There is a Native American custom where the tribe surrounds a grieving person because they believe they are closest to the creator as a living person can get at this sacred time.
When I kissed my Dad goodbye and told him I loved him, I knew it was the last time I would see him as he is now. My father had borne a wonky body stoically for a heroic amount of time. When I saw him for the last time, he was faint, frail and far away. He knew what was going on around him, but he was mostly in another world – in another dream.
When I got the call that my beautiful Daddy had died in his sleep, I felt genuine relief. I was sitting on my stoep reaching for the feeling of my father’s freedom, rather than my feeling of sadness, when 20 or 30 swallows came whirling and weaving in front of me. Agile. Delightful. Playful. Energetic. Acrobatic. Ecstatic. Free!
The swallows’ display of freedom and friendship made me think: This is how Dad feels right now. Free from his tired body and revelling in that freedom, reunited with his family and all his many friends who went before him. Then all those little swallows came and sat right in front of me. It was unbelievable. I reached for my phone to take a photo of this magnificent moment, but they all flew off again. It was not a snapshot for a camera, it was a picture for my heart.
A few days later, a little swallow, who I now know as ‘Andy’, sat on the balustrade a metre away from me, cocked his head and said: You’ll do. Andy and his partner, Flo then proceeded to investigate my home, clearly looking for a perfect place to build their home.
I left to go to Dad’s memorial service and Mr Angel, who was looking after my menagerie, called to say Faye Hartley wouldn’t leave the house. I told him to leave the door open, so the dogs could come and go as they pleased.
When I returned, two certain someone’s had also decided to come and go as they pleased! Andy and Flo had been busy, and when I saw where they had chosen to build their nest, I was genuinely moved.
Perhaps you think it gross that I have been living these past 4 months with swallows in my house? I have become so accustomed to their calls, the wind their wings make on my face as they fly into their meticulous, miraculous nest. The way they work together in harmony, tirelessly, yet never neglecting to take time to play. My little guardian angels making little swallow noises above my head when we all go to sleep at night.
And the loss of Andy and Flo’s three perfect, fully feathered fledglings. I’ll never know what happened. One had tried to fledge, another was dead behind my bed and the third and tiniest was also dead at the bottom of the perfect feather nest. What broke my heart was Andy and Flo’s confusion as they bought little insects to the nest to feed their babies which were no longer alive.
I think I cried more for these damn birds than I did over my dear old mare Queenie and for my dear, dear Dad. Grief is a funny old bird.
Soon, Andy and Flo will leave for their ‘chosen one’ in the north. (II like to think they have a carefully vetted human family that look out for them over there). It would make a beautiful story, wouldn’t it? If two little birds brought two different cultures together. I suppose it could be a horror story too! I like to imagine it would for sure be a love story, for that’s the kind of magic and wonder Andy and Flo have brought to my life.
When my little magic birds leave, I will close my door on the winter. My house will be very silent without the mysterious comings and goings of Andy and Flo. The tide will ebb and flow, the moon will continue to wane and wax, and I will return to the new rhythm of my life without my Dad’s Swallows.
