The Blue Heron

Photo taken by Herb Wilburn

"According to North American Native tradition, the Blue Heron brings messages of self-determination and self-reliance. They represent an ability to progress and evolve. The long thin legs of the heron reflect that an individual doesn't need great massive pillars to remain stable, but must be able to stand on one's own.  Blue Herons have the innate wisdom of being able to maneuver through life and co-create their own circumstances. Blue Herons reflect a need for those with this totem to follow their own unique wisdom and path of self-determination. These individuals know what is best for themselves and need to follow their hearts rather than the promptings of others. Those with the Medicine of the Great Blue Heron may sit until the rest of us lose patience. And, when they follow the promptings of the heart, they are one of the most magnificent when they choose to soar"  T.Andrews, Animal Speak.

I remember the first time I got back in my kayak after John died.  It was on a Class II section of the beautiful Rogue river in Oregon, and I did this with my friend Lisa Byers.  I remember slipping into my boat on the river banks and feeling my hands shake as I attached my skirt to the cock pit.  I paddled out into the current and slowly allowed myself to flip over.  I remember letting myself sit there for a few seconds submerged in cold water, with nothing but the sounds of the current, thinking about what this was like for him.  I wondered if he even knew what was happening.  As I hung upside down,  I imagined myself holding John's hands and giving them a squeeze when I was ready to come up.

A man named Jerry McAward taught me how to roll.  I was 22 years old.  It was a long, cold day on a lake by the Lehigh River in Pennsylvania with my best friend Sarah.  We were in it together, wet suits and all.  Jerry had me hold his hands as we talked about the art of completing a roll.  The first thing he had me do before having me practice rolling though, was allow myself to flip over, and stay submerged, upside down, while he held my hands.  When I was ready to come up, I would give them a squeeze and Jerry would flip me back up.  Each time he would encourage me to stay there a little longer and focus on becoming comfortable upside down in the current.  He encouraged me to relax, be present, and trust his hands. You see, kayaking is all about trust.  Trust in one's self, and trust in the people you chose to kayak with.  Jerry was building that trust with me and quickly became someone that I always looked up to in the kayaking community, a true mentor.

That day on the Rogue, I pictured John holding my hands as I let myself drift upside down.  Finally I rolled up and took in a deep breath of air and felt nauseous.  I thought about him and why he couldn't make it to the surface, why he couldn't get air.  What stopped my strong, fearless John?  My mind self-destructs at times and searches for answers I'll never find, resolutions to problems I can't solve.  Scenarios of what I could have done differently to save him but can't now.  It's an urge to be there with him, experience what he did so I can understand, so he isn't alone in this.  I've even read the details of drowning and what takes place from start to finish.  I try to place myself there with him.  I have to know. 

 Lisa and I paddled down to the first rapid.  I remember feeling numb.  I couldn't believe that such a fun sport with incredible beauty killed my beautiful husband.  How something he enjoyed so much, something we always did together, something he was so good at could take his life.  How was I to continue kayaking?  How could I ever find that enjoyment again?  I remember feeling anxious about these thoughts as we paddled down stream, unsure of myself and my ability to really get back out there.

It was then, that something strange happened.  As we entered the first rapid, I noticed this beautiful blue heron sitting on the river bank staring at the two of us.  John and I always thought the blue heron was such a unique bird and so pretty.  We saw many beautiful herons when paddling the James river for years.  I locked eyes with this particular heron for a few seconds and oddly felt a sense of warmth wash over me.  It was like a protective presence reassuring me that this moment was OK.  That same heron stayed with us during a 5 mile stretch down the river.  It would fly ahead to the next river bank, watch us go through the rapid and then fly ahead to the next one and wait.  I had not seen anything like that before but for some reason, it gave me a sense of comfort and peace.

Ever since this first occurrence on the Rogue river, I've locked eyes with a blue heron on each river since.  Middle fork Smith, North fork Smith, Chetco, Sandy, New River Gorge, Gauley, and the James River.  This bird always seems to appear at the right time too.   I got to paddle with John's dad and uncle a few months ago on the New River near Narrows, VA, and watch both of them get back in their boats for the first time since John's death.  I remember a few days after John died, John's dad told me he would never kayak again.  I remember feeling sad about this, for I knew this was something him and John shared together, something he enjoyed so much with his son.  I knew John would not have wanted that for his dad.  Months went by though, and sure enough, Herb decided to get back in his boat.  Before we put on the river, I talked to John about this alone, and asked him to be with us on the river somehow.  I remember as John's dad paddled over to me he looked up and said, "Look Erin, a blue heron."  Sure enough, a beautiful blue heron flew right over the two of us just as we were starting the stretch.  I remember looking at my father-in-law and smiling, thinking to myself, "thank you Muffin."  I've had multiple friends tell me about heron experiences they've had since losing John that sound incredible. 

I started reading about the blue heron and what it represents.  I have to tell you, it sounds a lot like my fearless husband, John Wilburn.  I had lunch with one of John's best friends this past weekend in Fayetteville, Nick Milo.  We talked about John and how rare he was.  Neither one of us have met anyone else truly like John.   I never saw John worry, become afraid, or doubt his decisions.  He was true to himself and marched to his own beat.  He had big dreams and was determined to see them through.  He was kind, patient, present.  What Nick and I had was rare.  A rare friendship and a rare marriage.  John served a purpose in both of our lives, and we'll be forever different, forever better, because of him.

I've mentioned a few times that I always think about what eternal life is like for John now.  What is his mission and purpose in the after life?  I believe John understood our purpose here on earth more than I did, and more than many people do.  I believe he was ready for what was next.  I told Nick that I believe in my heart that there was never a moment of panic or worry for John in the end.  If anything, I believe he grew curious about what was to come.  I picture him moving towards that incredible light, ready to seek his next adventure.  

"Beside them, the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches."  Psalm104:12 

I have found new ways to draw close to John, to listen for him, to see him in a new way.  I hear him through myself, his family and friends.  I find him in the woods, the mountains, and on the river.  I see him in the blue heron that sees me and reassures me that this moment is OK.