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The dead bird
By Jeremiah | April 29, 2009 | 8 comments / Comment now
A month or so ago I was cleaning our porch and discovered a sparrow's (wren's?) nest with three blue eggs in my Craftsman tool cart, which has an open central cavity at waist height to pile things that you have no interest in putting away. The move-in says something about my handyman habits, to be sure, but what was most shocking was that this nest was three feet from the path we take every day into our home - we pass through the corner of the porch in a sideways "L" to get in and out, often with much stomping and screaming by Z as we put on or remove shoes.
From that moment, our routine changed. We entered our porch in whispers, and Z checked in on the nest - from a distance of a few feet, with a handy protective barrier of clutter preventing her from moving closer - every day. An adult bird moved in and sat there, staring back at us unblinkingly from the nest's circular hole.
We watched in amazement as the bird sat, and sat, and sat, her occasional disappearance causing us to wonder if we'd finally scared it off, despite our best intentions and our stern refusal to let Z meander onto the porch from inside to check on the family's progress. And then, the eggs hatched, and there were suddenly three little bodies in there, and then three little gaping, silent beaks crowded up at the bottom of the opening, waiting in frozen anticipation of food.
We watched them grow and their eyes open. Then there were three, or sometimes four, little faces staring back at us. It was really astonishing that they were all so willing to suffer our company.
But last week, tragedy struck - the nest was suddenly empty, with two adult birds flying around aimlessly. Then the adults were gone, and we discovered the above - one dead baby lying in a corner on the porch's concrete slab.
Luckily for Z, she knew just what to do. We had, in a completely coincidental act, checked out a lovely book from the library called The Dead Bird - one of Margaret Wise Brown's many strange, lovely, and wise books for young children. The book chronicles what four children do when they discover a dead bird while playing, all without adult interference - it's out of print, so prepare to pay dearly or just check your own library for a copy. At any rate, Z knew a headstone, shroud, and grave were all in order.
For the marker, we selected a granite sample leftover from our kitchen remodel.
I suggested she write something beginning with "Baby Bird," and she chose to add "Poor" and "Died."
She repeatedly expressed how sad it was that the bird had died, but we have had many discussions about death - it comes up more than any non-parent would likely guess, and we treat the subject openly.
The visitation.
Z later agreed with me that the best part of the event was being able to see a bird up close, "when it won't run away."
The burial.
I learned only afterward that Z believed that poking picked flowers in the ground is equivalent to replanting them.
Z offered up a couple of plaintive, somber songs for the occasion. I believe the term is "dirge," but they were quite lovely.
And life goes on.
A few days later we discovered a piece of cat poo in one of our garden beds, filled with tiny bones. For all Z knows, however, the other two babies learned to fly and are doing donuts in the clouds with Mom and Dad. Some of life's cold, hard facts will just have to wait their turn.
Photo by tanakawho, shared via Flickr.
From that moment, our routine changed. We entered our porch in whispers, and Z checked in on the nest - from a distance of a few feet, with a handy protective barrier of clutter preventing her from moving closer - every day. An adult bird moved in and sat there, staring back at us unblinkingly from the nest's circular hole.
We watched in amazement as the bird sat, and sat, and sat, her occasional disappearance causing us to wonder if we'd finally scared it off, despite our best intentions and our stern refusal to let Z meander onto the porch from inside to check on the family's progress. And then, the eggs hatched, and there were suddenly three little bodies in there, and then three little gaping, silent beaks crowded up at the bottom of the opening, waiting in frozen anticipation of food.
We watched them grow and their eyes open. Then there were three, or sometimes four, little faces staring back at us. It was really astonishing that they were all so willing to suffer our company.
But last week, tragedy struck - the nest was suddenly empty, with two adult birds flying around aimlessly. Then the adults were gone, and we discovered the above - one dead baby lying in a corner on the porch's concrete slab.
