The mountains across the lake were aglow as the sun set. I looked up towards the top of your tree and there was the moon between the branches, in a hurry to rise, as if in a race with the setting sun. I sat on a rock and listened to the silence and asked you for a sign. Any sign. A bluebird for Grandma Judy, a blackbird for you, a pinecone dropping, the eagle who flew over the top of our tree when we scattered your ashes, any sign. I waited until it became dusk and I became concerned that the sign might be a meandering bear, so I decided to head back to the house. As I walked away, not bothering to wipe the tears, I turned to look one last time at the view. And I realized that was my sign, the golden sunset, the silver moon, the gentle breeze that reflected in the light on the slight waves on the lake. It was then I finally felt your peace for the first time.
My dear sweet Kenna, I should know better than to ask for a sign. They are all around me every day.
But you couldn't leave it at that, could you? As I rounded the curve by June Mountain, there, in the middle of the road, was the brightest blue bird I have ever seen. It didn't move as I came closer. It finally tilted it's head, looked at me and then flew away. My sad teardrops turned into streams of laughing tears.
I told K.C. about it when we went back the next day. I left her alone to talk to you in private and she was surprised to see a pinecone near her. I wasn't surprised at all when she told me because of the pinecone thread that has been running through our lives forever. And then, just to make sure I got the message that you were present, on the way home, there, in the middle of the road, in the same spot as the bluebird, was one tiny blackbird. Once again, laughing through the tears. What else could we do?
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly,
all your life,
you were only waiting for this moment to arrive,
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