The flames were dancing in the chiminea last evening as an oriole landed on the deck railing a few inches from the dish of jelly. Staying as still as could be, John and I hoped our bird friend would feel comfortable enough in our presence to perch upon the jelly dish and eat her dinner.

Eventually, she found the courage and jumped to the feeder. After she filled her belly she flew away. John said, “Birds sure can teach you patience.”

It did seem like it took forever for her to make a move, but then, in reality, it was maybe only four minutes and then she was gone again.

The birds, especially the orioles, have been such a comfort to me this summer as it was the first without Gidget. 

I was overcome with emotion and my voice quivered as I said, “I’m sure going to miss them when they leave.”

“They will be back again next spring,” John said reassuringly.

“I know, but they really did help me this summer.”

The day before, early in the morning, I witnessed three pair on the deck rail. That was a first! I tried to get all six in a photo, but alas, they are quite quick. But I did manage to get four in a shot.

It’s the first year the orioles have stayed through the summer. The past few years, even though I continued to put jelly out for them throughout the summer, they didn’t stick around too long after Mother’s Day, when they first appear.

I began to wonder if there was a connection for me with these orioles. Just the fact the males are such a bright and beautiful orange is like getting a shot of pure joy when I see them.

But then I thought back to the fact they typically arrive around Mother’s Day and the fact we had to say goodbye to Gidget the day before Mother’s Day this year.

It was the Monday before Mother’s Day when I’d find myself moving through another layer of grief and the fact that I’d never give birth to children in this lifetime. 

Saying goodbye to Gidget the day before Mother’s Day had significant meaning for me. Gidget’s presence and teaching for me are that she helped guide me inward to explore and heal an inner wound I’d kept buried for over two decades (which I share in my upcoming memoir).

It’s been a year of many goodbyes – from my dear friend Miss Marie, to my sweet and wise Gidget, to recently my 90-year old friend, Marilyn who I’ve known for over forty-five years – all within three months of each other – all three very wise dames. 🙂

And soon I’ll have to say goodbye to the orioles (and the hummingbirds which are my favorite bird).

I thought about how John felt the need to comfort me assuring me the orioles will be back again next spring. But how often it is we want to bypass the grief stage.

Grief has so much to teach us. So many gifts to give us. The mere fact the orioles brought me an immense amount of joy and that they were here all summer, of course, I will grieve once they leave. But along with that, I’m left with the hope that indeed, they will return again.

I turned to the internet and researched the symbolism of oriole to see if there was any other information that might resonate and found this: Orioles will help you discover your own inner child and a renewed sense of joy in life.

My oriole friends carried on the work of my dear Gidget. I knew in my heart that when Gidget passed she would be the last special needs dachshund I’d adopt. For me, in many ways, I feel as I’ve gone through the stages of being an empty nester as parents do. And this morning it occurred to me how if Gidget was a human child, having moved out of the house, I would have loved welcoming her home again for visits.

But alas, she was a dog, but a being I was blessed to care and nurture, even though at times it was difficult and challenging. And though I’ve made a conscious decision to explore life in a new way now, I had to grieve what was and my life with Gidget. But I’ve also welcomed this new space of joy I find myself in and newfound freedom I’ve not had for quite some time.

And I’m still finding my way with feeling my way toward what new avenues I want to explore and play with. The oriole birds – my friends as a reminder that though grief is part of life – so too is joy.

xo,

Barbara