Flight of a Hummingbird

Tragedy never stops life, but slows it down just enough for humanity to take an inventory of their lives. Tragedy is our wake-up call to slow down and prioritize. Tragedy reminds us to live like we are dying.

Following Saturday's funeral, our butterfly spread her wings and returned us to a desert oasis in Palmdale, CA with Brayden's grandma and 'pa'. I suppose it is appropriate that Brayden and my new life begins where my old life once took flight, a place I will forever call home. Home is with my parents in Palmdale, a moderate sized city on the edge of the Mojave Desert, serving as a bedroom community to Los Angeles area commuters.

Ironically, Sunday, the first full day following Tracell's funeral, was Father's Day. The symbolic nature of the day was hardly lost on me. It goes without saying, this Father's Day was particularly special. It was a poignant reminder of just how my responsibilities as a father to Brayden have taken on a whole new dimension. From today forward, every day is going to be Father's Day for the two of us.

Brayden launched our new life, on Father's Day, with a very sweet homemade Father's Day card. It is a card I will keep forever, my reminder of this major transition in our lives. The card was a hand-drawn picture of a baseball pitcher on top of the pitcher's mound. He also drew a sweet card to his grandpa, with a picture of an Apollo rocket, acknowledging my father's career as a true rocket scientist. The rest of Father's Day was filled with hours of swimming in the backyard and a wonderful steak dinner. As we ate our dinner underneath the cool evening sky, we were constantly watched and monitored by our guardian butterfly and a mother hummingbird.

Did I say a hummingbird?

We are taught as children about the never ending "cycle of life". Be it through the death of a pet dog or cat, the squishing under foot of an adorable ladybug (tears included) or treacherous spider, or the loss of a human life, we learn where one life ends another begins. The regeneration of nature through life is constant. We are surrounded by it every single day, yet often too busy with our lives to stop and notice. Yet, as we stated at the outset, tragedy has a way of making life slow down and force us to take notice of our surroundings. So in the backyard of this small oasis in the desert, it was the nest of a hummingbird that fittingly began to slow down our grief-stricken lives.

Over the past three years, a hummingbird (it is assumed the same hummingbird) has chosen my parent's back patio deck as an ideal location for building her annual spring nest. The nest sat directly outside the kitchen window for easy viewing every morning. Each year, she has painstakingly attached her nest to a strand of white "icicle" lights that decoratively adorn the bottom of the deck and illuminate the patio below. Each year, she has laid her tiny hummingbird eggs, hardly bigger than a large jellybean (in fact, the hummingbird egg is the smallest hard shell egg in the world) sitting in an Easter basket. Each year, her eggs have failed to produce off-spring. Failed that is, until this year.

Around the same time as Tracell left us on earth, two baby hummingbirds arrived. Grandma Weiss provided Brayden and I with a full narration of the baby hummingbird activities up until the time we arrived in Palmdale. In her narrative, she excitedly shared how one of the baby hummingbirds had crawled a bit out of the nest and was "dangling" upside down on the nest and later on one of the icicle light wires. The morning of the funeral, this hummingbird was still dangling by the nest. Yet, when we arrived home late that night, exhausted from the events of the day, we observed the first baby hummingbird had earned its pilot wings and taken to the desert skies.

The following morning, Father's Day Sunday, Brayden and I went downstairs to the kitchen and immediately wanted to see the famous hummingbird nest. I slowly opened the back door and promptly set off the house alarm. Without knowing the code, I told Brayden to "go wake up grandma and ask for the code" (7 AM in the morning). After the commotion settled and grandma had woken from a sound sleep, we stepped outside to get our first daylight view of the hummingbird nest. At first glance, we saw no sign of a hummingbird. Then suddenly, taking a closer look, Brayden excitedly noticed baby hummingbird #2 actually sitting like a statue on the edge of its nest, patiently waiting for mother hummingbird to bring more food.

If only our own children could wait so patiently for momma to bring their meal!!!

Throughout the lazy Sunday afternoon, as we swam and talked and laughed, baby hummingbird # 2 sat like a statue at the edge of the nest. Every hour or two, mother hummingbird would fly to the nest and feed her baby. At times, mother hummingbird appeared to engage her special hover mode and be coaxing her baby to spread its wings and leave the nest. Baby hummingbird # 2 was having none of that risky adventure. It was content to simply sit on the edge of the nest and chirp for mother to come feed it.

Later the same afternoon, a second hummingbird nest was discovered hanging from the trellace by the gate to the back yard. In this nest sat two baby hummingbirds, facing in opposite directions, on the edge of the nest.

Thus, Brayden first dubbed it "Hummingbird Heaven".

Yet, dubbing this Palmdale desert home "Hummingbird Heaven" was hardly sufficient. You see, Brayden has a deep affinity for nature. This past spring, as we prepared our backyard garden at our home in Colorado, I found myself doing the digging while Brayden assigned himself the task of rescuing the turned-up worms, snails, and "rolly pollies". Each insect was awarded a homeowner subsidied relocation package to a safer garden neighborhood. So given his affinity for rescuing garden insects, it was hardly a surprise when Brayden decided the baby hummingbirds needed names.

