Cardinals, Blue Jays, and Messages of Love From Beyond
By: Linda Horton
Tags: Love, Spirit, Family, Death, Short Story

Cardinals, Blue Jays, and Messages of Love From Beyond

OK Mom, I believe you!

kimcsi6 from pixabay

My mom suffered from depression throughout her life, and in the worst years, she also drank heavily. After her father died, she really fell off the deep end. Oftentimes, It was hard to tell if she had been drinking or not — she was just sad all the time and, well, a bit flaky.

Being a bratty teenager at the time of my grandfather’s passing, I was not terribly empathetic. And I certainly didn’t understand death. I was sad about my grandpa and all, but nothing close to how my mom seemed to be grieving. Of course, we didn’t talk about it. We didn’t talk about much, except maybe what’s for dinner, or did you feed the dog.

So imagine my reaction when she started proclaiming “There’s Grandpa” when a cardinal would be perched outside the window. I would just kind of roll my eyes (out of her sight), and my brother, sister, and dad pretty much had the same response. We all just chalked it up to Mom being wacky.

Mom eventually got treatment, and even entered rehab, after which she never had another drink again.

But she kept seeing the cardinals, claiming they were her father. It was just something we grew to accept about our silly, sweet mother.

I never gave my mom’s quirky encounters much thought, until one day. It was many years later, after I graduated college and had a place of my own. One day I was walking on the bike path near my house, and I was feeling terribly depressed. As I walked through the wooded area, stewing in my sadness, suddenly a bird came out of the woods, and circled around me. It felt like a warm hug — like someone was embracing me in their arms.

It was a cardinal, and it was my grandfather. There’s no way to explain how I knew, but it was him. Now I understood. It was the most comforting feeling of love I have ever experienced, when I needed it most.

And that was just the beginning. From that point on, every time I would see a cardinal I would think, hi Grandpa. Then more people died.

The day of my boyfriend’s mother’s funeral, we arrived home after the luncheon, and right there in the driveway, sitting on the car was a female cardinal (they are not as brightly colored as the males). She looked me right in the eye, I shit you not, and said be nice to him, then flew away. She was a loving, but stern woman, and she was telling me to take care of her son. Message received, loud and clear.

As time passed, my boyfriend and I would associate random cardinal sightings with his mother or father, or my grandfather…

Then the end came for my parents. They were both diagnosed with terminal cancer within weeks of each other. Mom went first.

It was a terrible time, and I was at their home most days (along with the caregiver). Not long after Mom passed, I was approaching their building, and I asked her for a sign — any sign. I wasn’t even necessarily thinking about birds.

Immediately after I requested this sign, I looked down at my feet and there was a dead female cardinal. Geez Ma, that was uncalled for! Seriously, you did NOT have to take me so literally. But touché for all those years of not believing you about Grandpa. Message received!

A few weeks later Dad passed. They had chosen their plots in a beautiful, wooded cemetery, under a big oak tree. Dad was a WWII Veteran and had a full military honors funeral. It was a befitting sendoff for a great man.

The uniformed honor detail performed the somber ceremony, including folding and presentation of the flag to my brother. A bugler played Taps. Competing for attention though, was a loud and ornery blue jay chirping away in the overhanging branches. Just like my dad, that bird didn’t mind interrupting — he wanted to be heard, damn it!

Later that evening, my sister matter-of-factly said to me “That blue jay at the cemetery, that was Dad”. Well, duh, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.

A week or so later, I began the grim task of clearing the belongings out of their home. Feeling incredibly sad, as I was opening the front door, I heard a bird — caw, caw, caw. I looked over my shoulder at the closest tree, scanned the branches, and saw nothing. I dismissed it, and opened the door to walk inside, then heard CAW, CAW, CAW! I spun around and looked to the same tree, and there was a freaking blue jay staring me right in the eye. I stood there in awe and disbelief before he flew off.

I went inside, and felt nothing but love and comfort for the remainder of the evening, as I combed through the remnants of their life. Thank you, Dad.

I’m not big on visiting the cemetery, but I decided to go about a year later. I hadn’t been there since my dad’s funeral. It’s a big place, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find their gravesite. I drove around for a while, then found an area that felt right. I parked and got out of the car.

It was a gorgeous autumn day, and I stood there for a while taking it in. Then I began to scan the ground, looking for their gravestones, not sure which direction to take. Suddenly, I look up and there is an enormous, circling configuration of hundreds, maybe thousands, of blue jays. The flock swirled and moved in a direction that I followed — right to my mom and dad’s gravesite. Incredible. Thanks again, Dad.

After they guided me to my destination, I never saw another blue jay that day, or on any other visit I’ve made there since. I think that last dramatic display was meant to mark the end of a long period of sadness and mourning for me.

The encounters have dissipated over the years. Once in a while I see a cardinal, and sometimes I think Oh, that’s just a cardinal. Other times I feel the presence of a loved one.

Looking back, I’ve been comforted, guided, and loved when I needed it the most. And I know my feathered spirits will be there again if I need them.

So thank you Mom, Dad, and everyone else who is watching over me. Until we meet again…