Our theme for the month of June is “spirits.”
A couple weeks after the funeral, I was walking from my car to my outdoor apartment staircase. There are a few small trees and bushes surrounding the path, but none substantial enough for a bird to safely nest. I was still pretty out of it then—doing my best to get through the days and not dwell too much on anything.
Just as I approached the building, a bird swept down from seemingly nowhere and almost smacked me in the head. Immediately startled out of my daze, I whipped my head around to locate the unhinged little guy. To my surprise, it was a cardinal. I told my mom about the event, and without hesitation she said, “Oh my gosh, that is sooo Goggy.”
And indeed, it is very on brand for my late grandmother to be messing with me via cardinals.
Goggy always loved cardinals. She would write letters about the ones she’d seen on the tree outside the kitchen window and was always pointing them out when we saw them out in the world. Our family is from St. Louis, so we also root for Cardinal’s baseball. Goggy and Grandpa watched seemingly every single game (which is quite a few for baseball), him commenting on poor plays and her nudging back: “I’d like to see you try.”
The day of her funeral, we were in St. Louis. It was a blur, but I remember the sun was shining and it was a beautiful June day. She loved a sunny summer day (as long as it wasn’t too hot, of course). I remember sitting in the church pew and feeling like I was crumbling. I remember the sun streaming in the windows as my mom bravely read the words I’d written because I couldn’t without wavering. I remember Goggy’s best friend played “Amazing Grace” on her autoharp and heaven felt very close to that room. I remember the faces of the lifelong friends who showed up to carry me through the day. I remember wishing I could hug her.
We had a family lunch following at their home that was now just a house because they weren’t in it. I hated how empty it felt.
But that day we filled it with loved ones. We had catered food facilitated by my mom’s best friend, and we all told stories and looked at pictures and floated through a day we hoped would never come but knew was inevitable.
The gathering was wrapping up, people filtering out and the house was quiet again. I suddenly needed to be outside, immediately. My two oldest friends clocked my change in demeanor and the three of us went right out the front door. We stood in the grass and let the sun hit our faces. I took my shoes off so I could feel my feet on the ground, because apparently that can help quell panic attacks. We all took deep breaths, and I don’t remember what we talked about but I do remember that they were there, steadying me.
We started hearing the loudest chirping, truly incessant. This bird was insisting on being heard. At the same time, the three of us looked up to the towering tree above our heads and there it was—a cardinal looking right at us, singing. My world cracked open. I remember their hands stabilizing me and guiding me back inside. I remember falling to the floor in front of my dad and then fiancé, and my friends saying simply: “we saw a cardinal.” I remember Justin counting to remind me to breathe. I remember him picking me up off the floor.
It’s been two years since we lost Goggy, and the cardinals still visit weekly. I see them when I walk my dog and they follow me on my path, flying from tree to tree to stay above my head. There is a cardinal that regularly visits our porch, always perching where I can see it. The day my husband and I got engaged, there were two cardinals in the tree waiting right by our car. I held up my hand and told my grandparents we were engaged.
When that bird almost nailed me in the head, I went from startled and slightly annoyed to stunned out of my stupor when I realized it had to be Goggy. I felt her telling me to snap out of it, to go live. She was so incredibly stubborn and always wanted to move past the sadness because life is too short. Well, Goggy, I’m sorry, but I insist on being sad that you’re gone. Our world has a gaping hole in it without you—one that we cannot work around or avoid.
But I also insist on living a life you would be proud of. I insist on good hugs, good books, and best friends. I insist on feeding my dog bites of pancakes, on sitting outside whenever the weather allows, on getting excited about summer tomatoes and loving all things lemon and blueberry. I insist on traveling and learning about the world and playing card games and being petty when I lose.
And most of all, I insist on remembering that this life isn’t all there is. I insist on remembering why we’re here, and helping people feel special and seen. On remembering the details and showing up and always being a reminder of God’s sacrificial love.
I miss you. Thank you for the cardinals.
Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.
