Athena's Bird

Gina startled and emerged from her slumber. A pale daylight filtered through the curtains. She heard the rooster crow. She had finally managed to doze off after another night of tossing and turning. She had not slept at all since she arrived. Too many thoughts whirling around in her brain – memories, indecisions, regrets… And now that darn bird was waking up the whole world, her included. She briefly fantasized about eating it roasted for dinner, then pulled herself out of bed and opened the window.

Sunrise still colored the horizon, a soft shade of pink and purple above the hills. Trees and meadows cascading down the slopes, birds chirping, leaves rustling in the soft summer breeze. She had always loved those first hours of the morning, when you feel one with nature. She inhaled deeply, taking in sounds and smells, as if she was one of those first people who discovered this land, when it was still untouched and pristine. She wished she had known those days.

She had arrived at the farm five days ago, just in time for the funeral. The ceremony had been brief and heartfelt. She had shaken hands with town officials and friends from the various clubs her mother had belonged to – the botanical association, the book club, the bingo club, the women’s chapter… All mourning with her, her sister and her daughter, sharing the same sense of shock. Aneurysm. Gone too soon. After Gina’s father had succumbed to cancer ten years earlier, her mother had kept a busy social life and was well-liked around their little Montana town. She stayed in the farmhouse and rented out most of the land and fields, keeping a large lot around the house and the barn as her garden. Her flower beds were her pride and joy, and she kept an impeccable vegetable patch and an orchard.

Gina smiled at the memory of her mother cooking her acclaimed soups and jams that she sold at the local farmer’s market. They had always had a complicated relationship, two headstrong personalities that inevitably clashed after a few days together. When she was younger, she had wished so many times to be like her younger sister. Donna was funny and easygoing, Donna was pretty and popular, Donna was patient and helpful, Donna had always been Daddy’s girl. While Gina and her husband moved to California, Donna married a local boy and stayed close. She took care of everything for her parents, from doctor appointments to tax returns, sitting with her mom through her dad’s long illness. Gina felt a pang of guilt. She had come to visit, of course, but at that point she was clearly an outsider in her own family.

This time though, it was her turn to take care of things. Donna was over her head with her two young boys, the second one with Down syndrome. She had called her in tears. “Please, I need you to stay a bit longer and go over Mom’s things, I don’t have time. You’re not teaching summer school this year, are you?” Gina could not say no. School was out for the summer and her children didn’t need her anymore. Danny was backpacking through Europe and could not even be reached. Lisa flew in for the funeral but left the next day, eager to return to her internship at a law firm in Chicago. None of them bothered to call much anyway. Maybe I got what I deserve, she thought cynically. I haven’t always been the perfect mother. After she and Mike divorced, there had been a distance, a void that she was never able to fill. She felt that her children had drifted away from her. Or maybe that was just them growing up and the cycle of life. Maybe she was just too hard on herself.

She had spent the next four days putting away her mother’s clothes, emptying drawers, sorting papers, going through old photos. Memories rushed through her head, summoned by an object, a photo, a card. Emotions whirled around in her brain, sending her sobbing one minute and laughing the next. Yesterday, she had mustered the energy to pack up her mother’s precious owl collection. She had accumulated hundreds of them through the years – little figurines, sculptures, paintings… Everyone knew her passion for these birds, so people gave them to her as presents or brought them back from trips. They were all over the house and came in all sizes. When her daughters gently teased her about it, she would say with an enigmatic smile, “Athena’s bird. The goddess of wisdom.”

Gina made some coffee and sat at the bistro table just outside the door. Tomorrow she would be flying back to San Francisco, back to her life. A sense of sadness overwhelmed her. Tears of regret and exhaustion. Things she could have done but probably never would. Not now. Too late? She had read stories and seen movies about people making bucket lists and had always found it fun and endearing. But never had she thought about it for herself. Never had she experienced that sense of urgency that was nagging her now. How does that happen? How does life pass you by? One day you’re in college, meeting this charming guy who sweeps you off your feet, next thing you know you are married, two kids, and woosh… you’re fifty and divorced, your back hurts after a night out, and you need glasses to read a menu.

She spent the morning packing, sorting, cleaning, throwing away bits and pieces of her childhood, keeping others. It was getting hot. She fixed herself a small lunch, took a shower and felt the urge to take one last walk around the property. To print every corner, every wall, every brick in her mind, and take it home with her.

The farm was quiet in the scorching afternoon sun. Flies buzzed by. A tractor engine roared, its sound muffled by the distance. The dry grass crinkled under her feet as she made her way to the barn. It was hot and stuffy inside, but at least there was shade. She lay down on the hay, reminiscing of the games she used to play with her cousins when they were kids, digging tunnels in the hay, playing hide-and-seek, scratching their arms and legs. It didn’t seem that long ago.

A soft hoot woke her from her reverie. She peered around in the darkness, watching for movement. She had this acute sensation of being watched, the kind that makes you look over your shoulder in the street. And then she saw it. A few feet away from her, nesting in the hay, was a tiny brown owl, its eyes slanted, staring at her intently and curiously. It let out another hoot, soft as a whisper. She stared back, fascinated by the aura that emanated from the bird. “Athena’s bird”. It’s a sign. She felt at peace, surrounded by harmony, as if she was sinking in a giant cotton ball.

“Thank you, Mom. I love you”, she murmured before falling asleep.