A visit from the cardinal

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The night was cold and the wind blew hard when we first saw him. It was after midnight when the cardinal landed on a small ledge between the large columns on our front porch. The perch was perfect shelter from the freezing snow coming hard from the north.

Birds always seek shelter in trees when it storms, or so I thought, but this location was far more practical. The red bird rested high on the edge of the platform nestled safely near the warm roof. He was safe; at least for this night.

I was unable to sleep. It was the first anniversary of the death of my brother, Jack, and I was wide awake. I walked downstairs and saw the book I had been reading earlier to our grandson. I read for awhile thinking the rhythm of the words might relax my mind back to sleep.

It was a story I knew. Ironically, it was a story about brothers — a simple story from an old Boy Scout book I had as a youngster.

The story was titled Loyalty to a Brother by Walter Macpeek.

One of two brothers fighting in the same company in France fell by a German bullet. The one who escaped asked permission of his officer to go and bring his brother in.

“He is probably dead,” said the officer, “and there is no use in your risking your life to bring in his body.”

But after further pleading the officer consented. Just as the soldier reached the lines with his brother on his shoulders, the wounded man died.

“There, you see,” said the officer, “you risked your life for nothing.”

“No,” replied Tom. “I did what he expected of me, and I have my reward. When I crept up to him and took him in my arms, he said, “Tom, I knew you would come. I just felt you would come.”

The story warmed me.

My mind was still restless and I feared a sleepless night was ahead, but as I closed the book my mind began to relax. On my way back up the stairs I glanced out the front window, and saw the cardinal. He was asleep standing up with his beak tucked into his breast.

The night was quiet and still. And I stood still, too.

Then, as if on cue, the cardinal raised its head and began to chirp. He seemed to be singing. I stood there for the longest time.

The cardinal was simply doing what he does, and his gentle song was comforting.

The next morning, I told Brenda about the cardinal and how uplifting I found his presence and his song. “Let’s call him ‘Happy’,” Brenda suggested.

“Yes, let’s do,” I responded. “His tune is a happy one, no doubt.”

Every night during the winter months, Happy returned faithfully to his resting place inside the porch. Each night I would flick on the light to see if he was there.

This friendly cardinal weathered rainstorms and wind, snow and ice during his time with us. Every morning we passed him on our way to the car as we left for work, or saw him watch us walk back and forth to the mailbox countless times.

It wasn’t long before the weather warmed and the first days of spring came. Then, as mysteriously as he arrived, he was gone.

Incredibly, this past Saturday, December 3, 2016, a cardinal found a home in the same location on the front porch. Was it Happy? We don’t know, but it was a coincidence that it was my brother Jack’s birthday, and exactly three days before the second anniversary of his death.

I have read stories about the cardinal and the afterlife, of course. I have no special insight, but who knows for sure? Those who do believe say a cardinal tends to stand out from the crowd, that it is possible for the little red bird to get our attention when nothing else can.

Maybe it is the task of the cardinal to catch our eyes, but on that cold night in December, he tenderly captured our hearts.

Pat Haley is a Clinton County Commissioner.

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Pat Haley

Contributing Columnist

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