By Amy Gozelski
This Story Won First Prize in Our Contest
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It was the spring that my husband was dying from cancer. His diagnosis was one of the worst possible, and our peaceful lives, once filled with activities like playdates and homework, had become a relentless chaos of doctor appointments, chemotherapy treatments, and midnight trips to the ER. Our household had changed so quickly I barely had time to process it, let alone prepare for all of the inevitabilities careening toward us. How had we gone from suburban normalcy to all of…this…in what seemed like one blurred instant?
I thought about all of this in a few, rare quiet moments alone in front of the kitchen sink. I gratefully soaked in the calming warmth of the water and the satisfaction of a basin full of simple problems. When I heard a commotion coming from the backyard, I gave a grudging sigh and looked out the window. A female robin flew a frantic circuit from the fence at the end of the garden to the roof of the shed and then back again, sweeping low over a place in the grass before stopping to rest in the trees behind the fence every few passes. As it flew, it gave a strange, panicked-sounding call—a high-pitched, uneasy sound that raised goosebumps along my arms and neck. I watched as the little bird completed one more fluttering pass over the lawn and settled in the branches of a spruce. Half-drying my hands on a towel, I stepped barefoot over a few scattered toys and onto the cool patio steps.
Crossing the still-greening lawn, I came to the place that seemed to have upset the bird and looked down. In the grass lay another robin, dead and nearly featherless. I thought it was too big to be a hatchling, but if it was an adult, what had happened to its feathers? Was it a nearly grown but ill fledgling? With a sick feeling, I wondered if it could be the robin’s mate. I had a fleeting, guilty thought about the members of our household, especially the cats and the dog, and wondered if any of them could have been responsible, even though I was fairly certain they had all been indoors curled up in front of a movie with the kids since breakfast.
Ignoring a surge of nausea, I knelt in the grass to look more closely. The fragile body looked deformed and unnatural, its tiny bones in grotesque bas-relief underneath near-naked skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I realized that it reminded me of a cancer patient: a frail body ruined in equal parts by disease and cure.
The emerging spring life surrounding me seemed almost vulgar by comparison. Lewd, red rhubarb buds poked up through wet dirt. Young weeds set the stage for their own wanton Mardi Gras inside the borders of my neglected flower beds. Everything around me was preparing for a season of growth and life and fecundity. The very air was damp and heavy with it. But here, in the middle of it all…this little horror had been placed as a cruel memorial to everything I was about to lose.
In the space of one breath, everything within me turned to confront the injustice of this perverse tableau. And that one breath kindled a primal, guttural scream so full of fury that it burned my throat and lungs and eyes. Holding onto the face of the Earth with both fists clutching clumps of sod, I screamed out sorrow and rage and ancient despair until my ears rang and tears came, not caring who or what might hear. Then, all at once, as if shoved backward, I sat up. Not bothering to brush away my tears, I looked up into the spruce tree where the robin sat, watching.
We observed each other in consecrated silence for a moment that seemed to stretch out into generations.
As I watched her, I wondered what she would do now. If this was her mate, would she let their eggs go cold and start over again with a new partner and a new nest? Would she go back and try to care for her young on her own? Maybe this was one of her babies, and the others had already flown away? I pictured her returning to an empty nest and wondered if the quiet would bother her.
Finally, with a quick fluff of her feathers, she gathered herself and flew away into the woods. I stood up, grass and soil clinging to my hands and knees. I started toward the house to look for something to put the little body into so the cat, the dog, or especially the kids, wouldn’t find it.
I could figure out what to do with it after the dishes were done.
Poor thing. It’s a good thing you put the bird in a safe place. I wonder if the Robin ever flew back to see if the dead bird was still there. I loved the story. A nostalgic read.
I’m glad you enjoyed reading it. Thank you, Shobana.
Great metaphor and imagery, Amy. Your spare but impactful descriptions created powerful contrasts that really moved the story and drove the point home. Nice work!
Thank you for your comment, Tim.
This story was at once gentle and lovely, powerful and moving. Thanks for sharing your talent with the world.
Thank you, Margaret.
Amy, this brought me to tears. I knew exactly what she was feeling and of course the image triggered those memories for her. It brought back to me my own primal scream in the middle of the hospital parking lot after the oncologist told me my mother had two weeks left to live. Her body, and the body of my brother, were like the dead robin’s body, deformed and unnatural. I feel this is more than a ‘story’, so my sympathy goes out to you.
You are correct, Susan. This story is the “condensed soup” version of many moments like the one described.
I am so very sorry to hear you have experienced similar moments.
Beautiful!
Thank you, Elizabeth.
A heart breaking story rolled into one moment of bottomless, shared grief. The writer should win some sort of award for this tale.
She won first place in the contest.
Thank you for your kind words, Rudolph.
Wonderful story with rothe robin metaphor fitting perfectly.
