When Robins Appear, a Loved One is Near
Sophie took a deep breath, raised the already damp tissue up and dabbed at the new tears which were rolling slowly from down from the inner corners of her eyes. She felt a heave in her chest but managed to contain it, just as she’d been doing whenever she was in public for the last few weeks. It was hard. Really hard. Painful at times, in fact, when her body had so much that it needed to let out and release. But it seemed preferable to becoming a gibbering wreck in front of a lot of strangers. Letting her emotions flow freely behind closed doors, in the sanctuary of her own home, had always been her preferred method of dealing with things. Keeping things in, she knew, was unhealthy. But having people stop and stare as you walked down the street sobbing didn’t feel as though it would do much for her well-being either.
The casket was beautiful. The palest of pinewood, which had then been painted in a pale ivory, with ornate golden clasps added to secure the lid. Mum would have been so proud, she thought. She adored anything that was well designed and aesthetically pleasing. The casket was both. What a shame she couldn’t be here to comment on the floral arrangement that sat on top of it. All of the flowers in the bouquet were a shade of white or pale cream and had provided Sophie with a wonderful feeling of serenity when she’d first seen them all together. She’d needed that. The florist had explained the significance of each one – lilies for peace and grace, roses for love and respect, and orchids for sympathy and elegance. She knew her mum would approve. They looked so classy, just like Kelly always had. Sophie hoped she might be able to see them now, from wherever she was.
As it disappeared slowly in between the long, pale blue satin drapes, Sophie stood up and touched the end of it gently with her fingertips. Bye Mum. See you on the other side. No-one else in the room said anything as Abba’s Dancing Queen began to play out through the speakers. She could imagine the looks on the faces of some of the people behind her. But as Kelly had always told her, “When I go, I’m going dancing!” So that had been one of the easier decisions to make when it came to the service. Sophie wondered if a quick twirl on the spot might be too much for some of the older members of the audience. She suspected so. As soon as I get home though, Mum, I promise, she whispered. Somehow she knew that if she didn’t, her mother would still be able to reprimand her, despite not being here in person anymore. “You’ll never be too old for a good telling off!” Kelly had joked when they were out to lunch and Sophie did something that she thought was unbecoming or in need of correction. Sophie smiled. Mothers and daughters. That unbreakable bond. Joined in so many ways that people don’t understand. Forever.
———————-
The after service took place in the café just along from the crematorium that Sophie and her mum had started to frequent a few months before her passing, ironically. Diane, the owner, had created a really special space there, which they had immediately loved. All of the back wall was lined with large plants, in big terracotta pots, which reached halfway up the wall, or beyond. The glass front meant that all of the goings on inside could always be seen and ensured continuous light, even on the dullest day. The cream walls and tables contrasted beautifully with the expensive oak flooring and matching chairs topped with soft grey cushions. A selection of items produced by local people – from coffee to soap to greetings cards and paintings – adorned the shelves on one of the side walls and the atmosphere as a whole was one of conviviality and community.
Diane had been devastated when Sophie had dropped by the café to explain what had happened.
“I didn’t know your mum well, but she was such a beautiful soul. Anyone could tell that.”
“Thank you,” Sophie had replied. “She said just the same about you, funnily enough.”
“She’ll be missed.” Diane gave Sophie a look that told her she understood how she was feeling. I’m not the only one to go through this, Sophie reminded herself.
“Do you think it might be possible to bring a few people here after the service?”
“Of course! Just tell me what you’d like and we can sort it all.”
Diane’s kindness had alleviated Sophie of one of the many administrative tasks associated with her mother’s death. She was grateful for the help from yet another person who she hadn’t really appreciated was such a good friend. Now, as Sophie and her close family and a few local friends and neighbours walked through the café’s heavy, walnut framed glass door into the welcoming interior, Diana came to greet her with a hug. “How did everything go?”
“It was beautiful thank you. Mum would have liked it.”
“Dancing Queen?” Diana asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course!” Both of them had managed a quick chuckle at this, as Sophie had already filled her friend in on her mum’s request.
