“Can you see them, Bee?”
“See what, Grandpa?” she asked—the gentleness, beauty, and grace of a wistful butterfly encapsulated in the image of this little, wonder-filled girl. Her dark brown hair was almost in a ponytail; small strands stood up and out like many eager hands at show-and-tell. With big, purple glasses outlining her bright brown eyes she looked up at her grandfather; an expression of utter confusion and trust covering her sweetly innocent face.
“The stars, Bee.” He replied looking back at her with a profound smile. He then tilted his head up to the sky to embrace the view.
“Grandpa, there are no stars tonight,” she said softly, matching his upward gaze to ensure she hadn’t missed them. Bee had taken note in her observant mind of the sense of rain all around her—the smell, the engulfing moisture, and the touch of wet grass on her open-sandled toes. “There are only clouds tonight, Grandpa,” she concluded after a moment of thoughtful examination.
“Ah.” Her grandfather paused for a moment. “I have something to tell you, Bee. Come with me.” He took her little hand in his and led her to a damp bench under a willow tree in the back of the house. The stillness of the pond gave the moment a serene, dream-like sensation. He removed the jacket from his shoulders and laid it out across the base of the bench. “There you are,” he said, as he lifted her up and set her softly on the bench. He sat down beside her.
“What is it, Grandpa?” she finally asked after a few minutes of gentle silence between them.
“There was once a little owl,” he began. “Now, you see, this owl was very happy. Every night he would wake up and look out at the bright star-filled sky, and wonder would fill his heart. This wonder brought him joy and peace to make it through each night. Without fail, the stars shined brightly for him every time. He felt comfort in their presence. He never had a reason to doubt that they would be there for him when he woke. He was always certain of their presence in the bright sky.” Bee watched intently as her grandfather relayed his story; her brown eyes reflecting the house lights behind them and sparkling with every blink.
“One night, however, the little owl awoke to something he had never known before.” Her grandfather paused; a glimmer growing in his eyes. “Once again, he perched on the faithful branch—the place he perched every night; but this night was not like the others.” He looked at Bee with an earnest expression. “The stars were nowhere to be seen. They were gone.”
“How could they be gone, Grandpa?” Bee asked.
“Well,” he replied, “what did you observe tonight?” he asked, smiling and tapping her playfully on the head.
“They aren’t gone tonight; they are just hiding behind the clouds.” She said softly.
“That is exactly right, Bee.” He said with a hopeful quiver in his voice. “The stars never did disappear, but they were covered by the clouds of a stormy night.”
“What did the little owl do? Bee asked eagerly. “Did he find out that the stars were still there, but only hiding?”
Her grandfather paused for a moment of thought in which he gazed at the still pond water in front of them. He then continued, “The little owl was very afraid. He had never known a night without the stars, and he didn’t know that they were just hiding behind the clouds. He thought they were gone—without a trace. He heard the thunder and saw shadows jump out at him in bursts of light; he had never been in a storm before.” Her grandfather’s voice heightened and then stopped. After a brief pause, he continued softly, “The owl’s life was always filled with joy and peace, comfort and wonder; but now he didn’t feel any of these sensations. He felt scared and terribly depressed inside; lost and hopeless.”
“Oh Grandpa! Did someone tell him the stars were still there even though he couldn’t see them?” She interrupted.
“Well, no.” He replied. “The little owl had to learn it on his own.” He looked lovingly at Bee for a moment, and then continued. “After the storm passed, the little owl went back outside. His perch had been blown away in the storm, so he found a different one, higher up in the tree, which gave him a new vision of the woods that he had never before seen. That night he looked up at the sky—still with sadness in his heart for what was lost. The stars were still gone. He didn’t know if they would ever come back and shine into his life again.”
“What happens next, Grandpa?” Bee asked to break the pensive silence her grandfather had brought about once more.
He looked back at her eager face, and smiled slightly. “He gazed up at the sky once more with his tear-filled eyes. Right as the little owl had surrendered all hope of seeing them again and of feeling their comfort, there was a break in the clouds and he caught a glimpse of one small star! Just for a moment and then the cloud moved over it again. Immediately, a rush of hope filled his little heart. It was in this moment that he understood the stars were not gone…” his voice grew gentler as he leaned in closer to Bee. “He just couldn’t see them.”
Grandfather took Bee’s hands in his and turned toward her on the bench. He looked at her precious face. His eyes filled as he beheld the sweet countenance that he had grown to love over the six years of her life. Tears fell from his eyes and into his lap as Bee looked up at him, gripping his hands even tighter.
He continued, “It was this understanding that allowed the joy and peace, comfort and wonder in the owl’s heart to remain—even when he could not see the stars.”
Just then, there was a break in the clouds, and the brightest star reflected in the pond water before them. Bee caught sight of it and excitedly tapped her grandfather on the leg, pointing in its direction. They followed its line up to the sky where it shone on them for just a moment until a thick grey cloud rolled over and covered it once again. Grandfather pulled her in close with his strong arm around her shoulder; her head reaching only the middle of his chest. She stretched her little arm across and gripped the far side of his shirt, pulling him close as well.
“So, Bee…can you see them?” He asked once more.
“No Grandpa, I really can’t see them.” She said, her voice slightly muffled in his thick cotton shirt. “But I know they are there.” She finished softly and looked up at him with a tender smile.
They sat together for a moment more in silence and sweet love for one another, holding each other tightly and gazing out at the pond. From the house came mother’s bedtime call, so grandfather led her back with a steady hold of her little hand. He smiled at his daughter who knelt down, giving Bee bedtime instructions to which she responded with a youthful nod. Bee gave her grandfather one last hug before running in and up the stairs to her bedroom to dress, wash, and wait in bed for her mother’s finishing touch.
Bee’s mother stood up and hugged her father. “Did you tell her?” she asked, looking up at him with her arm still around his waist; tears welling in her own eyes.
“She’ll be ready.” He replied. “If it becomes unbearable, just remind her to look up at the stars. She will know what to do.” He looked down at his daughter’s face and smiled a painful and beautiful smile. “I love you, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget that.”
The next day, Bee awoke to an absence she had never known before.