Healing in The Palms of Her Hands

When spring rolls around, I remember the baby birds.

Every March and April, while I was growing up, I found at least one that had fallen from its nest high in a date palm. In the hot Phoenix sun they didn’t last long, but occasionally I would find one who, against all odds, had made it. So, I always walked to and from school during hatching season – no bus or bike - my eyes glued to the ground, hoping not to spot any chicks, but knowing what to do if I did.

A lay person cannot climb a tall palm, so putting the chick back into its nest was out of the question. But Momo was my ace-in-the-hole, because she had healing in the palms of her hands.

Usually the baby was a dove or mockingbird, and had fallen out of its nest because it was growing pin feathers, making the nest a bit tight. I could tell the age of a nestling by the amount of bright yellow still remaining in the corners of its beak. Mockingbirds lay back their heads and open wide for their food. That’s easy. Doves are a lot harder, because their mothers feed them by coaxing their beaks slightly open with her own to deposit a meal.

As I raced home with my little one, Momo, who kept on hand a shoebox lined with twigs and flannel and an eyedropper, would assess the tiny one. Then the routine would begin. First, because of the heat, she would drip some water onto the little guy; the mockingbird babies opened wide, but the dove babies did not. That required two hands, a toothpick, and a very small spoon kept just for this purpose.

We gathered bugs and worms for our charges, and eventually they flew away. Those were the happy endings. But sometimes they just couldn’t make it, and now I know why Momo allowed us to name some but not others.  She understood a child’s soft heart.

Her work-roughened hands, so soft in the palms from patting countless schoolchildren’s heads and holding their hands, knew just what to do. I’ve often thought about her gentleness in handling these fragile baby birds, and have tried to be as she was.

A few weeks ago, right at dusk, my daughter-in-law called and asked me to come over. Four-year-old Sarah had fallen and pushed one of her top teeth backward. The dentist was notified and said it needed to be eased back into its place as soon as possible.

As I rushed through the door, I heard Sarah's mom say, “Sarah, Grammy’s on her way. Can she help you? You know she’s the gentlest person of all!”

Thanks, Momo. If I am, I learned it from you.