“Well make yourselves at home and I’ve labelled everything so that people can help themselves to whatever they fancy. The vegetarian plates are over in that corner there and drinks are all on the counter beside the till.”
“Thanks so much. This has saved me so much work.” Sophie looked around at the beautiful spread and was filled once again with surprise at what people had been prepared to do to help her when she most needed it.
“You’re more than welcome. We all have to pull together at times like these. I’ll just go and check if the mini quiches are ready and then I’ll be back.” Diane turned and made her way between the people now spread across the café, back towards the kitchen which was hidden away behind the counter and the back wall. “I’m sorry for your loss. So sorry for your loss….”
“Your mum would be proud of you, Sophie.” An arm reached out to touch hers and she turned her head to see her aunt Lisa beside her. Sophie opened her arms out wide and Lisa did the same so aunt and niece could give each other a much-needed hug. They held each other in the embrace for what felt like a full minute or two. In the absence of Kelly, each other was what they had now. “I can feel her here with us. You?” Lisa stood back a little, still holding on loosely to each of Sophie’s upper arms.
“I can too,” Sophie agreed. “I just…sometimes I don’t know if it’s my imagination.”
“Well if it makes us feel better, does it matter if it is?” Lisa looked earnestly into her niece’s eyes.
“No. It doesn’t.” Sophie grinned. “What do you think Mum would like to eat then?” she asked. “Vol-au-vents or the quiches Diane’s just gone to fetch?”
Lisa looked around at the tables and the different foods atop them. “If I’m being really honest, I’d say your mum would probably have gone straight in for those amazing looking tiny cherry cheesecakes.” They both laughed and walked over to the dessert table together. It was kind of a special occasion and silently, they both agreed that it would be rude not to have a cheesecake in honour of the missing guest.
———————-
Within an hour and a half, a few people had already left. Neighbours who had stayed just the right amount of time to show respect, but not so long that they seemed overly familiar. Sophie had always found it a little amusing that even at funerals – the supposedly saddest of life celebrations – there was still an etiquette that everyone tended to adhere to. Family should be closest to the bereaved at the service and should stay longest at any subsequent gathering. Friends should be next in line and should definitely leave before family. And neighbours should stay mostly in the wings and put in a polite appearance, leaving before they outstay their welcome. Sophie wondered if things were the same in countries on the continent, or in Africa or Asia or the Americas. She’d travelled plenty in her life and knew of the different customs surrounding bereavements in different cultures. However, she’d never seen one quite like hers, where there was always so very much decorum. She supposed it was a case of what you were used to really. And she was thankful to everyone who had come today for the way they had behaved with such propriety and kindness. It had made a truly daunting and sometimes painful day that much easier to bear.
Sophie took a few minutes to herself, standing by the window at the front of the café and admiring the shape of the clearly recently cut hedge that separated the pavement in front of it from the road. It was so smooth it was almost as if someone had polished it after finishing with the trimmer. The afternoon sun glinted off the thick, shiny foliage of the holly, which had already blossomed and was now adorned with its tiny greenish-white, four-petalled flowers. In just a few months they would be gone, replaced by its wintery red fruit. Sophie, like most, had always associated holly, and its berries, with Christmas. It was always interesting to see this different side of the bush. She wondered how many people might pass it by not even recognising what it was. At the very moment she was thinking this, a bird flew down and landed on the beautiful flat top of the hedge. A robin. How odd. And just when I was thinking about Christmas too, Sophie thought. The bird looked from side to side, holding its red breast aloft as if it show it off. It made Sophie smile. She’d always had a bit of penchant for the tiny bird, for a reason she’d never been able to fathom. There was just something so distinctive and appealing about its red and white chest against its brown wings. It was unique amongst all of the birds she ever saw in the park or in their garden. And she’d not come across it when visiting other parts of the world either. It felt very much like a symbol of her own country, of home. Good to see you, she said to herself, and the robin turned to look straight at her, almost as if it had read her mind. Their eyes locked for a few seconds and Sophie felt, bizarrely, as though the bird was trying to communicate some sort of message to her, through sight alone. She shook her head. I’m exhausted. It’s been such a busy few weeks. I probably need an early night. She gave the bird an involuntary little wave and rotated herself on the spot so she was facing the now half-empty room of people behind her. The robin, though, continued to look straight at her, almost as if it were willing her to look back towards it once more.
