Light Disguised as Darkness

Light Disguised as Darkness

There's a text from my Husband. "Research shows that Ravens are just as smart as chimpanzees."  

"I knew it,"  I hear myself whisper, and I am hurtled back 3 or 4 years ago to a Spring day like today just glistening with potential, sitting next to my son in the cab of our red truck.  He seemed intent on bursting every happiness of the day, and I told myself that he didn't want to suck the life out of me.  It's depression and anxiety that has him suspended in a vortex but no matter what I do or say or pray, it was not subsiding.  

We both sat helpless and isolated together in that truck.  If I could get him to move, just move, do a jumping jack, run 10 steps, dance a jig, anything, then maybe we could build on that, but his answer was always a grunted "no".  He had gotten too big for me to carry physically, and I  couldn't admit it but he was too big for me emotionally as well.  My fierce protective Mother love was the only thing keeping us from ruin, that and an intervention of sorts.
We sat in the driveway silently at war.  "Please walk the trash can up the driveway and to the house." I had asked/told him in my most positive "hey, we are a normal family voice."  He said nothing.  "We are all a part of this family, we all have jobs, we help each other out.  Please take the empty trash can to the house."  He gave his short grunting answer "no".  

I wanted to spank him.  I grew up being spanked and it worked for me. I never felt abused, I simply knew I had crossed a line and there were consequences.  Yes, I spanked both my children only for blatant disobedience and for running into traffic. It worked for one - Not this one.  Spanking was not an effective option, although at this point I began fantasizing about shock therapy because there had to be a solution that could jolt him to life!!! 

I had seen him alive on the rare good day that we had.  I called those days moments of brilliance.  Those were days when he spoke to me like real people did.  He asked questions and cared about the answers, and sometimes he'd even tell me about an idea he'd had.  So I  knew HE. WAS. IN. THERE!  How to get him out was the question that had spread to 2/3 of my brain.

I was about to yell, lose my cool, let the ginormous beast of my frustration out, scare the son I ached for right out of the thickening soup his soul was swimming in, when he said words.  

"Mom, what is that?" 

"What are you seeing?"  I asked.  

"That!" He pointed angrily.  

I couldn't see what he was pointing at, so I asked him to show me. 

We both exited the cab into fresher air and he walked up the driveway slowly.   I followed behind.  There on the corner post of our ranch fence was a black bird.  Crow, I  thought, but then getting closer saw that this was a crow on serious growth hormone.  

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His brilliant feathers shone like obsidian.  His darkness seemed to simply be a cutout in all of the light filled Spring day.  He saw us and flapped his wings half half-heartedly, then jumped onto the ground near the fence.  

"He's hurt," my son anxiously stated.  

"He doesn't look hurt.  He's so shiny and perfect, and look at those eyes.  They look happy." I said back.

The Raven began hopping slowly away from us.  We stopped, not wanting to scare him off.  Then he turned to look at us and hopped toward us like he was egging us on.  We walked toward him.  He hopped deliberately away and again turned to took at us.  By this time we were both talking to this amazing creature and following him. 

He hopped all the way to the house, then up to the roof all the while eyeing us to make sure we were travelling with him. This creature, this feathered answer to prayer was playing with us!

My son dashed (yes, dashed) into the house to get a few slices of bread.   He offered up the bread, but the Raven moved to the other side of the roof.  We went to the other side of the roof and tried to throw the bread to him.  It was too light weight, and the bread ended up in the grass as did the two of us.  We finally just sat in the grass together barely speaking, just watching this creature who chose to engage us, chose to draw us in, chose to draw us out.  The Raven hopped back and forth between the pitched angles of our roof and finally let out a "Caw!" then flew low and away showing off his substantial wingspan and the strength of his flight.  

After a long silence, Alex said, "Mom, I'm going to go get the trash can."  

NEW GROWTH

He left and I wept until I was empty of grief and filled with thanksgiving for this black space that flew in and saved our Spring day.  Yes, Ravens are smart.

PS.  Since the intervention by Raven, my son has been diagnosed with high functioning Autism.  He is also on medications for depression and anxiety that are better suited to him than the ones he took a few years ago.  He has many more days of brilliance and we are not as overwhelmed as we once were.  We are thankful!