Cracking Open

This morning, while checking emails in my office, I noticed an unusual smudge on the window by my desk. Standing to get a closer view, it became apparent that this was no ordinary mark. The outline was unmistakable … a bird had flown into the window, imprinting itself on the glass.

My pulse quickened. A lump formed in my throat. Filled with dread, my eyes fell to the ground below. Immediately, a wave of relief swept over me. There was nothing on top of the mulch.

“It must have gotten up and flown away,” I told myself.

Of course, I knew there were other possibilities. But I chose to believe this bird survived the crash. It was then I remembered writing about this exact thing happening to Maggie in the third book of The Awakening Series, The Healers …

Thud! My heart sinks as the morose sound vibrates through my ears. A bird flew into the window ... again.

I run to the large balcony slider. There, outside, lies a robin. I carefully open the door and watch as this sweet thing rocks back and forth. Its small beak gasps in fits. After several moments, the bird remains on its left side, unable to right itself. A lump in my throat forms as its tail feathers fall.

“Fly away!” My voice is loud, determined.

Its left wing lifts and momentarily flutters. The bird’s erratic breath comes and goes as its small, tufted chest heaves up and down. “You can do it,” I say. My words are soft, more like a prayer than an encouraging statement.

Twitches follow. Its back tail lifts less than a centimeter.

Moments later, the death dance ends. For me, it’s not over. An unexpected pain, coming from deep inside, shrouds me. I’ve just witnessed the end of a beautiful bird’s life. Tears fall, quickly and fiercely. In less than a minute, I’m curled in the fetal position near the entrance of the balcony. The toaster pops. I can’t move.

How could a bird flying into a window unravel me? Somehow, this common occurrence has poked a hole in the armor that encases my heart. Unsure when I first shut it down, I begin to wonder if my heart space has ever been truly open. I can express emotions. I remember crying multiple times each day for months after my mom died. Then there was the breakup with Pete. I felt terrible ending things. And of course, my grandfather’s passing caused a great deal of sorrow. Then, when I found out I was pregnant, well, that pretty much unhinged me.

Even now, I seem to cry easily.

Still, did I ever let myself fully feel ... anything? Instead of permitting sufficient time and space to allow sadness to settle in, even if I may have sobbed, I always stood strong and stoic. I wasn’t one to tend to my own broken pieces. I chose to brush all pain under the rug so I could go on with life. I suppose with each loss, I added a protective layer to the metal around my heart, making it nearly impossible to penetrate. But this morning, a tiny bird found a way through my armor.

While “my bird” survived its encounter with the window, a range of emotions filled my body when I thought its fate might have ended differently. Yes, I love animals and seeing one in distress tugs on my heartstrings. I could never watch Mutual of Omaha’s Sunday night television show where the lion would inevitably eat the small gazelle trailing behind the pack. To this day, I take bugs outside, refusing to kill them. I even have trouble disposing of “mostly dead” houseplants.

Why can compassion for weak or struggling animals evoke deep emotions, sometimes stronger than those I feel for fellow humans?

I suppose it’s the stories that get in the way. Our beliefs or assumptions jade us, creating reasons why that individual is different. But what if we shifted our perspective and found a way to hold more space for those who we find difficult?

Ashley, a student in my fourth-grade class at Waldron Mercy Academy, was large, awkward, socially challenged. While she was quite bright, she struggled interacting with the other kids. We—the teachers—tried to support her. So did the kids. Everyone was kind and inclusive. Yet, when she moved mid-year, no one could deny an overwhelming relief felt among staff and students.

Only now do I realize that Ashley was that gazelle, just dressed in a different body. While we all felt sorry for her, I cannot say I fully opened my heart to her or met her with the compassion she deserved. Everyone was nice, polite, accommodating … but I don’t think I did my best.

I wonder what happened to Ashley. Did she find her peace and happiness? Or did she continue to struggle? But then my questions went further. Why didn’t I do more? Would I respond differently today?

I suppose we all wish we could “redo” certain pieces of our past. At sixty-one, I’m wiser and more nurturing than I was at twenty-four. Was I merely unaware? Or did I lack the capacity to accept the pain this child must have endured? Most likely, I rationalized that her oddities could not be helped, believing she was just an awkward kid and would probably outgrow it at some point. But did she? Did someone support her? Why couldn’t that someone have been me? If I was willing to feel more with my heart instead of justifying the situation in my mind, might I better acknowledge her suffering?

The more we go within, reflect, and shine the light on our shadows, the easier it is to chisel away the armor we’ve used to protect ourselves. Being vulnerable can be terrifying. Because when we allow ourselves to fully feel, who knows what might happen?

These past several months, the shield around my heart has softened. I’m a bit more patient, open, accepting. Yes, there’s still a long road ahead, but I can’t deny the change. It’s more than having a greater capacity for dealing with others. There’s also been a physical shift. Maybe the best way to describe it is greater mobility coupled with a sensation that my rigid back is breaking into smaller pieces. Yoga’s flowing. I can hit the golf ball farther with less effort. Yet, I’m sore. Could it be that opening my heart requires my human body to expand its limitations?

It only took a small bird to crack the armor encasing Maggie’s heart. What will it take to open yours?