My husband was diagnosed in 2008 and the agonizing round of treatments, not knowing the outcome (an exc one for us thankfully). Your story resonated with that time
Thank you, Stella. I am grateful to hear your story had a positive outcome.
So real. I admire her creative descriptions, especially “frail body ruined in equal parts by cure and disease.”
Thank you, Ginger.
I liked this flash story. I’m sure the theme resonates with many people, and it will likely fall upon me some day. The scenes you describe are easy to visualize. My only criticism (although small) is that I was dissatisfied with the ending. I didn’t feel that it closed the arc well enough. Maybe it was just me, but I was expecting more of “I too am going to have to go back to “normal.” It was implied, but too subtle for my taste.
I suppose one could find another ending, but this felt realistic and the way life does go on, so I liked it.
Thank you for your feedback. Being overly subtle is one of my flaws as a writer. As a human? Not so much. Thanks for reading.
Brilliant. Loved it.
Thank you, Rayna.
Congratulations- very moving story and well done!
Thank you, Tracy.
As the wife of an elderly, frail cancer patient and the mother of a daughter who died last November (aged 38) of cancer, this resonates with me. Since my daughter lived on the other side of the world, and my husband’s diagnosis came around the time of her death, I don’t think I have fully come to terms with either, and your story feels real to me. I have yet to meet my catalyst but, meantime, life must be lived, the dogs must be walked, meals must be cooked and laundry must be laundered.
Well described.
I am so sorry for your loss. You are right. Grief leaves us in a surreal state of being where life continues when it feels like it should stop completely. Thank you for your kind words.
Beautiful. Harrowing. Piercingly authentic. A wonderful read. Thank you, Amy.
Thank you for reading, Terry.
This story is a brilliant reminder of how pain and suffering are universal concepts. Creatures of all kinds experience loss; we claim it’s a human condition but we don’t have a monopoly on these emotions.
I liked how connecting to the bird’s sorrow allowed the MC to process her own anger.
Well-deserved win! Great job!
Thank you, Ed.
Wow- powerful story. I loved when the narrator and the robin looked at each other- a universal and profound moment. Then I thought coming back to the daily detailed reality of the situation was a perfect ending.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Joan.
frail body ruined in equal parts by disease and cure. ..
A jaw dropping line… this alone is worth the price of admission x
Thank you so much.
I agree. That is an incredible line. Then there’s this line… “But here, in the middle of it all…this little horror had been placed as a cruel memorial to everything I was about to lose.” Wow! Just WOW!
Write more, Amy, and aim for the Nobel Prize in Literature this time..you will deserve it!
I agree with you, Rudolph! Amy, please write more. In a world that worships brevity and practical communication, the moments in our lives where we connect with ourselves and the world around us in a way that touches so many layers of our consciousness rarely get expressed–let alone with such grace.
I can see why this won the contest. Poignant crafting of a short story that has it all. I loved the ending and metaphor of circle of life.
Thank you, TJ.
Bravo-so well written-emotions so real- clean, and powerful void of maudlin sentiment.
Congratulations on your recognition.
Thank you, Susan. I did try to avoid maudlin sentiment. I am glad to have succeeded.
Beautiful and heart-wrenching.
Thank you, JK.
Well done!!! Screaming helps..I know…
Thank you, Patricia. Sometimes screaming is the only reasonable thing to do.
Beautifully written and heartbreaking. I could feel and see everything you described.
Thank you, Briana.
This resonates for myself and my wife. We have both had cancer, and both seen how rapidly life moves from the problems we thought were important to the problems which are suddenly intrusively urgent and important.
Very beautiful, though I am so sorry if you understand this piece first hand.
Thank you, Kevin.
Amy, that was incredibly poignant. The comparisons drawn between cancer and the slow descent into death with the poor, sad, broken body of the bird left me with a feeling of disquiet as if I had been celebrating while someone else suffered. I’m assuming, but I’m hoping your husband survived. Great story!
Thank you, Deanna.
Wow, wonderful story and so well-written. Reminds me of when my wife was dying from cancer. Excellent connection of mother and robin. Two mates.
Thank you, David. I am sorry you had to experience loss from cancer. It’s a horrible disease.
Yes, it is a very cruel and incessant escort.
Gorgeous. Powerful and gripping and surprising substance and weight.
Thank you, Candace
Beautifully written and poignant story. A well-deserved winner. Congratulations.
Thank you, Barry
What a poignant story. Quiet and loud at the same time. Love it!!
What a lovely comment. Quiet and loud… Thanks so much for reading.
I lost my husband to CA in 2009. Your story resonated, especially “…equal parts by cure and disease.” Thank you for your perspective.
I am so sorry for the loss of your husband, Ann.
Heartbreaking and beautifully written. It stayed with me for a while. Well done!
Just lovely – simple, yet elegant. Convincing symbolism of the little bird grieving, much as the heroine does. Really heartfelt.
A great example of how sometimes the simplest expression of a thought or feeling can be the most affecting.