thank you

I wanted to say thank you to all who have sent condolences via comments here and via private email. It means so much to me.

Yesterday was the first time in a year that my mom has been able to visit us here at November Hill. She came with my teenaged nephew, who is on spring break, and we had an entire day to just hang out.

We walked out to the front field so that she could meet Redford, who promptly darted into the thicket of trees and peeped out at the new friends, while Rafer Johnson had his nose in their pockets, but gently, as he is the best ambassador of donkeys there is.

In a minute, Redford decided it was just too hard to miss out on all the attention, so he walked over and stuck his nose into the action.

The horses all said hello, and the pony showed off his grazing muzzle, and even laid down and rolled, grazed with it from the prone position, and then got up and shook the pollen off his painted self.

It was a nice illustration for all of us of adaptation to new things, and how what starts out difficult can transform to being just fine.

I also wanted to pull a couple of things from the previous post's comments.

My anecdote from the weekend:

Sometime over the weekend I was standing at the kitchen window wondering how my dad is doing where he is now, and I thought "if you're doing okay, send me a sign via a bird in the backyard."

I waited for a few minutes and nothing happened, and I figured he was busy or else he just didn't like the parameters of my request! And I forgot about it.

Yesterday I was sitting here working on something and I kept hearing the most beautiful bird song that sounded like it was right inside the laundry room door. At first I thought it might be coming from upstairs and somehow was echoing oddly down here.

But it kept on, and I got up to go check it out. When I got to the laundry room door, I glimpsed a tiny gray and white and black finch, so tiny I couldn't believe it was making such vibrant birdsong.

I opened the door and stepped out onto the deck, and instead of flying away, the finch hopped onto the branch inches away from my face, and looking straight at me, burst into a 15-20 second song that was absolutely stunning.

The little bird looked like he was all decked out in a tiny suit: gray pants, white shirt, black jacket. And then it hit me: he looked like my father in the dashing outfits he wore when he was young. The moment I had that thought, the bird finished the song and literally darted off, in a streak of flight that seemed to begin on the branch and then just disappear into thin air.

It really made me smile.


And Maddy's comment and poem, which I found so moving:


Your words, beautifully written, of your dad's passing reminded me of this little poem by Kahil Gibran.

I have passed the mountain peak
and my soul is soaring in the firmament
of complete and unbounded
freedom;
I am in comfort,
I am in peace.