Cardinal

The other day less than 20 seconds into my drive to work, a bright red cardinal swooped down and glided mere fractions away from the windshield. Eventually pulling up and making his way up to a nearby branch. I laughed to myself and said, “I wonder who that was?”

Ever since I lost my Papa five years ago, I’ve led myself to believe that Cardinals are the souls of loved ones checking in. They are often missed or hidden in plain sight, despite their bright red firetruck feathers. Occasionally they make themselves feel heard or seen, and ever since September 16, 2016 I’ve seen a lot of Cardinals, whether or not it’s Big Rip, I’ll keep telling myself it’s something.

Sometimes it feels like my dear best friend William Wheeler, who passed away nearly eight years ago. A month ago while on my normal sunrise walk with my dog, when turning right onto the street both Will and I grew up on, a red cardinal came swooping by my dog and I. It was a so close I saw the red flash before my eyes. I followed the Cardinal into the brush he entered and right before I turned my head to continue forward, he poked his head out and made himself be seen. I walked by the house Will had grown up feeling totally beyond myself, like I had just communicated with him somehow, someway.

The Cardinal that swooped in front of my windshield made me stop at the yield sign at the end of the road to take a moment. It took my breath away. A thousand questions and emotions rushed to my head, my stomach. I was half-laughing, crying, it felt really odd, yet grounding. I was grateful but also was reminded in that moment the suffering that losing someone brings about. Death has been something that has unfortunately just occurred just all too often in my short 23 years of life.

I can remember in 3rd grade turning off my Playstation 2 immediately after my mom came down the stairs and delivered the news that a classmate had passed away due to a brain tumor. From there, the list only grows, and with too many of them too close to home.

On March 16, I was reminded of that pain, the suffering that ensues when the phone rings and it’s death calling again. The only word that could come out of my mouth when I heard my dad say, “Casey died in a car accident last night,” was FUCK.

Casey only knew suffering, with so much loss in his own life it’s remarkable and admirable he kept it together for so long. He and I had something in common, we both lost a dear friend in Joshua Bonnell back in 2012. Josh was the son of one of my dad’s best friend, Gary.

All throughout my childhood Josh was the one who introduced me to all the things he loved, some of which included Grand Theft Auto, to which my Mom still isn’t thrilled about and riding anything with wheels. As long as it had wheels, Josh found a way to make them turn. He inspired me to get my first BMX bike, he brought me out in the trails in his dune buggies and ATV’s. Alongside Josh all those years, was Casey.

All of my memories with Josh for the most part involve Casey. I’ve been hanging out with Casey for what seems like the past 23 years. But when Josh died in that car accident, a piece of Casey, I selfishly believe, died with him. They were inseparable, the epitome of best friends. They caused a ruckus, made a lot of noise and just always had fun. I can only imagine that a loss of that magnitude just shook his whole entire existence. There’s no fucking playbook for how to react after you lose your best friend, you just try to make it through each day.

At least that is what I felt when both Josh and Will died in high school, like I really hadn’t a clue where to go or what to think. It just made me numb for a long time, and I’m sure Casey might have felt the same at times in the past decade or so.

With yet another Cardinal flying around, I am once again left to reflect on death. Nobody wants to talk about it, and I don’t blame them. I complained to my dad last night that this all sounded too “Woe-is-me” but after reading and “completing” it I feel more grounded and lighter than I did before. I was also reminded of just how big of a heart Casey had, despite all his scars, when the people lined up yesterday afternoon to celebrate his life. That all of this goes beyond our physical selves, that these Cardinals show up in times in our lives when we are lost, broken.

As the slideshow of pictures of Casey through the years played in a room separate from his urn, a picture of Josh and Casey popped up with their skateboards. Josh’s driveway was not one for skateboarding, yet those two always found a way to keep those wheels rolling.

Rest in Peace Casey McNamara, give Josh a big one for me.