On our porch is an old metal mailbox. I don't know why we kept it. Probably because hubby thought he might be able to recycle the metal and hasn't gotten around to it, but for whatever reason, it sits on our porch. If the front door is open, I can see into the mailbox and about 2 or 3 weeks ago, a couple of house finches moved in and started building a nest. I let the boys know to stay away from it so the birds would stay and we could watch.
On Tuesday, when I came home from work, Rob let me know that the boys were messing around and knocked the mailbox over. They put it back, but it was too late. The baby birds had been jostled out of their nest and were laying inside the opening of the mailbox. Sad. Very sad, but what could we do? The little naked bird wasn't moving. We figured nature would take its course and that was that.
The next morning, yesterday, I had the front door open, watching it rain and listening to the quiet. I looked up to see one of the finches bringing the babies something to eat. It looked in the nest and hopped in and our several times. Confused. Stressed. It began a sad warble. I knew it was mourning the loss of its babies. I nearly burst into tears. I was relating to a bird that had lost its young. It was too much for me to take and I closed the door.
That afternoon, the boys came home from school. It was my night off, so Brandon and I decided to do something fun in the yard. As I walked out of the door, something caught my eye. The baby bird that had been just inside the opening of the mailbox was now laying outside, on the door of the box. Odd... Then I saw something happen. The bird took a breath and moved! No way was I seeing this. It was alive? I yelled for Rob, who put on plastic gloves and gently moved the birds back into the nest. Alive. All of them alive.
My routine was broken this morning, so I was not home to watch for the parents to return. I hope and pray that they do. I hope that in a few weeks, I am seeing little feathery babies fly out of the nest on their own.
I have a recurring dream. That Tommy never died. The doctors tell me it's all a mistake. Take him home. A second chance at his life. I always wake up wanting to fall back asleep for just a few more minutes to hold him again. Seeing that baby bird was like watching my dream. It wasn't dead, just injured, fallen out of its nest and its mother unable to help it. I am practically begging the universe to send the mama bird back to her young. To give them the one thing I can only do in my dreams. Know that my sweet boy is still alive, even if only in my heart.