Author: Linda Villeneuve

There is something purifying about being closed in, confined within the space of your home, following a day-to-day routine in an effort to move to the next day. The uncertainty of these times is something that none of us expected, nor invited, however, it landed on this planet and took away all the normal that all of us live by, or had lived by until the pandemic hit. We have all heard the words spoken, that we will have to define the ‘new normal’ moving forward. There are people that shout from wherever they feel they can be heard that all we have to do is reopen, as though somehow the act of reopening will put behind all that the world has had to endure for these long months of self-isolation; the lessons that have come out of the pandemic can suddenly be pushed aside, all in the eagerness to embrace what was. But this morning I realized that there is something bigger going on here, something that is going on within each one of us. All we must do is take that first step to acknowledge that during this time of isolation, things have changed in the world, in our world’s, but most importantly, within our own souls.

I do not look at myself the same way that I did in March, although I knew that a change was coming. Deciding to move into semi-retirement came as something that I wanted to embrace, but I knew that as I was working to define my new normal, something within my inner being was also going to need to change. Stepping into a job more suited to my physical abilities was definitely on the table, but of course all of that changed when COVID-19 hit us on the side of the head. The harsh reality that ALL of us were suddenly going to have to examine who we are, at our core, digging deep to bring strengths forward that some of us did not even realize that we had. Moving into areas of creation, contemplation, reflection, planning, coping, grieving, coming to terms with the newness of the world that few of us thought we would ever need to even think about.

These areas that we have all now been faced with have brought many additional emotions to the surface of our being; recognizing truths about ourselves and our families, people we have kept close as friends, people that have betrayed us, hurt us, people we have betrayed, hurt, loved, lost. So many deep emotions coming to the surface at a rate that is sometimes frightening because of the speed with which these emotions can hit us. From all directions, new decisions must be made, compromises have to be put into place, routines have to be altered, lifestyles have to be changed. Any one of these things coupled with the emotions that each would bring, can be staggering if we allow them to bury us in our uncertainty and confusion about what is the next step.

In a way I feel lucky that the pandemic struck when it did, right when I was going to be faced with new decisions about accepting the limitations that MS has placed on me physically and emotionally, and how I was going to continue my livelihood. Trying to find something fulfilling that I could do that wouldn’t zap all of my energy away from me at work, allowing me hardly enough motivation to move forward on those days that I was at home. This was a daunting task I was facing, and one I felt that I would be facing alone, within my own head. But suddenly there was HUGE change happening all over the world as people moved into self-isolation and uncertainty about the future. I was not alone with this dilemma, everyone on earth was facing the same limitations I was, each for their own reasons, each with their unique circumstances; but face them we must, that is not an option any longer. I am not happy that the pandemic happened, only that its arrival made me realize that I was not alone with my fears and apprehensions about the future; everyone was feeling the same way. Somehow this made things easier for me, knowing that I was not alone, that other people were self-examining their lives at the exact same time that I was examining mine. The uncertainty, fear, reflection, planning, coping, grieving; the world is resonating with the vibrations of all earth’s inhabitants contemplating the very same issues I had felt I would be facing alone. 

This is why I haven’t written for a while; I was feeling somehow selfish that I wanted to write about my fears for my future at a time when the entire world was facing the exact same fears. How were my fears any more real than someone else’s fears? How could I work my way through this and still come out with some kind of lesson for myself or wanting to share something I managed to pull out of all this chaos surrounding us all. And then it came to me this morning with such clarity that I almost tripped over my own feet as I scrambled to get to my computer so that I could start writing down my racing thoughts.

If you have never faced a betrayal in your lifetime you may have to indulge with me somewhat. Most of my betrayals I have not written about yet and I don’t feel that now is the time for that, but what I do want you to grasp moving forward is the impact betrayals can have on your life, and the decisions you are faced with as a result of having experienced one. It was because of a workplace betrayal that I came across my most recent job, a job that has allowed me a sense of freedom that I have never experienced in my life. Out of darkness comes light, could not be more fitting for the circumstances that brought me to my thoughts this morning.

I had never worked in an environment where you are required to wear a uniform. My uniform for life prior to this had always been something that I took great pride in. Always wanting to portrait someone put together in a way that spoke of professionalism, pride, self-worth. Not that I was always feeling those things, but I found over the years that if you dress the part, the part comes easier, or so I thought.

My hair has always been an issue, ever since I can remember such a thing. I have had unruly, naturally curly hair my entire life, and I have diligently spent my entire life, attempting to calm the chaotic mess that lives atop my head. There is a saying that most people with curly hair want straight hair (my truth), and people with straight hair want curly hair. Our world has allowed all of us to embrace whatever hairstyle we want now because there is always a product, or a hair appliance that will give you pretty close to what you are longing for; a perm to achieve curls, straighteners to tame the curls, curling irons to achieve the waves. Simply decide what you want to look like, and voilà, you can come close to your visual desires for your hair.

Several years ago, now, my sudden need to search for a new career came out of nowhere and still makes me shake my head in bewilderment. I knew that I wanted something totally different from what I had been doing, and I felt a sense of fulfilment knowing that I had taken my career in teaching from years in the classroom to years in the boardroom, so there was a sense of accomplishment for me. I also knew that I wanted to be more active, so when my daughter suggested that I apply to become a Screening Officer at the Calgary International Airport, I decided, why not.

Being in a roomful of over 100 people, all looking for employment, then realizing that everyone is at least 30-40 years your junior, can be very sobering. At that point, it matters little what you are wearing or what your hair looks like, it is about passing the tests that everyone was facing. Without successfully passing the tests that one day, the next steps would not be possible.

I remember as I began the steps towards employment as a Screening Officer, I was all the time thinking that I did not stand a chance against all of these younger people around me. We were all in a large room and as we worked through the numerous tests, we would be asked to leave the room while the tests were quickly marked. Then we were called back into the large room and only the names of those that had passed were read out. Again, I looked around the room at all the younger people and knew with some sense of certainty, that my name was not going to be called out. So, it was with that thought in my head that I heard someone say, “Linda.” but I did not even look up because I was so sure it could not be me. It was not until the person said my last name that I realized it was me; I had passed the hardest test and would now be moving to the next of several hiring steps.

That did give me a sense of confidence that I probably needed. I did not think for a minute that I had any hope of competing with the job seekers I saw around me that day. Now I watched as the people whose names were not called out gathered their things and made their way out of the room. My new journey had begun.

A few days after the testing and second interview, I received a phone call asking if I wanted to become a Pre-Cert at the airport. This is the position that allows you to work in limited positions on a checkpoint, as you wait for your Federal airport security clearance to come through. It is only a part-time position and you must supply your own black pants and white shirt, but I was in. That was all that mattered to me at the time, I had gotten the job. 

Once my airport security clearance finally came in, I was scheduled into a class along with 7 other people that had successfully passed the initial testing and interviews. Towards the end of the weeks of training is when you are finally issued the uniform of a certified Screening Officer. What an honour I felt this was to achieve, especially coming at a time in my life when I didn’t know which direction I wanted to go in, nor what field of employment I wanted to dedicate my energies. I had found my place.

There is something to be said about the conforming aspects of wearing a uniform. Suddenly you become part of something larger than yourself in such a visual and psychological sense. I actually enjoyed not having to labour over the decision of what to wear, which included accessories, shoes, and as always for me, the dreaded hair style decision.

The old expression “You can’t see the forest for the trees.” I wonder if we could update that expression to, “You don’t see the forest until you come home and share your pictures of the forest on social media”. Suddenly I was part of this huge operation alongside people from all walks of life, all lifestyles, all religions, all ages, and I was actively a part of this! I was quickly invited, along with all the graduates in my class, to join a closed social media group just for Screening Officers at the Calgary Airport. Wow, I was part of something so big and so life changing, and I had come to be a part of this group not by changing how I looked or embracing my unique style of dress but quite the opposite; by the confirming restrictions of a uniform; being dictated exactly what you would be wearing to work alongside all of the other Screening Officers working at the Calgary Airport. What an amazing feeling that was for me.

