A feathered friend becomes a source of comfort.
- Posted on May 21, 2017
Up early every morning to work our farm, and home by dinner every night.
That was my husband, Lynn. Every day for 42 years.
When Lynn died I didn’t know what to do. It was bad enough missing him. But without Lynn’s daily routine my own life lost its shape. Without him to kiss good-bye each morning or welcome home each night, I hardly had a reason to get out of bed.
Then one morning soon after the funeral I woke up to a “tap, tap, tap” at the window. A bright yellow canary blinked at me through the glass, a rare sight in the wild. That night before bed I saw him again, looking at me from the same window. I started to look forward to his visits. Up in the morning and home in the evening, I thought. Just like Lynn.
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The canary returned to structure my days for a good while. Long enough to help me through the first rough patch without Lynn.
Every time I saw my colorful, feathered friend I thought of Lynn, still following his old routine up in heaven, where angels’ wings are white, not yellow.