Backing out of the garage, I checked the big rock that we laid down to protect the killdeer eggs. Oh no, where are they, and where is she? Frantically, I threw the truck into park and jumped out. There was nothing left behind the rock but a tiny indentation where the perfect little eggs had been tended to by their mom. Not even a feather. They can’t just disappear! . . . I guess they can. I bent over to touch the little gravelly nursery and was surprised at how rough and cold the stones were. That poor bird worked so hard to keep those baby bird eggs safe. She just wanted to give them the best chance that she possibly could. That kind of devotion doesn’t come along every day. It’s so lonely being on high alert when it seems some people get to go to bed at night and just assume that all will be well in the morning. Poor little thing probably stayed awake all night trying to keep her eggs safe!
I could’ve told her that it doesn’t matter how much we stay awake or diligently on guard . . . it doesn’t always work. You just end up exhausted . . . exhausted. Strange as it seems, we really don’t have much control as we “flap our wings” and take on the world. Other people don’t seem to have to work so hard to raise and keep their children. Okay, deep breath, Deb, you are not a bird. I sure do talk to myself a lot lately, but it seems safer than telling people that I went into a crying fit because some lowly bird eggs and their mama were missing! Yikes, I scare myself sometimes.
When we saw her flailing wings and heard her squawks a few weeks ago, it took two of us to finally spot four perfect eggs. For weeks we watched her sit during 90 degree days, 40 degree nights, high winds, heavy rain, and even thunderstorms. It seemed she’d blow away as the wind whipped around her . . . but still, she sat. There was a perfect view through the front window to see her chewing out other birds, squirrels, the mail carrier, and anything that dared to come near her precious eggs.
I wonder if I did everything I could’ve to save Brian . . .
He took all of my energy, time, and love. I really would try it again, but that’s not a choice I get to have. Maybe if I’d moved him in with us and monitored him really, really closely . . . I still wonder what would’ve happened if he’d gone to live in a group home with more supervision. Possibly, that would’ve been the perfect situation to get him back on track. Maybe, just maybe, if he could’ve stayed at the VA hospital for, like a whole year, the routine would’ve retrained him to . . . to what? To not overdose, to not seek drugs when he had lost control over that part of his brain, or maybe to stop having seizures that racked his body like an internal earthquake? I guess no one has that kind of control over someone else. No, not even a mother who felt that being his mom was who she was meant to be. A love so intense that it could physically hurt!
I was probably overly protective when he was a little boy, but I wanted to do it right and watch him grow to be happy. I absolutely loved being his mom. When Brian left for basic training ten days before his eighteenth birthday, I held my breath. I tried not to let my anxiety and worry seep into him, but he knew me so well.
“Mom, what’s wrong? You don’t sound happy. Come on, you can tell me. Is Dad okay? You’re not sick, are you? Maybe you could use one of those power naps you’re so good at! Yeah, that’s probably what you need! Gotta go, I love you, Mama.”
These phone calls made me work even harder to keep my voice cheerful so that he wasn’t distracted going into combat. Sometimes, as I look back, it feels like every breath and action I took were to protect him. Oh, maybe I was too protective, and he didn’t learn to fend for himself. No, I think moms just do that. My mom did.
Heading out one last time to check for any sign of the killdeer or her precious, perfect little eggs, I sat down on the rock that we thought would protect the little family. It can all go away with no warning. You don’t have to see or hear anything, and it’s all just gone. It really makes no sense that something that loved, protected, and nurtured can just . . . poof! Even if I understood how it could happen; I am still stumped about why? Little birds should not be gone. Brian should still be calling.
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I hear you loud and clear. Our story is almost like yours. Trying to protect a child My son Matt also died of an overdose right here in our house after he was clean for 3 1/2 yrs of being clean. He came to live with us after rehab. He was doing great courses online for a drug counselor I walked into his room to say good night and he was. Dead. WHY ??? I never get an answer ? Guilty ? It never goes away Thank you
Dear Deborah,
I am so sorry for your loss. I understand why you would cry when the momma bird and her little ones are gone without a trace. As parents we do everything we can to support and protect our children, but some things are beyond our control. It has taken years for me to realize that the what ifs and maybe if I did something else I could prevent my sons death. My son Gregory died in a car accident in 2007. He was my only child. Please be kind to yourself, you did everything that you could possibly do to protect your child.
Take care,
Donna
thank you for sharing your loss. my heart goes out to you. We will see and be with our loved ones, smiling again.
My heart hurts with yours. This is so beautifully written and I can particularly relate to the “I wonder if I did everything I could” sentiment. It’s been one year since Rob took his life. He never got over the loss of his older brother when they were just 11 and 14. Both children gone… and still we think there was something more we could have done. Thank you for sharing your beautiful story.
Beautifully written. My 26 year old son passed away in December 2018, from the combination of drugs in his body, mailnly prescribed but I’m going through the guilt phase of grief at the moment. Wishing I could go back in time and yes, pretty much be by his side monitoring him to try and prevent this happening, but you just can’t , as a parent there comes a time when you have to let go and you’ve exhausted yourself with trying to help. I know this but I can’t stop feeling that I could, should have done more, it is natural and healthy to discipline and let go though, you can’t live anybody’s life for them or watch over them all the time.
Beautiful Deb. So very sorry for your losses. My son passed 11.4.17 – also from an accidental overdose. He was injured while serving in the Army and became addicted to opioids. I often ask what I could have done differently as well. God Bless you mama. 🖤🇺🇸
Beautiful story.
Dearest Ms. Robinson,
Your words touch every notion of my mind. I also have wondered if I loved my beautiful, soulful son Vincent “too much”. He transitioned November 8th, 2017 from an overdose. He was 27. At the time of his passing I was beyond exhausted physically, emotionally and spiritually. And yet, I was prayerful that he would sustain his life without succumbing to the addiction. At the time I felt that there was nothing that wasn’t done that could have been done in helping him understand his illness, and learn to cope. And he did that, for a while. Vincent and I are connected on a Soul level. We always were. Intellectually I know that ther wasn’t a talk that wasn’t had, a prayer that wasn’t prayed, and a love an acceptance that wasn’t shared. But my heart hurts from wondering what else could I have done. I loved Vincent every moment of every day, no matter what condition he was in. I stayed present at times when I wanted to escape from my fear of what would happen. And the unimaginable happened. Life has always been fragile and random. Vincent taught me just how fragile💞💜