And then sharing experiences online through our closed social media group, sharing pictures of our adventures and the people in our lives. I could see the forest! I was part of it!  This vast network of people from all over the world that I worked with every day. We worked side-by-side, keeping passengers safe, moving people through the checkpoint, doing our trained positions. Together, all of us shared stories and got to know one another and understand what it means to be part of this amazing planet. Maybe it did not matter that I had curly hair.

Every morning, as I got up in the pre-dawn hours, I would go through the motions of laying out my uniform pieces so that all I had to do after my shower was simply follow the order of the articles of clothing laid out around my bed. I took real comfort in this ritual knowing that I wasn’t going to forget anything, I was going to look professional, and I mentally prepared myself for another day where I was going to be a part of the huge mechanism that kept passengers departing on their way to wherever in the world they were heading that day.

But there was still the issue of my hair… I continued to feel compelled to go through the motions of straightening out my unruly curls because I continued to feel, on some level,  that this was all part of the professional look that I wanted to portray. My hairstyle was an integral part of professionalism in my eyes, and it wasn’t until the pandemic hit and suddenly professionalism wasn’t part of my day-to-day routine anymore, that I finally realized that I had been deluding myself, basically my entire life. 

Why are we SO caught up in a vision of how we ‘think’ we should look, rather than simply embracing how we are? I have unruly, naturally curly hair and fighting to tame it for my entire life suddenly felt so strange and unnecessary to me. But we had to face a pandemic for me to come to this realization? Wow.

That is when I realized that I can’t be the only person that forced isolation has caused to self-reflect, not only on what is important in our lives, but what we may have been hiding about ourselves in our quest to fit-in.

I am surprised that the uniform itself didn’t make me start to see that I had always worried about my hair and how it looked; I was part of a sea of uniformed Screening Officers that populate the Calgary Airport on any given day. Why would a hairstyle change who I really was? But for me, it did make a difference, that is why I went through the motions every day to bring myself to the mental image I have developed over a lifetime, in order for me, in my mind, to achieve the professional look I was always seeking.

I look at this in a totally different way now and see it for what I think in my case it truly was; I was insecure about who I am and how I am perceived by the world around me. But after living through a pandemic that made everyone rethink everything about themselves and those around them, I have finally come to realize that appearance, something that I perceived as so all important, has very little to do with who we actually are. How we interact with the world, our level of giving, the people we surround ourselves with, the values we guide ourselves by, the loyalty we give to others, the love we are willing to share, those truly are the measures of the person we are at our core.

I found my inner peace and acceptance in the most unusual way; embarking on a journey that I never saw coming, moving past the biggest betrayal I have ever faced; standing strong and deciding to move forward, embracing a new career that I would never have imagined possible, learning to love myself for the person that I am. If that is what the pandemic brought to me then I feel blessed in a way that is hard to explain. 

And for those of you that have naturally curly hair and know what a little rain can do to hair that you have painstakingly straightened and shaped to your will; for the first time in my life, I am no longer avoiding the rain.

The outpouring of love, support, and prayers offered to me and my family has moved me to tears. Thank you everyone for taking time away from your own family and your own concerns over these uncertain times, to wish us all well. We are doing what we can to stay healthy as we wait to hear our results from the COVID-19 testing. I don’t know how getting the results will make us feel. If it is a positive result do we feel happy that we are weathering this uncharted storm? If it is negative do we worry more because now our immune systems are already weakened? Will any of this relieve the coughing that continues to wrack my body, as my lungs fight to rid themselves of an unknown invader, and my daughter works to gather each breath, as her life-time struggle with asthma, once again takes over her body?

We are all facing the challenge of a lifetime right now, but I believe it is how we have responded to one another during these trying times that will resonate over the coming months. Knowing there are people getting up everyday to walk to the front lines and face the risk of this ravaging beast head-on, has to give all of us hope for the future. 

So many people want to be angry at someone or something right now, but I ask those people; please look around you and see for yourself the people that are quietly taking on everything that life throws at them, and yet they endure, with grace, with fortitude, and with giving. The people that are using their days off from work to become delivery angels, bringing much needed groceries and supplies to those in need that either don’t have the funds to support themselves, or are unable to go out because of a self-isolation order. The neighbours and friends that have stepped up to help those that are currently under an isolation order, and can’t get out for basic supplies. The pilots and flight crews that are still getting people where in the world they need to go. The airport workers that are making flights possible. The cleaning crews that are still trying. The doctors, nurses, and other health professionals that are working tirelessly, behind the scenes, to do everything in their power to ward off the worst cases of this destructive virus. The truck drivers and delivery people that are working long past their regulars hours, in order to supply the needs of all of us. The grocery stores employees, and restaurant crews that continue to provide us with our most basic need for food. And all of the costless other people that are working when the rest of us can’t.

This is a time unparalleled by anything we have ever seen in most of our living memories. The war veterans around us have a better idea of what this fear and craziness is like; the millions of refugees forced from their homes, their livelihoods, leaving all of their familiar memories, know this kind of fear; the destitute and homeless, facing daily uncertainty, are familiar with the unease that this virus has caused. And yet the bulk of us have simply turned away from these veterans of fear, these warriors of uncertainty, labeling them somehow beneath us, outdated, insignificant, or unrelatable on some level; we think this kind of uncertainty can’t breach those walls we have built up around ourselves and our families; it can’t touch the executives living off their hard work and dedication-to-task, that has afforded them everything they want in life. But we have to realize, this beast cares not where we come from or who we are. We are all susceptible to its claws and teeth as even the thought of contracting it puts fear into our hearts and minds. 

And yet there are people in the world still not ready to realize the devastation that this beast brings in its wake; as though somehow defiance alone can be the shield against the onslaught of uncertainty we are all facing. People continue to gather in crowds, continue to dash out quickly to buy those items they suddenly can’t live without, even though they should be or already are on a self-isolation order, putting even more people at risk as they selfishly pursue their own interests or needs, heedless to the shouted warnings from countries that didn’t take the outbreak serious, or react quickly enough. Are these risk-takers able to look their children in the eye and tell them that they know they are about to go out into the public and put other people at risk, knowing that some of those people they put at risk might not live to see their families again? All so that they can buy something they have decided that they need, beyond all costs, and all reason. What does it take for everyone to get onboard? What level of fear has to invade your own mind before you realize that the measures being taken by our governments have not been taken lightly. 

Please honour the truths that are being shouted from the highest reaches of government as countries scrabble to keep their citizens safe. Italy is pleading with the world to heed their mistakes, before other countries fall further into the grips of this beast. People are dying, that is the outcome of sloppy thinking.

Who knew we would be having a conversation like this in our lifetimes? The reality of a world pandemic has been the thing of fiction, or bad dreams. Now suddenly it has exploded onto the world stage, demanding that we give it our attention, all of our attention, not just those that have been touched by the beast as it perilously barrels around the planet. 

A friend of mine texted me a few days ago and said that he feels like it is the end of the world somehow. Not literally, but figuratively. I texted him back and said that I personally think that this will change how we feel about the world from this time onward. Mixing everyone into a big pot of humanity was bound to have consequences at some point. It was only a matter of time before the pool of germs from every country in the world mixed in a way that could create a pandemic.

Travel is so readily available to everyone these days (prior to border closures around the world), that we all have to realize that this freedom to move so quickly, anywhere in the world, is what can cause a virus like we are now facing.

It is sad that we had to come to this before people recognized that basic hygiene is key to our healthy existence. Were people simply not washing their hands prior to this, nor cleaning their homes? This makes me wonder what people live like in their day-to-day lives. Haven’t we all been saying for years that widely-used communal items, like shopping carts, shopping baskets, airport bins, luggage carts, handrails, elevator buttons, door handles, and bathroom stall doors, to name just a few, are germ carriers at the highest levels. Yet, even as we would acknowledge that fact, nothing was done about it. 

