Finding a metaphor

I read an article on slate.com about grieving. The author described the death of her mother, and how "finding a metaphor" helped her cope with the loss. For her, her mother is the sky. I've never told anyone this before, but I always think of my mom as a bird. Not just any bird, but a bird that soars high up in the sky, gliding without beating its wings.

My mom and I always joked about a "birdy council" watching over us. It all started because my favorite stuffed animal was a bird named Puffy. I created a story for Puffy in which she was a member of the birdy council. Whenever we saw a big group of birds sitting together, that would be a meeting of the council. Since then, my mom would tell the birdy council to "watch over us."

We had other connections to birds, also. I would find bird feathers in the yard and bring them back to her. They were always so soft and delicate. After she died, I found a couple of feathers in her wallet, tucked away safely. I never realized she had kept them for so long.

Now, it seems like every time I'm out, particularly when I'm driving, I see a bird flying high above me. I'll thank my mom for keeping an eye on me and keeping me safe. Part of me thinks this is silly, but a bigger part of me likes staying connected to her in some way. I don't know what happens after death, but I want to imagine my mother flying, graceful and free.