Susan Cerulean's Single Bird

LUCY BURDETTE: I know I mentioned to you all a while back that my fabulous older sister, my Irish twin (11 months difference), would be launching a book in 2020. Well, yay! It's here and we get to host her. I HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED THE SINGLE BIRD is a memoir based on the years she spent caring for our father when he had dementia, and based on her devotion to caring for the natural world. It's a beautiful, thoughtful must-read book and I'm thrilled to welcome her...

SUSAN CERULEAN: One of the things that kept me going as a caregiver for my father during the years that he battled dementia were moments of unexpected kindness. A favorite encounter I remember was with a young nurse’s aide in my father’s assisted living facility, and that’s what I’d like to share with you today.

Afterward, I’d love to hear what kindnesses—expected and unexpected--have made the unbearable, bearable, in your own life.

Toward the end of my Dad's life, he became an unreliable narrator of his own life, and less able physically, than ever before. I had hired extra caregivers to be with him all day, every day of the week, whenever I couldn’t be with him myself. 

Still, I worried about the long stretch of hours, from 8 o’clock when our paid caregivers helped him to bed, until 8 in morning, when another returned. Other residents’ families whispered rumors of rough treatment at night; how was I to know if he was truly safe?
At 4 a.m. one morning, I was awakened by a nightmare in which my father was calling me and pleading for help. I slipped out of bed, pulled on my clothes, and drove the two miles to his residence. The facility’s massive front door was locked, so I sneaked through a low hedge of boxwood shrubbery, and let myself in through the kitchen. I hoped I wouldn't startle the staff. 

No one moved about the silent facility, but through Dad’s open door a triangle of light lit the hall. A young woman was making up his bed. She heard the door creak, and turned to face me. Her name tag read “Iclene.” She smiled at me, somehow unsurprised. 

“Your father’s bed was soaking wet so I got him up and changed him,” she said. “We check on them all night long.”

Dad was dressed in daytime clothes, resting in the recliner, awake and calm. Iclene bundled up the soiled sheets, and left the room. I crouched beside Dad’s chair, took his hand. “Iclene seems very kind,” I said. “How are you doing?” 

“Sue, ask her if there’s some food we could eat together for breakfast,” he said. 

I'd been wanting to meet Iclene. I’d been told she sang to Dad by the gas log fire in the living room, in the middle of the night sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep. I found her in the kitchen. She wore black plastic glasses, was very tall, and kept eye contact as we talked. 

While I unwrapped wheat bread to make toast, I asked her about herself. Iclene was 24 years old, a student of nursing at Tallahassee Community College, an employee at Dad’s facility, and a member of Bethel AME Missionary Church on Tennessee Street. “You'll find me there every Wednesday and Sunday night,” she said. 

The young woman stood very still, like a graceful forest animal, her hands folded together in front of her diaphragm, as if she were at that moment—perhaps in all moments--in prayer. And it was true.
“I pray for strength all the time,” she said. “I ask Him for strength. He gives me what I need.” 

The bread popped up in the toaster. Iclene reached in the industrial refrigerator for butter. 

“He got me this job,” she said, referring up to the ceiling, to God. So I know he'll give me the strength to do it.” I’d heard Iclene worked the 11-7 shift four nights a week. 

When I returned to Dad with his toast, he was dozing. I set the plate of food on a bedside table and slipped out the door. In the parking lot, a rim of light in the east caught me by surprise.

“Wheep,” called a great crested flycatcher from high in the pines.

As I drove home, I felt myself drop into peace. Confronted by overwhelming kindness, my fear for my father fell away.

Question: What kindnesses—expected and unexpected--have made the unbearable, bearable, in your own life?

--This essay is excerpted from I Have Been Assigned the Single Bird: A Daughter's Memoir by Susan Cerulean, published by the University of Georgia press and now available from your favorite independent bookseller.

Lucy again: We would love to have you attend our joint sisters event on August 9 at 5 pm, moderated by our own Red Hallie Ephron and sponsored by RJ Julia Booksellers in Madison CT. You will need to register here, but the event is free!


SUSAN CERULEAN is a writer, naturalist, and advocate who divides her time between Indian Pass and Tallahassee, Florida.  Her latest book, I Have Been Assigned the Single Bird: A Daughter’s Memoir (Georgia, 2020) will be released on August 1.  Sign up for her monthly newsletter at https://comingtopass.com/

You can also find her on Facebook and Instagram