I watched birds with both of my parents.

My Dad visits, somehow, INSIDE the pileated woodpecker and now and then leaves me feathers.

I know about counting breaths. My brother and I sat together as my Mom's breathing slowed, actually hoping it would stop so that she could pass because she didn't seem comfortable in her coma and it was such misery for us.

We played her favorite music and when it would reach a crescendo we would hold our own breaths, certain the music could take her to the other side. A few times we turned to meet each other's eyes and broke out laughing. Who did we think we were?

My father died young in an accident. My mother lived to be an old lady. I gave her eulogy and talked about her birds. She really loved them.

I don't think my Mom visits but if she did she would come disguised as a hummingbird. She found a hummingbird nest once and kept it in her kitchen on the windowsill.

I love your story. Thanks for sharing.