A Little Push

Sebastian walks through the park with his dog every Friday after work. His path typically starts on the west end, closer to his house. He and Cookie will walk for about thirty minutes until they reach the field. 

If it didn’t rain yesterday, the grass should still be dry enough for him to throw the frisbee for about fifteen minutes. Around that time, Cookie will run out of steam and want to drink from the pond, not the one closest to the frisbee field in the sun, but the cooler one in the shade.

If Cookie needs a longer break after getting water, which he usually does since he’s not as young as he was when I was around, Sebastian will sit with him on the bench near the pond in the shade. If they plan to sit for more than five minutes, Sebastian will look at his phone, checking emails and scrolling through social media while Cookie chews on a stick. 

But if they sit for just under five minutes, Sebastian will keep his phone in his pocket and notice the sun glistening on the water. He might feel the breeze on his skin or watch as it whistles through the budding leaves on the tree branches above him. He will search the water for fish, and eye the sky for birds, and if I can plan for just the right moment, he may recognize that I am with him.

Ten minutes into catching the frisbee, Cookie starts limping away from the field, pulling Sebastian towards the shaded pond. Ten minutes wasn’t much, but the limp might give us enough sympathy points to entice Sebastian to the bench. 

When they reach the pond, Cookie laps up a gulp of water and automatically sprawls out by the bench. Good boy.

Sebastian walks towards him, and I ready the cardinal. 

Cardinals are notoriously symbolic as our means of grabbing the attention of our living loved ones. They carry our messages, seen as a go-between our worlds, and comforting those we have left behind. Or so I’ve been told.

This cardinal, apparently the only one left in our area, put up a fight this morning when I struggled to convince him of my plan for reaching out to Sebastian.

“Just give him a little push.” My spirit guide suggested when the cardinal flew out of sight for the fifth time. “Sometimes they are picky, they like reaching out in their own time. He must understand that if you don’t catch him today, you’ll miss your son’s birthday. They are especially sympathetic on holidays and occasions.”

I found the bird grazing from a neighbor’s feeder, and pushed my hand as hard and fast as I could manage towards him. My hand went straight through him, it always does, but I think it may have tickled or annoyed him just enough to grab his attention. 

“Come on now, this way…” I coaxed. “Just a couple houses over and we will be there.”

The bird looked at me, seemingly rolled his eyes, and flew towards the park. 

“See! I knew he would come around.” My spirit guide followed. 

“Now what?” 

“Now you wait for Sebastian. If you’ve gotten the cardinal this far, he should be willing to do the rest. Just point him out when they get close and give the bird some space. He will know when it is the right moment. Good luck.” My guide put his hand on my shoulder then vanished, leaving me alone to make the first connection with my son since my passing.

When Sebastian gives in and sits on the bench beside Cookie, I shoo the cardinal towards him.

“Come on, this is your chance. You have a very tight window, so get over there.” He doesn’t move. “Oh space… right… I’ll just be over here; you do your thing.” He still doesn’t move. “Goddamn it, bird, come on. Do something.” He does nothing.

I wait for what must be ten minutes as the cardinal bathes himself in the pond, not the shaded one near my son, of course, but the sunny pond near the frisbee field with the warm water. We are just far enough away that I can barely tell if Sebastian is looking at the water glistening or at his phone.

I beg, plead, scream, and slap through the bird as many times as I can, but he ignores it all, as if I am another breeze rustling his feathers on an early spring day. I give him space and walk over to Sebastian, definitely scrolling on his phone now, and signal to the bird. 

“Over here. This is him. The one in the oxford. Come on!” The bird stays in the sun.

“Alright, Cookie, that’s enough for one day.” Sebastian calls. “You ready to go home?” 

Cookie’s ears perk up. He spits the stick out of his mouth and stretches while Sebastian stands and they walk the path back towards their house. 

“Damn it, bird. Waste of my day. All that and you’re just going to let him leave without so much as a flight overhead?”

The bird waits another minute or so, just enough to rub it in my face, then flies over my son and shits right on his shoulder.

