Five

Once upon a time, my mother was my best friend. After she got really sick, our relationship changed, and since her death, I've struggled with that. It wasn't a good time in my life, and I have a lot of resentment, plenty of bitterness, and so much sorrow. 

For five years, I've tried to analyze--to justify--both of our behaviors without any solution or peace, and as the anniversary of her death grew closer this April, my feelings made it difficult to be me.

There are good memories, but no amount of forcing those to the forefront has helped. The ugly always rears its head to push back against what I'd rather remember. Some days I work so hard to not be who my mother was at the end that I've lost sight of me. 

It's been a lot of floundering, with stomach-churning anxiety that has led to many off-kilter days, and last week I determined it had to end.

I'm a big believer in signs. Sunday, I got one. 

It hit me smack dab in the face when I least expected it, and the tears flowed. 

An olive branch extended if you will, and I took it. 

On Wednesday, the fifth anniversary of her death, I was alone at my MIL's house sitting at her kitchen table. I was supposed to be writing. I was trying, but I sat facing the front window, and spring was outside it, and my mind wandered--to the beauty of the morning, to my mother, and to the calm I'd been feeling since Sunday.

I was abruptly interrupted by a female cardinal on my MIL's birdfeeder. She flew in out of nowhere, while I was in the middle of conflicting thoughts.

It's said that a visit by a cardinal is a message from a lost loved one. I've seen males often outside my house at home, but never a female. This one pecked at the feed, and then her head turned, and she stared right at me in the window. No kidding.

So, I spoke to her. I didn't say aloud everything that's been in my head for five years, but I did tell her it was time to let go, how I needed to move on. 

Forgiveness is a step forward. I forgave me. I whispered what I needed to say to that bird who sat and took it all without flying away. 

And when I finished and wiped my tears, we sat in silence, staring at one another. For quite a while. Then the female was joined by a male cardinal who hopped right up to the window sill and peered inside. 

The three of us had a moment.

Then one by one, they flew away, and I returned to my writing.