Luckily for Z, she knew just what to do. We had, in a completely coincidental act, checked out a lovely book from the library called The Dead Bird - one of Margaret Wise Brown's many strange, lovely, and wise books for young children. The book chronicles what four children do when they discover a dead bird while playing, all without adult interference - it's out of print, so prepare to pay dearly or just check your own library for a copy. At any rate, Z knew a headstone, shroud, and grave were all in order.For the marker, we selected a granite sample leftover from our kitchen remodel.
I suggested she write something beginning with "Baby Bird," and she chose to add "Poor" and "Died."
She repeatedly expressed how sad it was that the bird had died, but we have had many discussions about death - it comes up more than any non-parent would likely guess, and we treat the subject openly.
The visitation.
Z later agreed with me that the best part of the event was being able to see a bird up close, "when it won't run away."
The burial.
I learned only afterward that Z believed that poking picked flowers in the ground is equivalent to replanting them.
Z offered up a couple of plaintive, somber songs for the occasion. I believe the term is "dirge," but they were quite lovely.
And life goes on.
A few days later we discovered a piece of cat poo in one of our garden beds, filled with tiny bones. For all Z knows, however, the other two babies learned to fly and are doing donuts in the clouds with Mom and Dad. Some of life's cold, hard facts will just have to wait their turn.
Photo by tanakawho, shared via Flickr.
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When my wife was pregnant, she got hyperemesis in early January and was hospitalized, and with one thing and then another we failed to get the holiday wreath off of the front door. A couple of birds built a nest in the wreath! We go in and out of that door several times a day, but they managed to find a little nook where the nest was hidden. Both of us noticed birds flying away when we opened the door from time to time, but we didn’t discover the nest until it was too late. What could we do? It wouldn’t exactly be good karma to scuttle their nest just as we were preparing to start a family of our own!
Fortunately for us, there was a happier ending, and three baby birds flew away in a few weeks. I always thought of that as a good omen for us, and we have a healthy boy to prove it!
Oh no! I’m glad you turned into a learning experience though. I’m curious to see what comes of our remaining little egg. I have a feeling that we will end up burying it when it doesn’t hatch.
Perhaps it is my close association to the event that makes it seem a tragedy worthy of a few real tears when reading your post. Even though Z did cheerfully show me the tiny grave and seemed no worse for the sadness of the event, it still made me very sad to think of her tiny hands writing those words on the gravestone.
Nice story. Sad, but nice.
Aww...how touching!
...but I shouldn’t have read it while I was eating my lunch...first the dead bird...then cat poo...ugh...=P
how sweet and sad.
how do you talk to Z about death? my 3 year old twins asked where my grandmother was when i was telling a story about her and i didn’t know how to answer.
I agree that the topic of death comes up much more frequently than any non-parent might expect. My 3yo learns incredibly well from books… I’ve been looking locally for some good ones on the topic of death (nothing to heavy) and haven’t found any. I placed a hold on “The Dead Bird” at the local library, we’ll see! Do you have any other recommendations?
Rosie and Heather, we have been thinking about doing a couple of posts along these lines for The Tranquil Parent.
As a brief precursor to these posts, though, I can say one or two things. (Please understand this advice is intended for kids who are dealing with death in a very abstract way, not ones who have lost people whom they knew and were close to.)
Rosie, my policy has been to dive in but let her probe to get the info. With young children, it’s good to have a very open attitude but not provide more information than they seem to be seeking. Sort of like “20 questions” but you are not deliberately trying to hide anything. Personally I think the easiest way to make kids fear something like death is to treat it as a taboo subject. Using the method described above Z has often asked for more information than I would have freely offered but always seems to process it without much trouble. It just becomes part of her knowledge base for experiencing the world.
For example, the one thing she still seems completely clueless about is the idea that Jenni and I will (probably, hopefully) die before she does, and that her grandmother will die before we do, etc. She seems to think somehow (although she’d unravel it herself if she examined it) that everyone she loves is going to die at the same time. I’m waiting with a bit of background anxiety for that shoe to drop, because it will make the sadness of death very real to her in a way that it isn’t yet.
Heather, we have been looking at a few books, both on death and the broader existential issues, written for young children. We’ll round these up soon.