Red Barn, Blue Bird

Anyone who has ever lost someone they loved wonders. 

Where do they go? 

What do they do? 

Can they still hear me? 

Do they still see me? 

You want to believe, though they were robbed of their life, as a trade-off they were given a celestial railway pass which ushers them between worlds at their will.  

Or at your need. 

Your loved one leaves a space. 

And to cope one fills it with questions and suppositions. 

I've surely done it. Even if just for fun. 

I know I have sought my mother's presence on Earth since she left it. 

One time I felt it. 

When very soon after Mom died, my not even two-year old boy swatted at my face one hurried morning before work. Emotionally raw and tired, my heart wanted to cry, but it also understood he was just a baby. I sighed back the unexpected hurt in that moment, knowing the sweetheart meant nothing. And I'll never forget what he said next. 

"Mimi say no hit Mommy."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. And he and I talked. She had told him she was sorry she "fell down." (At the time anyone sick or hurt to Matthew "fell down.") Her words through my son's angelic voice gave me something I'd need down the road. 

 I had my moment to take with me. And in spite of my quest, I've not had one since. 

Aunt Mimi says Momma sends her blue birds. An avid nature lover Aunt Mimi is very familiar with who flocks to her yard. She says she never had blue birds until mother died. She also says Momma sends her one before I come to her house. I've witnessed it myself, and am tickled at the notion. 

I never see blue birds. 

This weekend a friend of mine and I were recharging our new mommy batteries in Highlands. On our way down the mountain I stopped to photograph a gorgeous old barn I've always wanted to capture. I hopped out a mere minute. The shutter clicked once and there she was. 

Looking right at me. 

A blue bird in Highlands.

Noteworthy? 

Probably not. 

But as I said. 

One wonders.