Mahogany, Sugar, & Socrates

The worn leather feels warm as I sink into his antique wing chair. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, curling into the smallest ball I could make. I feel so slight now. So vulnerable. Just a wisp of flesh that moves like a feather in a breeze through the house. No longer in control.

I spent hours sobbing, eclipsed only by the hours I slept. Greater still was the number of hours I spent doing absolutely nothing. Just staring out the window at the birds wondering when I would be able to sing again. Lying in bed wearing his favorite cable knit sweater. The more I wore it, the less it held his smell. Fading away almost as quickly as my energy had.

The busy work was done months ago. The planning. Organization. The goodbye. People were in abundance right after to show their support. Brought food I’d never eat. Sent their thoughts and prayers. Shared stories of the good times. But now I’m truly alone. And alone; the grief is heavy.

Sitting in the old leather chair I think about what my late husband would have thought if he saw me like this. The heaving sobs breaks the silence of his office, but my darkness matches the decor. The brown chair and the shadow of person in it perfectly fits the dark mahogany desk and bookshelves. The normal smell of must from the collection of first editions is blocked by my congestion from crying. Edgar’s heart would be broken if he knew how his death shattered me. He was the rock. He was the one keeping me moving when things were tough. He was the one who on my darkest days reminded me to shine. How can I shine now without him? How can I shake the numbness?

My blank stare is drawn to his prized family heirloom perched on the top of the bookshelf. The black eyes staring back at my tear-filled eyes.

The stuffed barn owl named Socrates has been in his family for 4 generations. As a child, Edgar’s great grandfather found the owl frozen in a barn after a late spring frost. Shivering under the wing was a small owlet close to death. A future doctor with good instincts, the young child managed to nurse the small owl back to health, teaching him the delicate balance of life and death. The family had the owl stuffed in hopes of always reminding those who saw it the importance of knowledge and wisdom when it came to that line between life and death.

What could knowledge and wisdom possibly do for me right now?

Edgar was 15 years older than me. A high point in my career and confidence drew him in, but he stayed and stood by my side during a low point. When a medical issue stopped me in my tracks and threatened my overall well-being, Edgar was there to redirect. His wisdom, love and guidance got me through. Our love and support went both ways, a true partnership. We brought out the best in each other and neutralized the tear-filled worst. We loved unconditionally and worked through problems together. I always told him, “I can’t carry your burdens for you, and I don’t expect you to carry mine. But I will forever walk beside you and be your support through anything.” Our love was deep and real.

In his favorite chair, I think of those beautiful memories. But now I am alone. There’s no one to jolt me back into motion. I need to get back on my feet on my own. I know I will find the strength to keep moving, but for now I’m just frozen in silent negativity.

Penetrating the silence, my phone alarm sounds shaking me back to reality.

‘Eat’.

After the funeral my sister added reminders to my phone; eat, walk in nature, watch sunset, to name a few. If only I had an appetite.

I slowly unroll the pretzel I’ve become, and stand up for the first time in hours. The sound of my slippers scuffing on the hardwood echoes down the empty hallway. I keep my gaze to the floor to avoid setting off tears at the sight of our pictures decorating the walls. This wasn’t our beautiful home anymore. This was a cold, empty prison where I was to serve out my sentence of grief.

I make myself a cup of tea under the dim stove light. The harsh kitchen light brought too much attention to the clutter that was taking over many spaces in the house. Dishes piled up, laundry baskets overflowed, and my tea cups had begun an occupation of each room in the house.

The last bit of sweetness in the house is gone. My sugar bowl is empty. I look out the kitchen window towards the barn where our bulk supplies are stored. It shouldn’t be too cold to make it out there with just my new daily uniform of slippers, T-shirt and pajama shorts.

The brisk air feels refreshing on my skin. I should open some windows to get the sad stale air out of the house when I go back inside. If I have enough energy after this long journey.

The barn door handle is stiff and the door squeals when I pull it open. Edgar would know where the WD-40 is. Sounds like a mission to add to my mental list of things I’ll do when I feel better. When I turn on the light, a rustle draws my attention to the darkened large back room of the barn. We had a pest problem before. Another item added to the mental list. I grab a new bag of sugar and a box of tea. The rustle in the next room begins again in a rhythmic pattern, almost like the wings of a bird. A long brown feather slowly drifts through the doorway and lands at my feet in the storage room. I quickly jump through the doorway and flip on the light in the back room of the barn. The same barn room where Socrates was found over one hundred years ago, the new pest is probably a descendant of the exalted stuffed owl. The barn is still and the chilly fall evening is catching up with me. I turn off all the lights and make my way back to my prison.

‘Maybe I can count that as one of my prescribed nature walks’ I think as I add the sugar to my tea and make my way back to Edgar’s office. After I open the window, I grab his throw blanket and curl back into the now cold leather chair to drink my tea. A few numb hours go by and eventually I fall asleep.

A light dreamless nap, the sound woke me easily. The almost rhythmic whooshing sound was similar to the one in the barn. When I open my eyes, nothing looks out of place in the dimly lit office. I readjust myself in the chair to let the other side of my body fall asleep and suddenly I see it. I blink a few times to see if my eyes are tricking me in the low light.

On top of the bookshelf sits two owls. I grab my tea cup and smell it to see if I had put whiskey in it. I couldn’t actually be seeing double. But there they are. Socrates, the stuffed barn owl and the live great-grand bird. Sitting peacefully staring at me.

‘Do you want some tea?’ I ask the owl, half giggling to myself. I’ll probably need another cup myself to figure out what to do with this live owl in my home. I untangle my body and start to stand up. My knee cracks loudly, startling the owl who stretches out long wings and prepares to fly for the open window. In a moment of chaos and feathers the owl is gone and Socrates falls dramatically to the floor.

‘Socrates, no!’ I yell as I rush across the room and crumble onto the floor. Holding the broken family heirloom in my hands I begin to sob. Socrates was so important to Edgar and his family. I let this happen. I’m letting everything fall apart.

The branch Socrates had been standing on broke off when it hit the floor. The impact ripped out the seams on the back and stuffing was falling out. As I look down at the mess of feathers and stuffing in my hands, I notice the corner of a small metal box sticking out the now open seam. Carefully I pull open the ripped seam to release the contents onto the floor.

I jump as I hear a clunk sound as the box from inside the owl hits the floor. What treasure had the family possibly hidden in the stuffed owl? Did the generations that followed know something was in here?

I slowly lift the lid of the small box trying not to damage it. From inside I carefully remove a yellowed and folded piece of paper. I began to cry as I read the message, feeling as if it was written for me to read at exactly this moment.

“The line between life and death is love.

Love brings you into the world.

Sometimes love keeps you alive.

Sometimes love keeps the memories alive.

It is important to help others,

But it’s equally important to accept help.

Do good, be good, love good.”

Tears begin to roll off my cheeks. For months I’ve felt alone. I’ve felt like I needed to get through this on my own. I’ve felt like it would be impossible. This wisdom and knowledge from the family heirloom barn owl is what I need to remind me that it’s ok to reach out and accept help from those who love me.

A sound draws my attention to the open window, where the barn owl sits staring in at me. Those black eyes just stare through me. I feel peaceful. I know that the grieving process isn’t a straight line, but for the first time in months, I have some forward motion.

I wipe away my tears and I pick up my phone. For the first time in months, I reach out and ask for help. For the first time in months, I am in control.