We communicate in short bursts, in occasions and understanding, knowing our past but living in our individual presents.

Its difficult to find time, and to communicate without matriarchs. But then…..a gathering of silken conduct leads us to one another. To home. 

We are one in another. We come from blood, and stick, and story. 

We are together, and are able to regurgitate and reiterate and finish each others sentences within our stories. We understand the relations and ill relations. We admire in our growth and absolute spirit. We unite. We feel. We relate in our reflection. We complain, and conspire and congratulate.

I had forgotten….and let go. And she in her mature matrimony and my mothers grace and beautification allowed me to see the depth and family in the wake.

We laid alone, me in my normal place, he in a new. I lamented over the decision of the move, unsure of how would affect us all. Worried that the space would become larger, that it would allow him to become more distant than the last months had already taken him. But, also sure that this wasn’t my choice. It was his, and his decision had already been made.

Its an odd sense of loss, one to which I’m not yet accustomed. I’ve heard of the trials, and the divisions, the distance and unfarmiiar personalities. I’ve read about the phycological aspect of respecting the separation, how it allows access to a new found strength, and understanding of self. How it can establish the ability of argument and individuality. The way it leads to finding the inner self, and a calm within the deep.

Its a new space for both of us. And one we are both battling. We are loosing the relationship we had, and coming to terms with the fact that the people we are together, won’t ever be the same. The two as we are today and the relationship we hold, is being extinguished, apart of a childhood memory. Its a weird road this one we’re on. 

Relationships as adults can establish anew, with years and miles in between. We can pick up were we left off…..enjoy the same wine, visit familiar conversations and reminisce about what has happened while apart. This relationship between us, we cannot. It seems with every year, the divide gets greater, the commonalities between you and him, become vague, and unreliable, and often times gauche, to be perfectly honest. The inside jokes become so far outside it feels cold. The embrace stiff, and the small smiles and squeezes, exhausting and limp.

The divide is great. And uncomfortable and discouraging, and a new normal.

They have moved, perhaps only into the bedroom in the basement, but the stairs are slippery and steep and sometimes the wind howls with such force you dare not to brave it. And the human occupying the space that used to be yours, seems to be dressed in a new skin, one thats unpenetrable. The skin void of emotion and the ability to speak in the english language that you so painstakingly taught and nurtured, moved into a series of guttural sighs and grunts. There is an inherent ability to avoid eye contact, as they become distant….inside themselves. Learning how this new part of them will evolve, all by themselves, Alone.

So, he’s moved. He’s moved to the basement. Away from us. Away from what he has always known, but holds somewhere inside, what we have taught him. He has moved into what he has learned. Trusted us with the lessons we’ve taught and the human he has become, and begun to write his own story

So, as this new relationship goes, and the past years have taught, I will wait. Uncertain and worried. Watching carefully and learning and growing with this new human boy. Frustrated with the distance but respecting it and quietly proud of the growth within his being. This is were all the years since birth and growth and education, and culture and choices and chances and unknowing faith, come together in a collide of teenage emotion and parental disconnect.

I’ll lay in my farmiliar spot, dreaming of his years, and knowing from others accounts that he will return, his newer tougher skin stretched over his new beliefs and growth, an inner calm and strength, a more knowing human. Interesting and full.

No matter what way I seem to slice it. The loss of someone is the hardest hurdle to recover from. On this day, I skirted though meetings, swiftly escaping the seating of a goodbye luncheon,  and the long embrace of final conversations. The daily interaction, the hellos, and goodbyes, the short waves and sly smiles. The giggling and laughing, disagreeing and understanding, and growing together for a glimpse of time, eventually ends. 

Change is good, and quite familiar, but still the pits, and hurts the heart. I’ve learned that it is quite essential. Happening without foresight or notice, sometimes it just simply happens. 

With the change of loss comes a new beginning, it can be uncertain and temporarily cold. But the routine will become familiar, I will remain sitting in the same chair, waving the same wave, but with a new response. 

A new contact. A new story.

Time will always tick. As will the things within its moments. 

This morning I blew my top. Lost my shit. The cookies crumbled.  

Three should be self sufficient, but lazily needy male humans, (though wonderful and wouldn't change them for the world), excruciatingly and absolutely exhausting in their daily lives comforts and consequently my chores, to which I have most likely nurtured and should claim some form of responsibility, threw me off course like a ship in bad seas.....a big loud scary ship.

While i floated through the house, barley touching the floor in a hurried organized morning rush, the ongoing repetition of my own voices ignored directions shot through a small opening of my inner ear, rattled at a deafening pitch and involuntarily exploded in verbal diarrhea onto all of them. 

Not one was safe. All were covered in the foul stench of my last straw. 

I fall silent at that point, this movie has played before. Not so often they can remember the plot, but the theme song certainly must sound uncomfortably familiar. 

I sat again in the jeep after dropping the youngest off, idling in a no idling zone, tempting the crossing guard to come near the ozone emitting tank, feeling terribly guilty. 

