This year began with an attack of blindness on our 20-something African lovebirds. The first time I found two eyes closed on the floor of the cage, the next day, it was five o’clock and soon, it was every other bird that had its eyes closed.
We separate the worst victim from the worse and take them to the doctor; Her receptionist asked us if they had names. We said birdies and for the next month, they were all birdies because my mom held them in her palm and I put powdered tablets in water, vitamin drops, and coconut water three times a day.
I wonder if you’ve seen a lovebird up close and gently lift its beak with the fat of your thumb and insert it into the needle; I wonder if you have ever been bitten by such a bird. Don’t go by their size, these birds can be feisty like you and me.
Once upon a time in a yellow cage, our sick bay, as we used to call it, we had 13 green and pink lovebirds. They were so similar that we had to use a black permanent marker to tell them apart. That’s how we learned them. Number three was a sweetie, number one was bitters and number four, that bird was Houdini in feathers. After a while, we couldn’t even imagine thinking of them like that, they were each so unique.
In front of our house, there is an abandoned plot where weeds reign. This is where passing birds get trapped; My mother doesn’t believe in letting them lie down softly; She violently throws them over the wall, at least a moment before they fall to death. That plot is now filled with sunflowers.
It is not fair that birds get sick, that they die and vice versa, that they get cancer, that they go blind. When my aunt died, it was as if death was in the room. It was very sad and sad but I could accept it and almost understand it as a way of the world.
This was a year when animals taught me more about death than the family members and friends I’ve lost in years past. I tried having a golden koi to feel better. I tried to revive a dying duck by putting it in a bowl of cold water. I tried to force my dog to stay with me and not leave yet, dying of a heart attack. I’m not ready, I cried as I grabbed a bear’s face. I was not there when the lights went out and his eyes became glass. I don’t think I will ever be.
The year is nearing completion and a lot has changed from the way it started.
Almost all the birds are dead; We could only convince them to stay for so long. Once determined to give them life, we now make their death more comfortable. We have learned, I have learned that there is only so much you can do. It is a strange paradox that no matter how much we can save it, we can kill, even if our intention is completely opposite. It sounds so simple, almost an elementary school lesson but it took dying birds for me to learn it. I tried to save them to save myself.
Even with my dog when his tongue turned blue and he became uncomfortable sitting, I took the opportunity to nurse. For three hours after rubbing him with a wet towel, feeding him coconut water and rice water, I tiredly read the book, while his tongue turned blue and he gasped even harder. Death was in the room, a part of me knew the truth but I kept on pretending I couldn’t see them. He looked at me, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling, my bear. I think he was telling me it was time. It was only after he died that I realized how much I love him. I mourned every bird, but I still feel my bones gnawing with it; My love for him is so vast that it fills me as soon as I write this. I hope it never goes extinct. Had he not been dead, would I have come to know its limits, or rather, its limitlessness; I’m not sure.
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