What happened to that fierce protector of life, that 5 year old warrior ready to defend the rights of a single bird at the risk of my greatest fear, my father's disapproval? That protector led me through family fights, out of a maze of small-town prejudice, and into a field where I could help others recapture and heal fragments of their life? When did she stop fighting so hard?

I have traveled down my own healing road, sometimes in front of, sometimes behind my clients. Did I leave some important things behind? As I dissolved my pain, did I lose some of my compassion? Perhaps there are parts of myself that I need to go back and retrieve.

My reverie is interrupted as Madeline continues. There is much more to the story. The baby bird, I learn, ends up in Madeline's car. During his one night stay at her house, he receives the love and attention that would befit a rare and exotic animal. The next morning, bemoaning the fact that she know nothing about bird mothering, Madeline sets out to find him a home. She makes numerous calls, and eventually finds a woman in an adjacent town who says she is an experience bird raiser. Madeline drives out before work the next day, gives her the third degree and is finally satisfied with the intensive interview she puts the adoptive mother. Only then does she hand the bird over.

It is this abandonment for which Madeline seeks my forgiveness. "I guess it was the best I could do," she says, an end to her story and a question mark in her voice. She doesn't really believe it, though. She is sure she could have done more and condemns herself for it. She is half-afraid that I am doing the same.

I look at Madeline, with her diagnosis of obsessive compulsive disorder, her painful self-image, her chronic loneliness. I have faced some of the same battles as she. Some of these I have won. Some of them I am still fighting. I have the right diplomas on the wall, but I know that it is the won battles that are the real credentials I can offer Madeline.

The clinical part of me looks for textbook answers. There are many explanations I can create for her behavior. There are many labels I can use. I can easily dismiss her rescue as part of the compulsion of her detail-driven and ritualistic symptoms. I can interpret her behavior as an overidentification with this bird, who is but a metaphor for the neglected baby bird that lingers inside Madeline. I can focus on Madeline's shabby time management. After all, she's barely paying her bills and is still living at home. Is it really cost-effective for her to spend money and time on a bird that nobody really cares about?

I can find a million psychological reasons for what Madeline did. The more uncomfortable I become, the more tempted I am to find some reason -- some unhealthy reason -- for Madeline's behavior. There's only one problem. None of them describe a hero.

Interpretation is a gift, and a curse, of the healing profession. I find myself wondering how often it is used not to help the client but to help the therapist feel better.

I am amazed at what she has done and look back at her in awe. Even my intellect cannot ignore a true warrior. Deep inside me still lives that five year old girl who remembers so clearly the pain of a hurt animal. She still hears those warrior drums beating. They're faint, but they're still there.

I do the best I can to tell Madeline how much her story impacted me. I reassure her, I praise her, and I try to help her do these things for herself. I will continue to do this for as long as I see her. I want Madeline to heal her pain but not to forget it. It is in remembering our pain, I believe, which gives us the compassion and courage to heal others.

As I teach Madeline about healing, she gives me lessons in pain. She teaches me that healing my own pain doesn't mean losing sight of the pain of others. That growing older doesn't mean trying less. That there are things worth saving no matter how little time I have or how little I have to give.

Today, the gift Madeline brings to me is a memory. A reminder of a girl with courage and pain, one who was old enough to feel the hurt of the world and young enough to believe I could heal it. A girl who has been patiently waiting for me to reclaim her, to get on with our business of saving birds. And other endangered species. Like bird savers.

I think it's time to go find her. With Madeline as our coach, we'll make quite a team.

5/28/98