Red-Tailed Hawks
- 31 minutes ago
- 4 min read
I think I shared this story once before, but there’s more to add to it. After Mom died in 2023, I was back in Austin shortly afterwards and was taking a walk through our neighborhood. There’s a trail through the trees, alongside a creek bed that’s dry 99% of the year. It’s a well-shaded walk and a regular path for me. And there’s a bench that’s tucked in there where I often sit, stare into the trees, and listen to the life all around.
My time on the bench that day included a lot of thoughts about Mom, many that filled me with happiness. And there was also a deep, hollowed out part of me that was just missing her.
As I was exiting the trail toward home, consumed in all those thoughts and feelings about Mom, I looked up to see a red-tailed hawk fly up to perch on a light post right above me. For me, it was an instant knowing that Mom was checking in on me, making me aware of her continued presence all around me. And it calmed all the storms of grief inside me for a moment.
The grief certainly came back, again and again. As my grandfather, Pop, would say, grief is a sign that you have loved and loved well. And, through presence and an openness to Mom’s continued connection with me, I continue, even to this day, to find Mom all around me. Whether you believe in souls traveling around us, or a version of souls being reincarnated into new life, or some other related version of that….or if you don’t believe in any of that…the knowing inside for me when these moments occur, as a memory or sense of felt connection, has been undeniable.
This week I went down to MD Anderson for lab work, a CT scan, and a check-in with my oncologist. The report, as described by my oncologist, was “mixed.” My right lung, where I had the recent surgery, is looking pretty good as it continues to heal and adjust to having a little more space. No sign of anything conspicuous there. But the left lung had an area of concern.
The day before my lung surgery, they had done a CT scan and found a new spot on my left lung, a spot that had been pretty well hidden behind a blood vessel in the CT scans. (CT scans can be ridiculously complex to look at for any normal human - thank God for radiologists.) When my doctors then looked back at past CT scans, they could now, kind of, see this spot. And now, this spot on my left lung is growing.
It’s not aggressive growth, which is a good thing. But it certainly merits attention. My oncologist is collaborating with other doctors to explore a range of options from surgery to interventional radiology to ablation to just watch it for a bit. More to come on all that.
Stacey and I were talking about how 1) this sucks, and 2) it’s not surprising, as it is consistent with metastatic colon cancer. Even talking with the kids about it, it’s familiar territory for them too. With multiple reps, we’ve learned a good bit through past experiences about what can make these moments more or less difficult. Not to say we’ve got that figured out at all.
It’s still hard. And I can now better find my struggle in the tightness in my chest, where stress and anxiety like to hang out in me. And I can find it in the waking up at 4:30am thinking about the range of life choices that could be headed our way like a freight train.
With practice, I’m better at allowing these things to move in me, around me, and through me. In one of my frequently used guided meditations, the guide, after pointing to that location of a hard feeling (anxiety in this case), says “Hello anxiety. I’m going to take good care of you.” While that may sound corny, the idea is kinda revolutionary. Through allowing and not fighting against it, I seem to be a little better these days at calming these things inside and finding a more steady, connected presence. Adding emphasis on the words “a little better” in that last sentence because I just think this is a life’s practice.
This morning I went for a walk with my friend Andy. Amongst a range of topics, we arrived at the latest health update. It was a healthy, honest discussion that helped me process the range of feelings and thoughts swirling inside me. After we finished up and as I walked from Andy’s house, I was in a deep swirl of feelings and thoughts - sadness for the situation, gratitude for friends and family that support us so generously, and more questions than I know what to do with.
As I turned up our street, I heard the distinctive, piercing call of a red-tailed hawk. Deep in my bones, Mom was right there with me. Two red-tailed hawks came out of the trees and circled, surprisingly low, right above my head. The love, connection, tears, and gratitude just moved through and all around me. Any notion of separation – from this physical world or beyond – dissolved in that moment.
I believe…I know that we are all deeply connected and held in a divine love, weaving its way through and around all of us. That truth is always there. And, on occasion, maybe with a red-tailed hawk to give us just the right nudge, we can find enough presence to allow it to be true.
With love,
Matt
Below are some pics from a recent beach trip with the family!