Suddenly we are hearing about the heroic cleaning that is taking place now that COVID-19 has unleashed it’s fury on the world stage. Why is cleaning suddenly heroic? This is a level of public area sanitization that should be happening every day, especially in those areas where people from around the world converge; airports, train stations, bus terminals, and cities’ large public gathering areas. When all of the craziness surrounding the COVID-19 virus subsides, will old practices simply revert back to what they were? No public areas getting the special cleaning attention that they need daily? I find it hard to fathom that blatant disregard for everything that this pandemic has taught us so far, will once again push common sense beneath the dirty surfaces we all touch in our day-to-day lives.

And yet, even in the face of all of this uncertainty and fear, I remain hopeful for the human race. We know what we need to do to keep our planet and ourselves healthy and sustainable. Will we heed this world warning?

And as the dawn allows the sun to once again break it’s rays of light and warm onto the earth, I have the aspiration that the world will continue to come together in a way that will lift our hearts, calm our minds, and instill hope and renewal, into our spirits. 

As we move forward into the unknown let us collectively, as a human race, use strength, fortitude, kindness, generosity, hope, and love, to forge a shield that we can raise up, as high as our arms will allow, and our minds will endure, to protect and strengthen our resolve to not only survive, but to survive well, for ourselves, our families, and most importantly, for one another.

It is so quiet at that time; between what was the evening and what will become another day. It is strange to be awake at this time, if you are lucky you have had a full night’s sleep, or you are trying to shake off the remains of sleep that you were able to catch before the alarm went off. Either way, there is something very unique about being awake at 1 am in the morning. It is still dark out, and even the weather hasn’t decided which forecast it is going to work from; yesterday evenings, or tomorrow mornings.. It is like a void, a time that just is, and you happen to be getting ready to start your day at this time.

The family is sound asleep, even the dogs don’t get up to see why one of their humans is up this early. Funny, if you had not had any sleep at all, it would be called late, but if you have had some sleep, I think you can call it early.

The uniform is a blessing at this time of day, nothing to think about really, just fall into the routine of the pieces that come together to make a complete uniform. That makes it so easy, you don’t have to think about anything, or make any decisions about what to wear, it is simply just the uniform, no more no less.

It is hard to eat at this time, would this be a late night snack, or an early breakfast? Whatever it is, I always found that I had to have my breakfast before I could start my day in earnest. Simple toast and juice, but no different than I would normally have for breakfast, only the tea is forsaken, unfortunately, a dioritic before a shift that involves standing or moving around on your feet for many hours can’t be bothered by the actions of a dioritic. So the tea is forgotten as part of the morning breakfast.

Driving at this time of day is something I really treasured. Often there are only a few vehicles on any of the roads I take; it feels like the highway is all mine, to drive as I see fit, whether it is in the fast lane or the slow lane, I can cruise between the lanes like a race car driver rallying for first place position. I loved banking the curves in the road by drifting across the lanes in whatever direction needed to make that bank. It sometimes really felt like I was on a racetrack, banking to increase my lead on the other vehicles behind me; only there are no other vehicles behind me. Just me, the roadway, and my tunes. Perfect. This kind of driving can actually spoil you a bit because when you do have to face traffic again, you have to play by the rules and put up with other drivers. That never happens at 3 am in the morning. Even if there has been a snowfall, it feels amazing to be the first person to make tracks through the blanket of smooth whiteness; like you have left your mark for others to follow. It truly is a blissful time.

I don’t think about how tired I am, or how I am facing an 8-hour shift, I just think about how lucky I am to be driving a safe vehicle, down a paved highway, that takes me effortlessly to my destination.

Sometimes some crazy stuff happens during this drive. Like the time a vehicle without their lights on, came up in the lane beside me, so fast, that it felt like someone had fired a giant bullet alongside my vehicle. They were gone in a flash and left me slightly breathless as I considered what might have happened if I had suddenly decided to change lanes at that moment. I would have not even seen this vehicle flying up the highway behind me, ready in a flash to overtake my vehicle. After that incident, I made sure that when I was playing at my banking maneuvers, that I always had a good look in my rear view mirror, straining my eyes to see if I could make out a light-less vehicle travelling at high speed. It never happened to me again, once is enough to get your attention for that sort of thing.

Sometimes I tried to guess what other cars on the road were heading to the airport like I was. It felt like I could make assumptions based on the lane the car moved into, or their car’s posture as we neared the airport exit sign. I hit it right about 50/50 most of the time, just something to amuse myself with as I made the quick drive to work. This drive would not have been quick if it were in the middle of morning rush hour. So I felt privileged somehow, being one of the few people out and about at that time.

Once you get closer to the airport, you start to see signs of life around you. Not a lot of life, but some other cars driving into the parking lots, or the odd person walking to or from the airport as they start or finish their latest shift. The airport always has people coming or going to it, it is really just the volume of people that changes throughout the wee hours of the early morning. Sometimes I saw no one else, just myself and my music, driving to my designated parking area.

I am always early arriving at a job, always have been. And when I say early, I mean 45-minutes early. I like the feeling that I can take my time and start my day without feeling rushed in anyway whatsoever. It starts the day right for me. Sometimes I would encounter someone else heading into the airport at the same time as me, but most mornings I was alone as I started my walk in from the parking lot.

When you walk into the airport, that is when the weirdest sensation can take ahold of you. It feels like there is no one else there, and yet this building is so vast, with it’s high ceilings and glass windows that go from the ceiling to the floor. Openness; quietness; solitude; the start of another day.

I always reflected on my position at the airport, at this time of the morning. I was one of many Screening Officers that would spend their day making sure that passengers were not carrying anything that they shouldn’t be carrying onto a plane. Making sure that everyone in the checkpoints were safe, and that your fellow officers were supported in any way they needed to be supported. It’s an important job, screening, and most of the 800+ officers that work at the Calgary airport take their jobs seriously. We know what we are looking for, and we work hard to ensure that everyone remains safe, including all of the staff that work at the airport, and the people that fly or maintain the planes. Everyone has to walk through security at some point during their day, that is the only way that someone can enter into the area beyond security.

As I would walk through security on my way to start my day, I would come out to the same scene every day, and yet it was so different every day. Depending on the weather; whether the tarmac was wet and shiny, clear and dry, or snow covered with unmarked whiteness, The planes would all be resting at their gates; no people on them yet, just waiting like the rest of the airport. Even the cockpits were shrouded in darkness, no pilots running through their pre-flight checklists, only darkness and a sense of waiting. 

There is a peacefulness to this morning scene that I experienced every day. Everything has a purpose, and yet nothing has come to life yet; it was still dark outside and it is as though no one wants to be the first to disturb this sense of total calm. I was always thankful for this calm first thing, maybe that is why I enjoyed coming in so early before my 4 am shift started. I wanted to have those few quiet moments to myself, without the interference of people, and noise, and bustle, and anxiousness. Passengers always seem on the verge of anxiousness; they want to get through security as fast as possible, even when they are early for their flight. They don’t feel in control maybe until after they have gotten through the screening process. But even after they clear security, there is still a sense of anxiousness about them because now they have to find their gate, and they need a coffee, and they need a washroom, and where did they put their boarding pass, their keys for the car they left in the parking lot, the cell phone they had to part with for the few minutes of screening. All of these anxious thoughts invade passengers’ minds as they make their often confused way to their gate. And then once they get there, they wait for the next round of anxiousness, waiting for the agents to call their flight out and the boarding of the plane to begin.

And so one day leads into another at the airport. There are always the same players present every day; the passengers, the screening officers, the workers that keep everything running at the airport, the cleaners that work so hard to keep the airport shiny and clean, the pilots that get the planes where they are suppose to be, the agents that make sure that the passengers get where they are suppose to be, the flight crew that are able to keep the passengers happy and content during their short or long flights, the people whose job it is to just watch all the people, and make sure everything is running smoothly, and as calmly as possible. It’s a busy place, with hundreds of working parts. The behind-the-scenes places that passengers never see would boggle their minds, and make them dizzy trying to negotiate, all of the back hallways, and doorways that only those that have special security clearance get to see. 

