In the early morning of September 24, 2018, it will be one year since I lost my beloved parrot, Asterix.
Losing him was deeply painful. I lost my companion. I lost our family history keeper. I lost my parents’ voices. Taking care of his little body, saying our goodbyes, wrapping him in a little shroud– all felt deeply ritualistic and tender.
I have been thinking a lot about how I might mark this day, an especially powerful anniversary with the Autumn Equinox and the Harvest Moon.
This morning my daughter and I were in the living room, and I said to her, “Isn’t it amazing that not before or since the day Asterix died has a bird landed and looked in our window?” (I was remembering the crow that landed on the windowsill the day Asterix died and sat there looking in, acknowledging.)
Our cat, Reina, was playing with my china markers and my daughter said, “Reina is channeling Asterix’s spirit!” (Asterix LOVED playing with my china markers.)
We carried on Sunday morning lounging, me drawing and Squeak, our other cat, snuggling with my daughter. After only a minute or two we heard a sound, like a knock on the window. A poignant thing happened. Our cat, Reina, came into the living room and made a strange and unusual meow. My daughter checked and she was very surprised to see a dead bird on the rug.
We have not had a cat bring us a dead bird since Riley brought them in when we lived on the Sunshine Coast when he was an outdoor cat. (We moved from there 15 years ago and Riley retired to become and indoor cat in 2003.)
Reina was shooed away from the bird and we took the cats into my bedroom. My breath was taken away when I saw my pillow and bedding sprinkled with little feathers, in the sunshine under our window. A bird had obviously hit the window and Reina had grabbed it. But this was more that that. The timing, profound. This seemed nothing less than magical. Especially considering my deep connection with birds.
I went back to the living room and picked up the bird carefully and placed it in a container and placed it in the freezer. (We have not had a dead bird in the freezer since we wrapped Asterix, a year ago, and gently placed him in there for safe keeping until his cremation.)
Before taking the bird to the park to bury it, I took some photographs. Thanking this sweet heartbreaking creature for its life and message.
I went alone and walked into the park to find a special place. A little squirrel guided me to this spot. I dug a deep hole, gave my thanks and left.
“A bird is symbolic of perspective and freedom. When a bird hits your window the spiritual meaning of the bird is something you need to take notice of. Due to the fact that birds swoop up high up in the sky, it is believed that birds are God’s messengers – providing a bridge between the spiritual life and the mundane. They can be a positive sign of great luck. Since time immemorial, birds are in folklore symbols to many cultures. Now, to see one single bird that approaches your window peacefully or just sits and looks inside your home – in ancient times was thought to be a sign of the spirit of your dead loved ones. In some folklore books, a bird hitting the window can mean an angel wants you to take notice. I t could be that your angel is trying to communicate that they are around helping you, and watching over you or spiritually. Make sure you are aware of the day – it could be an anniversary when the bird appears. Look up the date, does this day or month mean something? It is a lovely sign and you can use your intuition to get the right message from the bird. The message is of a loving nature. A sparrow hitting your window represent emotions, heart healing, socializing, generosity, romance, and the power of spirit.” – auntyflo.com
I love you, Asterix.
How beautiful Kat 💜🌷🌺
On Sun, Sep 23, 2018 at 8:49 PM KATARINA THORSEN [POSTSTREET] wrote:
> Kat Thorsen posted: “In the early morning of September 24, 2018, it will > be one year since I lost my beloved parrot, Asterix. Recall: Losing him was > deeply painful. I lost my companion. I lost our family history keeper. I > lost my parents’ voices. Taking care of his ” >