Lone Goose

The Lone Goose is weighing heavily on my heart. He shows up each evening all by himself and slowly swims up one side of the river and down the other and then up into the backwater on the far side. That area is rich with nesting sites that are calling to goose couples now. It’s mating time and his head turns from side to side, searching. But unlike the other seasons, she’s not here to meet him.

I’ve chastised myself for anthropomorphizing. But in my heart I know he’s lost his mate and I ache for him every evening when I see him finally give up and leave, alone. I know he’ll be back again tomorrow. Geese mate for life and they are so faithful. They will occasionally pick a second mate if the unthinkable happens and I fervently hope the Lone Goose will.

We’ve been here on River’s Edge through three nesting seasons now. We watch the families, we count the goslings. We hurt when their numbers diminish from one 24 hour period to the next. We think of them as “our goslings”. We cheer as they learn to walk and we’re proud when their down is replaced by their beautiful flight feathers and they become less distinguishable from their parents. We try not to dwell upon it when hunting season comes and weekend after weekend we are awakened at dawn by the shotgun blasts.

I grew up in a hunting family and I have no issue with folks who love to hunt; well, except for those who are hunting only for trophies (but that’s a different topic). My folks were never happier then when they were shivering in a duck blind in the fog somewhere in South Carolina or Washington, or when they were tramping through wheat fields hoping to flush out an upland game bird in Wisconsin. They walked in unison, they needed no words, and they knew they could depend upon each another. They were mates for life and they were so fortunate to have 50 years together.

When my father died, my mother was the Lone Goose. She was so lost without him. That broke my heart too. Dad had to die. He was far too debilitated after his stroke to be happy inside himself and neither Mom nor I asked it of him. Still, I was totally unprepared for my Mother’s desperate aloneness, and for my inability to help her after she lost her life mate. Oh, she coped alright, and she put on a brave face most of the time but there was no way she could hide her aching heart from me, her only child. She died six years after Dad, fully ready to go and delighted about their upcoming reunion. I combined their ashes in one urn as they’d asked and buried them together. I found a lovely snow globe with a pair of elegant white swans inside and let it inspire me to write their joint eulogy about life and love, about commitment and forever.


Now a Lone Goose is back in my life and the heartache is fresh again. I deeply miss my mom as I grieve for him. I walk over to the shelf in my living room and pick up the beautiful snow globe with the elegant white swans and I shake it. Though I know order will be restored as soon as the snow settles, the globe clearly demonstrates to me the disorientation of stormy times as I peer into the globe and, for a time, lose sight of the pair.

Perhaps tomorrow the Lone Goose will come accompanied and peace will be restored in his heart and mine.