Ancestral Spirit

The little boy was restless, and watching too much television had made him cranky. His mother told him when she finished washing dishes that they could do anything he wanted. He requested one of his favorite things, no matter what time of year it was. He wanted to go hiking by the lake. His mother agreed they could both use the fresh air and exercise.

She had taken his two older brothers to the same lake, the same trails, and before they were born, she had learned every one of them like the back of her hand. They were sacred to her; they had comforted her as a young girl, as young as ten.

She bundled him up because the winter's chill had not yet faded, although it was almost the end of May. She parked by the drooping willow tree she always parked under because that was his side of the car. It was also the closest non-designated parking space at the east end of the trail. They started up the slight slope as they had many times before.

Just up ahead on the left was a glowing new dandelion. He rushed at it, tore it from the ground. He rubbed its yellow face against his own. His mother, not far behind, watched all of this. He turned to her, ecstatic. "Look what I found!" She struggled to smile at his joy. "It's beautiful." She managed.

He skipped along with it for a short time, swinging it, pressing it, and finally screeched. "Ew! That's gross!" His mother knew about dandelion milk but waited to see if he would ask. He was only four. He didn't. Instead, he asked two different questions.

"Mommy! Who is the lady over there by the barn? Why is she looking at me like that?" His mother quickly shifted into hyper-vigilance mode, eyes darting wide and clear to where her youngest son was pointing. She saw no lady, no human, but she heard the rustling of dead leaves.

"I see you've done the work." A disembodied statement no louder than a whisper eerily spoke close to her ear. "What?!" His mother shrieked. She walked behind the barn, fully expecting to see a grown woman huddled there. "Mommy! There she goes!" By the time she rounded the east side of the withering structure, whoever he'd been talking about was gone. But where? How did she get away so fast?

While his mother scanned the bare forest with its skeleton birches and oaks, her son had wandered into the barn. He, too, then disappeared, and his mother became panicked, sliding and tripping on roots and moss under a blanket of brown dead leaves. She called his name sharp, loud.

He didn't answer because he was afraid he would scare away the spooky beautiful bird high in the corner tucked away from the morning sunlight streaming in from an open rectangular space. She stood in the doorway, about to scold him when she saw it. A barn owl perched on a crooked rafter that looked dangerously insecure. She was careful not to burst out, aware of the severely dilapidated structure.

Her son didn't take his eyes off the bird as his right index finger pointed. "Do you see it, mom?" His soft, concerned whisper paused, waiting for her answer. When she said nothing, he continued. "What kind of bird is it? It's almost like a little person!" His mother silently agreed as she nodded in response. "It's a barn owl." He smiled widely at this. "I love that it’s an owl named after where it lives!" The owl stared at them. Its eyes seemed otherworldly as if indeed a little person was peering down at them.

"The work you've done has not gone unnoticed." The voice in her ear made her gasp and spin around, palms out, ready to grab the woman. Had there been a woman behind her, she may have caught those hands against her own. But no one stood on the threshold.

"Mommy! You're scaring her!" He continued pointing to the darkened corner as the little owl began to lift her wings in a shrugging shoulder motion. His mother sensed the owl's nervousness as her shoulders felt the mix of exasperation from continued conversation with the disembodied voice. She became deeply perplexed.

"How do you know it's a female?" She carefully eyed him the best she could in the dimmed slanted shadows. "She told me." His mother took a deep breath. He was four. His imagination was rich, unspoiled by the weight of society and the world in general.

He lowered his arm, and together they watched as she moved back and forth on her roost. Indeed, females are known to have darker brown feathers around the rim of their facial discs and on their chests. They were barely visible in the slate gray shadows of the tilted loft.

She looked around for signs of humans, but there was nothing to suggest anyone had been here. Although it was close to the public parking lot and regular hikers, it seemed to be void of previous visitors. One look at it was an unmistakable warning to stay clear.

She watched him watching the owl in pure adoration. Suddenly he spoke again, but it was not to her. "I know. I'll tell her." He softly regarded the bird and looked at his mother. "She wants you to know she's been watching you since the day she died when you told her it was okay to go. She said you made her a promise and knows all the hard work you've done to keep it. She knows you've wanted to break it many times, and that is why I am here. There is a contract. She said you would understand."

His mother closed her eyes. She recalled the night her mother in law died. She indeed made a promise she wasn't sure was heard. Now twelve years later, she was being told that what she said out loud, alone in a hospital room to an unconscious woman had been heard. Her husband had just walked down the hall to request the hospital chaplain. She had passed away within the hour.

"Who is she, mom?" The little boy waved and then turned his back to the little owl. He walked slowly and cautiously out of the barn. "Your grandmother." His mother didn't hesitate to answer. He was old enough to understand and young enough to believe completely. His face lit up. "I love that she's an owl! And that I was able to meet her!" His mother took his tiny hand and looked over her shoulder one last time. "I love that you got to meet her, too."

His voice was that of a much older child when he asked, "What was the promise you made?" His mother looked down at him and then across the lake. "Well, that's a secret." He didn't look up at her as he paused. "So, a promise is a secret?" "Sort of." She replied slowly, hoping the answer would be enough.

He looked ahead at more dandelions that popped up along the way. "What about those?" He pointed to the bright yellow heads swaying gently in the cold breeze. "They turn fluffy, and we make a wish, right? Is it the same for promises and secrets?" His mother smiled an effortless smile as she answered. "Yes, they turn fluffy, and we make a wish. Then we blow their little pods off into the universe, to the big blue sky. And then we wait to see how they are answered. But there’s a trick to wishes. We have to really believe that somehow, they can come true.”

He looked up at her. "Don't all wishes come true if you don't tell anyone what you've wished for?" She glanced at him, wondering how just much he could understand at his age. She shook her head no. “Let’s say you made a wish to be able to fly. And why wouldn’t you want to be able to fly? But deep in your heart, you must already know that it is not possible for a human to fly like a bird.” His face showed he understood, so she continued.

“So, what if your wish was to be brave enough to travel on an airplane?” He looked at the sky at a jet stream that had streaked a white line across the cerulean expanse. “Then I would be able to fly!” She nodded. “Or, that when you die, you could come back in another body, like a bird?” His eyes widened. “Like a grandma owl?!” Another nod. “Yes, like a grandma owl.”

She paused a moment, abstract thoughts connecting dots. "I could tell you one of my secrets." He looked so excited. "You could?!" She sighed. "I wished that she could have met you just once." He smiled broadly and said, "So, your wish came true." She inhaled deeply. "Yes, I believe it has." He smiled up at the sky. "Thank you, Universe, for sending my grandma to meet me." His mother's eyes rimmed with tears. "I like how wishes answer when they are ready." She knelt on the hard earth and hugged him. "Me, too, little man. Me too."