“What the…?” Sebastian jerks his head to see the white clump on his shirt. “Just my luck.” He coughs up a laugh and flicks the poop off his shirt.

Back at the house, Sebastian prepares dinner while Cookie naps on the couch. Sebastian listens to a familiar playlist while he chops vegetables and seers his birthday steak in a pan. 

“So, the bird thing didn’t work out, no problem.” My guide insists. “Half of the birds who do give our loved ones a message go unnoticed. There isn’t much we can do about it. This just presents us with an opportunity to try another method. See his phone on the counter?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, something I have found to be a very effective way of reaching out is through technology. Why don’t you try giving it a little zap? Sometimes the music will dim, or it may skip to a new song halfway through. It’s hard to tell exactly what will happen, seeing as this is your first time, but it should grab his attention enough to get the message.”

“How the Hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t even smack a bird yet.”

“No problem. You don’t have to touch the phone, exactly, it’s not like pushing a bird off a tree branch, it’s more like… sending a jolt of energy in a specific direction. Here, watch me.”

As the current song ends, my guide sends a pulse through the phone and another, older, song comes up. Without knowing his intentions, it was difficult to tell if he did anything miraculous. Sebastian did seem confused by it, and quickly pressed skip to the next song in his preferred genre.

“Now you try it. Focus on the energy connecting you with the physical world. Think of a specific memory or moment shared between you. That should spark enough of an energetic wave to feel it like static in your fingertips, then touch the phone on the counter.”

I thought of Sebastian and I driving in the mornings to drop him off at school. Most of it was talk radio at that time, but every now and then a country song would play and we would turn up the music and sing along. He never liked country music on his own, but always listened and sang along whenever he was in the car with me. 

A static feeling builds in my fingertips, and as the current song nears its end, I quickly reach for the phone and give it a little push. Although I don’t make contact with the phone, the energy pulses through me like nothing I have felt since death, and with a small spark, the phone falls off the counter and onto the ground, cracking the screen in lightning bolts of shattered glass.

“Are you serious?” Sebastian slams his fist against the counter and picks up his phone. “What is going on today? First the bird crap and now my phone?”

Cookie wakes up at the shouting, tucks his tail between his legs and moves into the bedroom and I have half a mind to join him.

When Sebastian finishes his dinner, he lays down on the couch to watch TV and Cookie joins him. Even on a Friday night, even on his birthday, he is a man of routine, just like I was. The same meals most days, the same schedule, comforting TV shows and familiar music. He is predictable, which should make my job easier. 

I have watched him in the weeks since my passing. I’ve seen his grief, seen him plan my funeral, watched him visit his mother, bury my body and sell my estate. I’ve seen him working and walking and learning how to move back into his routines. I’ve come to know what to expect from him, and with the help from my spirit guide, we have been planning the ways to reach out in what little means we have. 

While Sebastian watches TV, we try several other ways of contacting him or grabbing his attention: familiar scents, sequenced numbers, flickering lights, and static on the screen. Each attempt fails in one way or another, nothing as dramatic as the broken phone, but nothing that has gotten my message across. When Sebastian finally retires to his bed for the night, all hope seems lost.

“Don’t be discouraged,” My guide suggests, “You’ve done very well for your first day. Perhaps we should try a more classic approach for now. Afterall, it has only been a few weeks since you passed, and you are still getting a feel for things.”

"What did you have in mind?"

“I think with the connection you already share with your son, and the energetic power you have shown today, we can try dream-walking. It’s a very difficult skill. It’s not like manipulating things in the physical world.”

“I’m desperate, I’ll try anything.”

“As you may remember from your life, dreams are a hard thing to control. That is still true for us, while we cannot manipulate the dream or tell Sebastian what to think or how to feel about it, we can invite suggestion. Your presence in the room, your smell in the air, your hand on his head, all these things can help Sebastian invite you into his thoughts.”

I raise my eyebrows. To manipulate the physical world I once held in the palm of my hand is one thing, to dive into the subconscious of my thirty year old son is another.

