Facebook Tribute by Mike Witherspoon
Dear Patricia (10-22-23),
Thank you for visiting me today. It’s been two weeks since you passed away. The grief has been unbearable at times. I’ve screamed out your name and cried myself to sleep. Our living bond painfully transforms to the ethereal. The reminiscing with friends has been uplifting. The loss of future memories gut wrenching. I guess you heard me and decided to visit.
You came in the form of a bald eagle. Not just any bald eagle, the one who visits Gooseneck Reservoir, the pond my porch overlooks, during shoulder seasons. You’ve watched her with me a couple times and helped me see her more clearly. If you don’t mind, I’d like to share the story.
On the rare occasions I see her, everything stops. I yell out, “Bald Eagle!!!”, regardless of who I’m with or what I’m doing. My colleagues understand that our video chats are over once she is spotted. My friends give me a befuddled look when I eventually return from the water’s edge. My neighbors walk on shortly after I point out the eagle to them. The golfers politely yell at me to surrender the fairway.
You weren’t here the morning I watched her patiently hunt duck, but you know the story:
6am, a man shuffles across the living room
A cacophony of quacks and splashes
The man stops shuffling
A flurry of dark wings amongst the mist
Flashes of white and black above
Scores escaping north, south, underwater
She dives again
The hundreds become tens
She dives again
The man is transfixed
The tens become ones
She dives again
No air below
Talons and beak above
One remains
She dives, dives, dives
Errant splash, she rises, the target bobs
She dives, dives, dives
Splash!!!
Unable to fly or kick, low in the water
Butterfly stroke, five minutes, fifty yards
Climb atop stump, unfurl wings to the rising sun, drip, dry
Powerful strokes, fly, fifteen seconds, fifty yards, rise, rise rise
8am, a man breathes again
I did run from you with only, “Bald Eagle!!!”, as an explanation a couple times. I suppose you found it endearing. You gifted me binoculars so I could see her more clearly.
I came home this afternoon to see flashes of white and black. You perched across the pond. You gave me time to get the binoculars and a chair. We watched the ducks together for an hour. We talked. I got hungry and went for a burrito. You were still here. You told me to write. You waited. I just finished, the sun set and you flew away, no ducks harmed.
If you don’t mind, I’m going to yell out “Trish!!!” when I see you from now on.