I worked the day, ate in between breathing and answering and informing and breathing and ordering and coffeeing, designing and selecting and breathing, all the while pushing the guilt from left to right in the pit on my stomach trying to alleviate the pangs of discomfort. I rushed out at afternoons end, leaving clients and staff and one of the three needy male humans, rushing to pick up the other two in hopes to find them forgiving and understanding, and with a dawn of change and thanks. 

The eldest wouldn't speak to me. Sat in silence not making eye contact with his squirrelly eyed rule enforcer. I could actually feel my eye twitching. We proceeded to pick up the youngest, who had forgotten about the mornings incidents and rattled on about his tremendous day and placing in a provincial meet. The eldest still sat unfazed, silent and miserable. Showing his prosecutor who was boss. Sooooooo lost my shit again, the cookies crumbling, top blowing. The sense of entitlement like a hammer drilling into a unfrozen molar, one I hope to snuff out like a match, but perhaps with a bit more tact and coolth. 

Two children will sit alone today, all while being held and hugged, sadly missing their mom, fully unaware of the lightness that will slowly begin to bleed into their lives and help to relieve the heavy weight of her long time passing.

So will a husband

Mothers

Fathers

And our friends.

They have been like characters in an unwritten book, faced with tremendous diagnosis, with unbelievable resiliency, strength and blind courage. Every page was almost impossible to turn, but inevitably the story was the be read.

The Author was also the title character, young and beautiful. A new mother, a supportive wife, a courageous daughter and loving daughter in law, whom amidst all of her battles, unselfishly lived and planned......

The Month

Then the week.

The days

But also this young woman and her tremendous family courageously planned her death. Making preparations for her family to live on without her.

For her family and their lives to carry on.

Her story has ended, in the night, peacefully. The hard cover is now closed.

A good novel is to be read, and remembered. It's to be carefully put atop a shelf, it's strong spine facing outward for us to read and admire and review often. A good book and its inner bones of tales to be shared and passed along, for friends to revel in its depths of words and meaning, in its strength of characters; its publishers; its editors and all those who contribute to the unfolding story....to every pages words.

This book has left me with something. It pulled me into the skirts of its world. It has sent me with more strength and compassion, understanding and admiration and long last courage..... heaps and heaps of courage.

Sometimes if you're lucky, a good book can help pull you out of the space you're in, and into another's story.

Giving you another's perception.

Once upon a time, in a small cold village in the northern tundra, there lived a couple.  A Husband and a Wife.

Since introduction they were kindred spirits, best friends and had almost  heroic strength to fight off the tragedies that surrounded them in their first years of courtship. 

In one of their most busy years at the turn of a century, they were married. It was a grand celebration. A wonderful feast and even better drink. Even the kings of the land, who had endured great sickness and near death attended the gala. 

That same year the husband presented an opportunity to open a town store, a store specializing in vast arrays of goods for the lower surface of a room.

At the same time of opportunity, the Husband and Wife were loosing the patriarchs of each of their families. As both those patriarchs slowly passed, they left the Husband and Wife with great words of guidance, and support, direction and praise.

They also warned of the realm of greed and distortion.

The small shop opened.

The Husband and Wife became pregnant with their first son.

On a lot of gravel and grit, the two endured the first year of the shops birth with joy and adversity. 

Into the second year of the little shops existence the Husband and Wives families began to fall. The spirits of loved ones leaving their small cold northern village to join the hereafter. 

Small churches and dust roads became uncomfortably familiar to the pair. But together, with each precession, they drew strength, and humility. They matured together and came to understand the endurance that was life.

And the shop grew, and the reputation established.

And the couple had their second son.

The Husband took charge of the shop, and established a sharp wit,  knowledge and understanding. He was afforded the opportunity because of his vision, and it grew. And all were happy.

Everyday their adoring sons, waited and watched for their hero to come home. And everyday he arrived, more tired and more discouraged. 

Though they had endured heartache in the past, the trepidation that the family suffered because of the ugliness that hung over the little shop became all consuming. Their lives got more difficult, less able to see the forest through the trees.

And still the little shop grew.

The wife then joined the little shop, in hopes to help, and was stifled. She was dispirited and demoralized. As were all the other helpers that joined in to work at the little shop.

In the years to follow the Husband and Wife began to drift apart, their love unwavering, but spirits extinguished, and the little shop, and their passion became only endurable. A bone of contention between the two.

And still with steadfast effort and determination, the little shop continued to grow.

Their sons, they also grew. The Husband and Wife stood wholly and  undivided in parenthood together, and gleamed at every sight of their young growing children. That strength, even the dark couldn't reach.

And then one day, the twenty seventh day of the first month of the rest of their lives.......it all changed. 

The Husband and Wife found their strength and rose above the shadow. They together decided they would rather lose their little store, the one that the two had built together, than be subject further, to the wrongdoings they had sustained for years. 

And with that brave show of strength and solidarity, the story turned from a dark tale, into one of flooring and fairies. 