There is a camaraderie about sharing these special places with co-workers; seeing into the depths of the many layers of the airport. I am sure that many don’t take a moment to reflect on how special this right is, but I found myself always having a sense of wonderment at being allowed to enter into these special places, even on those mornings when there were no other people around, as I made my way to the checkpoint where I was assigned for the day. A quiet sit to gaze out the panoramic windows, seeing the planes that would slowly come to life as they were inhabited by people; hundreds of people, all going somewhere, or coming from somewhere, always in a hurry, always surrounded by noise, always waiting for the quiet of another morning.

This is what waking up the airport looked like to me every morning. It always felt like a special privilege to me, something only a few of us were actually ever privy to, something I want to hold dear to me as a job that I learned through training and hard work, meeting co-workers I embraced through friendship, and a special feeling that I know that I will never experience again in my lifetime; waking up the airport, there really is nothing more exciting than that, at those quiet moments between the end of one day, and the beginning of the next.

Photo Credit to Jason Ivey 2020

Continue my journey from the beginning, or my previous journey titled “Loss of a Friend“.

I have been thinking about this for many weeks now but haven’t found a way to start this Journey. How do I ensure that I am doing justice to a friendship that was so dear to me for over 20 years? 

All of us deal with loss at some point in our lives; some experience this earlier than others, but at some point, we will all lose someone that is very dear to us.

Death is not the only way to experience the loss of someone however, it remains a loss from which there is no coming back. There are no sorrys to be said that will right the loss of a friend through some misunderstanding or betrayal; nothing to talk through in order to regain the loss of a friend perpetrated by angry or unfortunate circumstances; no hurt that you find the strength to move past in order to retain the friendship you once had. Death only leaves the living with the memories of something that once was but will never be again. How we move forward with those memories after the loss of a friend through death, is one of the most private inner feelings anyone will ever experience. They are never gone, they remain as you choose to remember them; that beautiful smile, the sound of their laughter, their caring nature, the love they shared with you as a friend. We have a blank canvas in our minds’ memory that we can fill with whatever experiences we choose; memories that shift over time as our living priorities change throughout our life. There comes a point in time when you try to visualize what that friend would be like now, if they were still in your life. What great adventures would you have shared together, what life markers would indent your memories together, forever. Those are the private inner feelings that we all contend with as we work through the loss of a friend. They are never gone from us, but our memory of them skips through the ages of experiences that we shared and treasured together. No one can take those.

Donna was that kind of friend; treasured, loved, indelible. 

I met Donna when I moved to Calgary from Vancouver. I was looking for work as my husband and I settled into our new lives in Calgary, and Sears was hiring part-time people. The store was walking distance from the house that we rented and I knew that this would get me out of the house and thinking about what I wanted to do next.

At the time that I accepted the part-time job, Sears was known as one of the best Management Training companies in Canada. Their model for training was admired by many large companies, and it felt incredible when I was approached and asked if I wanted to go through the Management Training Program. Of course I jumped at the opportunity, and started my training with great enthusiasm for the future. It was after I finished my training and was given my first Division as a Manager that I met Donna. Donna had worked at Sears for many years prior to me starting at Sears, but we gravitated towards one another right from the start. Donna helped make me into the manager that I would become, even as she came a manager for the first time. Her kindness, patience, and zest for life were some of her most endearing qualities.

Donna and I worked together for many years at Sears and we became very close friends. Donna was actually Godmother to both of my children, and they called her Auntie Donna. So when I came up with the idea of starting a Ladies Getaway Weekend at Rafter Six Ranch, it was Donna and I that put those plans into motion, but also, it was Donna and I that continued to horseback ride at Rafter Six Ranch every season, along with my daughter, for many, many years.

The times the three of us spent together riding in Kananaskis Country were some of my happiest memories ever. Sometimes it was just the three of us riding, but many times, we would be a part of a large group that the ranch had asked us to take on a horseback ride through the many trails that zigzagged all around Rafter Six Ranch. Donna, my daughter and I loved to share our enthusiasm for this beautiful outdoor setting with who ever we were riding with. We always came back from our rides with a feeling of peace and contentment no matter how we felt when we left for our ride, and you can be sure that the three of us were probably smiling from ear to ear as we made our way to the lodge restaurant at Rafter Six Ranch. Sitting down to a hearty meal was almost always how we wrapped up our horseback riding adventures. On days when the trails kept us enthralled for longer than we had anticipated, we still found a bit of time to sit and share a coffee or a cup of tea; time to reflect on the wonderful adventure we had just shared together in the wilderness that called to us every time we visited the Ranch.

In the lodge, we always tried to sit at the booth with the big windows that faced Mount Yamnuska. That afforded us the best view of the corrals and stables but also the aye inspiring mountain view that transfixed us all, every time we sat to admire it. There was always that sadness knowing that our latest adventure was once again coming to a close, and soon we would be back in the vehicle, heading to our day-to-day lives, so far removed from the idyllic life we are able to glimpse everytime we came to Rafter Six Ranch. But we also knew that it wouldn’t be long before we were once again heading west, out of the city, towards another great day of horseback riding and companionship that we came to treasure more and more with every passing year.

If we happened to come back from a ride later in the day, we were sometimes treated to something that took place every single day at the ranch, in the late afternoon; the jiggling of the horses. This was when the wranglers would return all of the horses from the daytime stables where they remained as rides were scheduled to go out, to the night pasture where the horses spent their evenings, resting and grazing on the hay that was laid out daily for them. Every time we knew that the wranglers were going to jiggle the horses, Donna, my daughter and I would be glued to a window, watching as 30+ horses were led at a full gallop towards the gate that lead to the night pasture. The expectation that you could sense from the horses, together with the magnificence of seeing this many horses running free across the field never paled in our minds, we enjoyed each and every time the horses were jiggled, and that was when all three of us starting dreaming about a time when maybe we could ride along with the wranglers in order to experience first-hand, the incredible exuberance that we were sure the wranglers must feel as they moved the herd of horses across the field. This became an obsession for us as we longed for a day when Rafter Six Ranches’ owners would give us the okay to jiggle the horses with the wranglers. We never knew if it would happen, but dreaming about it was something amazing!

Moving this many horses, at top speed as they gallop towards the end of their busy day, knowing that the freedom to graze and rest were so close; the pounding vibration of hooves thundering across the field; the magnificence of seeing horses, their manes and tails flying in the wind with the backdrop of Mount Yamnuska, there is nothing more awe inspiring as those few moments of exceleration. We wanted so badly to experience being a part of those few moments in time; a treasured memory we longed for over the space of many seasons at the Ranch.

We never thought that this was going to be something we would get to experience for ourselves. The risk of falling in the middle of this many horses running flat out, conjures images that I am sure that the owners did not want to see, the risk was too great. But then, one day, one of the owners came by our table in the lodge, as we were enjoying the camaraderie at the conclusion of yet another fabulous ride. She was casually chatting with us about our adventure that day when she quietly said that she was actually looking for some people to help jiggle the horses that day. I remember that Donna and I flashed a look across the table at one another as we tried to confirm between us, that we had just heard what the owner said. We looked up at her and repeated what she had said, that she was looking for people to help jiggle the horses. Her smile said it all, and we were out of our seats so fast I am sure that we left the dishes on the table rattling.

We were so excited, but so terrified at the same time. There could be no mistakes during this ride, we had to keep our wits about us and make sure that the horses knew we were in control. Horses sense when their riders are afraid and intimidated, and we had to remember that the horses we were going to be riding, were actually just as anxious to get to their night pasture as the rest of the herd, only the horses used to jiggle the herd, didn’t go to the night pasture at that time, they were part of the process to get the other horses through the gate and contained. We had to be assertive, we had to be in control, and we couldn’t fall off!!! I was worried sick about my daughter because although she was an accomplished rider by this point, she was still a young girl, and if she were to become unseated from her horse, the consequences were terrifying for me as a mother. But I also knew that I couldn’t hold her back from this experience. This was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime ride; what mother would want to deny their daughter that. So we all went.

