After Puck's Death

Our home felt very quiet and empty after Puck’s death. It took Mark and me several weeks to adjust to our changed circumstances. We hadn’t recognized the fullness of his presence until he was gone. We had lost other pets but this was much more intense. Puck had been so joyous, so “up,” always entertaining himself and us with his chirps, songs and words. Whatever my mood, he would invariably move me into a space of delight and lightheartedness. The house now seemed joyless.

Some wonderful experiences with wild birds helped me begin to heal during this, otherwise, bleak period. On several occasions, starlings swooped down and flew about me as I walked. And one morning as I watered the garden, a robin walked out from the foliage next to Puck’s grave, and just stood there looking up at me. I was only two feet from him and he didn’t move! I then heard a bird calling out sharply, and looked up into the camphor tree to see a mockingbird on the lowest branch. He was very close and he seemed to be trying to communicate something. He called out insistently, over and over, making direct eye contact with me. This scene must have lasted about three minutes: one bird at my feet, and the other above me, and the world seemed absolutely still with only the three of us in it. I was transported. And then they both flew away at the same moment.

The wild bird experiences did not last long, but they helped me immensely in my transition to life without Puck. I felt that these winged creatures were emissaries, telling me that all was well: Puck was well. I was well. Everything was exactly as it should be.

Thank you, Puck, for having come to me. I was gifted in being your caregiver, your chronicler, and, most of all, your friend. You were, truly, at least one in a million.