I was having a good night, no not good, great night. It started out with uncertainty, but then flooded with warm and content. Something I felt had been evading me for so long.
DH and I had a great night, rented a movie, snuggled up on the couch with popcorn, I had a regular soda (this is huge for me, I have been on water and the occasional diet soda), turned on the electric fireplace for a nice ambiance and watched a movie together.
That’s when fate decided it wasn’t a good time for all that.
Our parakeets were being fairly quiet throughout the movie, which is very unusual. We usually have to put them to bed to be quiet enough to hear them. After the movie was over, and the lights came back on, my husband solemnly walked back over to me. “Honey, I think one of the birds is dead.”
I get up, walk over and see it there. It was my bird. My original bird. My Mango. Mommy of 4 other birds in that cage, and mommy to 3 little angels of her own. She had died. Just walked over into the corner and died. I don’t know her age really. We have had her for 7 years, but she could have been a year or more when we got her. She was fully grown.
I was ok, until we decided to bury her. Que the floods of tears. I’m not sure why. They just came. Makes me feel like my little bit of joy today was a mistake.