While I never had a pet growing up, I got to know many wonderful creatures.
With sadness, I learned of the passing of my friend George, the double yellow-headed parrot, who lived at the Oak Park Conservatory.
The Park District of Oak Park has a tribute page to him, and The Wednesday Journal published an obituary.
In tribute to this fine bird, here is a letter to him:
Dearly Beloved George,
I was so sad to hear of your passing. This news has truly confirmed the friendship we have had for over 20 years.
I'm uncertain of the first time we met. It was likely after the project was completed that created a whole new facility at the Oak Park Conservatory, which was around 2000, when I was in elementary school.
Growing up so close by, it was great to have such a gem in the neighborhood, a wonderful conservatory with so many plants, and the presence of you and the other birds was like icing on the cake.
It didn't matter that our conversations had few words. I rather enjoyed saying "Hello" back and forth with you. You were quite the conversationalist. From a young age, I bonded with you because I would see you so often, week after week. It was one of my favorite weekend routines to see you, almost to the point where the Conservatory was like a second home. You recognized me as soon as I let out a distinct "Hello", seeking to imitate your manner of talking and I could read it in your expression.
I also liked sharing with you about special occasions and other happenings in my life, as any good friend would do.
Your colors were also so impressive. Having Mexican heritage, it was nice to connect with you as bird, whose range is in Mexico through Central America and into South America. That aspect of your identity was even more special after I traveled to Panama. It was quite interesting to see the feathers on your head rise up when you talked and to even see your tongue move. Truly, you've demonstrated the wonder of God's creation.
When fellow visitors would come by your spot, it was great that I could get you talking and show them how impressive you were. Some people could even tell we had quite the relationship. When I brought friends by, including college friends, I was glad that I could introduce them to you. I mean, who isn't fascinated by a talking bird?
And when it came time to depart, it was like the Beatles song, "You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello." You enjoyed our time together so much that your repeated Hello's as I walked away were like your way of saying that you just wanted it to continue.
Celebrating your "Bird-Day" in March was fantastic, as it would be for any special occasion for a friend.
In the midst of recent transitions in my life as I went to a new residence that was a little further away from the Conservatory, and my parents went hundreds of miles away for retirement, continuing visits was a significant part of my support system to help maintain continuity with cherished parts of my childhood. I wish it could have lasted a little longer as I continue to emotionally process all these transition.
I felt the pain of the news very deeply. I apologize for not coming to visit you a little more often in your last month, as I was engaging with other opportunities, including travels to other places. I only wish I could have had the opportunity to say farewell.
The Conservatory will be a little quieter without you, although I know that Sarah was still dancing when I came by the day I learned of the news. And Skipper was making noise. Maybe I can teach him to talk a little. Yet it's soothing to hear the noise of the water. I'm sure your spirit is in that water, and among all the plants that were part of your environment. It will still worthwhile to go there and certainly to reconnect with the beloved neighborhood of my childhood, of which you were an integral part.
It's amazing to think that you lived for likely over 70 years, and maybe even close to 80. You had an impact on my life, especially in being a childhood friend, with that friendship continuing through our regular visits even as I grew up, went off to college, and then my post-college life as I continued to embrace all that Oak Park has to offer, including you. I never had a pet growing up, but I enjoyed the company of other pets, and certainly you were in line with them as someone coming to the closest to a pet of mine.
Theology doesn't say much definitive about what happens to animals after their passing, but one thing is certain for me: You may be gone, but you'll absolutely never be forgotten, just like any other beloved part of my childhood. You will remain deep in my heart. Like is prayed in the rite for a wake, "We believe that all the ties of friendship and affection which knit us as one throughout our lives do not unravel with death."
Perhaps it was fitting that our final visit was on August 6, the Feast of the Transfiguration. It's an occasion when we celebrate the glimpse of glory that God gives us in this life. By faith, I am confident that we will pass from this valley of tears to that place described in Revelation 21, where there will be no more mourning, weeping, or pain, as the old order passes away and God makes all things new. It will be a place fully defined by the joys that God blesses us with in this life, including the joy of back-and-forth Hellos with you. Furthermore, you've certainly earned a place in the annals of notable characters of Oak Park.
I will remember you in November when we remember all our dearly beloved departed. I'll also remember you on the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi in October, for he had a special connection to creatures in the natural world.
We are ever connected as friends, in the spirit of the Lakota words: Mita Kuye Oyasin: All my relations.
God's blessings,
Paul
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