Adios Pájaros y Tía

The other day as we were busy getting children ready for a school day; breakfast, teeth brushed, lunches ready, sun lotion on, we heard a loud whomp--a sound that has become all too familiar and sickening to us, of birds crashing into our windows. We looked outside to see a dove type bird laying on the deck, its last life force making its body quiver. Just then, our beautiful housekeeper, Rebeca came along. She picked up the bird and stroked its back. She blew on its neck and near its tail feathers but its head was hanging to one side. Clearly, it had broken its neck. Asa and Eva watched with hope it would revive but after Rebeca shook her head, no, they understood it was dying. Asa held the little bird as it died, all of us sad in the moment.

The kids wanted to have a funeral for the bird, so Tim and they went down to the garden and buried it with some rocks marking the spot. Since then, we've had several other bird crash incidents, most of which have resulted in birds flying away. Today we had two crash into the window during the perfectly dreadful conditions of a certain kind of morning light that makes them believe our window is open space with another tree on which to land--a little yellow bird and then an iridescent, aqua winged one, both of which flew away but the latter of which suffered a bent beak from the incident. We have looked up how to prevent this bird crashing, and other than covering the window entirely with something, it sounds like it is difficult to do. We will start with some silhouettes of hawks taped to the window to see if that works. We also said goodbye to a beautiful hummingbird that died. Rebeca helped the children bury this one and added some hibiscus flowers to the graves. We hope our bird cemetery doesn't grow any more.

Asa and Eva with deceased hummingbird

Our little bird cemetery

Yesterday Rebeca came to the house with the news that her great aunt had died in the early morning. She lived just down the road from her and was almost 90 years old when she died suddenly. Rebeca had only just heard the news and was quiet and sad as she went about her work at our house until she left to join her family and wait for her aunt's body to be returned from the morgue to her house. She knew her well, something hard for me to imagine having grown up far away from great and regular aunts and uncles but easier for Tim to understand I think, having grown up with extended family within baseball throwing distance. She had memories of this particular great aunt always giving out bread to her and her childhood friends as they would pass by her house after school.

As I write this, Rebeca is at her aunt's funeral mass at a tiny little pink church down the road. Surely, there will be many attending as her aunt was one of the oldest people around and many people knew her. Her body has been at the church since yesterday and through the night. The family has stood vigil with her all night through and friends and extended family have come by for the "vela" or visitation. Funerals happen very quickly here as bodies are typically not embalmed. As is traditional, all the people at the funeral will walk to the cemetery one last time with Rebeca's aunt to bury her. We've inadvertently gotten behind this kind of procession before when we first arrived and were in a hurry to get some errands done. We could not drive faster than the masses who were slowly walking behind the hearst to the cemetery--a good opportunity to practice putting aside our agenda for what is presently going on.

Tim was commenting today that our life in Anchorage has us so removed from old age and death. Older people are generally put in nursing homes or assisted living, far from our neighborhood. It is rare to hear of a family that has a grandparent living with them, and once someone dies, the grieving process is discrete and enclosed in the funeral parlor or church. Our children don't know very many older people, and this is different from Tim's growing up experience in rural Arkansas, where he knew many older people, and their passing was a regular occurence. This proximity to death makes it seem more like a natural part of living and a reminder of the temporary nature of all living things. It seems like this can only make us dig in to living our own lives most fully.