I personally, will never forget that amazing experience. If you have never seen a herd of horses running free, you might not understand, but if you have, imagine what it would be like to be a part of that exuberance, caught up in the sheer excitement that overcomes a herd of horses as they race towards their evening grazing and rest. Being on horseback is itself an amazing feeling, but being part of the horses being jiggled, is something almost impossible to describe. It was a rush of emotions all rolled in together, shared by the three of us, and something we all knew, would probably never happen again. It was blissful. 

When we came back to the lodge afterwards, all of us were teary eyed as we approached the owner with hugs and thanks;  allowing us to experience something few people will ever experience in their lifetimes. We never hinted again that we wanted to jiggle the horses, once was enough to satisfy that longing we had all had to share in this incredible few moments of life on the Ranch.

As time went on and our lives took different turns, the days of horseback riding at Rafter Six Ranch sadly dwindled out of our lives. Donna and I remained friends of course, but with time, families change, obligations vary, and old hobbies move to our memories instead of into our weekly calendars. We moved out of Calgary to Turner Valley, which added a separation in space; no longer could Donna and I decide to suddenly meet up for a quick lunch, things had to be planned out ahead of time. But still, Donna and I were tied to our bond of friendship that was full of amazing memories and shared experiences. And then came the news that no one wants to hear, Donna got breast cancer.

I had never experienced a friend developing a serious illness, and Donna was always so full of life and love. It didn’t seem real somehow. But it was, and as we all came to terms with what Donna’s cancer meant to all of the people in her life, I once again made Donna a priority in my life, no matter the distance in miles that our lives had taken. So it was that I was with Donna’s husband, and her mother the day Donna went in for her mastectomy. We were all very somber as Donna was led away for surgery, but we also wanted to hold on tight to the wish that they would be able to remove the cancer, without any further signs of it spreading to other areas in her body. The waiting was excruciating; none of us spoke, we just waited, each with our own thoughts running through our heads.

It was the way that the doctor walked towards us; we knew even without him saying a word. As the doctor asked Donna’s husband to step aside with him I watched as Donna’s mom hung her head in her hand, and we didn’t speak, I just reached out and laid my hand on Donna’s mom’s arm. I just wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone at that moment. Then, Donna’s husband came back towards us; again, no words, just the look in his eye told us all we needed to know. I stood up and took him in my arms as his demeanor collapsed; he was broken with the news that Donna’s cancer had spread into her lymph nodes; this wasn’t good. 

Donna’s recipe for recovery came with rounds of chemotherapy. I was there for her; I was the person that accompanied her and her family on that first day, listened as the oncologist told all of us what was going to happen next. Donna made the decision that I was going to be the person that took her to her first chemo treatment. Donna never wanted to disrupt her family in any way; she was strong, she could get through this, she just needed me there to share this first experience together. We played cards as the chemo drug slowly entered her system through the IV tube. I was shaking inside but I had to be strong for Donna. As we always did, we found things to laugh about together, shared funny stories with the nurses that came by to see how Donna was doing. I remember that I thought I was pulling off being okay with everything; I wanted so badly to be strong for Donna, but when we arrived at the Tom Baker Centre that first day of chemo, as I went to park my car in the parkade, after pulling the ticket from the machine that raised the bar to get into the parkade, I didn’t realize that I was actually trying to get under the bar before the other person ahead of us had finished driving through, it wasn’t my time to go yet, but I did. What happened was that the bar came down on top of my vehicle, and now we were stuck. It made us laugh actually, but it also came as a stork reminder of just how nervous and unfocused I was. I had never done anything like this before. We had to wait until a parkade attendant could come and rescue my vehicle. Luckily there was no damage to my vehicle or the bar, just my pride. Donna knew why it had happened, but we just laughed about it as if it was just one more adventure we were sharing together.

Over time, Donna’s many friends and family took turns being with Donna for her chemo treatments. It was a hard time for all of us that knew and loved Donna. But we were also sure that she would get through this, just as she had used her determination and unwavering enthusiasm for life, to get her through anything that came her way. Donna joined a Breast Cancer Survivor group, which meant that I wasn’t as close to Donna as I had once been. It wasn’t that these people took over, it was that these people could directly relate to what Donna was going through. We still met up and shared good times together, but it was never really the same.

Donna was seeing the Oncologist regularly as she moved through her cancer treatments, but one day after a doctor’s appointment, Donna called me and asked me to meet up with her for lunch. I knew something wasn’t right but I also knew that I had to let Donna do things her way.

We met for lunch at Chinook Centre mall in the food court upstairs. We had lunch together, and although Donna had a shopping bag with her, I didn’t think anything about it. When you meet someone at a busy mall, they often come early and get some shopping done before they meet with you. We shared some laughs as we ate our lunch but I could sense that something was hanging over us. I respected Donna enough to not invade her thoughts before she was ready to share them with me. The lunch ended and we were going our separate ways; we had parked at different levels at the mall, I was headed down the escalator, Donna was staying on the upper level. We gave one another a hug, and it felt different, it was an extra tight hug, and then Donna was handing me the shopping bag she had brought with her, and she said goodbye and turned away. I started to walk away from her and got onto the nearby escalator. That is when I looked down into the bag she had handed me. Inside the bag was a card in an envelope, and under that there was a box of kleenex; I knew….. the news was bad. Only Donna would have thought to include a box of kleenex, she knew I was going to be devastated after reading the card. I remember I quickly looked back up to the upper level, even while I was still on the escalator, stumbling to keep my balance; Donna was standing by the rail looking down at me, she was crying, I could see her tears. I was gutted, it felt like I was all alone in the busy mall as I slowly made my way to my car. I knew I had to read the card, I knew that Donna was leaving us, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

The cancer had metastasized into the bone, it was no longer just in Donna’s lymph nodes, this was the end. The card explained that to me and I know why Donna gave me the bag as she walked away from me; she knew that we would have both collapsed, right there in that busy mall, and yet, even in that moment, Donna wasn’t thinking about herself and the terrible news she had been handed because underneath the card, and the box of kleenex, Donna had put a box of my favorite chocolates; her way of saying so much without saying a word; things were going to go on, I was going to dry my tears, and I was going to continue to enjoy my chocolates. Three small items in a bag, and yet so symbolic in their simplicity. Donna was a rare friend.

Watching Donna’s health deteriorate from that day on was very painful to watch. As was the falling apart of her family’s dynamics. Donna was the glue that held everyone together, none of us knew just how they were going to move forward. Her two sons were adults by this time, one of them married with kids of their own, but even so, Donna was the link that kept everyone together. Donna’s mother moved into the house with Donna and her husband, so she could be there for Donna.

My daughter’s high school graduation happened during Donna’s health deterioration, although we all wanted her to be there for the graduation ceremony, none of us knew if she would be able to make it. But she did! I don’t know how she dragged herself there, smiling as always, but she did. My daughter presented her with a rose as part of the ceremony, I received one as well. I know that that single act meant the world to Donna. I am so happy that she was able to share that experience with her Goddaughter. 

As Donna’s health continued to decline, there came a time when Donna was moved into a hospice. Somehow her family and I fell into a daily routine; I would go and pick up Donna’s mom and we would drive together to the hospice. As soon as we arrived, Donna’s husband, who had spent the night at Donna’s side, would leave to go home for a shower and maybe a bit of sleep. In the later afternoon, Donna’s oldest son would arrive after working, and that is when I would leave, Donna’s mom staying behind with her grandson. When Donna’s husband would return, then he would stay while everyone else left. And so we did this for several days. Donna had been put into an induced coma because she was in so much pain from the many fractures that came about as the cancer spread through her bones. Every day when I left, I would go to Donna’s side and take her hand, whispering to her that I was leaving but other family members were there with her; we never left her alone in the room. None of us really spoke while we were there, we were all coming to terms with what life would be like without Donna in it.

