Trish has a special place in her heart for bluebirds. She doesn’t know why. For whatever reason, that fondness has transferred to me. I also don’t know why. She has built our backyard into a bird oasis amidst our crowded development. There are many birdhouses and feeders and we love watching the birds particularly this time of year. We sit in our sunroom, crack the windows, and listen to the bird calls as they fly in and out of feeders and houses. Bluebirds don’t usually hang out in crowded developments. They normally nest on the edges of fields where they can hunt their favorite treat—worms. But a couple of years ago, we saw a male bluebird perched on our backyard fence, checking the place out. Trish immediately ran out and bought meal worms to add to the buffet in the backyard.

Trish diligently kept the meal worm bin full over the last couple of seasons and the bluebird brought his mate and then another breeding pair. We went to a Nature Center and built a bluebird box for them (not sure what makes it a “bluebird” box except that Trish painted a bluebird on the side). And this year, they chose a box under our kitchen window and had a brood. We were thrilled, watching the male bring worm after worm into the box. Again, we don’t know exactly why having bluebirds in the mix made us so happy. It just did.

This essay, however, is not about bluebirds. It’s about loss, which has been weighing heavily on me this week. What do bluebirds have to do with loss? I’ll get there.

I was fortunate to be spared from the pain of significant loss until well into adulthood. It’s not like I didn’t know what death was; nor was I unaware of the death of people around me. I was simply spared the pain of a close loss until I entered my 40’s. Many people are not that fortunate and I am aware of the blessing of spending so much of my life not needing to grapple with that kind of grief. It wasn’t until my father passed in 2010 that I knew what loss really meant. And it takes experiencing a close loss to develop a sense of empathy for loss around you. And it’s all around us, every day.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve experienced a number of losses. None particularly close to me, but close to those who matter to me. And this last week was such a gut punch that I had to write about it. It began a few weeks ago when Trish lost an uncle. He was a sweet man, the younger brother of Trish’s Mom. We knew he hadn’t been well but for various reasons we had not been able to see him in the last two of years. Trish was deeply hurt by his loss, understandably. Then I saw a Facebook post from a friend and mentor from my Air Products days. Her husband passed away early in May. I don’t know the circumstances. He was a sweet, gentle soul. I didn’t have the pleasure of spending much time with him, but I smile remembering our meetings. Moreso, I am grieving for my friend. They were a wonderful couple! So close, truly so fond of each other, and with a large family that was similarly close. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a spouse. At all. And now it’s starting to happen to my friends.

Then, earlier this week, came a one-two-three lesson in loss that inspired this need to write. First, a friend of mine lost her dog. I have never met this dog, but know he was a lovable, huge Newfoundland who worked as a therapy dog when he was younger. The loss of a pet is just an enormous hurt. I truly believe that our pets are how the angels walk among us. When Trish and I got together, we had four elderly cats between us. Over two years, we lost all four. I never expected it to hit me so hard. Our pets are companions; they are little devils that can destroy furniture; they are the stars of innumerable videos on social media; and, more than anything else, a source of unconditional love. That loss is always a deep one.

Later that day, Facebook served up another loss. The picture that accompanies this essay is of a local artist who I have followed since the early 1990’s. Her music just resonated with me. I first saw her at a little music festival in Allentown. She hadn’t even recorded an album yet. She was selling self-produced EP’s on cassette, which I played until it couldn’t be played anymore. Over the years her talent, body of work, and popularity grew. I’d go see her play a couple of times a year. That picture was after a show at an acoustic club in Bethlehem more than a decade ago. I was never a super fan; never a groupie or stalker (no matter what my best friend says!). I just enjoyed her music. A couple of years ago, she was diagnosed with a difficult to treat cancer. A GoFundMe was launched to support her treatment costs, which I contributed to and followed. She passed away on that same fateful day.

And then the damn bluebirds! For some unknown reason, sparrows (which are actually an invasive species around here) have it in for bluebirds. There are entire industries built around protecting bluebirds from these murderers. Sparrows will drive bluebirds off their nests and destroy eggs or kill babies. I was a little worried when the bluebirds nested in a box that the noisy sparrows used every year. The same morning that I learned about Tukka (the dog) and Christine (the musician), I saw a fat sparrow perched on that box, screaming away. I went out and shooed it away and shook the box. Later, I told Trish about it. We went out into the backyard and found them. Four little bluebirds, almost ready to fledge, dead. WHY?! The brooding pair had managed to protect the nest during incubation and when the babies were little. Why did they give up the nest NOW? It was the last straw. We opened a bottle of wine with dinner.

Maybe it was the unfairness that we sometimes see in nature. Maybe it was my natural instinct to protect the vulnerable. Maybe it was the loss of such a significant talent whose music affected so many and was lost too soon. Maybe it was remembering our pain at putting down Beau a couple of years ago. Maybe it was knowing I have limited enough time, as it is, with Trish since we met so late in life that I can’t even contemplate losing her. All I know it that I’ve felt loss deeply this week (and when I feel something deeply, I have to write).

I’m not going to launch into platitudes about how loss makes us appreciate life. We all know that. Nor am I going to segue into a discussion about gratitude. We all know the importance of that, too. I’m just going to let this sit here. Because we all experience loss all the time. Sometimes it’s very close and deep. Sometimes it’s tangential but meaningful. And sometimes, it’s just nature being nature. Yes, loss is a regular part of life. I just wanted you to know that you are not sitting in it alone.