midwest neurotica

We all have them, they are what unites us in this bizarre chaos of humanity. We have moments that change us from here on out. Some are so brief they do not register for days, months, years later and some come hurdling at you with dead birds and a flood of tears.
I look back at my 27 years (roughly 14,390,706 minutes) and think about those moments that defined me, changed me, or just stand out in my mind, for better or for worse.

1. Stacey dropping a robin’s egg on her driveway
2. Being the only girl invited to Wade Penhorwood’s birthday party
3. Being kissed on the bus by Matt Anderson
4. Learning about trees and realizing I cared
5. Being told we are moving to Texas
6. My dad being hit by a drunk driver
7. Layla being played a JuliSue’s bat mitzvah
8. Hyperventilating before my first kiss
9. Mark’s suicide
10. Front row at the Hootie concert
11. Going to the hospital after Dave’s accident
12. Hearing about Strawberry’s cancer after a heroes workshop
13. Talking to Aunt Marilyn after death
14. A benefactor buys my first domain
15. When Mrs. Dillon shows me her recommendation
16. Changing my nickname from Jen to Fer
17. Holding hands at Best Buy after the big breakup
18. Seeing my husband’s name on the list of summer students
19. Waking up to grandma’s music box
20. Making a new friend in Cincinnati

In writing this list above I realize that I have always had odd moments that gave me closure on certain parts of my life or ones that helped me finally come to terms with a breakup or death. It it those moments that I actually thought of first. Turning points.

And then there is today. I will start by mentioning that I thought about reading Where the Red Fern Grows this morning, but couldn’t find it quickly. Fast forward. I get home from work and put my things on the table. I decided immediately that I need to cut some roses to put around the house. This is not normally what I do when I get home from work.

I go out the front door to grab the pruning clippers and walk around back. I notice the fountain is running a little slow. Indeed the water level is low where the fountain sucks up the water. I stop. Oh, I should clean out these leaves. Wait, those aren’t leaves. They are dead baby birds.

Immediately, I sob and think of the robins. My little babies. Wait, how many were there, one.. two..three.. four. Yes four dead baby robins. I run back in the house, and continue to sob uncontrollably. I don’t understand how there can be FOUR dead baby robins in my pond.

I pull myself together. I change clothes, putting on my hot pink crocs. I head out to the backyard and grab a shovel. I will just dig a hole and let my husband bury the four dead baby robins when he gets home. How nice of me.

I choose a spot near our solitary rose bush, the one I was going to cut flowers from. The ground is tough from years of neglect, but I muster a decent-sized hole. Then I decide that I can do this myself. I will use the shovel to scoop the birdies from their watery grave and transfer them to a safer final resting place.

I decide that I can’t just dump these babies onto the bare soil. I carefully cut the four most beautiful roses from the bush and placed them at the bottom of the hole. I grab the shovel, some courage and head to the pond. Ok, how to scoop up dead baby birds without ‘hurting’ them. I had no idea if they would be squishy or stiff or what. (They were very stiff.) I studied the scene for a moment. Wait, there is a fifth. Shit, there is a 6th.

I think a little bit about realize these are probably not the babies from my back porch. Or maybe I am just hoping so desperately for their survival. In either case there are six. Six. 6. Six dead baby birds in my pond. How the heck did I get here?

I cry some more and suck it up. I cut 2 more roses for the hole. Ok, I can do this. I carefully scoop out each of the six babies and place them on the hot pink roses in the hole. One by one I am questioning. How did this happen? Am I dreaming? What did I do wrong? What do this mean? Why are there six?

My mind is racing as I frantically grasp at myself, my own truths to figure out why I am burying 6 baby birds. Then it hits me in a raging flood of tears.

Some force that I do not understand set the stage. Only I could do this today. I was meant to do this on my own, and it would be ok. Not only could I dig a hole, but I could bury 6 baby birds. I could finally lay to rest all of my guilt and heartache and confusion and sadness for the demise of my 6 year relationship. I am guessing that 6 years ago today, #18 happened.

Today was my closure. Today is #21 on the list. The day I found 6 baby birds in my pond. The day I began to heal.

I then gently cover them with soil until the hole is filled. I cut the last two irises in my yard and place them on top.

I return to the site and say a prayer. I don’t believe I’ve ever really prayed, maybe just that one night my parents were getting home late the first time I didn’t have a baby sitter. And I definitely know I’ve never done any sort of ritual or prayer or ceremony out loud. I’ve always been too self conscious.

I bawl as I call on the directions to surround this grave site with love and blessings. I offer thanks for life and ask for future happiness to all that dwell and have dwelled here. I give my most profound apology for my role in this sad, unfortunate event. I let go.

I wipe my tears, and walk away.

I get out the hose and begin refilling the pond, the fountain’s trickle returning to a steady stream.

And now I sit, on a back porch that will soon not be mine. It is dusk, my favorite time of day. And even though this sad thing has happened, the birds are still chirping and life goes on.