On Wings Laden With Memories

As she lay quietly in bed, one shallow breath from dozing into that peaceful reprieve from all the sadness of the prior three days, she was startled awake with a gasp. The unmistakable screech of a barn owl pealed so sharply and closely that she caught herself frozen, afraid to move for fear that it had somehow gotten inside her bedroom. After what seemed like an eternity but had only been mere seconds, she mustered the determination to sit up quickly in bed and turn on the bedside lamp, still holding her breath with the expectation of finding herself face to face with the creature. After surveying the room and finding that, thankfully, she was not being watched over by the huge eyes of an owl, she moved cautiously toward her window, pulled back the curtain and immediately felt her heart drop into her stomach when she was met by the glare of the old fellow perched on the lowest limb of the old oak tree outside. He was sitting there gazing at her as if he’d been sent there specifically to deliver some secret message that was only intended for her. She felt her heart begin to race, right along with her superstitious mind and forced herself to lie back down although she could not bring herself to turn off the lamp: even as an 18 year old in college, she had always had to sleep with a light on for fear of what the darkness might hide. Moments later, almost as if the owl had detected her absence from the window, she heard it screech again then heard a thud against the outside of her house. It startled her so badly this time that she found herself considering if death might just be better.

Death! Who was it or where was it that she’d learned about the superstition surrounding the screeching of an owl foretelling the soon passing of a loved one? Her mind began to race with fear then worry then denial as she tried to convince herself that she was confused about the meaning. Following another heart wrenching few minutes of laying in silence with her eyes wide open and jaws clenched, she crept back to the window and was relieved to see that the owl was no longer there. A quick jaunt to the bathroom and a few sips of water were followed by a prayer for her daddy who had been admitted to the hospital three days earlier suffering from the impacts of a lifetime of alcohol abuse and smoking. She had watched him dying little by little for her entire life, slowly sealing his fate. But as often life does, he had been granted the last few years alcohol free to make up for his horrible mistakes as a father, becoming a kind and loving grandfather to her four, small children. In that prayer such great comfort was found that she dozed off into the deepest, sweetest sleep she’d had in days.

She was awakened the next morning to knocking on her door. Her cousin was there to sit with her children because her daddy had taken a turn for the worse: it was imminent that she get to the hospital to see him. Through lots of self talk, she managed to hold back her tears as she threw on clothes and escaped from the arms of the one child who had also been awakened by the knocking. He was scared and old enough to understand what was going on yet too young to feel safe being left in the care of someone who was basically a stranger to him. She had no choice but to hand him over screaming as she ran out the door and raced in her car to the hospital which was fifteen minutes away. Fifteen minutes: this was all that stood between her and the first man she’d ever loved. Fifteen minutes: this was all that stood between her and a million memories that flashed through her mind as she drove, tears rolling down her face. Fifteen minutes to race through moments of joy and heartbreak at the hands of the only man who she’d ever loved unconditionally. As she arrived at the hospital, outside her daddy’s hospital door she was ushered in with whispers of “hurry before he’s gone”. It wasn’t until she touched his arm that she realized he’d already drawn his last breath: the cool, lifeless feel of his skin, the sunken, hollow of his face, the stiff, unwavering chest. The disbelief, the devastation, the heart wrenching battle to fight back wails of anger and sadness at having not had the chance to say goodbye: once again, the flashing of a million moments as photos racing through her memory reminded her of all the times she’d watched him slowly taking his own life, little by little, drink by drink. Yet in one instant, death had greedily taken any further hope of absolution or spoken words of forgiveness or love. It was over.

As she drove back home nearly as hurriedly as she’d left, she found herself wondering how she’d tell her children. How would she handle their tears and questions? How would she maneuver the days and years and moments to come without her daddy and without their one and only Pappaw? Of course, as we do because it must be done, she pulled herself together and after dismissing her relative with gratitude, she sat down with the three children who were old enough to realize what had happened. They all cried together, ushering him away to heaven on the wings of an old, barn owl who’d dropped by during the night: strong, powerful wings, sent to help him make it peacefully there in tow of a lifetime of memories and love.