Persistence

Fingers are moving, scraping, progressing slowly. Flakes of wood and paint are falling onto the sill beneath.

“Look for the barn owl, then you’ll know you’ve reached it.”

I can hear the words in my mind as clearly as when she said them to me. I asked her how I could help and for awhile, she had no answer.

Today, today was hard. Today, she finally told me how to help her heal.

“Life is a path through a forest of trees, each being you encounter a home in its reach.”

The indigo paint has faded away over the years, the wooden frame no longer stays still when the wind blows hard but instead it shakes and threatens to give in to the elements. The glass of the window is speckled with dust and time. My fingers hurt, I keep going. I think of her, our times together, and the things she’s said that changed me forever.

I remember her to pass the time:

We’re dancing. I smile as she smiles and soon we both grin. Fingers intertwined, we dance together. I watch her heart shine through her eyes, and into mine. She shines a light right through my skin, right into my very being.

Still I try, and pry. My effort is slow and steady. This window will open.

She struggles sometimes, to let me in. I do what she told me to do, I follow her careful instructions. She gave them clearly, even though it was hard to do. She answered my question of how I could help.

The trees on the other sides of the window are waving with the wind, beckoning me out into the forest. The last bit of paint that was keeping the window stuck gives. Success! I push up and the window slides open. A cool breeze whips my cheeks, coughing, I breathe in the cold air. The moon is covered up by thick clouds, it’s full tonight and so bright that even these clouds can’t completely choke the light.

I follow a gravel path while my eyes adjust, listening to the crunch under my shoes with each footstep. In this place night is quiet, crisp, and calm. It’s easy for me to believe I’m completely alone out here - I’m not.

There’s a thicket of trees a few feet ahead of me. This is the first place she told me to look for it. The trees feel familiar and welcoming. The smell of pine fills my nostrils and I smile, closing my eyes to bask in the scent before continuing on. She loves trees, she loves all life, but she really loves the forest and its inhabitants. She especially loves barn owls, everything I know about them comes from her:

“Human-induced climate change has increased the frequency of extreme weather events which Barn Owls are ill-equipped to cope with. For example, the wettest and darkest June ever recorded killed thousands of nestlings. Only 9 months later, the 2nd coldest March ever recorded killed thousands of adults resulting in a 70% decline in nest site occupancy across Britain. That’s why they’re hard to find.”

I continue walking through the trees. I’m not sure where to go exactly, and when that’s the case I just keep moving forward. A hard smack against the front of my body forces me to drop my thoughts.

Squinting, I can’t see any obstruction in front of me. There’s nothing but trees and moonlight ahead. Tentatively, I push my body forward to feel it out. With surprise I realise, I've hit a wall of some kind, I can’t see it, but it stops me from moving any further forward in this direction. This is the confine of her thoughts, I realize. Pulling my hands out of my jacket pockets, I spread my fingers and push to get a sense of the wall. A bit of disappointment strikes me, I may not even be close. I move along the wall, grazing it with my hand while I walk.

She speaks of this memory from time to time, I know it’s one she cherishes:

With absolute joy on my face, I watch her performance, her eyes are tightly shut with focus and her mouth is wide open. Her voice is cracking as she sings her absolutely hardest to Pete Townshend’s “Let My Love Open the Door”:

‘The only key to your heart. That can stop you falling apart. Try today, your finest way. Come on and give me a chance to say’

Falling dramatically to her knees and clutching her chest she belts out the next lines,

‘Let my love open the door. It's all I'm livin' for’

Her voice is full of cheesy desperation as she channels Pete.

‘Release yourself from misery. There's only one thing gonna set you free. That's my love..’

She stands excitedly now, and begins jumping in rhythm to the song,

‘That's my love! Let my love open the door. Let my love open the door’

While her eyes are still closed, I whisk her into my arms and we both laugh before bundling each other up in a cozy hug.

This is how I see her. She is joyful, kind, and loves dancing to songs that ‘make her heart happy’ - her words. Of course, these are all good memories. There are hard ones too, but this one, this one is good. I search my memory for hints. I already made it through the window, now I’m in the forest. What would be next?

Almost as if she heard me, the trees begin thinning out up ahead. Soon, I can see between them. I walk right into a clearing, stumbling upon a lean-to. Nails jut out at all different angles. She’s not precise, that’s not something she tries to be. I can tell she built this, it's not perfect but it is sturdy. The solid structure serves as a sanctuary for any life that should stumble upon it.