One day when I left, for whatever reason, I went directly home and sat at the computer. I decided I would write a eulogy for Donna. When I went in the next day, when Donna’s husband came in after being at home, I was getting ready to leave when I quietly told Donna’s husband that I had written a eulogy for Donna. I told him that I didn’t know if he wanted me to do that or not but that if he wanted it ever, that I would be proud to read it for Donna. 

That day when I left, I went to Donna, as I always did, and bent down to whisper into her ear. But this time, I knew that I was never going to be able to speak with Donna again. I took her hand in mine, and through my silent tears, I told Donna that it was okay if she wanted to go now. I told her that her family was ready and we had all done everything that there was to do to make things easier for her to let go. I know this sounds crazy, but I swear that Donna smiled at me that day; just a small smile, but what I know for certain is that she squeezed my hand. She was saying her final goodbye, and she was thanking me for everything that I had done to make her passing easier for everyone to handle. It was the last time I saw Donna; she died the following day.

Later that next day I received a call from Donna’s daughter-in-law. She told me that Donna’s husband wanted to speak with me, and she handed the phone to him. All he said to me was that if I was still willing, he would like me to do the eulogy at Donna’s funeral. I stayed strong during the phone call, and I told him I would be honoured. I got off the phone and fell apart.

I am sure that I saved a copy of the eulogy but that was many computers ago, and before the time when we had cloud storage for documents. I must have a hard copy in one of the many boxes that we have accumulated over the many moves and years, but I haven’t found it in time to share here.

The funeral was at Rafter Six Ranch. Donna wanted so badly to remain a part of those beautiful memories we had shared over the many years of riding together. Rafter Six Ranch had built a chapel a few years before Donna died, and it was in this new building that we held her service. I sat with her mom off to the side at the front. This area was for family only, and I was considered one of the family. I was so worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together while I read out the words that I had written those several weeks before, but I managed to get through them. When I returned to my seat, Donna’s mom took my hand and smiled at me. She never let go of my hand after that, until the service was over.

As everyone slowly started to leave the chapel, family and myself leading the way out, I saw that the owner of Rafter Six Ranch had brought the horse that Donna always rode, up to the steps of the chapel. She was leading the horse, which was fully saddled, and had Donna’s cowboy hat placed on the saddle. As we watched, she slowly started to remove the hat and the tack from the horse. I could feel the hair on my body start to raise up as I came to the realization of what the owner was going to do. Once the horse was completed unsaddled is when you could start to feel something in the ground; it was a low rumble, then it was followed by a thundering sound…………….they were going to jiggle the horse right in front of the chapel. 

This was one of the most spiritual moments in my life, I knew that Donna was right there with us, watching with awe as the herd of horses came around the corner and up the hill towards the chapel. The wranglers leading the herd brought them all directly in front of the steps of the chapel, and the owner let Donna’s horse go…   That is when I yelled at the top of my lungs, “YOU GO DONNA, YOU RIDE INTO THE WIND!”, even as the tears were streaming down my face, uncontrolled; even as Donna’s spirit left to run with the horses.

There wasn’t a dry eye to be had by anyone that witnessed that extraordinary moment that day. The raw emotion that was present, coupled with the pounding vibration caused by a herd of galloping horses, was one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed and probably ever will. What a fitting way to say a final goodbye to someone so special and so very unique.

Donna may you ride ever onward, even as you left your mark on all of us that were privileged to know you. You got to jiggle the horses again my dear friend, only this time, you will live on forever, amongst the beautiful that surrounds the ranch, and embeds itself in the majestic continuance of a herd of horses, running free. 

Once the mountains came into sight, which was shortly after leaving the city, I remember that my friend, Donna and I would always unconsciously sigh out loud.  This became a joke between us because we always did it unconsciously, and we always wound up doing it at the exact same time! It was as though all the worries that had consumed us throughout the week would simply leave us when we encountered the visual effect of the Rocky Mountains.  Imagine holding your breath and then having an involuntary, extended exhale, which is what this sigh was like. We knew that no matter what the next several hours held for us, that sigh had cleared our minds of all those things that seem to hold us prisoners. 

Maybe it is the sheer magnitude of the mountains that puts everything into perspective.  No matter how big a problem might seem, the mountains have endured generations of people that have gazed in wonderment at their craggy faces.  The longevity that surrounds the mountains has always put me at peace.

But then arriving at the ranch was the next stage of that relaxation we so eagerly sought every week.  You had to exit the major highway and circle around a cloverleaf, which seemed to be taking you into the depth of the mountains.  After one and half hours of highway driving, the peace of the road that led to the entrance of the ranch property was like a beacon.  We were at peace and ready to head back into nature for the few hours that we were there. 

The large log building that was the lodge was another testament to time.  It looked as though it had always been there, waiting to engulf its visitors in warmth and serenity.  The horse corrals were off to one side as you drive up the roadway towards the lodge. It was always exciting to look for our specific horses as though we wanted to let them know that we had arrived!  We would always head to the corrals before entering the lodge. Our horse friends needed that special hello before we prepared for our ride.

It is in this atmosphere that we had first met Bob.  I remember he was in his jean jacket with his rumpled cowboy hat.  He always had that faraway look on his face. As though he was longing to be someplace over the next mountain.  I always thought that it was a very sad look, as though he housed within himself some personal sorrow that was too deep to ever share.

But I am getting ahead of myself.  I wanted to start with the first time I had seen the ranch.

I had been selling gemstones to jewelry stores for almost a year.  I had taken it upon myself to head to Banff to see if perhaps I could find some new clients.  The day had been interesting, I met some new jewelry store owners but nothing of any importance had happened.  I was driving back towards Calgary when I noticed a sign that read, RAFTER SIX RANCH with an arrow showing the direction of the exit.  I will never know what caused me to take that exit that day. I just did it on a whim.

The impact of seeing the lodge emerge from within the folds of the mountains around it is quite something to see.  It looked beautiful to me and somehow, I knew that this place was going to impact my life in a very special way.

I drove up to the lodge and decided that I would go inside and have a look around.  They weren’t officially open I later discovered, but they had the coffee pot on and were more than willing to serve up a cup.  I sat next to one of the big windows in the dining room, with my eyes glued to the magnificence surrounding me. The mountains seemed to hold the ranch safe and secure, as though nothing could invade the peace within its walls.  I asked a lot of questions because I had decided that this would be a wonderful place to plan something that I had been going over in my mind for some time. 

I had always wanted to organize a weekend getaway for a bunch of friends.  This idea came to me when I knew that my marriage partner was not going to be the person that I could plan fun trips with.  How exciting it would be to bring a bunch of ladies together, to kick back and enjoy ourselves without the burden of husbands or children.  I quickly learned that the ranch was geared for this kind of holiday! I left knowing that I was going to be back for my Ladies Getaway Weekend!

It wasn’t hard to convince a group of my friends that a weekend away from our family obligations would do everyone good.  The ranch accommodated us totally, letting me pick the activities that would see us through our three days of freedom! It was very exciting!  We would horseback ride through the day and relax in the hot tub or lounge in the evenings. No worries, no obligations, just friends, horses, the outdoors and 3 days of laughter and new memories.

Organizing this event was right up my alley!  I suddenly forgot all the worries I had about my failing marriage and immersed myself in planning our three days!  I think that I got 8 ladies to join me on that first Ladies Getaway Weekend. We had all decided to drive up in two cars, mine being one of them.  It was all arranged that our families would meet us at the ranch on the Sunday for brunch, at the end of our special weekend. We didn’t want to totally exclude them from this haven we had discovered.

The van was filled with laughter and excited anticipation as we made the trip to Rafter Six Ranch on that Friday night.  I wanted everyone to enjoy that visual impact that the ranch had on people when they had that first view of it, so I was driving the first vehicle. 

