The Small Things I Remember

“When I was very young, my grandmother had a bird bath in her side yard. 

It was nothing fancy.  A concrete base with a concrete basin on top, totaling maybe 3 feet in height.  The basin had to be refreshed with water daily with the garden hose. 

How many people own a bird bath and actually keep it full of fresh water these days? 

My grandmother’s was always full of fresh water. 

I remember being so tickled watching the birds flittering their feathers in the water.  It was the funniest thing to me.  I would sit at the dining table, nestled by the window, watching the show.

She would name the birds - look, there’s a finch (the small one), and this black one is a starling. 

Before or after their bath, they would go to the nearby bird feeder and help themselves to a meal of seeds.  Sometimes a squirrel would try to get a fill of seed and we would curse the squirrel but also marvel in its tenacity to get a meal. 

There was nothing special going on between the bird bath and the bird feeder but I felt I had my own private view of a pretty special event.  

In fact, it was a special event. 

Little did I know, I was living just one part of my story that was bound to be temporary. 

Several years later, my grandmother died and the house was eventually sold. 

I spent much of my childhood time with her and thought she would always be there.  Until she wasn’t.  And now I experience her through mere memories. 

No one told me that’s how life worked. 

It can feel a bit sobering and sad because it has happened time and again with people I love. 

And yet here I am thinking of the joys of a bird taking a bath as I look for one more moment with a person I held so dear. 

An unexpected gift of this has been that I now look at the people I love and recognize the time is precious.  I also now know that loss is inevitable. 

How we cope is up to us.”

Shared with permission. Names and identifying details may be changed.

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Even in the mud, something is beginning.