Thus, baby hummingbird #1 was named "Dangily" for its propensity to dangle upside down on the nest prior to departure.

Baby hummingbird #2 was named "Edgy" for its stubborn refusal to leave the edge of the nest.

The two newly discovered baby hummingbirds, were named "Austin" and "Ryan", a tribute to Brayden's cousins who live near our home in Colorado.

Dangily was clearly the mature leader of the group. It was the first to venture from the nest, perform some acrobatics with upside down stunts, and then take flight to show off in front of its audience.

Edgy was uncertain about declaring itself fit for flying duty. It preferred to stay in the nest and have mom supply the meals. I believe many of my friends have experienced this with their children returning home after graduating from college...

Austin and Ryan were simply inseparable. One would not fly without the other, much like their namesakes.

At dinner Sunday evening, we sat only a few feet from the back patio nest where Edgy was constantly chirping its demands for room service. The hummingbird nest was the focal point of our dinner conversation, as we observed the incredible wonders of nature only a few feet away. My mother casually commented, "I am guessing it is highly unlikely we would ever get to see Edgy take its first flight..." We had a front row seat to the start of a new life and the mustering of courage for Edgy to fly. It was life slowing down so we could observe and appreciate our surroundings. It was the cycle of life, tragic death followed by the regeneration of life.

Monday morning, Edgy was still Edgy, sitting like a statue at the edge of its nest waiting for breakfast from mom. Momma hummingbird was still hovering outside the edges of the nest, coaxing her baby to take its first hummingbird "flaps". Austin and Ryan were also content with sitting in their nest by the backyard gate. From time to time, Dangily would make a guest appearance on a branch near the kitchen or even clinging (dangling) to the window screen of the dining nook.

In the late Monday afternoon, as Brayden let loose a cannonball into the pool, it was status quo in Hummingbird Heaven. Edgy showed no signs of leaving the nest. Brayden splashed in the pool as I sat on the patio beneath the deck and watched a child's exuberance with making big waves. Soon I found myself required to rate each cannonball from 1 to 10...with minimal difference in the small "kerplop" splash between a 2 and 10 score. Imagine the joy when he finally "achieved" a perfect 10 for his cannonball.

As Brayden swam to the edge of the pool to prepare for his 10,000th cannonball, I glanced over at the hummingbird nest, for I thought I saw momma hummingbird coming to feed Edgy. However, when I focused on the flying hummingbird, I noticed it struggling to flap its wings and maintain altitude. Clearly it was having mechanical difficulties and its altimeter was fluctuating wildly. This was NOT mamma hummingbird. In fact, this was EDGY leaving the nest!!! I screamed to Brayden, "EDGY LEFT ITS NEST!!! Brayden, hurry...come here...Edgy is flying out of its nest!!!!". Brayden scrambled out of the pool and dashed to the patio.

By the time Brayden arrived at the patio, Edgy had performed a "controlled" crash landing on the patio below. It was a landing similar to those landings you experience in an airplane on a gusty afternoon, the wheels slamming to the runway and the plane briefly taking flight again before pounding and bouncing on the runway a half dozen more times. Edgy softly bounced to the patio below, stunned and amazed at its adventure.

Brayden walked near Edgy as it sat like a statue. At this time, we were uncertain if Edgy had injured itself during its test flight. It just sat. Then it began to chirp. Momma hummingbird instantly returned to the nest only to find it empty. She frantically flew in fits and starts around the nest, trying to find her precious Edgy, trying to locate the source of the chirps. After several minutes, momma hummingbird located Edgy. She slowly hovered above Edgy as if to say, "I am so proud of you...now lets get back up and try again...".

So Edgy tried again. On its second attemp, Edgy truly took flight. It quickly darted up into the air and bolted to a nearby tree branch. This five second flight was a milestone for Edgy as it finally earned its hummingbird wings. Momma hummingbird was now an empty nester.

Brayden and I had witnessed the first flight of a hummingbird.

Ryan and Austin, in the nearby nest by the backyard gate, promptly followed Edgy's inspiring example, taking flight by the following day. "Hummingbird Heaven" was no longer a hummingbird nursery, but rather had become a hummingbird flight line. Our hummingbird families frequently return and hover from tree to tree and branch to branch. We can no longer identify our hummingbirds by name, but we never fail to notice when they return home for a visit.

Between our daily swimming, playing catch (baseball), butterflies, and hummingbirds, our life has begun to slow down, given us time to take stock of our grief as well as the promising road ahead. In this tumultuous week, we have observed both the tragedy and beauty of life.

Yet, we shouldn't need tragedy to slow down our lives and observe our surroundings. We simply need to gain a proper perspective on the fragility of life and prioritize accordingly. As Tracell would state in her funeral service, we need to make choices that matter, make a difference in people's lives, and live like we are dying.

In a couple short days, Brayden and I will board a plane and return home to Colorado. He is excited to return home and see his friends. I am excited to begin our new adventure together.

In many ways, I feel like Brayden and I are Edgy, sitting on the edge of our nest trying to summon the courage to take our first flight. When we do, those watching will have the chance to witness the first flight of a hummingbird.

