by Christine Marino

I have come to learn that Cardinals often represent two things: Christmas and signs from those who have crossed over. Back in the day, I never knew how much my mom liked Cardinals in life until we were decorating the Christmas tree with my dad three weeks after she passed in December 1999. They were everywhere: ornaments ready to be hung from the tree, in boxes of holiday decorations, figurines ready for the mantlepiece, staring back at me from dinner dishes, sewn on dishcloths.  They were made of paper, crystal, metal, straw…you name it. There were so many, I actually uttered the words “Wow, how did I not notice how much Mom loved cardinals?’ aloud. My mom and I were as close as any two people could be, which made that discovery even more surprising.

Interesting how that played out. Cardinals have been my “sign” ever since. Not because I decided that; she did. And not every cardinal, but the ones that feel like her. There’s the actual bird, who flies across my backyard and lands right in front of my window staring me down until I notice her. Or the truck labeled with the company name Cardinal: Cardinal Health, The Cardinal Group, Cardinal Construction…who knew there were so many business owner Cardinal lovers in the world? And do they know my Mom? There’s been the stuffed Cardinal in the random store, the license plate with Cardinals on the frame, and of course the Major League baseball team. Even though I never lived in, let alone visited, Missouri that logo seemed to appear in the most random places. Lots of cardinals; not all of them her, only the ones that feel like her.

They’ve brought me an inordinate amount of comfort over the years, showing up at opportune times when I least expected them. When I most needed them.

I recently cleaned out my Dad’s house, over a year after his passing.  The house was feeling weighed down with memories in plain sight 24/7, and it had become increasingly difficult to be there. Some changes were coming down the pike, which meant it was time to let go of his personal belongings. It also meant letting go of Mom’s, who passed away 22 years prior, remaining belongings as well. Aside from her clothing, Dad had taken most of it with him when he moved back to the childhood house he would retire into. I had no idea walking into that first weekend what that was going to mean for me and my grief. I’m tough…I got this. Plus, it’s been years and years for her, and over a year for him. It’s time.

Except I kept questioning that. How do you know ‘it’s time?’ What’s the right amount of time before you begin the process of what feels like erasing someone’s existence? OK, clothing, yes. Personal toiletries and daily life kinds of things – they have to go. But the Ronnie Racoon puppet that my Dad used to bring to life when my kids were visiting, or the collection of tea cups it took my Mom years to accumulate, address books, notes written on scrap paper, tons and tons of photos, many of people I’ve never seen, and the hundreds of other things like them…when is it really the ‘right’ time? So what does a good daughter do? I asked them in my mind. Over and over. I’m doing the right thing, right Mom? Right, Dad? Over and over.

One of the final days of cleanout, I grabbed a plastic bin that had been emptied of some insignificant things days before and began to throw away the wrapping tissue that had been inside. As I reached toward the bottom corner, I felt something hard. “Whoops, mustn’t have been completely emptied.” As I opened the tissue, there it was. A small catch-all dish with a vibrant cardinal flying through a branch adorning the inside. It stood frozen in time, clear as day looking straight at me, as if to say it’s time. It’s exactly the right time.

Grief is a funny thing. We don’t ever really know when it’s the right time for any part of it: wallowing or moving forward, crying or laughing, talking about it or keeping it hidden inside, keeping everything or getting rid of it all. All we can do is do what feels right for us, and ask for assurance from those we love and miss. I got my answer, 100% I got my answer. That Cardinal felt like her.