Mar
8
2016
Morning Song
Posted in Faith 4 Comments
I woke up to the sound of singing.
Each day, it was the call of the morning.
Some might have been frustrated that their sleep was disturbed.
I seemed to count on it.
I was only fifteen years old at the time.
Spring was ready to burst forth.
Crocuses that my mother planted around the lamppost were ready to bloom.
Soon the colors of spring would be everywhere.
It was the days of room air conditioners protruding from upstairs windows.
Only a few people had central air conditioning.
We did not, so my bedroom and another side bedroom each had one in the window.
When they were both running, the whole upstairs of our small house was cooled.
I couldn’t see outside the window where the room air conditioner was placed.
I could only look out the top window, which would give me a view directly in front of me.
There was a tree in our back yard that my other window seemed to frame.
I tried to see if a robin was in that tree but she wasn’t.
I had to find her.
She was my morning song.
I had no idea where she was perched as she sang a hello to me each day.
That is what I concluded; her song was just for me.
Saying that out loud would have seemed like boasting.
However, in my heart I knew.
The robin sang for me.
I never said that to anyone; it was my heart secret.
My mother would come into my room in the morning.
She would remark about the robin’s singing.
Listen to her sing, she would say.
How I wanted to tell her, she’s singing for me.
Once in a while the room air conditioner would shake a bit.
It was secured in the window properly.
Yet when it ran, it would vibrate.
I was used to the sound and the slight shaking.
One day, I began to smell a strange odor in the room.
I walked around until I found the source of the smell.
It was coming from the air conditioner.
It was actually coming from the windowsill under the air conditioner.
Day after day the robin sang.
Day after day the morning song woke me to greet a new day.
One morning, in early April of that year, I heard the robin for the last time.
Little did I know how that morning would be different from all other mornings.
My mother had come in to say good morning and make sure I was awake.
Time to get up, was her usual greeting as she entered the room.
That morning, she kissed me on the forehead.
I love you, she said and then left my room.
She got downstairs and went into the kitchen.
She walked over to the radio and turned it on.
I could hear the familiar voice of the news radio announcer.
Then I heard her scream my father’s name.
A loud thud followed the scream.
I got downstairs first and saw her lying face down on the kitchen floor.
Our little dog was by her side.
The sound of the radio and the morning song of the robin were forgotten.
In their place was the sound of an ambulance.
The din of voiced instructions was all around me.
The expert EMT’s did their job and transported her to the hospital.
She died hours later.
In the morning O Lord, You hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before You and wait in expectation. (Psalm 5:3)
Over forty years later, I still remember my morning song.
The robin greeted me each day with her song.
She was right below my window, the one with the air conditioner in it.
Someone moved the air conditioner to see about that smell.
Under the air conditioner was a nest with blue robin’s eggs still inside.
Was that the cause of the odor?
My robin was singing for her babies in the nest.
When the air conditioner vibrated she must have flown away.
The air conditioner moved in such a way that she could not get back to her nest.
All she could do was sing.
She sang for her babies in the nest.
It was as if she wanted them to know she was there, though she could not get to them.
After the nest was moved and the window sill cleaned of twigs and debris, the song stopped.
My morning song stopped.
I missed my robin.
I missed her song.
Time to get up.
I love you.
Another morning song, firmly tucked in my heart, stopped.
The robin never sang after that morning; that same morning a voice was stilled.
There are those that would relate the two things.
Each was a gift to me.
Each of those gifts were taken away.
But the song remains.
Oh, how the song remains.
It lingers every spring when I see a robin and hear her sing.
It lingers in my heart with the precious memories of another song.
It was a song that molded me into the woman I am today.
The gift of the morning song is still with me.
Morning is the quiet time of day when the Lord hears the song of my heart.
Morning is the peaceful time of day when I lay my requests before Him.
As sure as the sun rises each day, He will answer my morning song.
I wait in expectation.
This makes me cry, Gina. I somehow didn’t realize how young you were when your Mother died. How very difficult that must have been. But again, God has whispered secrets to your heart of comfort and peace, and for that, and for your sharing those whispers with us this morning, I give thanks. You have blessed me this morning. Love you!
Mary Ann, this is another things we share. Kindred spirits you and I. It does not matter when you lose your mother. That experience leaves an indelible mark that only God can heal and put into perspective. I look forward to the day that I have tea across the table from you. Love to you, friend!
Gina
So sorry that you lost your mother when you were young. What a difficult experience to live through, and you honored her memory by becoming such a wonderful mother yourself. As Mitch Albom says, “death ends a life but not a relationship.” Our mothers are always with us.
Thank you, Judith! That experience taught me to treasure life and moments. They are more fleeting than we realize. God held me then and holds me still. Miss you, friend!
Gina