I look at the trees around the lean-to remembering what’s she taught me:

“Owls love trees with holes for nesting”

So, I examine the trees around for holes. A stirring startles me and I turn to see a barn owl peering down at me from its perch. Awe flows through me as I recognize it, I can see why it’s her favorite animal. It’s face is so much more beautiful than a picture could ever represent and I believe that it's looking at me with knowing. Its head tilts and I watch in awe as it assesses me. Am I a threat? It knows that I’m certainly not prey. I watch it fly over to the lean-to, then underneath the roof, and then finally it lands on a bench that the shelter offers. I nod with understanding and follow its example. I sit on the other end of the bench, moving intentionally and calmly, trying not to scare the owl.

She’d want me to sit, relax, and enjoy the nature around me, so I do.

Something happened, something really really sad. She lost the baby. She wouldn’t want me to mention it. It makes her sad, the kind of sad that can turn into soul sickness if it takes over. She doesn’t want to make other people sad, miscarriage always makes people sad. Logically, she knows it wasn’t her fault and I remind her of this kindly every time I see the weight of the loss trying to take over - tears stream freely down my cheeks now - it took over.

And again a memory surfaces:

“Hannah?” She asks from behind me. I smile to myself as I feel her wrap her arms around my waist. I continue to whisk together the ingredients for pancake batter.

“Hmm?” I answer, adding in the chocolate chips - her favorite part. She sneaks a hand around my body to grab a handful from the container I keep them in.

“Let’s have a baby together.” She says casually, though I can hear the excitement in her voice. Her excitement is tinted with a bit of question, we've talked about the possibility but haven't decided yet.

“Love?” I say, turning around in her arms so that we face each other. Her eyes search mine. “Let’s have a baby.” I say back with a smile.

Then we made pancakes and ate them.

I pick at the wood of the bench while I sit. My stomach turns, the temperature dropped and I pull my coat more tightly around myself. She’s slipping, I can’t sit here anymore. My brain shifts into problem solving mode. The owl watches me intently as I ponder my next step.

The window was easy, it required patience and time, but it was easy. Once the paint was flaked away, it opened without challenge. She didn’t make the barrier to her mind too challenging at all, just enough to keep anything that wasn’t really trying - out.

Intention, I had to be intentional in order to enter.

Her mind, she shares openly with those she trusts. Her heart? Her soul? I imagine them to be buried. Those things, she is not so trusting with.

Especially now that she’s hurting.

Depression can make our hearts feel like lead that is weighing us down so much, it's hard to breathe. This is her weight, and I want to help carry it in the same way that she helps me with the things that weigh me down. I look down and let tears fall from my eyes, she’s had bouts of depression before but this one is the worst - understandably the worst. I wish I could undo the thing that sent her here, to this lonely, dark, and tragically beautiful place. I can’t, and it wasn’t something she or I caused. Still, her pain is my pain. I tilt my head, assessing the earth beneath my feet.

Dirt! She loves dirt, and I think that’s the next answer. I think of her and her plants, and the ritualistic weekly watering of them. I hop down to the ground, squatting, getting soil under my fingernails as I frantically scoop dirt. She wouldn’t bury it so close to the surface, I know I’ll have to dig for a while.

Humming breaks the silence and I realize it’s the first time I’ve used my voice in a few hours. I hum Pete Townsend while I dig. The earth feels damp and cool in my hands, soon my fingers are extremely cold but I keep going.

This, I can do for her.

I feel it before I see it, the pulse. I dig faster. The knowledge that I’m close warms my fingers as they clutch clumps of soil and throw them into the growing pile next to my dig. Eventually, my fingers tap a box I can’t quite see yet and I know I’ve found it. I stand, and gently toss the box up and out of the hole before climbing my way out of it.

I open the box, to make sure it's there: her heart is beating lightly, and quickly inside of it. Relieved it’s safe, I put the lid back on the box. Then, I begin to replace the soil I dug up, she’d want me to do that. Eventually the hole is filled. I pat the soil down in a mound and pick up the box. It’s heavy with grief. I clutch it to my chest, close my eyes, and think of her.

Opening my eyes, I turn to walk back to the house. The owl flies over to me, resting on my shoulder. Then, just as quickly as it landed, it flies away.

