My Bird

My Bird by Sheree Burlington designed on Polyvore.com

There's a bird that sings outside my window each morning. Its call, one of our earliest spring sounds, is also part of my earliest memories. Each time it would sing, my mother would feign surprise, look around and say with an excited voice, "Did you hear it? That's your bird! Listen!" She'd mimic its three note call, one high note followed by two repeating lower notes, saying "Where's Sheree? Where's Sheree? She'd hold me in her arms as I looked around in awe, never seeing that bird but knowing that its call was only for me. It was my bird.

When my son Neal was born, that early morning sound found a new home. Almost exactly the way my mother did 55 years ago, I held my infant son, looked to the trees and exclaimed "Did you hear that? That's your bird! Listen!" And I'd repeat his name in that same three note call - Neal Michael, Neal Michael. It was his bird.

A couple of days ago, he poked his head through the door and said "Mom - do you hear that? Listen! That's my bird!" It was a nice moment, the two of us smiling, warmed by some early memory. Outside the window, our bird was singing our songs. Neal turned 18 last week. He's a 6"-4", 230 pound man. I can see it in my mind, so clearly: Him singing that three note song as he passes on his bird.

We love our birds mom. Thank you.