I had no idea that the ranch loved to surprise its guests by staging a hold-up once you came around the last corner just when the lodge came into sight.  I was surprised to find the roadway blocked by cowboys with masks on their faces and rifles in their hands mounted on horseback! This was NOT one of the things I had planned!  One of the cowboys rode up to my driver’s window and asked where Linda Williamson was. Of course, I answered without hesitation that I was her. Another of the cowboys had, in the meantime gotten off his horse and was opening the van door on the driver’s side.  We were all a little in shock at this point! I was told to get out of the van. When you are facing horses with seemingly hostile riders you don’t ask questions. I was being kidnapped it seemed!

It was Bob that was leading the “raid” and behind him I now noticed was a horse he was leading.  This was to be the victim’s mode of transportation. I tried in vain to express my misgivings about being taken away by horseback when I wanted to be in the van with my friends. 

So, as someone else from my group drove my van towards the lodge, there I was on the back of a horse being led, who-knows-where, on a horse that seemed way too wide!  (I had forgotten how hard horseback riding is on your legs when you haven’t ridden in years!) 

I was taken to the lodge but in a roundabout way.  By the time I arrived at the lodge, everyone was already finding their way to their rooms.  I was shaking from my unexpected ride with the “outlaws”. It really was a fitting way to start the weekend.  I had never seen this one coming!

That is how the whole idea of going to the ranch for a day-ride started out for me.  Donna, one of my friends on the Ladies Getaway Weekend, had been as totally taken with the place as I had been the first time I saw it.  She and I became partners that would look forward all week to our escape at the ranch for that day of riding. Amanda, the eldest of my two children was only 7 years old at the time, but she couldn’t stand not being with me when I wanted to head out for my ride. 

I made the decision that she could join us for our weekly horseback adventures.  Donna was Amanda’s Godmother, and I knew that she wouldn’t mind having Amanda along.  Amanda wasn’t one of those noisy, squawking children that vowed for attention. She was shy, quiet and attached to me completely.  Staying behind was never a good option when it came to Amanda’s point of view.  

This is how the three of us spent every weekend from April until October, when the ranch shut down for the winter months. We were so into Rafter Six Ranch; the horses, the beauty of the mountains, our endlessly pleasurable trail rides, the comradery of riding together, that we actually asked owners of Rafter Six Ranch, if we could know where the horses were wintered every year. We wanted to go and visit with them during that time when winter makes you almost forget about the beauty of Spring and Summer. So, we would pack up for a day drive, there and back, to go and visit the horses. There were about 30 horses in winter pasture; Rafter Six Ranch had phoned ahead to the farmer who’s field the horses were in, so that he would know what we were doing there in the middle of winter.

If you have never walked in an open field, with 30 horses, enduring the long winter months of quiet grazing, then you might not know how this experience went for us. It was the three of us, as always, Donna, Amanda and I. We had stopped and picked up some horse cookies to hand out to the horses and maybe that was our mistake. As we climbed the fence into the pasture, all the horses were watching us. We started calling out their names (we came to know all the horses by name), many of them started running towards us. The thing you must know about horses is that they won’t purposely collide with people, especially people that they know, and that have horse cookies with them. But when 30 horses decide to start running directly for you, it is hard to stand there and just enjoy the moment. Thoughts about our safety did cross our minds, but our friends weren’t there to plow us over, they were happy to see us. We handed out horse cookies to all of them, and enjoyed the noise and smell that always comes when you are around horses. It turned into an annual event after that, we would go and visit our friends, at least once during the winter months.

When the three of us first started riding at Rafter Six Ranch, we were paying for rides by the hour, but as we got to know all of the many beautiful trails that surrounded the ranch, we actually started helping the ranch staff take people on rides. Soon that became just the three of us, no additional staff needed, and we would lead and return a string of riders that had come for a day of adventure. The trails we took depended on how much the riders had paid; there were hour rides, three-hours rides, all day rides, and rides to a meal-in-the-woods. We followed the directions we were given by the Ranch, and they were confident that we would make sure the guests had a great ride.

Because of this new setup, the Ranch made us an offer; we paid an annual, flat rate of $150 each, and we could ride limitless times throughout the season. This was an offer to-good-to pass up, so we paid the price every year. Sometimes we didn’t have guests to take out, on those days, we often had staff that worked and housed at the ranch, accompanying us on their days off. We even had the owners of the ranch ride with us occasionally, or one or more of their children.

This horse rides into the beautiful wilderness of Kananaskis were some of the best times in my life, and I know that both Donna and Amanda felt the same way. Sometimes we would ride for hours and no one would say a word. We just enjoyed the creaking of the leather saddles, the sound of the horses stepping on the forest floor, and the quiet of the wilderness that surrounded us. I called these quiet times, ‘amiable silence’; simply enjoying everything around you without having to say a word to anyone. 

This is when I recognized that spirituality comes in many forms; being out in the woods, on the back of a magnificent animal, trusting in nature to hold you safely in its embrace; that became a spiritual experience for me. Sometimes we would ride to the top of a mountain, just to enjoy the view; idyllic solitude with friends, brought me closer to feeling a higher power than I had ever felt.

At the end of any of these rides, we would always go back to the ranch, unsaddle our horses, and turn their care over to the ranch wranglers. Then the three of us would walk into the lodge to enjoy a meal before we made our way back to the city once again.

As you sat in the lodge and looked out to the road at the front of Rafter Six Ranch, Mount Yamnuska stood majestically in the background. With a beautiful blue sky grazing the peaks of the mountain, I am not sure that there was a better place to be at that moment. The reality of having to leave this wondrous place and head back into the city once again, sometimes weighted heavily on all of us. It was like we wanted time to stop for a while, and allow us to simply, BE. 

Other times there were events happening at the ranch, and the dining room would be packed with people; laughing, eating, enjoying the beauty around them.

The annual Ladies Getaway became a thing; Donna and I would plan the event and figure out who to invite. This was never a great time for Amanda because although I knew that she would be fine coming along for this weekend, it didn’t seem fair that I was able to share with my daughter, when the other moms were not. And so, it was and remained, an adult event.

Rafter Six Ranch was just west of the Stoney Indian Reserve. We often met and visited with people from the Reserve as they enjoyed a meal at the lodge along with other guests and visitors, or were engaged with a Reserve Event that was being held at Rafter Six Ranch. I remember one time we had planned a Ladies Getaway Weekend, and Rafter Six Ranch owners let us know that there was a medicine lodge that had been temporarily constructed for the brief period when it was being used by the Stoney people. Their Medicine Woman would sleep in a small handmade shelter, using only the materials around the site, until she knew that the site was right for the construction of the temporary medicine lodge. The medicine lodge was then used by the Stoney for ceremonies that involved music, drums, chanting, prayer, and healing. We were told to treat the area surrounding the medicine lodge with respect, and to remain as quiet as possible as we moved our horses around the area. 

On this particular day, I was at the lead of the string of ladies that had joined us for our weekend away. The medicine lodge had been built to the one side of a large clearing that bordered all around the lodge. We rode the horses through the trees behind the medicine lodge, and as we passed nearer, still with the forest between us and the lodge, we could hear the drumming as the ceremonial event was underway. 

We rode as far away from the lodge as we could as we made our way around the forest trail that would lead to the large clearing, well away from the medicine lodge. All of the ladies knew that we were to remain silent as we made our way past. 

Riding at the front that day, I was the first person to come out of the forest, into the clearing. You could hear the medicine lodge ceremonial event in progress; the drums were beating and there was a hum of chatting. The lodge itself was some ways off to the left of us, as we came out of the woods. 

I will never forget what happened to me and my horse next; just as we cleared the forest trail, there was this silent whoosh of energy that came rolling across the clearing, from the direction of the medicine lodge. That energy swept over me and my horse like a wave. I know that my horse felt it too because I felt the slight movement my horse made away from the direction that the energy was coming. My horse wasn’t fearful, nor was I, but there was no mistaking that flow of energy that hit us both.

