Death seems like a huge deal - the end of our lives. How can we prepare for it? But, it is the little deaths that prepare us for the big one. Some days I forget that life and death are just two sides of one coin. And, some days death smacks me in the face.

My husband and I go for a walk in the evening to pickup the mail in the post boxes near the apartment main office. We walk so I can stretch my legs and get that much needed exercise. It is also our companion time. We talk about our day. The husband tries not to upset me with work related stuff. I try not to upset him with the antics of our next door neighbor. We always make a stop near the Hawk tree.

For the last few weeks a red-tailed hawk pair have been raising a couple of chicks. There were three, but one fell out of the nest during one of our high winds. It was saved, we think, by a guy who claims to save wild birds and animals. Anyway, we confinced him to send the chick to a wild-life refuge. But, that is another story.

Anyway, we watch the hawks fly in with small mice, birds, and other mystery meat that they stuff down the chick's mouths. The chicks work on their steely-eyed stares, and we laugh because they are not as scary as their parents. The parents watch indulgently. And, the parents keep them protected from other predators like other hawks and Western Scrub Jays. Yes, the scrub jays can be dangerous to small birds and chicks.

So after watching the hawks we walked around the apartment complex. I was very happy listening to a finch sing a mating song. The sound was beautiful and liquid. It almost stopped my heart. Then in a fraction of a second, it stopped. My eye followed a Western Scrub Jay to the ground. It had stabbed the finch through the neck and was on the poor bird, ready to stab it again.

I yelled from my gut. We ran to the bird. At least I waddled to the bird. I have not been able to run since my disease. My husband put his arm around me and tried to stop me from seeing the poor finch on the ground. But it was too late, I could see this poor finch who had just been singing a beautiful song with its throat ripped out. I could hear air going in and out of the bird's throat. Other than the noise, the bird was motionless. My husband looked at me helplessly.

I could do nothing for the bird. I did the most merciful thing that I could do. I walked away. The scrub jay came back and took the bird. I prayed that its death was quick.

We had feed the birds all winter, including

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