Hello. This short post is about Death & Birds.
I don’t know what my earliest memory is, chronologically, but I have little sketches of memories from around the age of three. I remember being at the bottom of a staircase and looking up at my mother, who was sitting on the top stair with her head in her hands. Knowing now that this was only a few months before her Death gives a strange intensity to that moment, frozen in time. I wish I’d known how to comfort her.
I remember finding crystals, pink and purple treasures, underneath her pillow in the hospice. They were rose quartz and amethyst, healing stones—though not army enough against the cancer that ravaged her. I remember a Robin sat on the wall of the patio outside of her hospice room, and I remember showing a flower I’d picked to a very kind, very elderly man who sat in a wheelchair outside. I remember being held by a woman with red hair, while watching Magpies perched on gravestones in the churchyard as my mother was buried. I wonder if the Magpies that do the same thing today are decedents of the Magpies from then.
I read a profile, this week, on a man whose intention is “Not to die”. He is extraordinarily wealthy and seemingly very committed so, who knows, perhaps he’ll manage it. I found myself feeling desperately sorry for him, though. He looked terrified. Then again, I suppose you’d have to be to spend $2 million a year and your every waking moment fighting against something so ordinary. His immortalist efforts see him wake up at 4.30am, finish eating by 11am, and spend most of his day in a fasting state under LED lights before going to bed, alone, without exception, at 8.30pm.
What a strange way to spend eternity.
Yours in aimless flight…
Though you've been here on Earth for much of my life (I suspect), you didn't exist until a few months ago. And now, although I've never actually seen your face or spoken to you in person, you are a steady flame, flickering well beyond the curvature of this planet we both travel and seek to understand, a source of light and warmth that enlarges the world a bit and makes it seem noticeably friendlier. How such a thing can be is beyond me. That it is, delights me. Your story, its calm, wise telling is a gift, a portal through thousands of miles of stone and darkness that allows eyes on this side of our shared planet to see, feel, understand... moments we were never present to, fleeting architects of the person you became. The glow of your very intentional light helps delineate the curved horizon to my east. I'm less apprehensive about the dark. Thank you.
"What a strange way to spend eternity"
Omg dearst Chloe...thanks so much for this beautiful post...I love that you pointed the obvious without judgment! I need to learn that. Holding space for everyone who suffers one way or another starting with ourselves. And a prayer for you and your mom! From earth we come to earth we shall return.