Donna Robertson
Together we sit on the concrete porch, the hot Alabama spring sun shining down on us. I can feel the sweat dribbling down my legs, and the heat reflecting up from the sun warmed concrete makes me uncomfortable. I look at her, and quickly decide I can suffer a little discomfort. She sits beside me, her body once hale and hearty, now frail and she soaks up the warmth of the sun. She is never warm enough, her blood thinned unmercifully by the monster that eats away at her. Her hair gone gray, and her face lined now, it seems to me overnight. I look at her hands, folded quietly in her lap and am amazed at how young they still appear. Her strength quickly fades now, and she no longer is the whirlwind I have known all my life. She stares intently, thru her right eye, the left eye forever blinded now. Conversation is difficult, for along with her sight, the ravages of cancer has taken most of her hearing.
As I watch her, she smiles, quickly and her head turns from side to side, and she says to me, " Look Donna, there is one, and there, another one."
My two good eyes have to look hard to catch sight of the quickly flying little birds. Hummingbirds, they flitter from feeder to feeder. We have placed the feeders with their bright red food, around the back yard in strategic locations. First I see one, and then two and then three of the little miracle birds. Their wings making a buzzing sound and moving so fast they are simply a blur. The little bodies are visible though, the heads brightly colored on two, a bright green and the third a duller brown. She claps her hands lightly, delighted in the sight of the birds. Forever, she has loved hummingbirds. Now that it is so difficult to go anywhere or do anything, this is one pleasure that is still hers.
As I watch her, I think back, years and years, to another time and another porch. It is on the front of a big white house, there are rocking chairs here. In one of those chairs she sits, and in her lap is a little girl, about 5 years old. She reads to her, and by doing so transports her to the worlds or once upon a time and happily ever after. Her bright brown eyes smile down at the little girl and she never tires of reading the stories. Occasionally, she will stop, and point out into the bushes by the steps. " Look Donna, there is one, and another one." The little girl sees the birds, tiny, fast and wants to know if they are baby birds. "No, not babies at all, just tiny birds, that feed in the flowers." The little girl laughs with her mother, enjoying the acrobats of the birds.
It's another hot, early spring day, and I sit under the tent at her graveside. I cannot cry, all I can feel is relief. I hold my baby sister's hand on one side, and my father's hand on the other. Behind me, I feel the strong loving hands of my husband on my shoulders. I listen as words are spoken, but I long for it to end. I said my good-byes two nights before. I watched in the night sky as the Hale-Bop comet was visible, a beautiful sight. I went into the house and to the bed where she lay. Eyes closed, quiet, no words had she spoken in 24 hours. I picked up her hand in mine, and held it, leaned down and said, "Mom, I have just seen the most beautiful sight, I want you to see it also. It is OK to go now. I love you." With me holding one hand, and my little sister holding the other, she took a last breath and left us. I will see her again one day.
The fall has come, and finally, after so many long years, my husband and I have a place we can call home. A beautiful house, that I fell in love with the first time I saw it. Not fancy by any means, but beautiful. My only sorrow that Mom did not live to see it. It is late in October, and I am sitting in the den, on the floor as is my habit, and out of the corner of my eyes I see movement at the French doors. I look up and feel my heart speed and tears come to my eyes. There, much too late in the year, hovering outside the door, looking in upon me is a hummingbird. There I sat feeling her presence, her love surrounds me. She knows, and I feel peace.
Now, on my deck, there hangs hummingbird feeders and I patiently fill them each spring. Each time I see a hummingbird, I whisper, "Hello Mom, I love you too."
Note from me: My sister wrote this beautiful story, all the more lovely because it is true. I post it here, now, for my sister who I admire tremendously, and love more than I can say.
