The other morning, I was preparing to head to the local park for some exercise. Approaching my car, I noticed movement under the front passenger tire. It was a tiny little sparrow, standing still, looking in my direction. Obviously, something was wrong because it let me walk over, squat down, and reach my hand out to it.

Had it flown into a window or a car and stunned itself? Had some other bird or critter attacked it? I couldn’t tell, but as we continued looking at each other, I told him I was going to get some water and would be right back.

Yes, I talk to birds. We seem to have an understanding about things.

I grabbed my water bottle and poured a little puddle in front of him, hoping he’d drink some and revive a bit. Instead, he began to teeter and struggled to stand, flapping his tired little wings. It didn’t look good.

I knew that he needed my help somehow, so I gently touched his sweet little bird head, brushed his wing and said, “It’s okay, little fella. I’m here, and you will be okay.” As I slowly scooped him up in my hand, it felt as if he knew he was in good care and relaxed in the curve of my palm, still looking calmly up at me with those soulful dark brown eyes. We moved to the shade of my front porch, and I quickly ducked inside to find a shoebox to keep him comfortable and safe while he regained his strength.

Something also told me to grab two of my healing stones to put in there with him.  

I’ve collected healing crystals, various stones, and feathers for years because they resonate with me. Necklaces, bracelets, and even a few secretly tucked in the watch pocket of my jeans when needed. Many folks don’t believe in the power of these things, and some might even think they’re the “devil’s tool”. But for me, it’s real. I can feel their energy when they touch my skin. And depending on how I’m feeling physically or emotionally, certain crystals and stones seem to resonate more intensely.

Without much thought, I immediately picked up my favorite stone – a heart made from green aventurine. This is the stone typically associated with abundance, good fortune, and the heart chakra. It is also a stone of healing and balance, helping to soothe emotional wounds and promote inner peace.

The second stone was a piece of clear quartz, which I rarely pull from my collection. But this day, it spoke to me. It’s considered a “master healing” stone, helping clear away negativity and relieving pain. On a metaphysical level, it helps the holder to experience a deeper understanding of oneself and their connection to the universe.

When I came back out, my little sparrow friend was sitting still, and I could see his wings shivering. He tilted his head slightly to look up at me as I placed the stones beside him in the box. As I stroked the back of his head, his gaze never left mine, except for an occasional blink.

“It’s okay, little friend,” I said, as our eyes remained connected. “I know you’re struggling, and it’s okay to go now. I’m here to help you.”

And the moment I said those words, I saw his feet tense up, as he pulled them toward his body, almost like he was getting ready to take flight. His eyes were still locked on mine, as if to say, “I’m scared of what’s happening right now, but I trust you.” I gently scooped my fingers under his body so he could rest in the palm of my hand, and as my eyes began to fill with water, I told him one last time that it was “okay to go”.

Still focused on me, he sank into my palm with a brief shudder that overtook his entire body. And then, he was gone.

I sat quietly with him for a few minutes, then went inside to find something to wrap his body for burial. I refused to let him sit and decompose on the hot pavement outside my house or worse yet, have the maintenance crew find him and dump him in the trash.

So, together, we made the journey to the local park where I walk. This day, there were very few people there – almost as if the Universe knew we needed the place to ourselves. I slowly picked up the makeshift coffin and walked from the parking lot past the pond and picnic tables and entered the trail to the woods.

The trail was soft because of the rain that had fallen the previous day. The trees protected us from the hot July sun. The only sounds were those of the birds and the breeze, rustling through the leaves and branches.

Just me, my little sparrow friend, and the Universe.

I walked for a bit until I found a clump of trees with a soft mound of leaves at the base. It seemed a perfect place for little sparrow’s body to rejoin nature. I uncovered a little space, removed him from his coffin, and placed him there. His body no longer looked tense. It was almost as if he appeared to be in flight, aerodynamic, with wings pulled back and tucked close to his sides, so he could soar across the sky with speed and grace. But his feathers would never again feel the wind touch them, as they would soon wither away and become one with those woods. With nature. With the Universe.

As I pulled a mulch-colored blanket of leaves over him, I wished him safe travels to wherever it is that little bird souls go.

There was a bench just a few feet away from his resting place, and I spent some time sitting with eyes closed, taking in the significance of all that had happened that morning.

In the quiet of that moment, my mind flashed back to the time when I was with my dad, three days before he passed away. Apparently, he was beginning to experience what the hospice nurse called the “active dying” stage. She explained that sometimes, hospice patients in this stage become agitated. They may struggle to try and get out of bed or look and reach upward, as if they see something or someone. Apparently, on that day, he managed to get out of bed at the assisted living facility, fell, and had to be transported to the local hospital.

I arrived at the emergency room to find him in bad shape, bleeding from the bridge of his nose, where he had fallen and hit his face on the bathroom door. How he managed to pull himself up and out of bed and walk that far is still a mystery.

He was motionless now – eyes closed and almost zombie-like, wearing a neck brace and covered with wires and tubes entering and exiting him from all directions. Looking completely defeated by the thought of having to exist in his cancer-ridden body one more day.

He suddenly became agitated and started to cry, trying to pull the IV port out of his arm and struggling to get out of the bed. I attempted to reassure him by gently putting my hand on his shoulder and saying, “Daddy, it’s Leigh. Your daughter. I know this is frightening and that you’re in pain, but I’m here with you.”

But that wouldn’t be enough to help. This day, he didn’t recognize me – in fact, he never opened his eyes to look at me the whole time I was there. He was already somewhere else, in the space in between life and death. There was nothing I could do to reassure him that he would get better. Because he wouldn’t. Both of us knew that. Finally, the morphine began to take effect, and he became still again.

So, I gently rubbed his arm, struggling to find the courage to say what needed to be said, and hoping that the Universe was listening and ready to help.

“Daddy, it’s okay to go now. I’m here with you, and you don’t have to struggle anymore. I’ll be here to help you so you’re not alone, but it’s okay to go.”

Dad’s wishes had always been to return to his hometown, and through the help of the angels at Amedisys and Randolph Hospice House, we were finally able to make that happen. A few days after his visit to the emergency room, he was transferred to Randolph Hospice House, where he passed away peacefully in his sleep.

Thinking back, I can now see some similarities and differences in the time I spent with my dad during his last few days and in that short time with my little sparrow friend. In both instances, there was nothing I could do to keep either of them from ultimately dying – all I could do was be there with them and offer whatever comfort they needed at the time.

But while little sparrow allowed me to hold him as he took his last breath, my father preferred to pass away without any of his family present. And while not being there when my father passed makes me a bit sad, I also know that was the way he wished to take leave of this place – on his terms.

It occurs to me that maybe all of us have little “bird souls” that take flight when we die – soaring high above the trees and clouds, no feathers required, all of us headed toward the same place.

The place where our pain is healed. Where there is love and light. Where we become one with something much greater than us.

The thing is, we just may not know we have those little “bird souls” until the moment we finally realize it’s okay to go.