Losh

PROLOGUE
Last night, I went to bed around ten o’clock, both body and
heart aching and seeking the blessing of sleep. I woke at 1:30
a.m. this morning, the bedsheets drenched with sweat. It has
been like this for the last week, the sickening feeling of
reality, and after a few minutes, the inevitable tears. I smoke
a couple of cigarettes to pass the time more quickly.
Suddenly, there is a tremendous crash outside my second
story window. I sit upright and a sparrow flies into the room.
It’s wings flap desperately as it flies from one corner of the
ceiling to the others, finally perching on the frame of a
painting. My heart beats wildly. This is the first night I have
spent in our bed and room since my wife’s funeral three days
ago.

I’m not a superstitious man, but the Indians have a belief
that when a wild bird enters a dwelling place, it signifies a
coming death. I look at the bird and begin to talk to it as if it
could understand me. “Are you a sign, bird?” The sparrow
seems to crane it’s neck, then releasing it’s perch, it flies
around the room and comes to rest on the bookcase about
three feet from my bed.
“I cannot believe that you are the harbinger of yet another
death”, I say to the sparrow, “anymore than I can believe that
you are the spirit of my dead wife.” I’m still shaking a little,
however, the odds of this unique experience in my life
occurring on this very night must be at least a million to one.
Moreover, a comparison is too obvious to ignore. In so many
ways Losh was like a wild bird who was scared by the
outside world, came into my life by accident, and stayed to
seek shelter in my heart. And like a wild bird, it was
impossible to protect her forever.