Life and Death at the Hands of a Storm

The devastation in OKCity is just unreal. And the loss of lives is just so, so saddening. I probably said similar things back when the Joplin tornado happened, but I just can't imagine one day going to work, then coming home and my entire life's hard work, possessions, and mementos are vanished. Obviously, life is the most precious thing there is, but I think we'd all be lying if we said we wouldn't miss our homes and, on a deeper level, all of the emotions and memories they contain. Many prayers to everyone there as they try to find strength to continue on.

Now that I'm a pet owner, too, I can empathize with those who are searching for their lost pets. Once I know all of my family is safe, who am I going to look for next? Well, I'll hope to find my pet. There was a heartwarming TV interview I saw where an old, single lady who had lost everything was speaking to the reporter that she clutched her dog as the tornado tore at their home, but lost the dog out of her arms. As the interview went on, the reporter spotted the woman's dog underneath the rubble of her home. The dog was spooked and wounded, to say the least, but at least she has her companion with her. Like I said, I can relate to that now.

On a much smaller scale, but much closer to my house (because it's right in front of it), the storm had another impact.

I really like birds... maybe just slightly less than turtles. I like having a bird feeder and seeing the birds nearby, but most of all I have most loved the times at mom and dad's where birds made nests in their holly bush. Most times these were cardinals. The anticipation, checking on the birds, the way the father bird continually brings food back to the nest after they've hatched, and then checking on the birds to see how big they are and trying to guess when they might fly off, hoping I can be outside when they do. Sometimes I've caught them leaving their nest and it's the cutest, sweetest darn thing.

The robin nest in our rose bush.

Well, I was ecstatic to find a robin fleeing our rose bush a couple weeks ago because I then realized, she had made a nest there! We have this giant rose bush (seriously, it's too big for its space) in front of our house, and that's where she chose to build her nest. I saw three eggs, then four! Oh goody! I took this quick photo then vowed to leave it alone so I wouldn't scare her off.

Then the raging storm happened Sunday night. The winds were ferocious, and it battered our rose bush something awful. The branches were leaning over and out like the time that ten inches of snow weighed it down. But I checked on the nest, and to my relief, mama bird was sitting on it and all was well.


Then last night, we got even more storms, and the rose bush is even more ravaged and leaning over our sidewalk. When I came home at lunch, it was a sad sight. I found three of the four eggs broken on the ground, their embryonic contents spilled out staining the sidewalk. It made my heart break just a little. It was also strangely fascinating, because in the liquid mess that spilled out of the eggs, you could see the very, very beginnings of eyes and beaks.

The nest itself is still in the rose bush, but it is tipped over so much, hence how the poor eggs fell out, and I'm not sure if the mama bird is going to return to sit on the one remaining egg or not. So far, I have not seen her. Which makes me wonder: do birds go through a grieving process? Like the lamenting phoenix in the Harry Potter books, the idea of a bird wailing a piercingly sad, beautiful song has a tragic beauty to it.

I hope the robin will come back, but I just don't know if the last egg will survive much more. With the prediction of more storms tonight, it might very well fall to its death like the others. But I hope not.