• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

My daughters and I had been staying at my parents’ house for a few days. Our breakfast was interrupted one morning by a loud noise that caused us all to jump in alarm. A disoriented bird had flown into the kitchen window. Unfortunately, before we could get to it, Max and Jake—my dad’s black Labs—were trying to mess with the wounded bird. Somehow we were able to wrestle it from the snarling dogs amid the cries of Erin and Camryn, who sobbed as I cuddled the poor thing in my hands. Hunter was in his stroller not too far from all the commotion.

Although it was obvious the bird was dying, it was so beautiful, and this was such an uncommon occurrence, that I wanted Hunter to see the little creature. I walked carefully over to his stroller and knelt down next to him. Everyone crowded around and watched intently as I picked up Hunter’s hand so he could pet the bird.

“Isn’t he beautiful, Hunter?” I said as I moved his hand up and down across the bird’s feathers. He blinked his eyes once to say yes. “Do you see how lovely this bird is? Even though he’s dying, all his colors and markings are still so beautiful. The life of every creature and the breath of all mankind are in God’s hand,” I said. “He knew today would be the day this little creature would take its last breath. He knows everything. And even though we don’t understand why things happen the way they do, God knows.”

My inquisitive daughter, Camryn, interrupted me with a stream of questions: “Is he going to die, Mama? Are we going to bury him? Where are we going to put him? What are we going to do, Mama?”

“Well, Cam, we’re going to find a resting place for this bird.”

We found a spot near the edge of the woods and laid the little bird there.

“Can we come back and check on him?” Camryn asked earnestly.

“Sure, honey, we’ll come back in a little while. Let him rest for now.”

As we walked away, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the bird would be gone. Of course, I didn’t know it then, but it wouldn’t be long before Hunter would be gone, too.

But God knew.

Now, here I was, sitting on my patio couch two months later, remembering that day in my parents’ backyard and recalling what I had said to Hunter and his sisters about the death of another little bird. I suddenly realized that God had used that earlier experience to somehow prepare all of us for Hunter’s death.

I wept.

And I prayed for the broken bird in my hands. “Please help this bird. He’s struggling, unable to fly. Is he going to die?” And that is when I experienced a touch of God’s grace, the kind of grace that would help to shepherd me through the grieving process, no matter how long it might take.

When Hunter was alive, I had hoped and prayed that he would take his last breath in my arms. The fear of losing him, or not being there for him, had consumed me for years. He was my boy, my only son. I wanted to be the one with him when he took his last breath here and his first breath in heaven. But I wasn’t. And I was devastated.

My entire life had revolved around Hunter. Every breath he took was a gift. I didn’t want to miss a thing. No matter where I was or who I was with, my heart and mind were with Hunter.

As time went by, we all seemed to forget that he was dying from a horrendous illness. In fact, my mother and I had actually discussed getting some more blood work done, just to confirm the diagnosis. Hunter was beating the odds. He was living.

So at that moment, taking care of that frail, helpless little bird took on new meaning. As the creature struggled for every breath, I thought of Hunter and the sound of his breathing. Hunter didn’t have a normal breathing pattern. When Hunter’s lungs were clear, his breathing was big and full. But often, because of his inability to swallow, he would gurgle a lot with every breath. His gurgled breathing was like sweet music to my ears, especially during the night. My head was usually about a foot away from Hunter’s. I slept as close to him as I possibly could so that I could hear every breath.

The tears streamed down