When we lived in Florida, my wife and I would walk Snickers around the lake in a nearby park each evening before we’d have dinner. It was one of my favorite times of day. The sun would be setting, the temperatures would be slightly cooler and the sky was often magnificent.
The lake was serene. It was filled with ducks and turtles and surrounded by fields of grass and clusters of trees.
There were two swans who lived in the park – a large white male and a slightly smaller white & brown female. My wife christened them “Mr. and Mrs. Peabody”.
Mr. Peabody would squawk and honk loudly if Mrs. Peabody got out of his sight. She would honk back and they would run to intertwine their necks together and rub faces. Then Mr. Peabody would stretch his neck straight up in the air and honk over and over again in joy. They would walk together, swim together and stand together, chatting happily with honks and squawks.
Mr. Peabody also honked and chased any humans who got too close to Mrs. Peabody. Even people offering bread were chased away.
After my wife died, I stopped visiting that park. It broke my heart every time I saw the Peabodies. I vaguely recalled that swans were monogamous (and possibly) mated for life. I couldn’t bear the thought of one of them dying and seeing the other alone and forlorn, like I was.
I’ve thought about Mr. & Mrs. Peabody hundreds of times since then. I often compare myself to Mr. Peabody.
He protected his wife. He adored her. He was filled with happiness when she was near him. He would be devastated if he lost her.
Me too.
I’m beginning to think that I was mated for life with Ellen. I have little interest in finding someone else to take care of, cherish and love.
I had that someone for 29 years.
It was a pretty good life. We were a great couple.
I doubt I’ll ever have that again – because I’m not even looking for it.