FIREBIRD

BYE, BYE BIRDY
A Memoir on Death

Two weeks ago our pet Birdy was discovered by my mother to be lethargic. The bird was too weak to eat or to even stand up. His struggling to drink from the water basin could indicate dehydration. Tatay, my stepfather, got him out of the cage; wrapped him with a clean rag and tried to serve him water mixed with sugar. Later, a bit of antibiotic was administered which I think did not help or, perhaps, worsen his condition.

Feeling somber I prayed-over Birdy. I even placed the picture of St. Pio de Pietrelcina over where his body rest while invoking the saint’s intercession. I can’t help feeling ridiculous doing this. However, there is an overwhelming force within me that challenges the absurdity of the moment.

For the next hour, I could hear a faint chirp. I couldn’t tell if it was in pain, discomfort or a sign of recovery. My auditory perception tells me it was of relief or, maybe, it was what I wanted to believe. I watched TV to momentarily distract me from the inevitable. Half an hour past, another faint chirp was heard. Tatay checked on him ten minutes later and said, “I think he is gone”. What I heard was his last chirp.

I said grace before dinner adding a prayerful thanks to God for all creatures. Then, quietly we had dinner, oblivious of the sound of the TV. Until Tatay broke the silence saying, “Futile it may be, we tried our best to revive him. At least he died with warmth and tenderness.” That thought made me feel better. No words ensue from any of us until after dinner.

Feeling uneasy how to dispose of the carcass, I just sat there. Until, in silence, Tatay got an empty pizza box and started cutting. The serious mood was finally broken when the makeshift coffin was labeled “Rest In Peace” and we all had a good laugh. I, then, took pictures as mementoes.

It was hardly the moment we read about or depicted on cinema or perhaps in actual experience. As opposed to a young dad comforting his child over a dead pet, here is a 61 year old with his 40 year old stepson together in “child’s play”. Looking back, it was ironic that I didn’t have moments like this with my own father. And when he passed-away eleven years ago, I felt betrayed because I was robbed of the times I could have had with him.

I remember as a child I cried over the movie film “Where the Red Fern Grows”. It was about a boy and his two dogs (I think they were bloodhounds) he found in the wilderness. The boy’s poor family was living in the mountains in a US Midwestern state. His parents were at first opposed to him keeping the dogs when they had little to eat. Eventually, his parents’ love for him prevailed and he got to keep the dogs. However, the boy was shattered when the female dog died fighting-off a grizzly bear to save his life. Later, in grief, the male dog soon followed to the grave. A red fern grew in the site of the dogs’ grave gave the boy the courage to move on and learn the lessons of life, survival and death. It was a turning point in his life.

As a teenager, while growing up in the harsh life of family dysfunctionality, I read about “The Tale of the Dog Who Killed Itself” by Richard Jenkins. Although the story revolved around the family’s pet dog and his demised, it was used as an allegory to the story of the family in the brink of brokenness and divorce. The dog (a schipperke) in the story run-away one day and deliberately jumped-off to a river. It wasn’t explained in the book why the dog did that. It was left to the readers. Maybe the dog felt the unease within the family due to estrangement. Or, perhaps, he felt neglected by his desolate masters. What was touching was when the dad built a fence around the house telling his son that it was a memorial to their dog. He adds, miles and miles of fences are being built across America to make them remember. Perhaps, the fences symbolize unity, continuity and hope.

Indeed, we learn about death as young as we can remember. As we grow up, we witness life’s mortality and in every encounter with grief we come in terms with its inevitability. As we age, we discover that death goes beyond the concepts we were taught in our youth.

Oftentimes, death is characterized as a solitary experience; truly, it is. However, it has a social dimension that we never fully realize. It is strange how death, more often than not, becomes an impetus to many life-changing events and unexpected turnabouts. More than any other phase of life, the complexities of human relations are emphasized at death. Families are reunited after so many years due to animosities or by long distances. On the contrary, family feud suddenly sparks by greed in the issue of inheritance. And suddenly, the varying degrees of relationship and its qualities, or the lack of it, are brought to the fore. The emotional intensity generated by our interpersonal involvements is expounded at death more than any other phase of life. So, whether it is happy, sad, remorseful, fury or indifference depends on the shared moments we had with each other.

As Birdy’s carcass was finally put inside the cardboard coffin, I went outside the garden to place it in a shallow grave in a terra cotta plant pot. Tatay followed and stand beside me over the grave for a moment. With wit but comforting voice, he said, “the carton is bio-degradable. It said so on the box. We could still use the pot for planting.” I flashed him a grin as I threw bird-seeds over the grave as a sign of reverence. In the midst of this, I know my mother was silently laughing at us. Perhaps, she can’t believe this comical sight. Tatay joined her to stand at a distance from me when I proceeded to light a candle at the grotto directly above the pot of a grave and whispered a prayer.

My prayer was not so much for the dead creature, as we do when praying for the (human) dead. It is more of gratitude for having moments such as this, silly as it may seem, to simulate a childhood experience with an unusual twist. Time paused for a brief moment for my mother, Tatay and me. In simple gestures amidst our silence we were one in spirit. It was funny yet at the same time profound experience that a pet’s demise was instrumental in bringing a special moment of togetherness. These are small yet precious investments we bring in our relationship as a family. In a way, moments like this shall be fondly remembered when either of us has gone ahead of the other. It shall be a bittersweet reminisce full of wonder and, perhaps, amusement.