An unexpected trigger

Anyone who knows me just the teenist of bits knows how much I adore gardening and the beautiful birds my efforts have attracted. I've followed the advice of many gardening books and I'm rather proud of the avian oasis I've created.

Despite how dorky this may sound, I love to sit on my back porch and watch the birds execute Matrix-like maneuvers mid-air while fighting for the sweetest spot at the feeders. Small flocks of them land in our yard to graze for the smallest nibbles of a treat after we've mowed the grass. And, while we're out refilling their feeders, their resounding chirps and calls alert their friends and family that they'd better shake a tail feather if they want some fresh-from-the-bag grainy goodness.

We've tried our best to make our yard a welcome and safe haven to our feathered friends, protecting them from natural predators to the best of our abilities and providing for them when the environment doesn't. But yesterday, unfortunately, one of my feathery friends lost her life to her biggest predator of all: Man.

Mike and I had just sat down to enjoy our morning coffee when we heard a "thud" against one of our back windows. We both suspected what generated such an unexpected noise, so we jumped up and ran out the back door to investigate.

Lying just a few feet from the house was a female Golden Finch, obviously stunned by her collision with the glass window pane. At first glance, she seemed only dazed - as has happened to many a bird over the years at our house - but upon closer inspection, I saw that she was in a dire way.

I gently scooped up her delicate body in my hand and cradled her in my palm. She was visibly panicked, and I feared the worst once I noticed her shallow and erratic breathing and her inability to lift her head. I slowly sat down in one of the chairs on our patio, trying not to further frighten this terrified little bird.

So, as I sat at my patio table, shielding this poor broken bird from any further harm, my memories returned to those final moments in the NICU with Ryan, where I was helpless to change what was unfolding before my eyes.

I sat there, tears streaming down my face, knowing that the end was inevitably near for this tiny creature, and all I could do was make her final moments as peaceful as possible.

A few minutes later, her eyes closed and she was gone. I carried her tiny lifeless body to the back of our yard, and placed her next to our statue of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals.

I know she was "only" a bird, but sharing in her last precious moments paralleled those solemn moments with Ryan, where all I could do was pray for a peaceful end to the pain and suffering.

I never imagined I would ever feel the depth of that emotion again, much less because of a backyard bird, but those feelings came rushing back and felt as raw as they did last August.

I guess situations like that are called "triggers" for a reason, huh?