love isn't love enough
at 21, i confronted the death of a loved one for the first time. it felt so weird. it was something like ....... ..... ..... ... .. .
i could sense it looming for a bit, but then i didn't. but maybe i'm only saying this in hindsight. inasmuch as i know myself, i know i'm one to deny death the satisfaction of an audience in anticipation.
packer came to our home on 30th august, 2020. he announced his own arrival with ceremonious screaming and distressing restlessness. he had a really tiny cage, before we decided it was too small for him and got him a bigger one, only about 10"x10" size to move around. but he still found enough space in there to run around in my zoom background, so someone in the meeting had to remind me "zion we can see your bird."
he was too restless in the cage, and we had to let him out soon enough. he wouldn't eat out of my hands and would hiss at any encroaching fingers. but i'd line up the sunflower seeds, and he'd sit on top of my curtain rod and work across them. after his meal he'd grind his beak, and choose between taking a nap or chewing my things. when it was time to go to bed, we'd have to catch him with a blanket and coop him in his cage. some time later, we dispensed with the blanket and began to try to chase him around to his cage. he'd never get the hint, and would end up crashing in a corner of the room, panting like he'd just migrated over the seven seas. his eyes would beg for a time out, and we'd grant it. if u offered him water, he'd walk up to his oppressor's hand and drink right up. all the same, after he had given up, he'd climb on to his perch, and settle in for the night.
packer's initial fuss was a proper preamble to the following life he'd lead with us: one day, a few weeks after we got him, he started belting out a very specific melody. a star is born, i thought. we had no idea where he'd picked it up from, but we didn't care much, since we all fell for it right away. every morning when it was time to let him out of his cage, he'd get started with his performance, and we knew what to do.
pac barely let us pet him. he didn't like fingers, but he was as sentient as a 10 cm bird gets. sometimes i'd be doing my business & he'd just be watching me out of the corner of his eyes. as soon as i caught him watching me, he'd look away. but i also knew how to get his attention back: he loved millets. he was so desperate you just had to watch him go at a millet spray. he could be annoyed at everyone and everything, but as soon as you held up a millet spray, pac was all ears. he'd creep up to you and start nibbling it right off your hands. sometimes, only sometimes, if u were careful enough, he'd let u sneak a pet on the small of his head. i like to believe he liked it as much as i did.
this yellow bird was unbelievable mischievous. we saw he needed another avian friend, and he was so glad when we got him one. when pac wasn't busy making all of us work for him, he was picking feathers off zen's neck, and rolling the fluff in his mouth. when we called him out, he looked at us steadfast, as if he was playing some game of pickaboo and was trying to regain the defeat of the round. the rounds were endless.
sometimes he'd be grinding his beak, watching cockatiel videos on youtube; sometimes you'd find him sleeping on the ceiling fan; sometimes he'd have night frights & need a little company. he was always so unpredictable, just like a true inspiration. but one day he decided to something that i will forever wish i had been able to predict.
an hour later, the vet had to sew him back. he had 10 days of medications, 1 paper cone around his neck, and 3 days more to live. he bit us all a few more times, and breathed his last.
packer, the best bird ever, passed away on 7th august, 2021. only a month short of his one year anniversary.
in the last few days, i've realised no one really knows what to say. most times, death is just the third person we try not to look in the face, but when its finally time to look at it, only then does its form, eluding shape, daunt on us. but its always a very exclusive preview. to everyone else around you, death is still the third person. if they notice you've sensed its power, they'll throw some conventional garbage your way. "im so sorry" "how did it happen?" "im here". but if mere words could soak some of its power away from death, man would've been immortal.
but i dont mind, honestly. pac had no use for english words in his lifetime, and i dont need anymore right now either. the part that actually mattered, him & i knew long ago.