Sunday, April 29, 2012

outside my window

there is a robin couple who are building a nest
right outside our living room window in one of the shrubs.
the shrub has become a bit of a tree
and it rests along the last window so we are able to have
a first hand, close up experience with this little robin family.

it has been a few days now of constant activity
and the robins spend the majority of their day transporting little items to the nest
and stopping to eat worms and hang out in the grass.
it needs to be cut but i am thinking we should wait a few days until they are done
their building because long fresh grass is much more appealing that lawn mower clippings
for nest construction.
and besides, there are more places for bugs to hide in long grass
and that translates into more food for the robins.

it seems ridiculously hopeful to me. this nest building.
they are preparing for an event that has not yet occurred.
there is no egg at the beginning of this process. just the hope of one.
the expectation that there will be eggs. maybe one. maybe three.
who knows.
no guarantees by my goodness these robins are tireless and they seem so optimistic as they hop around on the grass and flutter from tree to ground and back again.
they are preparing.

i am in a place of hopelessness today.
where it seems like there is nothing concrete to continue to build.
where all the resting and the special eating and the not working and the medicine
all those things that i was doing to prepare for recovery. for remission. for getting to the other side of this disease. are not working.
it's as if, like the robins, i've been dancing around with hope and optimism and then the baby robins didn't arrive.
the nest remained empty.
the colitis didn't go into remission.
the hopeful behavious seemed not to matter.
that's where i am today.

i love the robins and while i know they are bullies in the backyard sometimes,
and i want to go out and say
"play nice with the little birds-play nice!"
i love them because they are tireless in their hopefulness.
i am watching them carefully and trying to extract some of that energy and take it for myself.
soon, i am sure, there will be eggs, and lots of nest sitting and then one morning
we will have a noisy serenade that goes onfor days
as the baby robins demand from their parents
everything they need and want for their survival.

i am hopeful for those red chested robins;
and thus, i am hopeful for myself.
what choice do i have to be anything but?
it's just super hard some days.
days like today.


  1. I'm getting to know you in the middle of the night. You are telling such a beautiful story about you. Especially the hard stuff - thank you for sharing. Your Scottish friend xo

  2. I'm sorry that you are feeling hopeless friend. It's been too long between letters. Forgive me. I am mailing one today, come hell or high water. I send my love. Email if you want to talk... sometimes it's good to "break the rules!"

  3. Oh, how I hate learning patience! And losing hope is like losing anything else - a keychain, for example - it's JUST NOT THERE, no matter how much you want it. At times, other people can lend you their hope, though, until you find your own again... Maybe even the robins can lend us theirs, sometimes.