a sparrow's last moments in Iraq
I first got to know Jamin McMahon when he was stationed with a military medical unit in Iraq. He told me of some of his experiences caring for sparrows on-base, and graciously allowed me to share one of the more moving episodes here ...
I think it would help to write about this. It haunts me; it’s one of those things which others, even close, would feel an impatience and irritation for. What is the big deal, they'd wonder? It is an indulgence.
One of the feeding areas is a protected alcove, not large, perhaps 250 feet square by area, but sheltered with a few small palms and one bush of a tree. One morning at the usual morning feeding time, I found (a sparrow) sitting on her belly on the ground in about the center of this area, and my first thought was that she had died. But I found her breathing rapidly with her eyes closed.
In retrospect, she perhaps felt safe there, to even be in the feeding area in the first place. The food and water was put out, thinking the company of her peers would do her good. But I did place before her a small spot of water in one of those little plastic containers that individual peanut butter comes in, after giving it a cleaning. And there it should have ended.
She seemed to perk up, and tried moving about when the others came, but never once stood up. She was very weak, and took perhaps one sip. But after an hour I came up with the not-so-bright idea that she was going to dehydrate in this heat, so I thought to try and feed her from behind so she would not see me, using a q-tip soaked in water just out of her field of view. I put a drop on her beak; it worked once the last time in Iraq with an injured sparrow I tried caring for (a different sad story). She rejected the water and q-tip, so I retreated, and it should have ended there, because that cost her energy.
But no. I kept watching her, and after a time she dropped her head into the dust, and splayed her wings. I had no discipline to sit, so thought to try once more. She rejected the q-tip and water, and finally at one point caught sight of me. She turned on her left and dug her head into the dust, looking me in the eye. She cried out, and in her eye was abject horror and fear, a sense of terror, hopelessness, imminent demise, and she filled her mouth with dust and sand.
I picked her up as gently as I knew how, and with the watered q-tip sopped the dirt away from her in just a few seconds. She made just one struggle weakly, and then I placed her onto a stone footpath, where there was some protection from ants and dirt. A bit after that I noted she was no longer breathing.
I think, on replaying this in my mind a hundred times at least, she died in my hand with that last struggle for freedom.
This has tormented me. I have worked it over every which way. I've thought she must have had bird flu (which I suspected even on finding her initially) which has a 90-100% mortality, and so forth. But there is no rationalizing this. The fact is, regardless of intent, I caused her final seconds of life to be of terror and horror, and I wish I could ask her forgiveness. That is no way to leave this life. That she might have felt safe in the feeding area and sought refuge ... why? I betrayed her trust.
This is just going to take a very long time to soften, and even then something in the future will bring it to the fore. Thank you for listening; I don’t know that folks would generally understand.
... It seems that intervals of greatest growth come during such times. It does not justify; yet it perhaps evidences a greater Hand caring for all things. And perhaps that Hand will care for her in the beyond better than I ever could have.
Without diminishing the loss and grief Jamin felt at sharing in this sparrow's last moments, I could hardly admire his compassionate heart more, or his efforts to soothe the bird in her suffering, and all in a context with so much other suffering and sorrow close at hand. What an amazing testimony to Luke 12:6, "Aren't five sparrows sold for a couple of pennies? But not one of them is forgotten by God."
I imagine you might feel the same way, and I hope that not one sparrow can continue to grow into a community that listens and understands. I'm tremendously grateful to Jamin for sharing this story with us, and the vulnerability and courage reflected in it. Jamin was home for Christmas, last I heard from him, and ever mindful of his sparrow companions back in Iraq.
(photos copyright 123rf.com)
January 4, 2011
Reader Comments (6)
Outstanding post. Very thought provoking. Thanks for sharing it.
Thanks very much for the note, Michael, I'm very grateful to Jamin for sharing this reflection as well - Ben
This brought tears to my eyes--and a tremendous admiration for Jamin. What a kind heart he has.... Thanks, Ben.
I agree, mom, thanks for commenting - Ben
I have tried to help a few birds, most recently a blue jay that I found underneath a pine tree in the morning. I took it to the vet, it was still alive, hoping they would be able to help it. I called later to hear they had to euthanize the bird. I am not sure if I did the right thing or not. I guess we have to just understand we were doing what we thought what was best to help an animal in need. The bird(s) may have suffered the same end and I guess I hope the compassionate outreach is not something just to make us (the humans that help them) feel better and cause more suffering for the animal. A very thought-provoking and heartfelt story. Thank you Jamin for trying to ease the suffering of animals.
Barb, thanks for your note, and your warm response to Jamin's story. I think you're right, it's hard to know what the right thing to do is, and as best informed we can be at the time, I think it's generally better to do something than nothing - Ben