Take These Broken Wings And Learn To Fly

Well Wingman, I almost drew a blank when it came to choosing the song that would memorialize the 10th anniversary of you being gone. I waffled between “Rock N Roll Heaven” “Forever Young” and of course, “In My Life”. None of them conveyed the suffering that both you and our family went through with your illness and death. I finally decided on The Beatles’ “Blackbird”. Yes, I know that it was written about a black woman during the Civil Rights Movement. But bear with me.

The first songbird my third grade teacher taught us to identify in nature class was the red-winged blackbird.  She claimed that the appearance of the bird would give us the confidence to do things in front of crowds and at events.  I assumed she meant just at school until I met you. You were the blackbird.  With your fireglo Rickenbacker bass you were my first guitar hero. True, you couldn't read music and sang slightly off-key (and never learned the correct lyrics to "Two Tickets to Paradise") but you always had the confidence to play, and sing in bars and with Mr. Mustard, almost win Beatlefest.  It killed your creativity when that band broke up and the band members went on to play with other groups that you weren't invited to join.  All you had left was playing that bass to records and CD's by yourself.

Blackbirds move in groups and protect each other. Male birds protect nesting females and fledglings from predators.  Like a blackbird, early on you were always your best within your circle of friends and family. You were destined to be the caregiver of your handicapped brother had you lived and been healthy. You tried so hard so remain the center of each son's life and it broke your spirit when they rebelled against you and insisted on their own independence. And you retreated further when I rebelled against you as well. You couldn't protect me, the boys, your parents, your job. I was angry and embarrassed with you, with me, with us. Intervention, rehab and therapy didn't work. Getting your work wives involved so you could keep your job didn’t work. The seams of our marriage strained to the breaking point.

There were 23 days from the time you were found convulsing in the bedroom to the night you died. The surgeon lied to me when he said you had a 30% chance of making it off of the operating table that night-he later admitted that he was pretty sure you had zero chance, but live you did.  So when I learned the blackbird's spiritual meaning is that we get to choose how and when we want to go, it became abundantly clear. You wanted to live on for 23 days. The same number your favorite Yankee Don Mattingly wore.

On the night you died, you had an aide that helped you stand up and walk your first two steps to a chair. (She later admitted that a blood clot probably loosened and moved to your heart that night which killed you).  You ate mashed potatoes mixed with chocolate pudding which you thought was gravy. You didn't know my name, but told the aide that I was "the bitch" which I wholeheartedly accept. Returning to the hospital later that night, I saw you laying there, sunken eyes open, surrounded by ugly medical waste used to try and revive you.  I didn't cry at all-only your mom did when she saw you. I'm sorry that I never found those tears in the days following.  People may hate me for saying this, but I'm not sure that in the past ten years, I ever did. It isn’t easy to admit even now.

Today, the red-winged blackbird still evokes memories of you. Blackbirds are diurnal which means they eat day and night and they're indiscriminate eaters-not uncommon in our house where you could be found eating whatever was leftover right out of the fridge at 3 am. While watching the John Lennon 75th Birthday Concert, the company promoting his CD’s and CD/DVD’s was named Blackbird Presents.  Is it fate or irony that while traveling I found a company called Blackbird that makes your poison of choice: vodka? That Jameson Whiskey touts a signature drink called The Blackbird?

The sea otter may be your spirit animal but the more I spot blackbirds, the more I think that their influence on me relates directly to you. They have taught me since you died to be more flexible and forgiving. They have shown me that I have to avoid toxic people and places and that I have to, and always will, defend my flock. And their beautiful song reminds me that music has and always will lighten my spirits.

Tonight, what was your flock and is now mine will dine together,  We’ll walk to the river and send off some floating candles, wistful that there won't be any sea otters to receive them. And we’ll play “Blackbird” because as the song says, you were always waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of a dark black night

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of a dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.