Hummingbird

It's been a complicated day. 

The kids wake up too early, just like every other morning. I conduct the same old morning song and we prepare for the day. As I help my oldest with his math homework, something catches my eye. A small movement outside of the sliding door. "Look, baby, a hummingbird!" We both stop and watch the small bird hover in one spot, inches from our window.

Then, back to our song of morning -- Hair, teeth, lunches, forms. Wait, is that yesterday's underwear? Just let me finish this last email, then I promise, I'll help you. Please, get your shoes on. Get in the car. I'll be right there. I promise.

In the car, the song continues -- To my oldest child: No. No. Maybe. I don't know. Remember, today's a bus stop day. I'll see you there sweetie. Don't forget to turn in your forms. Youngest child: Nope not today, preschool is over. Today's a home day. Oh love, it will be fun. I promise.

There's a pause and we all become aware of the radio. "Anthony Bourdain is dead at the age of 61. He's taken his own life while on location in France."

The car is stopped. We're here. But, I can't quite open the door. I don't know him of course. I haven't even seen that many episodes of Parts Unknown. But I'm sad. I'm really, really sad.

We sit for a moment or so. The kids ask questions. I don't know how to answer. I tell them and myself that we'll talk more about it later. Time to go. Hurry, hurry. As I step on the sidewalk, something catches my eye. A small movement on the ground. It's a hummingbird. It's alive. Breathing, moving, chirping. But it can't fly. It's body is not quite as it should be.

Oh my God. I can't. But I can't not. It's so small on this big open sidewalk and it's starting to rain. I find wonderful grown-ups to distract my children and a half-used box of Kleenex. I lean over this little struggling body. I'm terrified that I'll hurt it more. But I hold my breath, and as gently as I am able, scoop this tiny creature up. I'm astonished by the lightness. Logically I know that hummingbirds are small, but I expected even the littlest bit of heft. It's like lifting a cotton ball. I place her in the box, she rights herself and looks at me. I cry on the inside, but not on the outside -- there are things to be done.

I find a veterinarian who also happens to be licensed in wildlife rescue. I put this little bird in the front seat and my children in the back. We go to the vet.

They are not supposed to give me updates. The vet just successfully rehabilitated another hummingbird last month. I know she is in capable hands. I am so thankful that there are amazing people that give their time and resources like this. But she's been in my head all day.

Every night I sing "Blackbird" to my kids at bedtime. Tonight I couldn't get through it without crying. Every line felt so heavy with meaning. I thought of our hummingbird. I hope she'll be okay.

I cannot, will not, make any overt connection in this post to Anthony Bourdain and my hummingbird. But, I can tell you this. I will never again look at a hummingbird and not think of Anthony Bourdain.

I also can tell you that I believe we're all more connected than not -- skin, fur, or feathers, we all just want to find a safe place to land.