Graduation
I named them Larry, Moe, and Curly. The conservationist warned me not to get attached, but I don’t think giving them names will hurt. My eaglets are ready to leave home. I’ve taught them to provide for themselves. Now they must fledge, or fly, for the first time and my heart aches that I cannot help them. All I can do is stay out of their way and let them go. Any moment they will spread their vast wings and fall into the sky from their cliff top aerie.
Part of me is thrilled that they are beginning their lives. Part of me is shredded because nothing will ever fill the hole left by their leaving. They will not look back; they only see the vast opportunities in front of them. They will never recognize my extraordinary effort to keep them warm and safe. They are completely oblivious to my late nights vigils and feedings.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not expect gratitude. I only did what was necessary. They needed me. But now they don’t. I fostered these precious Golden eaglets from creamy pale pink and white speckled eggs to nestlings. I was there when they hatched. I laughed at the antics of awkward gray big-eyed babies. I wanted to smother them with affection, but they deserved a chance to be what they were meant to be.
Uncertain, Curly balances on the edge of the nest. I send him silent encouragement. With a juvenile squeal, he steps off into space and Larry follows without hesitation. Wheeling and soaring ecstatically, they wandering off in search of a meal. Moe seems surprised to find himself alone and looks at me as if to ask permission. “It’s okay. You are ready.” He launches himself and my heart soars with him.
Part of me is thrilled that they are beginning their lives. Part of me is shredded because nothing will ever fill the hole left by their leaving. They will not look back; they only see the vast opportunities in front of them. They will never recognize my extraordinary effort to keep them warm and safe. They are completely oblivious to my late nights vigils and feedings.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not expect gratitude. I only did what was necessary. They needed me. But now they don’t. I fostered these precious Golden eaglets from creamy pale pink and white speckled eggs to nestlings. I was there when they hatched. I laughed at the antics of awkward gray big-eyed babies. I wanted to smother them with affection, but they deserved a chance to be what they were meant to be.
Uncertain, Curly balances on the edge of the nest. I send him silent encouragement. With a juvenile squeal, he steps off into space and Larry follows without hesitation. Wheeling and soaring ecstatically, they wandering off in search of a meal. Moe seems surprised to find himself alone and looks at me as if to ask permission. “It’s okay. You are ready.” He launches himself and my heart soars with him.
