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Whale Song
A haunting story of love, tragedy and transformation that will change the way you view life...and death.

prologue

I ONCE FEARED death.

It is said that death begins with the absence of life. And life begins when death is no longer feared. I have stared death in the face and survived. A survivor who has learned about unfailing love and forgiveness. I realize now that I am but a tiny fragment in an endless ocean of life, just as a killer whale is a speck in her immense underwater domain.

It’s been years since I’ve experienced the freedom of the ocean. And years since that one horrifying tragedy took away everything and everyone that I loved. I have spent my life fighting my fragmented memories, imprisoned by guilt and betrayal. I had stopped hoping, dreaming or loving.

I was barely alive.

Locked away in darkness, I struggled until I learned the lessons from Seagull, Whale and Wolf.

Now I am free.

I finally remember my youth. I recall the happy times, the excursions in the schooner and the sunlight reflecting off deep blue water. I can still visualize the mist of water spouting from the surface and a ripple opening to release the dorsal fin of a killer whale.

But what I remember most is the eerie, plaintive song of the whale, caught on the electronic sound equipment of the research schooner. Her song still lingers in my mind.

A long-forgotten memory…

~*~

Part One
Village of the Whales


one

IN THE SUMMER of 1977, my parents and I moved from our rambling ranch home in Wyoming to Vancouver Island, Canada. My father had been offered a position with Sea Corp, a company devoted to studying marine life. He would no longer be a marine biology professor at the university. Instead, he’d be studying killer whales and recording their vocalization.

My mother was ecstatic about the move. She couldn’t wait to return to Canada where her parents were living. She chatted nonstop about all the new things we would see and do.

But I was miserable. I didn’t want to move.

“You’ll make new friends, Sarah,” my parents told me.

But I, like most eleven-year-old girls, hated them for making me leave the friends I already had.

Since our new home was fully furnished, we were leaving almost everything behind. A few personal belongings, my mother’s art supplies and some household items would follow in a small moving van.

My father told us he had rented out our ranch to a nice elderly couple. I was quite happy that no children were going to be living in my bedroom, but I was miserable about leaving behind my prized possessions. I reluctantly said goodbye to my little bed, my Bay City Rollers wall posters, my bookshelf of Nancy Drew mysteries, my mismatched dresser and my swimming trophies. Then I sulked on the edge of the bed and watched my mother sift through my things.

“I know it’s hard,” she said, catching my sullen mood. “Think of this as an adventure.”

I let out an angry huff and flopped onto my back.

“I don’t want an adventure.”



THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we left Wyoming with my three-speed bike strapped to the roof of the car and our suitcases and my mother’s easel piled in the trunk. That night, I watched TV in a motel room while my parents talked about our new home in Canada.

“Time for bed, Sarah,” my father said after a while. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Unable to sleep, I tossed restlessly in the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what life would be like stuck on a tiny island.

How boring it’s going to be.

I thought of Amber-Lynn MacDonald, my best friend back in Wyoming. She was probably crying her eyes out, missing me. Who was I going to tell all my secrets to now?

I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears.

Life is so unfair.

Little did I know just how unfair life could be...

~*~

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