I’m not what you’d call a nature girl. While I appreciate the beauty of the natural world, I feel no need to camp out in it or get parts of it directly on me. A “back-to-nature” retreat to me means having fresh-cut flowers on the table beside my soaking tub. My older sister, while quite the accomplished soaker herself, was also comfortably at home in the wild. She was the child who lay in the grass and talked to the ants as they crawled up her arm, the one who gently carried every daddy long legs from the high-traffic porch steps to the safety of the back yard.
As an adult, she regularly invited a possum into her kitchen to dine with her cats and allowed a squirrel to give birth in the hole for her dryer vent, giving the squirrel family unrestricted access to her entire house. Boy, did the realtor earn his money the day Mrs. Squirrel casually sauntered down the stairs while he was showing the place to potential buyers.
By contrast, I once paid $2,000 to evict a band of free-loading squirrels from my attic where they’d chomped their way through ten inches of insulation to lay in a supply of acorns and assorted other nuts between my rafters. It was like a Golden Corral buffet for tree rodents up there and they weren’t paying me one single cent in rent.
Unlike my sister’s, my encounters with undomesticated animals have traditionally not gone well. Over the years, I’ve been stalked by a possum, intimidated by a raccoon and head-pecked by a deranged blackbird. Back in my teenage days, the creatures that terrified me most were owls, with their weirdly human-like eyes that seemed to stare right through you. I found them so creepy I wouldn’t even eat Wise potato chips. My sister, of course, thought owls fascinating, weird eyeballs and all. (But, seriously, how could I not fear something capable of spinning its head around almost 360 degrees? At 16, the only other living thing I’d seen do that was Linda Blair and we all know what was going on there!)
To my sister’s great amusement, she was able to witness my fear of owls literally reach new heights one summer night when my boyfriend dropped me off from a date. She was watching from the side patio as I ran to the front door, accidentally brushing against a low-lying tree branch on my way. Instantly, a shrill, hideous screech of “hooooooooooo!” pierced the still night air, launching me several feet into that same air and causing me to let out a pretty hideous screech of my own.
It’s hard to say which reaction was strongest, my panic, the owl’s annoyance or my sister’s delight. This incident gave my sister even more ammunition for teasing “scaredy cat” me. From that point on, she missed no opportunity to sneak up on me and “hoot” and was particularly fond of doing this in darkened rooms or when I was in the shower. All these years later my left shin still bears a small scar from a hoot-induced leg-shaving mishap. As I pressed a wad of tissues against my razor cut that night, I could never have imagined the bittersweet significance a hoot would ultimately hold in my life.
At the much too young age of 43, my sister received the devastating diagnosis of early onset Parkinson’s disease. For the next 22 years, she faced her diagnosis as she did everything in life, fearlessly and with great humor. She had several good years, and with a few concessions to her illness here and there we continued to have wonderful adventures together. Eventually, however, positive affirmations and a sassy attitude were no match for her cruel and merciless enemy. The last year of her life was a series of medical crises, each leaving her increasingly fragile and largely unable to move or communicate.
Early one morning last October, a strange noise invaded my sound sleep and wakened me at precisely 5:30 in the morning. It was an eerie sound, one I couldn’t quite place. I listened for a few moments, but hearing nothing more, decided I must have either imagined or dreamed it. I was about to fall back asleep when a clear and mournful “hoooooo”outside my window broke the predawn quiet. In nine years of living in my house I had never once heard an owl hoot. I would not only have remembered if I had, I would have probably packed my bags on the spot. With a mounting sense of dread, I sat up in bed and stared at the phone, certain the call I’d feared for the past year would come any minute. I stared at the phone for two hours until it was time to get ready for work.
In the bright light of day, my notion that the “hoot” had been a message from my sister seemed almost silly. I was chiding myself for my superstitions when the phone rang at 8:15 with the news that my sister had suffered another stroke, this one even more severe than the last, and that any minute might well be her last. Just before I hung up the phone, I asked when the stroke had occurred. 5:30 a.m. was the answer.
Stubborn to the very end, insistent on meeting death on her own terms, my sister defied her doctors’ pronouncements and held on for another week, long enough for us to share a last goodbye and even a final weak smile at an old joke. And then, with barely a whimper, she was gone, taking with her a large piece of my heart.
