I woke this morning long before the sun. I laid in the dark, trying to slow my thoughts, slow my worries.

The cardinal was the first to sing. One solo bird. “Hello, Mom,” I thought.

“She is here,” I felt my heart say.

I eased out of bed, careful not to disturb James. Trudy continued to sleep at the foot as I left the room and silently stepped down the hall.

Charlotte was waiting outside the front door as usual but seemed surprised when I stepped out instead of inviting her in. She followed me to the porch chair and jumped right up, her feline motor already running.

The cardinal was now joined by a robin and the two sang an off-rhythm duet over and over again. As the sky loosened its grip on night and charcoal became grey, I heard other birds join the choir. I recognized the oriole song and smiled; we have worked so hard to entice them to our yard and now they are steady visitors. The grosbeak followed shortly thereafter and my ears filled with all the chirps and notes, whistles and melodies.

I read somewhere not long ago that researchers believe birds sing at daybreak to announce to their mates and the world that they survived the night. They sing to say, “I’m still here. I made it!” This morning, with the cat on my lap and bats diving and circling in and around the trees, I felt myself reminding myself of the same thing.

“I am here. I am still here,” I thought.

With tears rolling down my face, I prayed. If God can make such amazing melodies with the birds, if He can dress them in all the colors and with all the variations, if He can begin our days with an unseen choir of notes, then surely He can help the families in Texas. He can provide comfort and healing even when there cannot be understanding.

“He is here,” I heard the universe remind me. “He is still here.”

Charlotte and I went back inside and I began getting ready for my day. After my shower, I gently crawled back in bed with James and took his hand in mind. I felt his pulse against my arm and I heard his breath- steady, slow, content. As the tears rolled again, I felt my heart relax. I felt my thoughts slow and my worries subside.

“He is here,” I comforted myself. “James is still here.”