Blackbird: A Legacy, A Message, A Moment of Flight

A Sign at My Door

On March 4, 2024—just two months after my father died—a pigeon came to my door.

But this wasn’t an ordinary bird. It didn’t startle when I approached. It looked at me—really looked at me. It let me come close, even touch it. It walked toward me instead of away. And then it stayed.

All day long, it stayed. Quiet. Still. Watching.

That night, I saw it again—but now it had moved. It had flown to the peak of my roof, above the front of my house. Perched like a guardian. As if it had one last thing to do.

By morning, it was gone.

Never seen again.

The Year That Changed Everything

The weeks that followed changed everything.

I entered the most intense fight of my life—battling school districts, broken systems, and people who refused to fully see or support my special needs child. I stood up again and again, against forces that made it harder than it ever should’ve been.

And somehow, I kept going.

Was It My Father?

I look back now and wonder: maybe that bird came not just to comfort me, but to prepare me. Maybe it was my father—watching from above, silently handing me his strength. Not to repair what was broken between us, but to pass something on.

Because the truth is: my father’s wings were broken.

He didn’t know how to love in the ways I needed.
He didn’t know how to stay.

But I think he came back—not to fix it—but to say:

Even with broken wings, you can still fly.

A Second Bird, A Familiar Song

Exactly one year later, on the day before my father’s birthday, I saw another bird—this time collapsed in the middle of the road. It was black, with a striking beak and pink legs. A rare bird. It looked contorted, barely alive. I pulled over and watched, helpless.

But when I returned, it was gone.

It had flown away.

The next night—on my father’s birthday—as I sat there again thinking about that bird and what it meant, a familiar song “Blackbird” started playing on the radio. 

That wasn’t coincidence. That was something sacred.

A Legacy Carried Through Song

“Blackbird” was also the song my ex-husband dedicated to our oldest son when he was born. It was printed on our baby announcements. It became “his” song.

And I always understood the message behind it:

Take this broken legacy, these broken wings, and find a way to fly.

But I think now, that message wasn’t just for my son.

It was for me.

This Is My Flight

Maybe this is my flight.

Not one where everything is healed and whole and perfect—but one where I rise anyway. Where the legacy doesn’t end in silence or pain, but transforms into something that lives, moves, sings.

Maybe that’s what “home” really is.

Not the place we come from.

But the flight we finally choose to take.