Song Sparrow, Sing Me A Song...

For Ash

     My sister loved birds. I teased her about it a lot. What an odd thing for a twenty four year old to start loving and collecting. Girls our age collect stories of late nights downtown with friends, shot glasses from cities they’ve visited, shoes. Sixty year old women collect birds. Since she’s passed away, I’ve found a love for all things feathered. It’s made me feel close to her in a way A chance to build on the collection that she isn’t able to finish. We split her quaint collection of birds between my mother and sister. I moved into my apartment, with two bird figurines, and a tiny tattoo of a bird with ‘Ash’ floating above it. In the months since my sister’s death, I’ve waited to see her again. I don’t explicitly know how the next life works, and I’m definitely navigating my new life without her, completely lost most days. I’ve been praying and waiting for some time with her. In the weeks after her death, I waited for beautiful dreams of her in heaven. Even beautiful dreams of things we had once done together, but those dreams haven’t come. Any dreams really. I’ve felt spiritual disconnect unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I look for her in everything that I do. Sometimes I even wonder if I think about her too much. Eight months since she left us, and coming up on what was supposed to be our twenty fifth birthday together, I’ve been feeling a sense of hopelessness in my quest to be closer to her. I’ve said it over and over again, but I’m an analyzer of all things, and for what might be the first time in my life; and what will probably be the most significant , my analyzing (and Ash I’m quite certain) brought me to tears in a beautiful way this past week.
     I’ve been living by myself since April, and have been glittering this apartment with memories of her. My room has been my last project, and the walls have been bare for the four months I’ve lived here. Do I put pictures of her up? Will that just make me sad? I haven’t known what to do with the space at all, and in all the years I lived with Ash, she was the decorator of our lives. And even now, I am learning she still is. Last week I went to California with my family. We visited the Redwoods of Northern California. I was overwhelmed with tears as I walked down trails, and climbed on trees. Ash and I once ran through those trails together. Summer after summer, hiding from each other; we’d climb and explore the fallen trees. I have amazing memories of time spent there with her. As I walked and listened, all I could focus on were birds. The sky was a pretty blue that day, and despite my crying, it was just a beautiful and bright day. This really isn’t that significant, given my obsession with them since her death, but there on the trails I decided I should somehow incorporate this into something for my walls that would make me happy, while still incorporating her love of birds We left and drove to Monterrey, California and stumbled on an amazing antique store. I felt a fire inside of me to find something in this store for Ash. Two problems, huge store…closing in fifteen minutes. I managed to grab two ‘Bird and Nature Magazines’ from 1906 and a beautifully famed piece of wall paper with a bird on it. I actually loved the framed picture, and it had some blue in it. The magazines, if anything, were old and might make for some interesting faded wall hangings. When I finally made it home to Texas, I began to thumb through the magazines. Instantly, I was disappointed. I was expecting lots of cool bird pictures, and what I got was scientific looking fold out diagrams for the most part. Until page 23. A story titled ‘The Song Sparrow’, opened with this,

     ‘While men are speculating on the truth of the statement, that “wealth lessens, rather than increases, human happiness,” the ecstatic notes of the song sparrow are offering ample proof that , in the bird-world at least, happiness is not dependent upon fine feathers or luxurious quarters. During the cheerless winter days, although his dusky little form is indistinct among the dead leaves of the frozen thicket, this brave bird sends a thrill of joy through every heart, as his song, clear and rapturous, rises above the hoarse moan of the wintry wind, and mingles with the snowflakes.’

You can imagine the tears streaming down my face. The only thing in my mind as I was reading this, was Ash. These words were floating off of the page at me. Everything, I’ve ever thought about her was here on this page, in a magazine about what she loved…and someone else wrote it in 1906. I kept reading, only to find more proof that Ash wanted me to see her. Not in a dream as I had imagined, but in her own free spirited, not so blatant way.

     A poem by Henry Van Dyke,

‘With darker patches at his throat, And yet of all the well dressed throng, Not one can sing so brave a song. It makes the pride of looks appear, a vain and foolish thing, to hear his sweet, sweet, sweet, very merry cheer. A lofty place he does not love, but sits by choice, and well at ease, in hedges and the little trees. That stretch their slender arms above. The meadow brook; and there he sings, till all the field with pleasure rings; And so he tells in ever ear, that lowly homes to heaven are near, in sweet, sweet, sweet, very merry cheer.’

Still balling, and still thumbing, Ash ended our evening with this,

Here Be My Loves

By John Vance Cheney

Here by my loves among the feathered things


The angels lend their tunes to, and their wings.

The lowly sparrows, cradled on the ground,

To hear earth’s heart, and sing that happy sound;

The thrushes, they of melody so pure

Whether ‘tis earth’s or heaven’s I am not sure;

Why I thought it would all come so easy, I’m not sure. Nothing about this journey has been easy, and I don’t think it will be. I’ll be dealing with her death for the rest of my life. Little moments like this one are what make me believe that though it feels impossible at times to acknowledge, there is most definitely a God far greater than anything I can completely comprehend. I understand Ash’s love for birds now more than I ever did when she was still alive. And now I know in fact, these things really aren’t that random at all, but probably exactly as they were supposed to be. In reading these words, I can only imagine what her new life must be like, but I think her love and connect with the bird-world as this passage describes, go hand in hand…or feather in feather if you will. I love you sister, Happy Birthday to the most beautiful girl I know, and the one I miss and love so much!