“What if I interrupt him during a… you know… private kind of dream?”

“The subconscious mind typically dreams about that which the active mind worries. I don't want to offend you, but I think it is safe to say he will have enough worries on his mind after today. And since this is your first time, I will do most of the subconscious manipulation and set the groundwork for you to join. All you have to do is place your hand on his head after me.”

I nod, and when Sebastian falls asleep, my guide places one hand on my son’s chest and the other on his forehead. Sebastian reacts with shiver, and goosebumps raise on his arms, but he remains asleep.

My guide nods and I place my palm on the top of Sebastian’s head. I long for the feeling of his curly hair between my fingers, but before I notice the missing sensation, I too am asleep.

Together, we are dreaming of my old house. I’m standing in my backyard and Sebastian runs out of the house and throws his arms around me.

“There you are!” He exclaims.

I want to hold him longer, but he pulls away and I cannot bring him back into me. I want to tell him I love him, but it’s as if I am a character in a play and my words are scripted. Suddenly, we are eight feet apart and he throws a frisbee to me. I catch it automatically and throw it back.

“What a crazy day, huh?” He asks and returns. 

“What happened?” I am willed to say, although I already know the answer.

“Some bird crapped on my favorite shirt.”

“What shirt was it?” I ask, although I remember the shirt. It seemed like any other work shirt to me, one he could easily replace if the shit-stains won't come out. 

“It was the blue oxford you bought for my first big job interview after grad school.” He throws the frisbee back. "I wanted there to be a little piece of you with me today."

I want to tell him I was with him today but all I can do it continue to toss the frisbee back and forth while he speaks.

“Then, if the crap-attack wasn’t enough, my phone randomly fell of the counter and broke. I’m gonna have to go in and replace it tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry.” I say. Is this part of the script? Or am I telling him I apologize because the bird and the phone were both my fault. All I wanted to do was let him know I was with him, thinking of him, but I ended up making everything worse. 

“Then I burnt my dinner, my TV was acting up, the house smelled like gas and my clock kept getting stuck.”

I wince, unable to explain to him what was really going on. It sounds like he may have noticed my signs, but of course, I flubbed them up. Not only was I unable to get my message across, but I ruined his day. It would have been better if I had never even tried.

“But ya know…” He holds the frisbee to his chest. “It’s okay. The bird poop, the broken phone, the burnt steak. It was kinda funny, actually.”

“It was?”

“Yeah… All I could think about was how if you were here, you would tell some joke about having a ‘shitty birthday’ and make it all better.” He laughs and I move in closer. “In all honesty, I put that shirt on this morning because I woke up in a funk. Knowing this would be the first year without you calling or popping by to wish me a Happy Birthday. Actually, I’ve been a mess all week leading up to it. I looked for old voicemails or home videos just to hear your voice, but I couldn’t find anything. I was up all last night, unable to sleep knowing you wouldn’t be here. So, I guess, the bird poop and the broken phone were kind of a relief. Almost like… You were with me, telling me to lighten up. I don’t know. It sounds stupid.”

“Not at all.” He drops the frisbee and I walk to him, breaking the script and pulling him into another, longer hug. “You don’t ever have to worry about me not being here on your birthday. I will be here. I will be here on your birthday, and on Easter, on Christmas, on Labor Day and the Forth of July and every day in between. You may not always notice it, but whether it is a bird shitting on your favorite shirt, the wind blowing through the trees, a bee sting or flat tire, I am with you.”

Sebastian squeezes me tighter, and it is a sensation I will hold on to even as I pass back into the spirit world. When we eventually pull apart, the dream lifts and I am back with my spirit guide, watching a smile spread across Sebastian’s face as he turns over to his side.

I’m not sure if he will remember this when he wakes up in the morning, or if he will understand what it meant, but I do know I won’t stop trying. He may miss a passing bird, or misinterpret the static on the radio, but I’ll be there. I know he will think of me often, even if he doesn’t show it, and he will know that I am always with him. Even if every now and then, he needs a little push.