Her voice rings in my head as she describes to me why her soul would be a barn owl if it were an animal:

"Their heart-shaped face is beautiful and practical. It helps trap sound and funnel it towards their ears which are positioned differently on the each side of their head. The left ear is in a higher position than the right which makes it easier for them to detect if a noise is coming from above or below them’ Her eyes are ablaze as enthusiasm consumes her. She continues, “that’s useful in flying and hunting. What is not symmetrical about them makes them exceptionally good at what they do. Plus, I wish I could fly. And barn owls are most alive at dusk and dawn - just like me. I can’t explain it, but I just know if my soul were an animal, it’d be a barn owl."

She thinks about things like that a lot. "Hannah? What animal would you be? I think your soul would be an otter." She asks questions with an unquenchable curiosity and I love her for it.

The box feels cold so I tuck it under my jacket, wincing as the grief permeates my skin. I take one last look at the lean-to before finally moving on. The forest rebels, letting me know of my theft. The wind howls, the trees creak, and soon I am fighting with everything I have to even take a step. In just a few hours the sun will blind the night, and the day will be bright and beautiful. For now the night is unforgiving and I find myself afraid it will never end, the wind will never break, and I’ll never make it back home to her.

It’s no easy thing carrying somebody’s heart for them when they cannot.

I run. My hair tie has come undone and my hair flies straight back as I move, one arm clutching the box in my jacket, the other arm protecting my face as I look forward. The house is up ahead, home is close.

The window beckons me and I throw my left leg over the sill, falling into the room. Wind has knocked the pictures off of our wall, we have a lot of pictures. Memories of us, people we love, and things we’ve done are now scattered all over the floor. Some of the artwork that is still tacked to the wall, threatens to rip, leaving its tack well stuck into the wall as it falls. She sleeps soundly still, softly snoring. I slam the window shut and the room quiets immediately. My weight shifts the bed as I sit down next to her. Gently, I pull back the covers to expose the gaping hole in her chest. She stirs, reaching out for me in the empty space of the bed where I’d normally be sleeping alongside her.

“Hannah?” She says groggily, then rubs her eyes, searching the bed for me.

“I’m here.” I reply. She looks up at me and smiles, then her face fills with confusion. Her eyes move down from my wind blown hair, to my jacket, and then to my arms which are both wrapped tightly around the box.

“Is that?” She stares in sleepy wonder.

“Mhhm.” I answer and retrieve the box from underneath my jacket and open it. Her heart sits in the center of the box, surrounded by wads of silk. I set the box down next to us on the bed. Rubbing my cold hands together, I try to warm them. Then, I reach out to hold her face. She sits up and pulls me into a tight hug. Her shoulders quake and I know she’s crying. I hold her, stroking her hair. My throat clears and then I begin to sing the last verse of "Let My Love Open the Door".

At first it’s a whisper as I find the right notes, “When tragedy befalls you, don't let it drag you down.”

She wipes her face in my jacket, I continue singing, a little bit louder now - with more confidence.

“Love can cure your problems”

Her muffled voice joins mine now - hope fills my heart.

“You're so lucky I'm around”

Her voice quivers as she sings. I pull away just enough to see her face. She looks up at me and locks her eyes with mine.

“Let my love open the door”

We sing together. I squeeze her shoulders lightly to let her know I’m letting go.

“Let my love open the door”

I reach into the box beside me and scoop up her heart. I look her in the eyes, and she nods for me to continue.

“Let my love open the door”

I push her heart into her chest and hold my hands there, she places her hands over mine and cries.

“To your heart.”

We both let silence fill the space around us. I kiss her wet cheek and pull her into me. We sit together, sharing the space.

We do the thing that will help ease the pain - we share the sadness.

Sometimes we get so consumed in our pain that we get lost or rather, we lose ourselves. Sometimes we need others to remind us who we are.

Sometimes, others know how to help us more than we can help ourselves.

She closes her eyes and drifts off, tired from feeling. I stay where I am, sitting on the edge of her side of the bed. She will make it through this, I know it.

We will make it through this, I know that too.

I look over at the window and see the sun peeking over the horizon.

Sources:

https://www.barnowltrust.org.uk/picking-up-a-live-owl/feeding-barn-owls/#Strategies

http://www.gumbylegacy.com/what-is-special-about-barn-owls/

https://www.barnowltrust.org.uk/sitemap/galleries/barn-owls-winter/barn-owls-in-winter-07/