Authors Note

Authors Note:

The response to my first blog post has been absolutely overwhelming!! Stunning in fact. Your comments have inspired me like never before in my life. I have read many e-mails and comments about how my post had touched each of you in some way, especially through the butterflies. I also read that I should receive a commission from Kleenex for all the tissues people went through after reading the post!!

I assure you that not all of my posts in this blog will be ten tissue tear-jerkers. Hopefully everyone that follows our journey together will enjoy moments of humor, inspiration, hope, and success...and maybe the occasional tear when I reflect back on Tracell from time to time.

I hope that through our story, you will find some bit of inspiration you can use in your own story and journey. I welcome you to share with me your thoughts and feelings...and suggestions.

Thank you all for your amazing support...

Scott

New Life Takes Flight

Today, June 21, 2009, our new life begins.

The birth of our new life has been through a long and painful end of the old.

Yesterday, June 20, 2009, Tracell Ann Weiss's casket was lowered into its final resting place, a burial plot with her grandmother and grandfather under a towering shade tree. In a matter of minutes, her site was covered with a blanket of flowers, the only remaining symbol of her colorful life. With tears streaming down my face, as the sun began to set on the most difficult day of my gray life, I re-arranged her blanket as though tucking her in for the night, and said goodbye.

It was a sorrowful conclusion to a journey that began almost five years prior, when Tracell first received the devastating diagnosis:

"The lump in your breast is malignant. You have breast cancer.".

Not once on that dark afternoon did I think those words would lead to this sad goodbye at her gravesite. While Tracell shed tears, I callously told her, "You have one day to feel sorry for yourself, and then we are going to fight this and beat it.".

Really she had every right to feel sorry for herself for the next five years, as the cancer fought relentlessly to consume her physical body. Yet while it consumed her body to the very last breath, on June 3, 2009 at 12:00 PM, it never touched her amazing spirit. Tracell never quit. Tracell never felt sorry for herself. Tracell never stopped being Tracell.

Through it all, through the chemotherapy, double masectomy, radiation, more chemotherapy, lung draining, natural therapies, radical diet change, surgeries, spinal fractures, and breathing tubes, Tracell never lost focus on why she was fighting so hard:

Brayden Mark Weiss.

Brayden is our son. He was born in October 2001 and had just turned three years old when Tracell first heard the devastating news she had cancer. Her first thought was about Brayden. Every thought the next five years was about Brayden. She was fighting for time, time with her son, to watch him grow into a man.

Yet, despite every prayer and plea, the cancer failed to grant a mother's right to watch her child grow to adulthood. It failed to understand her benevolent wishes to watch her son graduate from high school and college, to see him married, and greet her grandchildren. No, the cancer played by its own rulebook, a rulebook that could only have been drafted from the deepest layers of Dante's fiery Inferno.

As Tracell slowly ran out of appeals with her antagonist, she sought to make every moment with Brayden count. She threw him a huge 7th birthday party, with a homemade "snake" cake that became so famous with her friends, they referred to "the snake cake" as they shared, during her final days, what they most admired and loved about Tracell. She took Brayden for a two-week "trip of a lifetime" to Florida in February, made memorable by Brayden's ear-infection, three hours of standing in the rain at the Daytona 500, and her lifetime dream of swimming with dolphins. Even as she struggled to breathe and limited to a wheelchair with multiple compression fractures in her spinal column, Tracell managed to attend three of Brayden's baseball games in April/May 2009.

Tracell was an incredible mother. She set the highest example of love and guidance for her son. She was "momma kitty" and he was her "baby kitty", even during Brayden's final visit two days before she slipped from the clutches of cancer and into the hands of God.

It has been said, the death of an individual is a tragedy, the death of a million a mere statistic.

On June 3rd, Tracell become our tragic statistic.

Tracell was our tragedy. Our friend, mother, and daughter.

Tracell was breast cancer's latest statistic, another notch among millions of victims.

On June 3rd, everyone that knew Tracell became a victim. We all joined the victims of those who, at one time or another, mourned the devastating loss of a loved mother, wife, friend, and daughter to breast cancer.

So it was, as she rose into the hands of God, that Tracell began to give birth to the new life of a father and son. Together, Brayden and I began the transition from our old life to the new, marked with a river of tears as we mourned the loss of mommy.

Following a beautiful celebration of her life on June 13, 2009 in Northglenn, CO, friends and family gathered outside the church to give flight to a final wish. It was her wish to transfer her spirit to the flight of a butterfly. As more than a hundred mourners joined hands in a circle, Brayden released thirty-six Monarch butterflies, each lifting her spirit high into the bright blue sky.

As I stood at Tracell's California gravesite and said goodbye, a Monarch butterfly landed on the blanket of flowers. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I knew it was Tracell's spirit giving birth to our new life. The butterfly twitched it's wings and waited.

I made her one final promise, "Tracell, I promise to make sure our son will never forget you."

Then I said, "We're ready."

The butterfly opened its wings and took flight.

So began our new life, Brayden and I together, riding on the wings of a butterfly.















Brayden and Scott at a Rockies Game