The Husband and Wife did everything they could to make the store theirs, and theirs alone. They climbed mountains of steel and stone at the windiest corners of the land. The two took great risk. They pleaded their case to the highest lords of lend, All with the hope to extinguish the nay sayers forever.   In hopes to celebrate their opportunity and also to celebrate those that had supported the shops journey in the small cold village in the northern tundra.

And so the story goes, the two prevailed.

They won the long bloody battle, eliminated the dark force from their land and were able to see the light through the trees in all it wonderous independence and opportunity. 

And so they lived,

hardworking,

happily ever after.

Scene:

Costco parking lot…..2 pm on a Tuesday……

Shopping List: Cucumbers, Milk, and a Christmas present for my niece from the North.

The Parking Lot is Ridiculously full of people, shopping carts, and me wondering who was the bloody genius who planned out the landscape of such a stupid logistical parking nightmare.

Costco in itself, is good and completly familiar. Cheap Cheerios, Keurig Cups by the 80 pack, and toilet paper by the trailer load…..but the parking….. IT'S FUCKING STUPID!

I am already mad, and in 4x4, because my jeep cannot navigate ice without being shifted into all 4 tires of traction. I have quickly scanned the familiar territory, navigating to my normal parking area….without luck….temper increasing with every turn, not to mention the lalygaggers who are piddling there way through 'my' lot, looking for their vehicles.

TIME 2:03

My super parking stealth sight connects with reverse tail lights, 30 feet ahead. I signal, slow, and wait. Said vehicle begins the pain stakingely reverse process…I double check to ensure my signal is on. Check…. This spot is MINE bitches - The cucumbers have now become a dire necessity  I see a van fast approaching from the opposite direction, I tense up, assuming that the vans pilot cannot see the jeep disguised by the reversing car.

I start sweating……actually I was sweating before, I've got one hell of a winter parka, but the stress is adding to the heat! 

I almost hit the departing vehicle as I slide into FIRST place…….I mean PARKING space. I jerkingly slide in……not because I'm a jerk…..but because I'm in 4x4…….YEEESSSSSS, I got this!

Without hesitation, I leap……Literally LEAPT from the jeep onto the parking lot asphalt, smoothly slam the door, throwing the keys over my shoulder, igniting the Honk Honk of the jeeps doors locking, grabbing for my wallet in attempts to gather my Costco card, all whilst cornering closely the neighbouring Toyota's bumper with my right shoulder, much like a Parking Freaking NINGA……Ignoring the Van that I karate chopped out of my signal claimed spot.

And WHABANG……my left foot first, flew violently into the air….followed quickly by my right….my hip bone and shoulder taking the brunt of the impact to the ground, and landing strewn across the bottom end of the coveted parking stall.

I saw then only tail pipe… FUUUUUDDDGGGGGEEEE.

In slow motion, I got up, no dusting required…..just praying I could still walk.

The bruises, I'm sure I should have produced, were also too embarrassed to show themselves in the days that followed. 

I remembered the milk. and the Doll House.

The cucumbers……they are still in the Costco Cooler.

Dawned in black with mugs full of coffee, they headed out on Highway 1 West. Chatting reminiscing and taking in the rolling hills of our farmilir landscape. It rained a little, sleeted some. But eventually we came to a town. 

It's little, the town of Rivers, but as you drive into it, its quite magnificent. A huge valley, lined with trees, and right before the uphill drive into that small town, to the left, a huge train bridge, connecting two sides of a Manitoba Mountain.

They drove though the small, but busy town, vaguely remembering the icons. The once revered Chinese restaurant. The Hair Salon,  we passed through a few yields/ not stop signs, but well mannered and passive slows, and happened upon the house where the Common's lived. One they'd heard stories about. One that they may have never have entered, but felt absoloutley acquainted to. They both knew the exact house.

The Church was small, and chilly, as most small prairie churches are. They sat and quietly listened to the goings on of town, the teas that were happening on Saturday, Bingo Sunday, and the super deal on washer fluid at the local hardware store. It was also very windy. 

The tribute was wonderful. a 40 year promise fulfilled, a group of veterans honoured a weakened family. And then the TAPS. insert tissue here. 

The legion held tables of triangular cut salmon sandwiches and carrot cake. Coffee and tea.

Roses and hydrangeas lifted spirits while patrons perused over pictures of the family.

We mourned for a man that was known for 'Wiring the Northern Lights' at newly made dams in Northern Manitoba, obviously back in the days of black and white. And now every time they dance, I will think of him.

I mourn for the loss my aunt endures, and for her husband's loss of his father in law. I mourn for the man's unbelievably strong, smart and beautiful grandchildren, and for their grandma and his wife Elaine.

My mom and I left, feeling happy, and sad and happy, then a bit sad again. 

The area feels like home to me. The rolling hills of Manitoba are comfortable, and peaceful and home. 

'Mom worried that Dad needed his clothes'

'He needs to be dressed' she said

As the left the house Elaine made sure her daughter had her dad shoes, stating, "He may have to walk a bit Joannne. Dad may have to walk half way."

God Speed, To Elaine's Husband, Aunt Joeys dad, UB's Father in law, and Meags and Jonathan's Pops.