———————-
As she got ready for bed that evening, Sophie stopped and sat on the edge of her mattress for a moment, asking herself how she was feeling – just as she’d been taught to by the grief counsellor she’d visited twice since her mother had passed. “If you can pause and identify the emotion, then sometimes that can be helpful in you deciding what the best way to deal with it is.” Sophie had thought this was sound advice. The tumultuous rollercoaster of emotions that came with bereavement was sometimes so fast that it swept you up and one just rolled on in to the next. It could get overwhelming. She’d valued this suggestion of allowing herself to stop, and trying to work out which one she was feeling at a given moment. Right now, emptiness was what first came to mind. Was that an emotion? She wasn’t sure, but she had certainly seemed to feel a lot of it these last few weeks. It was everywhere around her and inside her all at the same time. Having come back home to live with her mum in the latter stages of her illness, the house now seemed devoid of life without the usual sounds that accompany another human in a home. And within her there was this enormous void as well. Yes, a whole variety of emotions came and were extremely intense. But beyond that, it felt like there was just space. Where life used to be – enthusiasm, excitement, joy – it was as though it had been extinguished, burnt away, leaving just a barren landscape where nothing could grow anymore. She pulled her pyjama top down over her head, and then gave herself a long hug. The counsellor had recommended that as well. Apparently hugs, even when given to oneself, released oxytocin and serotonin which would make her feel happier and less stressed. Sophie was a little dubious about feeling happy when she had just lost her beautiful mum, but less stressed had appealed. So she’d been hugging herself nightly – and sometimes in the morning too – ever since. It did feel comforting, she had to admit.
Lying back and pulling the summer duvet up and over her, Sophie tucked it right down in under her shoulders just as her mum had done when she was small. She felt instantly safer. There was something about the feeling of protection a cosy duvet could provide. It seemed to melt away the worries of the day. Closing her eyes, she was thankful that sleep at least hadn’t been an issue these last few weeks. She’d needed much more than usual in fact, which the counsellor also said was normal. So she’d run with it. After months of not getting so much and sitting up doing nightshifts when her mum’s condition had been at its worst, getting proper rest had felt like medicine. Her mind had regained its clarity and she felt as though she actually had energy again. It was funny how she’d not realised what was happening to her previously. She had just gotten used to the brain fog and the exhaustion. It felt good not to have so much of either now. In the midst of the grief, they felt like extra hurdles she really didn’t need.
Beginning to drift off into sleep, thoughts of the day and all of the kindness she’d been shown at the crematorium and in the café came back to her. All things considered, everything had gone really well. All those who had attended both the funeral and the after service had showed her so much love, for which she had been grateful. They had also allowed her a few moments every now and again to re-compose herself. Her mind wandered towards a vision of her looking out of the large front window of the café and seeing the little robin. It had been comforting, in an unexpected way. Its jolly, red-breasted presence on the holly bush, in the middle of summer, had almost brought a moment of joy. And one that had been much needed.
It’s OK to feel joy.
Sophie turned over in bed, getting caught up a little in the duvet, so that she had to wriggle and re-adjust her position to enable it to be brought up about her ears once more. I know, she thought. Her mind drifting once more. I just feel a bit guilty. I feel I ought to be sad all the time.
No-one should be sad all the time.
Sophie’s eyes blinked open. She cast her eyes all about her dark bedroom. She stayed completely still, listening into the blackness which enfolded her. Who said that? She found herself unable to move, even when she tried to, as though pinned to the sheeted mattress below her. Either she was now going mad, or she was hearing voices in her head.
———————-
“And you’re absolutely sure you weren’t just tired and your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you?” Diane handed Sophie her decaff cappuccino in a beautiful, pale pink glazed mug and sat down beside her.
“I wanted to think that. I even tried to think that. But I just know it wasn’t what happened.” Sophie took a sip and exhaled. Even without the caffeine – especially without the caffeine perhaps – the taste and scent of coffee always left her feeling so soothed.
