could offer to my family, friends and clients. And I too, am ready to fly out of the darkness and isolation of grief and despair.

                This time of year is usually pretty joyous for me. March Madness approaches, early spring blossoms smell sweet and defy winter with pretty flowers. And especially, Major League Baseball Spring Training comes to the Cactus League of Arizona. Spring training is one of the things I most missed when I moved to California, and I try to catch a couple of games every year when I visit home. Regular season games at Dodger Stadium are not the same at all.

                But this year, as the thrill of spring is at hand, with all the newness and freshness it brings, the first anniversary of my mother’s death approaches, and I am having a hard time feeling the wind beneath my wings. For now when I visit home, I can only visit a grave, instead of feeling my mother’s little arms wrap tightly around me, and I find it difficult to find happiness in the little joys and miracles of spring. I don’t even want to go to a spring training game. The thought of seeing the desert in all its beautiful glory, painting the desert with pastels and the bright yellow-green blooms of the Palo Verde trees, is somehow frightening now. My mother was alive last spring and now she is not, and I face the bittersweet experience of a new spring without her laughter and bright smile.

                And yet, I also know that it is time to let go. Let go of my mom. Let go of my grief. Let go of all of my despair and self-doubt. Let go, let go, let go!!

                And today there is new life in my back yard; and I watch squirrels steal fruit from my trees, and I hear the baby birds in their nests. My peach and plum trees are blossoming now. And soon my roses will be blooming again, and let’s not forget the sweet scent of the orange blossoms.  All of this beauty and new life is all around me and I cannot close myself off to it any longer. For to do so would certainly not honor my mother’s memory, and the memories of her joy in seeing the coming of spring. Sometimes I think that I can actually hear her voice telling me to let go now. Let go of death. Embrace life.