Magpies

I’ve known more than one person who associated a bird with a deceased loved one. Seeing a particular species was a sign that the loved one was around. Even though I found the practice ridiculous, I was always respectful of their comments and observations and let them pass. I didn’t want to upset them, nor did I want to welcome or continue any conversation about the deaths of people and the grief associated with it. Ironic.

Two days after we found out Megan was gone, I awoke, forced myself out of bed, walked into the kitchen for coffee, and looked out the window to a usual, frigid February morning. Gray clouds hung overhead and six fresh inches of snow were on the ground. In the middle of the yard, in the middle of the snow, were two magpies, just standing around.

**

Magpies held a place of joy in our family. Megan Piper Trussell was sometimes referred to as “Megpie.” On our epic summer Vanagon road trips, anytime we saw a magpie on a fencepost on some remote highway, one or more of us would shout, “magpie!”

I don’t know much about birds in general, but I have always liked crows and magpies; crows are intelligent and somewhat obnoxious. When I bike commuted to work, one crow was waiting for me on a stop sign every afternoon for several months. It cawed as I rode by, and I thought of us as friends. As for magpies, I like their colors. They’re easy birds to identify for a bird amateur like me, and they’re beautiful in a bold, straightforward way that other birds are not, with their black, blue, green, and white. I appreciate their simplicity.

**

Three days after Megan’s death, I awoke, forced myself out of bed, walked to the kitchen for coffee, and looked out the front window. The sun was out; the snow had begun to melt. And there in the middle of the yard were two magpies, just standing around.

The next morning, same routine, forced myself out of bed and went to the back door to let Carmine out. Standing on the patio furniture were two magpies. They weren’t doing anything but standing there, heads bobbing around. Each bird had one of its eyes on me.

**

It became a normal part of my daily grief ritual. Find a way to get out of bed—not always successfully—go to the kitchen or the back door, let Carmine out, say hello to the two magpies. Or sit down at my desk, look out the big window behind my computer monitors, say hello to the two magpies. This went on for about three months after Megan died.

It took a few months for it to occur to me that there might be something spiritual going on there. The blinders of grief make association more difficult than you’d think. Some things connect immediately while other things right in front of your face remain hidden. At some point I realized that these two magpies, or two magpies from a mischief of magpies (maybe they were on a rotation? I don’t know if it was the same two magpies) were hanging around my house every single morning. Sometimes they’d fly off when I opened the door; sometimes they’d stand there, dangerously close, and not do much of anything but bob their heads and stare at me with one eye.

**

Several months later, we were up at the entrance to Boulder Canyon with a documentary crew. As we stood in Eben G. Fine Park discussing how this walk up the canyon and the interviews would go, five or six magpies landed on the grass next to our meeting. They just stood around. The magpies were always around.

We met with CBI about Megan’s case review last February. Various officials, Vanessa, and I sat around a conference table on the fourth or fifth floor of the CBI building and discussed the inconsistencies of the case.

I don’t know if it was Vanessa or me who noticed first, but a magpie flew right outside the window and made multiple passes. Our attention to the window interrupted whatever one of the agents was attempting to explain to us.

“I’m sorry, is there something out the window?” he asked.

“Oh, just a magpie. It sounds crazy but we feel like magpies have been around us since Megan died,” I said.

“It’s not crazy,” the agent said, “it’s absolutely real.”

“Yep,” the group of law enforcement professionals said in unison.

Then in May, we celebrated Megan’s sister’s college graduation with a crawfish boil. I had the live crawfish flown up from Louisiana; the party was held at a farm/ranch where her boyfriend lived. After I set up my pot and got the water boiling, I noticed something on a trash receptacle twenty feet up the hill from where I was cooking. It was a magpie, and it stayed awhile.

**

By this point, I believed something, but I wasn’t sure exactly what. Were the magpies messengers from the other side letting us know Megan is okay? A beautiful reminder of her spirit?

What about the magpie I saw on the side of a busy street in my neighborhood one morning eating a freshly hit squirrel’s entrails? The gruesome scene didn’t fit the pattern, but I figured spirit animals gotta eat too.

Whether the magpies were a sign of something spiritual or not, the meaning I assigned to their presence meant something to me. They were a positive reminder of my daughter, and allowing myself to believe was totally worth it.

Over this summer, the magpies became scarcer, arriving in ways that didn’t seem to signal much beyond magpies being magpies. They’re beautiful and remind me of Megan, but I haven’t felt the connection as much.

**

Life has been full of upheaval for what feels like ever. I recognize that all I can do is get out of bed and face the days with clarity and purpose; outcomes will happen when they happen. But some days remain more difficult than others.

It’s a good thing I have a spirit team.

Actually I don’t know if I have a spirit team or not. In several New-Agey books I’ve read, it’s accepted that each of us has a team of ancestors or angels or guides or whatever you want to call them who reside on the other side and help us out when we need it. I like to think it’s true, but there are days when it feels like my team is substantially smaller and more earthbound than that, albeit no less appreciated.

On a particularly shitty day a couple of weeks ago, I came home from work and went to my bedroom to take off my work shoes. My feet ached and I had little in the tank for dealing with whatever relentless issues were happening that day.

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. I considered my spirit team, or more specifically, their absence. I thought, and maybe said, “nice fucking spirit team I have. I hate to be impolite, but can I get a little help?”

I shook my head, opened my eyes, and used the sudden frustration to get myself off the bed. Carmine ran around me in circles, his peepee dance.

“Alright, come on buddy.”

I walked through the house and opened the back door to mass confusion. Around fifteen magpies, a full mischief, were flying around my covered back patio, making magpie noises and generally creating mayhem. When I opened the screen door, they all scattered immediately and flew away.

Except one, which stood on the patio table not doing much of anything, bobbing its head and looking at me with one eye.