A Job To Do

Most days there are crows outside my apartment in the old sycamores that look dead in winter. Sometimes they try to get my attention; other times they are merely a comforting presence. A few days ago they catapulted me back to that August day just over 2 years ago when their relatives, the ravens, lined the top of the A-frame on Farrar Street. That was the first time I went to Matt's house, full of excitement and uncertainty. I was not sure what my future held and was therefore open to signs and portents from the natural world. Since the massive black birds were the only ones home that afternoon, I asked them why they were there.

“Death” they said. “Dying,” they said.

I did not understand the ominous nature of their communication. I asked, “Are you a warning or a greeting, a sign to stay or a sign to go?”

With their beady eyes, they stared at me, tiny and naïve down below them.

“Death” they squawked, “Dying” they warned.

I did not know then that this was the only thing they ever said, and therefore I chose to take their presence as a good omen. In retrospect it wouldn't have mattered anyway. By the time I had arrived that day I had already been reeled in. I don't know why ravens come when no one listens. It's their job, I guess, at least that's what I think now. They don't enjoy it like you might think they do. They have no perverse pleasure to gain from their foresight.

Just 9 months later everything had changed. Death had come and ravaged all that I came to know and love inside that house. I can't say I wish I had understood the ravens that day because most likely I would have run away, back to the safety of smaller love, the kind that dies before you do. I think those big shiny birds, peering into the future with their piercing eyes, already knew that. I don't dislike them; I just see them now, and I see what they see. In the constant presence of so much death along with so much love, they become like withered souls, tired, indifferent, pragmatic. They do the job, even when they are tempted to fly away.

When I asked Matt about the ravens later that day, he looked confused and scared. Something in his eyes told me he knew, he knew they had a job to do and they were never wrong. The deepest part of me saw him knowing and dismissed it, putting it with the warnings from the ravens in a box where I keep the things I can't accept. I could not then accept that this man whom I was falling for also had a date with death.

After cancer ate away at our hopes and dreams, our promises to each other, and our trust in the Universe, it began to take his life. Slowly at first, it sucked away at the parts we humans hold so close, much like the way our body cradles its marrow inside the bones. The things such as dignity and love for life itself. Towards the end it began working more furiously to take as much as it could. When it couldn't take it all, it filled his lungs and stole his last breath in on May 25, 2019.

His final breath out was reserved for his journey onward, however, that breath that was to propel him forward was suspended. His soul lingered even after his body was changed to ashes and they handed me the wooden box with the eagle flying over the earth that seemed to say “soar, fly free". He was there when Maxi, our mini Dachshund puppy, went with me into the back room of the funeral home where his body was laid out cold. She didn't understand how he could be gone and she ran frantically along the length of his body searching for her beloved Matt. We shed tears together then for our sweet little Maxi who had lost her best friend too.

He returned with me to the A-frame a few days later, after the torrential rain complete with massive thunder, lightning, and a wild wind the night he died. The sky was so angry he did not go home that night; stubborn souls cause an uproar and the elements must respond. Everything has a job to do; the ravens, the sky, even me. I set to work cleaning out the house, a lifetime of objects gathered together in a one-bedroom A-frame, 38 years of life, with his 4 children living there part time. Sorting through it all was strange after knowing him for such a short time. I was terrified of finding something scandalous or shocking, something that would shake all I knew of him to the core. Or some treasure, that would be just like him. We were always treasure hunting. Like that one time in San Francisco before the cancer broke his bones. We looked for treasure from that book, The Secret, we were sure we had solved the riddle but we never obtained permission to dig it up.

As I was rifling through all of the things in the front closet, I came across this little black book. It had all these women's names in it. My stomach fell. Here it was, the thing that threatened to take away from all the love. To belittle all the road trips we turned into the times of our lives on the way to the doctors in the Bay area, all the precious intimate nights in the hospital together. I was so curious that I began calling these women, asking who they were to Matt, how he knew them. Gradually the picture came into focus. He had met them online and was talking to all of them until one day at the beginning of August he abruptly informed them he had met someone, “the one,” they said. He apologized and told them that they were special or kind and that they would be sure to meet some man that was “the one” for them. My heart soared. We’d met in August. I was so happy to be wrong, to shatter the belief that all men are hiding something. He was beside me smiling as I felt this new freedom.

I decided to have a yard sale. I put the kids to work deciding what to keep and what to let go of. Between separating and sorting they found the remnants of a dead bird and a lifeless hamster that had escaped their cages and met their fate inside the mouth of the cats. I chuckled to myself remembering how Matt had said, during those last few days we were at the hospital, that the cats had probably gone "Last of the Mohicans''. He always knew how to make me laugh, even at the hardest of times. The kids decided to make graves for the pets and when they were finished they declared, “we can't move now, our pets are buried here!”

We dragged everything out of all the closets and took it out to the front yard. We made separate piles of his things that we would want to keep for memories or give to family and friends. It was a beautiful day that first weekend in June. I let the kids play in the sprinkler as I realized that we'd all be leaving the A-frame after this weekend. I watched their youthful joy, unaffected for the moment by the death of their dad and the upheaval of their entire lives. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face as I listened to them laughing and playing. Even Maxi who had been so depressed woke up from her sadness for a moment to frolic.

In all the mayhem there was a table with some of the yard sale stuff on it that got wet. There were several balls of yarn on there, some craft project the kids had started but didn't finish. I tasked them with unraveling them all to dry out in the sun. Just as I was in the middle of selling the empty bird cage to another hopeful pet owner, I heard shrieking and shouting.

"There's some in here too!"

I looked over and I saw what looked like balls of money rolling out of the yarn. Shocked, I went to them and picked up one of the wads that had rubber bands all around it. I opened it up and counted more than a thousand dollars. Then another, same thing. And another. When it was all said and done, there was a pile of hundreds totaling $20,000.

I suddenly wondered if Matt had somehow predicted this whole scene unfolding. I knew he was right there with us, delighted to have caused such surprise and excitement, such a treasure for his sweet children and me. He gave me several treasures that day. His untarnished love, his hard earned money to take care of us for a little bit longer on this Earth, the joy of that day, and the memory of him.

And just like that, his Earthly job was done. He could go now knowing that we were okay...we would be okay and that he could come visit whenever he wanted. I look back sometimes with the knowing that he and I were bound in this destiny that was a lifetime in the making. Today the crows are outside my window, a comforting presence, as we both know the fate of things and we do our job anyway.

The End