“And has it happened before?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Sophie realised how bizarre this sounded. “I mean, if it has, then I certainly don’t remember.”
“Did you get a feeling at all about where the voice was coming from?”
“Well…beyond.” Sophie knew this probably sounded equally as bizarre, but she was so convinced of her response that this time she felt no need to amend or qualify it.
Diana sipped slowly from her own mug, before carefully placing it down on the matching coaster containing a large, dusky pink heart motif. “Sophie….” She paused. “…do you think it could have been your mum?”
Sophie had been looking down at the froth on her coffee, but her eyes now darted up to meet Diane’s. The look she gave her told Diane that she had only confirmed what her friend had already been thinking.
“It’s alright. It happens to lots of people. It’s just a shock when it does sometimes, that’s all.”
Sophie took another mouthful of coffee. “Has it happened to you?”
“Yes,” Diana admitted. “When my dad passed away, it had only been a day or two when I started noticing all these little things. Like his favourite light in the living room flicking on an off when Mum and I were in there talking about him. And his best friend, Tom, suddenly starting to come out with some of my dad’s catchphrases: A smile is just a frown turned upside down. He who laughs last clearly missed the joke. Stupid things, but things which we just knew Tom had never uttered before and couldn’t really have known about. Dad always said them when we were together, as a family.
“And you took them as signs?” Sophie was intrigued. Had Diana actually known what was happening?
“No. I felt they were signs. But in such a profound way that it made me know they were.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” Sophie confessed. “Thanks for listening. And not laughing. I wouldn’t have known who else to tell.”
“The universe always sends you to the right place,” Diane reassured her. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Well, how has it made you feel?” Diana remembered that once she had gotten used to the little signs from her father it had helped her in many ways. She had been able to navigate her grief more peacefully with the thought that her dad wanted her to know he was OK.
“Relieved mostly, I suppose.” Sophie gave a small smile and cradled her mug more tightly. Although it was another pleasantly warm summer’s day, she found she was still in need of the comforting heat that was being transmitted from the drink, through its container, to her hands. “I just didn’t want Mum to be in any more pain. I couldn’t bear to think of her suffering further.”
“And now…?”
“Now, I feel as though she’s trying to give me permission not to worry about her. She’s OK and she’s letting me know it’s alright for me to still live my life fully.”
Diane sat looking pensively at her friend. “I didn’t know your Mum that well, obviously. But I’d say this makes her a pretty fantastic one.”
Tiny droplets of moisture welled up at the corner of each of Sophie’s eyes. A combination of emotions manifesting themselves physically. Joy at having had the mother she did and all the years of memories they had created together. Sadness at what she had had to endure before her life had come to an end. And sorrow at Sophie’s own loss of her and knowing she wouldn’t get to see her, hug her, laugh with her flesh and blood being again. “She was…,” Sophie began. “…and she is.”
———————-
Over the subsequent weeks, as Sophie slowly became used to the new means through which she felt her mother was communicating with her, she did actually come to laugh a few times, although with the invisible presence of her. The little robin she had seen outside of the café was not, it turned out, the last one she was going to come across. From moments indulging herself with ten minutes on a sun lounger in the garden, to the long, therapeutic walks she liked to take out into the countryside not far from home, everywhere she seemed to go, a robin would appear. Or was it the robin? She couldn’t really tell. They all looked incredibly similar and were present for a relatively short space of time. None of them came to land so close to her that she could do a full inspection or take a really close-up photo. So she had decided that it didn’t really matter. It was what the robin symbolised that meant something. Not whether it was a singular bird who kept visiting her. The most striking instance had probably been when she’d gone to the garden centre to get a couple of new rose bushes. She wanted to plant them in the corner where her mum had loved to lie over the course of her last summer. She’d loved maximising the hours of daylight and warmth on her body. It was the lightest, brightest section of their whole garden. I’ll need to water these well, Sophie reminded herself. Although it wasn’t exactly as though any of their garden risked drying out, given the climate in which they lived. But still. As she placed the plants in the boot of her car, a robin had suddenly appeared, flying in to land on the rear parcel shelf.