The first night after she was gone, my sense of loss was so profound, my grief so crushing, I could do little more than crawl into bed, face unwashed, teeth unbrushed. I lay in the dark, pillow clutched to my chest, and cried for hours. Mercifully, exhaustion at last took over and I felt my eyelids getting heavy. And just as I was drifting off, I heard it. Soft at first and then strong and clear, an unmistakable series of hoots outside my bedroom window. I sat up and listened intently for the next several minutes, but only silence followed. I lay back down and closed my eyes. Despite my sadness, despite the tears rolling down my cheeks, I couldn’t help but smile. Fly high and free, my dear sister, far from the pain and limitations of this earthly realm. And thank you for giving a hoot one last time.
It’s been one year since my sister passed away and I have never heard a single hoot since. Have you ever received what you thought was a message from someone who had passed on?
This made me cry. – such a moving tribute to your sister. She sounds like my kind of girl with the ant whispering and daddy long-legs protecting. And yes, I have had signs from two,people who passed on but I am not going to describe them here – I feel like this is your sister’s time. I hope she is still flying high somewhere above, watching over you, or maybe resting peacefully now for all eternity.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Gilly. I would love to hear your tales from the other side sometime. it’s such a comfort and such a mystery at the same time. I know I’ve “heard” from my mom and dad too.
Wonderfull sharing! My mom and I share a love of snowy owls, but haven’t seen one, she crossed over last Christmas and when I see a photo of a snowy I think she sent it! Plus her nickname was Lee ! Cool huh? ❤️
Isn’t that an interesting coincidence! I’m so sorry your mom is gone from this plane, but so happy she’s sending you little messages! Thanks so much for your comments!
Bittersweetly beautiful. What a lovely tribute to your sister.
Thank you so much, Mandi. I really miss her, but we made a lot of great memories together–and never even needed bail money!
Oh my God, Lee. Tears. What a wonderful tribute to your sister. Some people believe birds are messengers from the spirit world. And I say, why not? As someone who lost her father to Parkinson’s, I know what an awful battle your sister fought. All my admiration for such a beautiful story.
Oh, Laurie, I didn’t know your dad had Parkinson’s too. I’m so sorry–it’s a horribly cruel disease. My sister and I used to joke about how we’d contact each other when one of us died and I used to say to drop a bag with a million dollars in my path or even on my head! I think the hoot was worth even more. 🙂 Hey, hoot, but no loot, that would be her perfect idea of a joke!
Some bonds are so strong that not even death can sever them, only stretch them out until such time as they bounce back.
I completely agree, Margaretha. And so many times animals are the messengers.
Oh. My. Word. This was just lovely! Tears here.
Just last week, I was worrying about something and feeling down. As I was sitting on the edge of my bed, sunk in despair, a fragrance suddenly surrounded me. My Mom’s perfume. Now I do not wear perfume, so smelling it in my house is a notable experience. And when it is the secnet your mother always wore, a scent that hasn’t been sold in decades, it is notable. My mother passed away from the complications of Parkinson’s nearly fifteen years ago. But she still worries about me.
Oh, wow, I love that story! There is just so much more than we can see here on this plane, I really believe. How comforting it must have been to you to “smell” her near. And, yes, Parkinson’s is such a cruel disease. People have no idea the complications–they think your hand just shakes a little! I’m so glad she’s still watching over you.
I so believe it was her! Such a lovely story 🙂
Me, too, Laurie. It had her signature all over it! After my father died, I immediately began finding pennies on the ground/floor everywhere–and I mean everywhere, parking lots, classroom, even in my own house where I knew I hadn’t dropped a penny. My dad’s favorite song? “Pennies from Heaven”!
So beautiful Lee. <3
Thank you, Christina! I really miss her.
Oh, Lee. This is such a beautiful post. I know we share this kind of loss, and it’s so hard on those anniversaries. Today is my birthday, the second one since my sister died. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over expecting to hear from her on this day. We celebrated our birthdays together every year, and for several years we exchanged the same card, updating the doggerel to match the age of the recipient. Last year on my birthday, I went through my overstuffed “in basket” and found the last card she’d sent me. So, in a way, she wished me a happy birthday from wherever she is. Didn’t mean this post to be about me–but I so related to your precious owl story and just got carried away!
I think of you and your sister so often, Risa, because it so reminds me of my sister and me. Thank you so much for sharing a little about your relationship because it confirms what I always suspected–that you and I were really blessed to have had our sisters in our lives. Sending love your way!
Aw, Lee, I’m weeping. Such a moving story, beautifully told. What a bond the two of you had…and I just love the humorous twist that your sister should give a hoot to make her presence and passing known. Peace to you.
