Birds circle overhead. I sit sullenly in the fluffy grass with my knees pulled up to my chest. I lift my chin from my kneecap to crane my neck up toward the sky, only to be flashed by the white sun. I squint and shade myself with my hand. Then I see them. Cardinals. Their bright red feathers captivating me as my stare lingers. They chase each other, tweeting playfully and joyfully. Hopefully. I let out an amused sigh that curls my lips into a soft smile and breathes out all of the tension that was holding my mouth shut. “Hey, Gran.” As if my voice was their cue, the ring of red disbands in all directions, and one of the flock descends to land on a tree trunk laying prone near my current resting spot. I watch intently. It hops around for a moment, seemingly oblivious to me. It finally settles into a satisfactory standing position and, in one swift motion, it looks up and right at me. I remain stiff, not daring to breathe and potentially disturb it. It cocks its head slightly. I can’t catch the word quickly enough before it escapes my lips in a whisper: “Granny?”

I have not a moment to brace myself before it glides forward toward me. It circles me twice, then ascends out of sight toward a tree not far away. I blankly stare into the leafy branches for a moment, not a hint of red any longer in sight. My eyes blur. Then, wetness tickles my cheeks. My face doesn’t contort as the tears flow as naturally as a rushing creek. My mouth is slightly agape, my eyes are wide, awestruck.

She sent them. She said she would.

I asked her to. And she did.

She’s okay.

. . .

I’m not okay. Not yet.

But this gives me hope that, someday, I will be.