“Are you happy now?” Sophie had asked humorously, placing one hand on her hip and tilting it a little to the side. The robin had tilted its head from side to side, as if it were emulating her. Or perhaps it was just utterly bemused at trying to comprehend what was being said to it in human language. She wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, the gaze from its deep, black eyes had penetrated her own and she had felt a beautiful tranquillity emanate from it. She’d travelled home knowing that her mum was happy with her purchase. She wondered if another robin might appear when she in the middle of positioning the bushes to indicate to her ‘left a bit more, right a bit more,’ just as her mum had loved to do whenever she was planting anything new in their garden.
———————-
Weeks became months and summer fell into autumn, which froze into winter. As the run up to Christmas came upon them all, Sophie found robins were still appearing. Only now they were in the more familiar setting of leaf-free trees or stood atop the odd sprinkle of frost on the grass or the wall in the garden. On a couple of occasions, she did actually manage to get a photo of one with her smartphone. She played around a little with filters and frames and turned them into Christmas e-greetings, which she sent to friends and neighbours. Her mum would be pleased with that, she decided. It was kind of like her doing it herself, but from beyond.
Christmas Day was, as Sophie had expected, not easy. Diane had asked her over and explained that she was going to put on a small Christmas lunch for a few customers she knew well who were on their own, having lost a loved one that year. Sophie took up the offer keenly. It would be nice to be around people who understood. To be all in it together. Trying to make the best of the celebratory day, whilst appreciating that that it was the start of a new phase in life and certain absences needed to be recognised. Sophie went over early to help Diane with her preparations. She’d already decked the café out for the festive season. But for the special day she added tablecloths that bore the simple design of a white background covered in pale green holly and pink berries.
“Original!” Sophie had said.
“I thought so. Although some might just say that the fact I couldn’t bear to put anything with red berries on underneath my pink crockery means I’ve got some serious OCD!” They two of them had dissolved into fits of giggles at this and had spent the next couple of hours continuing to do so whenever Sophie made any comment about the café’s decorations.
As the guests started to arrive, Sophie helped them take their coats off and hang them up on the coat stand in the corner closest to the counter. A few of them she recognised and greeted with a Christmas day hug. Others, who she didn’t yet know, she sensed would be new friends by the end of the afternoon. Everyone, to their credit, arrived with some gifts, and a grin, thankful, no doubt, not to be forced into spending the entire day alone. Sophie quietly thanked her mum for being around long enough to get to know Diane. At least Kelly knew her daughter was in safe hands for her first Christmas without her. Perhaps she’d even been instrumental in ensuring whose hands those would be. This notion made Sophie smile again. Her mum had always loved Christmas dinner, especially the roast potatoes. She wondered if she’d be around somewhere watching them all eating and encouraging them to enjoy their crispy outers and soft, fluffy inners on her behalf. She kind of hoped so.
Lunch turned out to be full of amusing anecdotes – quite a few about lost loved ones – delicious food and incredibly comforting company. Sophie couldn’t have asked for more. She helped Diane clear away after the last invitee had left and together they walked to and from the ‘not quite domestic, not quite industrial’ dishwasher, as Diane referred to it.
“Diane, that was wonderful. You did an amazing job catering for us all.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you all enjoyed yourself. I did!” Diane lifted the remainder of her glass of prosecco – her third – and did a few twirls around the table she was clearing. “It’s just a shame we don’t have a sound system or we could keep the party going all night.” As some of the people at lunch had been well over seventy, Sophie wasn’t quite sure how feasible that would have been.
“I think there’s a pub down the road that’s doing a bit of a disco tonight,” Sophie suggested. “I noticed as I walked over here.”
Diane stopped and looked contemplative. Then she plonked herself down in the chair in front of her and slugged the remainder of her prosecco. “Who am I kidding? I’m exhausted. I’ll probably fall asleep on the sofa in the next hour.”
Sophie chuckled. “I’m feeling a little similar, if it helps.”
