Saturday, September 30, 2006

eulogy for a baby bird

In my job and in my family life, I've become quite familiar with death. Unexpected and awful death, gentle and longed-for death, tragic death, peaceful death. I work with people who are ill or very old, so nearly each week I lose a friend to death. Some are ready and I rejoice for them. Some are fighting to the last. I've learned how to mourn appropriately and move on. But this morning, I found myself in tears when I reached work and found the baby bird from our aviary dead in the bottom. He'd had an accident last week, and I've been nursing him along, hoping he'd make it. I don't even really like birds, so I'm not sure where all of this emotion came from. Probably exhaustion. The twelve hours I worked yesterday have combined with coming in early again today to produce a numbness that is only thawed by large quantities of Diet Dr. Pepper. So here I am. Teary over a baby bird. My friend Edna, who is turning 100 this month, watched me from her wheelchair as I removed the baby bird from the aviary . "That's a terrible responsibility," she said. Perspective came washing over me as I looked into her serious face.

Matthew 10:29-31 "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows." (or even zebra finches)