Thanks, Roxanne! My sister had a great sense of humor, even about the PD. She always joked that she wanted to be a mover and shaker and said then she became one. She was something!
I haven’t been able to write about my sister yet and she has been gone 4 years now. You are brave to write about your beloved sister and such a lovely tribute. Of course I relate to your view on the natural environment. I can’t imagine letting a squirrel take up residence in my house and I am a card carrying non-camper. The connection between the owl’s hoot and your sister is interesting and unmistakable. I hope it comforts you in this painful process of grief and loss. She had to be special if she was your sister.
I hate that we share the common bond of losing a sister, Molly, but it is so comforting to have each other to understand that kind of grief. It’s even different from losing a parent. And our next Erma conference suite will definitely have fresh cut flowers on the table as we soak!
My sister had a really lovely home and rented out a bedroom to a roommate during the possum years. Finally the woman said, “It’s like living in damn Wild Kingdom here! I cant’ take it!”
XOXO
I think it is hilarious that your sister took in wild animals. And somehow made it work. We can never replace our sisters Lee and we will forever miss them. I too, am grateful to have you who understands what it is like to bear such a loss.
She took in some wild strays of the two-legged variety as well! 😉 Yes, it is so nice to have someone who understands as we do for each other, my friend.
How beautiful to have a sister that you were close to…and of course, grief is the price we pay for loving someone.
And loving is worth that price, but it’s a high one. You and my sister would have had a real soul connection.
I love how you used some animal humor reminiscing about someone you were obviously close with and the memories that had to come flowing back while youw were writing this. You and her will always connected with your “spirit” animal the owl.
Congrats on the grandma gig BTW! Very happy for you indeed :).
Loving the grandma gig already! And my daughter gave the baby the same middle name that my sister had. Can owls be far behind??? 😉
Hugs Lee, last month was also the one year anniversary of my older sister passing. All my life, I remember her talking about our Grandma that Joanne had a special relationship with. She died when my sister was 15 and she was devastated by the loss. She used to say that she could hear Grandma calling her and she was afraid to answer because then it would be time to join her. I guess she finally answered her call.
I’m so sorry about your sister, too, Jennifer. Let’s believe that she and your grandmother are together, watching over you. XO
This was such a beautiful and touching tribute. I really laughed at the coming home from the date part. What an amazing friendship you must have had.
She also convinced me that Silly Putty could come out of its shell and chase me–the elaborate staging she went through to have Silly Putty show up everywhere I went! I have so many memories to carry with me, but I wish we could have squeezed in a few more.
Hi Lee, It’s Jan, Ginny’s sister. That was a very touching and funny tribute. Can’t believe it’s been a year already. As you know, we have experienced a sisterly loss also. It’s so hard but you have to remember those great times you had with her. Congrats on your grandchild. They are very fun.
Hi, Jan! I hate that we share this bond, and you are so right that we have to hold onto the treasure of memories that we have. And this grandmother gig is AMAZING!! XO
Beautifully written and a lovely tribute to your sister.
Thanks, Lucy! I miss her, but I’m so grateful that she left such a legacy of love and laughter.
A lovely post about your sister. I cannot imagine the loss of our first best friends, our sisters. Lovely that the owl was the messenger of hope for you.
Thanks, Rosie. I miss her so much, but I think she got a hoot out of giving me a hoot! Her sense of humor, for sure.
This is amazing and beautiful! I love these moments, they keep life magical and worthwhile. Amazing tribute!
Thank you so much. I love the woo woo, goose bump moments in life too! They amaze and comfort.
Thank you so much. I love the woo-woo, magical moments of life. They heal and comfort. XO
Yes, you do have a way of moving our emotions from one end of the continuum to the other! That really is amazing about the owl. We are much closer to nature than we think (or you like).I’m a bit like your sister, animals and critters are my friends (except ants, roaches and black widows). I laughed when I read your sister rescued the spiders (I do it, too). Perhaps the owl was her totem, and you will never look at them the same way again. Your dear sister’s gift to you 🙂
Get this, my little grandbaby–the one who bears my sister’s middle name–arrived from Boston and her mom had packed THREE little outfits for her, all with OWLS on them and OWL booties! There is so much more than we can see with out eyes!
A beautiful tribute Lee. Each anniversary is difficult isn’t it? You have some beautiful memories to treasure.
Thank you so much, Sue. Some days it still seems unreal that she is gone. I so wish she were here, but it’s true as you said, I have a treasure trove of memories to comfort me.