“It does. It make me feel less…old.” Diane put her glass down, then placed her arm on the table in front of her and rested her forehead upon it.
“Let me finish this. You deserve a rest.” When she got no response, Sophie was concerned Diane might actually have fallen asleep on the table.
“I could make us an after-dinner decaff coffee,” Diane suddenly said lifting her head slightly.
“Sounds perfect. Why don’t you do that.”
“With a flaky pastry-topped mince pie?” Diane stood up, ready to make her way back to the kitchen.
“I thought you’d never ask!” Lifting up a couple more plates, Sophie licked her lips in anticipation of her favourite part of Christmas.
———————-
“So has it been better or worse than you expected?” Sophie suspected it was the prosecco that had made Diane a little more frank than usual.
“A bit of both, to be honest. When I woke up this morning, I felt a bit sadder than I’d expected. But lunch over here left me a lot happier than I thought I would be. A day of two halves.”
“I’m glad it helped a little. By next year things will be just that bit better, I promise.”
“I know. And it’s only 365 days away!” They both smiled at this.
“Any sightings of robins so far?”
“Not so far, but then I’ve been so busy since I got up that I’ve not really had any time to be outside. Perhaps tomorrow. Mum always loved Boxing Day. ‘Lazy, leftover day’ she used to say it was.”
“I like that. I might even use it myself.” Giving a huge yawn, Diane stretched her arms up above her head.
“Right, then. Time for home.” Sophie stood up and came around the table, leaning in to give Diane a hug.
“See you in the next few days?”
“Of course. Where else am I going to go so close to home for a decent hot chocolate when they say snow’s forecast?”
———————-
As she stepped back out into the cold evening air, Sophie shivered and lifted the collar of her coat up a little higher so that her scarf fitted even more snuggly under her chin. She rubbed her hands together, although they were already fairly toasty in the new red thermal gloves she’d treated herself to for Christmas. Habit, she supposed. She turned and began the walk along the street, glad that it was literally only a couple of minutes to home.
Dusk had fallen and the sky still held remnants of daylight on the horizon, but otherwise, it had become a deep, dark velvety blue, with just the streetlamps to illuminate it. There were no snowflakes as yet, but the forecast predicted they would arrive later that night. The temperature suggested it was probably right. A small group of revellers walked down the street in the opposite direction on the other side of the road, looking dressed up for further festive celebrations.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, love!”
“Happy New Year!”
Sophie wasn’t sure she could think about the start of another year just yet, but she called back “Merry Christmas!” anyway. It wasn’t their fault she’d lost her mum. Turning into her road, she ran her hand along the top of the privet hedge in the corner house, as she’d done for the last couple of decades. It was always so well looked after that it enticed her into touching it. Even the compact leaves felt cool through her gloves tonight. It really was going to be a freezing one. Passing her gloved fingers down the last metre or two, something caught Sophie’s vision. She stopped and scrunched her eyes up so she could better focus in the dark. Had something just moved on the hedge? A cat? She stared more intently and then the flicker of movement occurred again. A small, very red and rotund-breasted robin appeared out of nowhere and landed a few centimetres from the tips of her fingers.
Sophie inhaled sharply. “Mum?” The robin simply looked into her eyes, as they always did, as though somehow it could see through them and straight down to her heart. “Is that you?” The robin gave a little jiggle of its head from side to side. “We had a lovely time today. It was fun. But I missed you so much.” Sophie felt her eyes well up with the tears she’d managed to keep back for hours. The robin flapped its wings for a second or two, and then it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.
Standing where she was, Sophie felt a pang in her heart. Something pulled at its taught strings so tightly she found herself bringing one of her hands to her chest. A few months ago, she would have called the sensation pain – the inevitable aftermath of her grief and loss. Now though, thinking back to the times it had happened over the last few weeks, a different impression of it stirred in her. It wasn’t the pain of absence. It was just a sharp reminder of presence. Of the existence of love. And as she continued the final few steps towards the wooden gate at the end of her own front path, she looked up at the sky. “Merry Christmas, Mum. I love you,” she whispered, hoping that the robin might still be close enough by to hear.