By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
They called her Little Bird. Why? I had assumed it was because cruel fate required that they-her parents and her two younger brothers-tend to her persistently.
She was born premature, arriving 11 weeks early and weighing just 2 pounds. As an infant, she would not cry out for food, but instead purse her lips into a beak, to indicate she was hungry. She endured health problems her entire life and struggled mightily to do what the rest of us, apparently the unafflicted ones, achieved with relative ease.
So, I thought they called her Little Bird because she was vulnerable and needed extra help, in addition to being sweet, kind, beautiful, musical. It was only after she was gone, however, that I reconsidered the basis for this affectionate nickname in light of the true nature of birds.
Birds are strong, notably in their beaks and their talons. They are swift and have keen vision. They are technical flying wonders. Flapping hummingbird wings require more mechanical power than any other known form of locomotion. Bird nests are masterworks of design and architecture. Many birds are devoted caretakers of their own young and even of eggs not their own. Songbirds feed their babies as often as twelve times an hour. And in one of the most stunning feats of nature, starlings murmurate, creating a twisting and turning aerial river of wings.
The birds of literature equally match their counterparts from real life. It is the small but clever tailorbird, known only as the wife of Darzee, who twice distracts the cunning cobra Nagaina to help mongoose Rikki-tikki-tavi win the epic battle portrayed in Kipling’s The Jungle Book. The heroic phoenix Fawkes and the intrepid white owl Hedwig constantly come to the rescue in J.K.Rowling’s Harry Potter books. The arrival of eagles turns the tide in the conflicts of J.R.R. Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
As I contemplated the true nature of birds, I understood for the first time the meaning of the nickname given to my friend, the Little Bird.
Her broken wings formed a loving sanctuary for her younger brothers, notwithstanding occasional bouts of normal sisterly exasperation. Within was her golden egg, her legacy to them, the prescriptive words for a long and happy life: “Do good to others; Have faith; Think positive; Love thy neighbor; Dream big; Think smart; Positive attributes; Happy thoughts; Actions over words; Look towards the present and future of good things to come into life.”
Her parents poured themselves out to her physically, emotionally, and financially. Parents in such circumstances often drift apart, but the Little Bird reflected everything back. She created a murmuration, encircling her mother and father in the twisting and turning river of her indomitable spirit, and transforming their pain into the unmistakeable bond of love and devotion that so plainly exists between them today.
Everyone thought of her as their Little Bird to preserve and protect, but in fact it was her avian nature that formed and sculpted those around her. To all whom she cherished, she gave as much or more than she ever got. And only after she had designed and built her elaborate nest of friends and family and knew it would endure without her, only then did she yield to her illness and spread the lovely wings on which she soared into clear blue sky eternity.
Where did the Little Bird go? A song I hear in church helps me glimpse her destination: “He will raise you up on eagles’ wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of His hand.”
