Flock of Geese

The morning started out beautiful. A blindingly bright white disk of sun already heating up the new day. Birds chirping energetically under the turquoise of the sky, and in that glory, in the distance, behind the trees, the sound of a flock of returning geese. Their triumph was undeniable, my heartbeat sped up in spontaneous appreciation of their joy. The honking grew louder, and then, suddenly, there they were, a big flock, in perfect V- shape formation. And then, without warning, it happened. I started choking with tears, streaming down my face like small rivulets, as I started heaving in an effort to control their flow. My eyes were blinded with the sunlight, as I stood, feeling so small and helpless in my early morning slippers and pj's, looking up at these free creatures, parading their beautifully synchronized return with spring. A family. A big family. Of birds. As I stood looking up, alone, reminded of my isolation and loss. How I wanted to be one of them, be there, flying high up in the sky, full of purpose, full of meaning, making my struggles seem so speck like insignificant. It seems all the cards are against me in this immigrant life of mine. A disastrous family, cold and indifferent in-laws, a super solitary husband who is not much for conversation , and personal challenges like agoraphobia with driving that make life this far West only more challenging still. The geese disappeared in a clatter of proud music and I wiped away my tears that no one would see, took a deep breath and went inside to take a hot shower and wash away the aching in my heart. At the height of his isolation, my father, before my mother unceremoniously booted him back to Belgium, told his youngest sister Lieve : " Ne meins is toch moar alleene in da gro land", meaning "A person can sure feel totally alone in this huge country". I know all too well what he meant.