A gentle visitor from the afterlife: how birds comfort us in grief.
As I stood at my parents' gravesite on a midwinter's day, blanketed by deep snow, I was unexpectedly serenaded by a robin. Perched on the stone monument where my mother's name had recently been added to that of our father, Robin Eden – no coincidence, it seemed – the bird remained steady as I approached. It didn't take flight, instead jumping down onto my shoe and allowing me to touch its head before taking off into the sky.
My father, too, had a special connection with birds. At a friend's funeral service, we filed out of the crematorium into the garden where The Lark Ascending played. And there, our first sight was a lark – a fitting tribute from nature itself.
Others have experienced similar moments of solace in times of loss. Three weeks after my mother passed away, I received an unexpected visitation that would stay with me forever: the song of the nightingale on its very first night of the year. It was a gift my husband had brought home to serenade us – and I knew instinctively whose voice it was.
For some, however, these encounters can be just as profound. A fox appeared at my father's funeral in a most unexpected way: it wandered into our driveway, peered through his front door, and then vanished over the wall of our neighbour's field.
These gentle visitors from the other side may seem like mere chance or whimsy – but they speak to a deeper truth about human nature. They remind us that death is not an end, but rather a transition into another world – one where love, loss, and life itself can find new ways of expressing themselves in unexpected, sometimes beautiful forms.
As I stood at my parents' gravesite on a midwinter's day, blanketed by deep snow, I was unexpectedly serenaded by a robin. Perched on the stone monument where my mother's name had recently been added to that of our father, Robin Eden – no coincidence, it seemed – the bird remained steady as I approached. It didn't take flight, instead jumping down onto my shoe and allowing me to touch its head before taking off into the sky.
My father, too, had a special connection with birds. At a friend's funeral service, we filed out of the crematorium into the garden where The Lark Ascending played. And there, our first sight was a lark – a fitting tribute from nature itself.
Others have experienced similar moments of solace in times of loss. Three weeks after my mother passed away, I received an unexpected visitation that would stay with me forever: the song of the nightingale on its very first night of the year. It was a gift my husband had brought home to serenade us – and I knew instinctively whose voice it was.
For some, however, these encounters can be just as profound. A fox appeared at my father's funeral in a most unexpected way: it wandered into our driveway, peered through his front door, and then vanished over the wall of our neighbour's field.
These gentle visitors from the other side may seem like mere chance or whimsy – but they speak to a deeper truth about human nature. They remind us that death is not an end, but rather a transition into another world – one where love, loss, and life itself can find new ways of expressing themselves in unexpected, sometimes beautiful forms.