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March 15, 2016
Christopher (left) and Nico having some BBQ.
I sit on the grass while I'm wearing shorts. I feel the blades of the green grass brush up against my exposed skin. It feels so alive to be sitting outside. I'm lucky to feel the breeze on my face and the sun's warmth on my skin. My mind starts to ramble about what this particular day represents.
I notice a bird on the power line. He is perched about 16 feet in the air. That bird doesn't care about me. I'm too far away to bother its view, and he isn't worried I will prey upon him. I'm not moving. I marvel at him just as he marvels at the world where he has the best viewing spot.
A gust of wind blows, pushing the bird, but he doesn't move from his spot. He is content where he is, the wind be damned. His little talons grip as hard as he can as he titters back and forth. He survived the first winded wave. And he still gazes.
The sky is blue, but the horizon slowly swallows the sun. The deep orange is drowning out the blue sky like an eraser, eventually erasing the day into a pitch-black memory of another day gone. Still, the light hasn't receded just yet for me. It's still mine to seize.
I sit here in the dwindling light, and I pray. I pray to whom? I pray to what? I just pray to whoever, or whoever, will listen. I'd pray to the bird if I thought he would listen and help me understand where I am in life. I wish I were as confident as that bird on that wire. Self-assured in his flight agility, he jumped off that wire and flew out of sight. He doesn't have to pray to any God. He just knows what he's capable of without any thought and uses God's gifts he was given in this life.
I sit here, in the grass, in the same spot where I sat the day my wife died, and watch that bird intensely as I contemplate where this day has brought me. Not just today but every year. Year after year, for the past four years, I didn't know how I would survive without my wife when she died four years ago. I couldn't imagine my boys' without a mother. Back then, in this spot, I rambled with thoughts of this day, and I was afraid and felt so alone.
I didn't have a 16-foot-high view like my friendly bird. But I had to learn to look into the future blindly from the ground and seek out what I couldn't see. Not easy to do without that damn bird eye view. There had to be a future for my children and myself; I just needed to find and embrace it. I knew my boys needed their dad to hold it together, but most of all, I needed to keep myself together.
Many days would end with me sitting beneath a twilight sky and wondering to myself, "How did I survive the day? I just lived." I had to remind myself to learn. To get better. Which meant getting better would equal strength and confidence. But it did not matter how many times I told myself "to be better" because I would just fail. I just couldn't grasp the idea of healing, But through trial and error, I concluded that it isn't just telling yourself that things will get better. Just like my friend, the bird, I had to realize that I needed to let go of the wire and fly, be free, and trust my God-given gifts that my survival ability would kick in and take flight. And through my flying strength, I would exercise my body and mind; eventually, I would get better.
I sit here on the grass, four years after one of my worst days, as a random thought kicks in, reminding me that I can get better if I try. I just needed to trust myself. Even if these thoughts were rambling onward, there was a path to getting better. I just had to see it without the benefit of a 16-foot power line. I longed to be free. Free like that bird.
707 words
Captain Imperfecto enjoying some water, Red Bull and a gum a random stranger bought for him.
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