One Last Thing
Sometimes it’s the first thing you notice, but other times it’s the last thing—and that’s when we learn the most.
Read or listen… or take your time and do both, and see what happens next.
If you haven’t noticed, I can be a little obsessive at times. Some might say that I’m just being thorough.
My sessions don’t usually end 10 minutes before the hour. More like 10 minutes after—sometimes longer until nature calls, a polite way to say we’re done for now.
There’s always that one last thing to say or do. Tonight it came back to haunt me. Just when I thought the birdies had all flown away, I noticed one still in the nest. I thought I was seeing a ghost. They must have, too.
I wonder if it was one that just flew back who wasn’t ready to go out on their own yet. Maybe something wrong with them or the ones they were with. Left behind… or didn’t know where they were going.
Maybe there‘s something wrong with me for worrying, and even writing about this.
But somehow I think there’s something here that I’m missing. I was that kid who left and came back home. After college I was going to start graduate school. But wasn’t quite ready yet. Just needed more time. There was more to do at home—save my family I guess… and myself.
Some kids are like that. Every once in a while I run across one who went to college—or out into the world—a little too early. Thought they were ready but failed their freshman year. There’s actually a name for it—failure to launch.
I’m not sure if this little birdie failed to launch or came back to give me a message. Maybe both. I’m thinking it’s also a message for all of us.
One more thing. What‘s so urgent to say that I can’t wait until next time? What would I feel if I didn’t say it?
Okay little one, I hear you now. Don‘t worry. I‘m not going anywhere. I’ll still be in the nest if you want to return someday...
I won’t lie to you—I really don’t know where I’ll be.
But even if I’m no longer here, you’ll still live in my heart. And I hope that some of what you’ve learned from me will stick—at least the big stuff… along with the glue that helps you remember.
And for others I’ve flown close with over the years, if you trust yourself, I’ll somehow be there too. Maybe a message in a song. Maybe a little birdie that shows up unexpectedly.
Perhaps, noticing where you‘re sitting in the room that reminds you of the person you were always meant to be.
Okay, time to relax a little… Damn. I better go look again to see if that bird is still there, or check to see if there’s something I’m missing.
No… it’s time to get some sleep. Tomorrow‘s another day, and you never know what will happen in Daadville—you know, the place where you never know what’s going to happen next... or is happening right now.
My wife is with the little grandbirds while their parents are away for the weekend. She’ll be home in a couple days—or at least she was when I started writing this.
I’m sure I’ll survive. There’s a lot I need to do. I guess I won’t be cleaning up the bird nest. There’s more they need to do, too.
That goes for all of us. There’s always something else to say or do.
One last thing… Appreciate the moment and embrace the mystery.
We can’t be sure what will happen tomorrow...
Dedication: To all those who courageously helped build a nest—and provided one for our own little birdies. It was also a nest for others.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of iconnection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.