Maggie Dee

SADNESS OF SPRING

When my Dad learned that I and my family were moving to Saskatchewan, he started talking in dreamy tones about all the things I would see. Top of his list were Northern Lights and Snowy Owls.

I lived eight and one-half years in this province before my Dad passed away. I could count the Snowy Owl sightings on one hand, with a couple of fingers down.

And then my Dad passed away on a Tuesday in June.

That winter, as I drove 90 minutes to the city on a Saturday morning, I was feeling very sorry for myself. And then I saw it: the Snowy Owl atop the telephone pole. Two Saturday mornings later, on the next grocery run, there it was again. Pulling over for a chat and a photo became a comforting routine that winter.

Come spring, I was driving home from a city trip after the snow had melted. I was fighting tears, as my Snowy Owl had not appeared that morning, and I was feeling lonesome for my dad. It was near dusk as I approached the last town I would pass through before arriving at home. I cannot describe to you the way my heart skipped a beat when I saw a Snowy Owl perched atop a different telephone pole - more than an hour's drive southeast of our usual meeting spot.

I pulled a U-turn, parked on the shoulder of the road, and rolled down my window. He was not in the least frightened by my presence. For a solid 15 minutes, I cried as I spoke to him. Knowing that my Dad had physically starved himself to death, I said aloud, "You can go now, Pops. No need in starving to death again on my account."

As God is my witness, I did not even have time to roll up my window before the Snowy Owl lifted off. He flew straight South while I wept on the roadside. It was the first time in months I had allowed myself to cry.

The crows, the hawks, and the Canada Geese returned. Summer passed, then fall. And my Snowy Owl friend returned. Every winter to date.

Last year, I was talking to my sister while driving home from the city. I expressed my disappointment that I believed I had missed my feathered friend's last appearance of the season earlier than usual. As if to say, "All you had to do was ask," I was granted another evening encounter. I pulled over, rolled down the window, took a picture to send to my sister, and drove away.

Not two full minutes later, another telephone pole served as the roost for a Barn Owl. I choked up a little as I told my sister that Dad seemed to have left a summer friend for me.

This winter's first sighting was two Snowy Owls, again not two full minutes apart. My sister and I chuckled at the thoughts of Dad having a girlfriend in the afterlife - or perhaps having caught up with another loved one who wanted to check in on us. And while it wasn't every week, only one Snowy Owl has appeared on numerous drives.

Last week brought us the kind of weather where snow melts, and mud is everywhere. Snow molds have people coughing and miserable. The crows, the hawks, and the Canada Geese have returned. There are buds on my lilacs.

Still, we woke up to fresh snow yesterday. I commented to my teammate at work that the only reason this was acceptable would be if it meant one more sighting of my winter friend.

Today was the weekly city trip with my teenager for Math tutoring. Most of the drive was sunny and clear, but by the time we reached the Snowy Owl's typical neighborhood, it was clear that we were driving into bad weather. Silly as it may sound, I wished for a final seasonal sighting of what I have come to feel is a bit of a guardian angel. No such luck.

Until the drive home.

Sunset.

Facing west instead of east, allowing for the briefest moment of eye contact.

Another U-turn. A picture and a quick chat. He never turned to face us, or acknowledge us. But the teenager will confirm: I said aloud, "Thanks for checking on us, Pops. You can go now; we'll see you next winter. This means so much to me!" And I did not even have time to pull back onto the highway before the Snowy Owl spread his wings and took flight.

Straight to the South. Into a pink-shaded sky. Massive wings!

And moments later, another owl on another pole.

My heart knows it is the last sighting of the season.

Maybe God allows our loved ones to visit from the afterlife in another form. Maybe he doesn't. At the very least, I believe it's a sign. The Bible tells the story of a poor man who died and went to Heaven, and was able to see, recognize, and communicate with people below. So whether he visits or merely sends a sign, I believe my dad is watching.

Welcome, Spring.

So long, Snowy Owl. Thank you for wintering with me. ❤️