An owl kept watch over the house at Thanksgiving. It was an eternal sign of peace

Sometimes the people you have lost can still be there for you. I kicked off the holiday season realizing this. What a gift.

Life can be gut-punching with illnesses, a million causes of loneliness, and the permanence of death. (Oh boy. I’m being fun here.) Traditions and gatherings might underscore these feelings of loss. An empty chair. A favorite dish. That song.

I felt these feelings in November. I had planned a family gathering, including overnight house guests. Worrying about sheets and towels and appetizers can help one try to live in the moment and not in grief. Only in spurts though.

But it was a surprise guest who got me through stress and sadness this time. Specifically, an owl. A barred owl. Uh-uh-uh. Uh, whoo?

My late father always nudged us to look to nature. As a man who survived much trauma, including growing up in France during World War II, he knew the reliable comforts. The sun, the moon and the stars are always there. Clouds, sunsets, flowers, trees, birds gliding in the blue sky, dappled sunlight dancing on the grass: the reliable stuff. He pointed out all of it. Frequently.

His look-at-nature nudges came alive for me on Thanksgiving Day, just when I needed it. Ironically though, the madness of being “it” for the hosting gig kept me away from the outdoors. I was cloistered. My days became all sink, fridge, oven, cutting board, mop, broom closet, repeat.

Regardless, my dad sent the barred owl straight to my address. That he sent it is my belief, and I’m sticking to it.

Richard Wilber’s poem, “A Barred Owl” is about parents comforting an awakened child who hears the bird: “The warping night air having brought the boom/Of an owl’s voice into her darkened room…”

In my case, I did not hear the owl. Some of my family had left the house that holiday morning to participate in one of those turkey trot 5Ks. My youngest son spotted the bird as they were pulling out of the driveway. It was resting on a branch in our front yard maple. It wasn’t easy to spot, because even by late November that stubborn tree barely drops a leaf.

I was glad my sister-in-law sent a picture from the departing car, because I was swirling in hostess panic. I was still in jammies, topped by messed up hair, and not in any presentable condition go see the owl myself.

I figured the bird would be gone anyway by the time I conjured a comb and shoes and a coat. I sat down to swoon at the picture. What a cool thing. Knowing he paid a visit to us, on such a special day, was instantly calming. Then I grabbed a dish towel again or stirred something on the stove.

But I was wrong about the bird flying away. The owl was still there when the gang returned from the race. And I was still too unpresentable (vain) to appear in public, possibly on neighbors’ ring cameras. Plus, there were vegetables to deal with. A refrigerator to un-Jenga. A shower to take.

Hours later, I checked for myself. Our feathered friend was still there. Unbelievable. I was able to tip toe out and greet him in person before a few carloads of other family members arrived. He remained on our front tree the the whole dang day, probably until after sunset. Our in-town relatives were clued in about his presence ahead of time. They all caught a glimpse.

We marveled at how a woodland creature was content perching between our street and house, even with nearby driveways full of ongoing car door slams. We’re in the suburbs, not the Hundred Acre Wood.

I was thankful to see family that day. Some live far away, and the young adults are all embarking on big adventures. It was heartwarming to know all of us were greeted by that surprise guest, a calm barred owl.

Why did he pick our house, just yards away from our front door?

My dad would have loved to have been there for that gathering. And, in an eternal way, I think he was.

Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com