The Story of Agnes the Bird....

I don’t fancy myself as Cinderella. Honestly, I don’t.

Granted, I appreciate the small woodland creatures in my backyard. The bunnies and squirrels do whatever bunnies and squirrels do, while I read or write outdoors, and it makes me happy. The fish and snakes are, admittedly, a bit more difficult to reach on a limbic level but I appreciate their company nonetheless. And the birds are constantly chattering and chirping. It is a happy little place, my backyard.

It is a nice place to go and center myself if things feel unsettled. And it has been a slightly unsettling week. Every day this week I’ve had a meeting or conversation with various staff and medical professionals regarding my mom’s discharge from rehab. Every day someone has said they think maybe she is ready to go home. Every day I have said if they feel the need to use the word maybe in the sentence regarding her release, she is not ready to go home. Every day I watch her decline. I mention it to the nurses but, because they don’t know her like I do, they don’t really see it. After a short rally it did seem she was nearing the point where she would be ready to go back to her apartment. But, in recent days, I have seen a change. It feels like we are in a continuous loop and we just can’t seem to break free.

This morning I was in the backyard, on the telephone with my mom’s nurse, when I noticed a bird in our backyard pond. Upon closer inspection I saw a little pigeon just sort of floating around the pond. She was alive and alert but clearly unable to get out of the pond and okay, maybe I’m reading a bit too much into her little beady bird eyes, but she just looked resigned.

I spoke kindly to her and told her I’d get her out of the water. I found a shovel and gently scooped her out of the pond and set her in the grass. My first thought was that Agnes (the name Anna and I later gave her) was going to die. I considered digging a shallow grave to bury her in but then I decided that was premature and probably wouldn’t really encourage her will to live. So, I tabled that idea and went in the house so that Agnes could rest quietly.

A while later I checked on Agnes and she looked pretty much the same. Alive. Breathing. But not exactly doing the bird happy dance. I left her to her own devices again. The next time I checked on Agnes she was walking. I thought that was a good sign so I said a few nice things. One can never get too much encouragement. Even a bird. I went to the bird feeder where I had watched a squirrel gorging himself earlier, and scrounged a bit of bird seed. I set it on the ground for Agnes. If I got too close she scurried away. She wasn’t making any attempts to fly and I hoped that a bit of food would help. I mean, maybe her blood sugar was low after all that swimming or something.

Eventually Agnes made her way around the yard. And then it started to rain. By this time Anna was in on the ‘Save Agnes’ mission and ran outdoors in the rain to put a blanket over a mesh chair to provide dry shelter for our little waterlogged bird. Sometimes she went under it for shelter. Sometimes she walked around in the rain. But it was nice to know she had shelter if she wanted it.

Later, the sun came out and Agnes resumed roaming around the yard. She hopped up on the woodpile. I thought that was a good sign so I went back outside to say ‘good job’ and encourage her to try flying. She stared at me and I’m pretty sure she was telling me she’d fly when she was good and ready. It was about then that I saw the similarities between my mother and Agnes.

This went on pretty much all day and later, when I went out to find Agnes, she was gone. I searched the wood, the trees, and the bushes but there was no Agnes. Apparently she had flown away. But, as I was making my way back into the house, I noticed movement around the pond. I went to check it out and there was Agnes! She’d fallen back in the pond! I’m not sure if she flew or walked to the pond but, however she got there, she was once again floating in the pond, unable to get out.

Oh, Agnes!

I went back to get the shovel. Out of the pond came Agnes. I placed her under the wheelbarrow, since it looked like more rain was coming.

Agnes wasn’t looking too well. The happy ending reward I hoped for may not come to fruition and I might end up digging that shallow grave after all. Nevertheless, I know I’ve done the right thing by Agnes. I hope if she revives enough she doesn’t end up back in the pond again. But she might. I can’t control the outcome. All I can do is serve Agnes in the best way I know.

And so it seems the same type of situation exists with my mother. For reasons I can’t identify, my mother becomes ill, rallies a bit, and just when I think she’s going to revive and all will be all right, like Agnes, she ends up back in the pond.

I can’t see the end of the cycle. I hope Agnes will fly and I hope my mom will once again revive long enough to find fault with just about everything I do. Mostly, I hope my mom’s health will be restored enough to enable her to enjoy what time she has left. But, I just don’t know. I can’t predict.

A few minutes while ago I got a telephone call that my mom’s physician plans to do more tests to see why she is heading downhill again. The staff is seeing it now. Just after that phone call, I went to check on Agnes. She had moved away from the shelter of the wheelbarrow and was sitting in the yard.

Stoically.

Well, frankly, she looks a little pissed off.

I’m not sure, but I think Agnes told me I needed to comb my hair. Maybe there is hope.