New Year's Eve marked the first anniversary of my mother-in-law's death. Ginner was a wonderful woman, about whom it was impossible to crack the usual mother-in-law jokes. I was horribly deprived by this. Actually, we all were deprived by her passing. The only person I've ever known with as much integrity and Christ-like character as she is her daughter, who in a momentary lapse of judgment many years ago, consented to be my wife.
Anniversaries of a loved one's death are usually pretty difficult, especially those first anniversaries; the first birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas without that person actually present for the occasion. New Year's Day was the first New Year without Linda's mother.
Outside one of the windows of our Millstone Room are four bird feeders, two hanging, and two feeders on stands. Chickadees, finches, tufted titmouses, mourning doves, blue jays, and woodpeckers are regular visitors. But Linda's favorites are the cardinals. She loves the bright scarlet of the male, and the more subdued hues of the female, but I think much of her love for them is residual from her father, who fed the birds and loved the cardinals that ate him out of house and home every year. These birds are a connection, a visible reminder of their love, but they are skittish, don't come around often, and scare off easily. So when one showed up at her feeder last New Year's Day, it was for her like a message from God, a small "I'm thinking of you" kind of note that gave her great comfort.
New Year's Day arrived on schedule, bringing with it those mixed feelings that accompany the anniversary of her mother's departure. Linda was OK most of the day, but there were those moments when I noticed her sitting quietly, and knew she was thinking of her mother. It was in one of those moments that the cardinal flew in to eat at her feeder. Linda confided that she had been praying for one to come by, as a sign, a reminder from God that everything would be all right.
This afternoon, I received a call from a friend whose wife is dying. She wanted me to come see her, to help her plan her funeral. I drove to Buffalo, visited for awhile, made the requested arrangements, prayed with her and her family, and came home. Linda was sitting in the Millstone Room waiting for me. I sat down so we could talk. It was a sad conversation concerning our friend, but after a few minutes, she said, "Do you want to hear some good news?"
"Sure," I replied.
"Three cardinals came by today, and stayed for a long time."
It's a simple pleasure, a gift that some would label as mere coincidence. I would be hard pressed to state with certainty that God sends cardinals just to brighten someone's day, but I would also be hard pressed to say he doesn't. In the midst of sorrow were signs of comfort and hope, a small gift; nothing much in itself except for the meaning given it by a woman with a heart still tender from her loss. The pleasure I saw in her eyes as she told me the story is the object of my gratitude today.
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