There was nothing frightening about this experience, it was just a feeling that rushed towards us, across the clearing, and enveloped both my horse and I, in a way that I have never felt before; there was no anguish, or tension attached to this energy flow, it was just there, barreling towards us and surrounding us with an amazing sense of calm and well-being. I remember within seconds of this sensation, I quickly turned to see the expression of the person riding directly behind me. I could tell right away that she had felt something too, but had it been the rush of emotion that bombarded me as we cleared the trees? She looked up at me as I turned in the saddle, and I asked her if she had felt something just then. She just looked at me and nodded her head, yes, she too had felt some amazing sensation, although for her, it hadn’t reached into the depth of her soul. 

No one else in the string felt that blast of energy, although everyone said that they felt such an amazing sense of calm and awareness. What amazing power radiated from the people in the medicine lodge, I will never know for sure. But I do know that I felt incredibly blessed to have been able to experience something so hauntingly sacred, and overwhelmingly spiritual. I felt a sense of peace and gratitude for a long time after this event occurred.

When we returned to the lodge after our horse ride that day, I went to the owner of the ranch to share my experience with her. I knew that she would understand what I was finding difficult to put into words. She came to me later in the afternoon and told me that the Medicine Woman wanted to meet me. I remember all of this feeling surreal, and yet it filled me with such a sense of peace; this woman was going to know exactly what I was having trouble expressing; a feeling of spirituality that washed over me like a cleansing tonic.

We met in the dining room; she was a tiny woman that had an aura of strength and goodness that seemed to radiate from her very soul. I stood up as she came quietly forward, and she took my hand in both of hers. She was looking so deep into my eyes as she simply told me, in such a quiet, meaningful way, that I was meant to feel that energy at the very moment that it came to me. She told me that I was a very deep soul and that the spirits had chosen me to be the recipient of the cleansing flow that had washed over me. As she spoke to me the tears simply rolled from my eyes. I knew, at that moment, that I was closer to feeling spiritual, than I had ever felt in my life before. I remember thanking her for coming to me to acknowledge the goodness that I somehow knew, had washed over me that day. Then she simply turned away from me, and I never saw her again. 

Several weeks after this weekend of wonderment, I asked one of my dear friends, someone who was going through marriage issues along with me, if she would come with me to the ranch for the morning. I knew that after the ceremonies were over within the medicine lodge, that the Stoney people left the lodge to allow it to return to the earth, as the material used to construct the lodge, found their way once again, through the wind and weather, back into the forest and open area that surrounded it. I also knew that there was incredible power left within the falling walls and roof branches.

I asked permission from the ranch’s owner, to make sure it was okay for my friend and I to enter the sacred lodge, who’s ceremonial purpose had been met, and was now abandoned. We planned to walk to the lodge rather than ride, and the owner said that as long as we were respectful as we entered and left the lodge, we were fine to go to it.

We chatted lightly as we made our way towards the clearing in the forest. There were no other people around, and no distractions to take away from our visit to the lodge. As the lodge came into sight, we could see how the branches that once acted as the roof, were slowly breaking away and returning to blanket the ground around it. There were also small pieces of material tied to the roof branches that silently flowed with the movement of the air. Before either of us stepped over the threshold into the lodge, we both committed to the reverence that we were prepared to show the lodge. 

We never spoke once we entered the lodge, even with the openness of the roof above us, there was so much power all around us. We each sat quietly wherever we decided to sit, and then we both went inside our own thoughts, allowing the beautiful energy of the medicine lodge to carry the weight of the individual burdens we both carried in our minds.

I don’t know how long we sat in this trance-like state of mind, but we seemed to both know when it was time to leave the folds of the lodge around us. We never spoke. As we started to get up there was a sense of leaving behind a wonderfully warm blanket that had wrapped us in protective comfort. We never spoke until we were almost back to the ranch lodge again, and when we did speak, both of us were tearing up. And yet we both felt at peace somehow. We never talked about what had happened, we just silently acknowledged the presence of peace and solace that the medicine lodge had provided to both of us on that day.

A conversation with my grandson sparked an interesting discussion on passion, and how that can help make a decision about someone’s future. I feel that passion can even influence how we deal with day-to-day life.

Consider this quote from the internet:

Knowing your passion in life gives you something to build the rest of your life around. Your passion can be anything that simultaneously challenges you, intrigues you and motivates you. Contrary to the idea that doing what you love makes work effortless, a passion puts you to work.

We all know that kind of person that walks through life, lamenting all that has befallen them (every time you interact with them), or explaining how external factors have ruined their lives (so, not their fault). Why do these people make the conscious decision to be negative; to wallow in misery; to never own their miserable state? I can’t imagine that people actually enjoy feeling miserable, so why do they stay stuck in this negative environment, constantly voicing their negative feelings so vehemently. Do these kinds of people lack passion?

This is no doubt a question that many people have tried to answer. I have thought about this a lot over the years, as I have watched people handle various things that come across their paths; how do they handle situations; what do they take away with them; how they respond to negative circumstances. It seems to come down to how someone is wired, what tools they have to cope with different circumstances and scenarios.

This reminds me of something I always loved to share with my students over the years: The human heart has a finite number of times that it will beat in our lifetime.  According to the internet, if you live to be 80 years old, your heart would have beaten approximately 3,363,840,000 times! That’s a lot of heartbeats, and I believe we can decide how we want to spend those heartbeats.

Consider this; you are driving on a highway and someone cuts you off. Right at that moment your heart starts to beat faster because you had to react to someone driving into your space. However, the next several heartbeats are under your control; you can decide to start raging at the person that cut you off, or you can make the decision to let it go. What good are heartbeats wasted on a complete stranger, when you could save those precious heartbeats for the important people in your life. Remember, you have control of that decision, so you regulate where your heartbeats are being used, you don’t have an endless supply.

This has helped me so many times in my life, and maybe this small premise plays a part in our passion for life. If you acknowledge that the heart has a finite number of beats, can you not decide to make a more conscious effort of deciding where you want to use those heartbeats? I would think that it takes more heartbeats to remember everything that you are miserable about, and to constantly voicing that misery, then it does to remember all the things you are thankful for, and sharing a smile with everyone you meet. This makes passion a controllable emotion; you can decide when you what to feel passionate about, or when you want to simply let something go and move on. 

At 14 years old, I am not sure that my grandson has all of the tools he needs to help him find his passion in life. I am sure that some people become passionate about something at a very young age; some, not until later in life, but either way, passion has to play a big part in our lives. 

So then I wonder, can someone be passionate about being miserable? Surely not; who would want to go through their life feeling that way. But for those people that we have come across, that seem to find the negative side of everything in their life, why can’t we help them turn that around. The way we can do that, in my opinion, is through example.

Have you ever noticed that if someone smiles at you for no reason, it is pretty hard not to smile back (unless you are a real grinch and think that they are smiling for a negative reason). A smile, something so simple, and so easy to execute; the bare minimum amount of muscles needed to smile at 10. These people I am talking about, that always seem negative, or miserable about life; what would happen to them if they simply said nothing, and just smiled as they meet people in their day; less heartbeats needed for sure, and couldn’t this help in some small way to make them feel better? When you smile at another person, it is rare for them not to smile back, so then you count that as a positive response to your minimal muscle movement. That seems like a win-win to me.  (-:

Let’s talk about betrayal, we have probably ALL experienced some level of betrayal in our lives. People with a terminal illness, or an incurable disease might feel that their bodies have betrayed them in some way, people that have had what they thought were friends, turn on them, that is a sense of betrayal. How do we move on from something like this, without becoming one of those miserable people that blame the world for their miserable state of mind. 

We do it by using conscious thought in a positive direction. Peoples’ actions and words can only hurt us if we allow them to hurt us; we have the choice to walk away, not spend any more heartbeats on those people, or that situation. That is in OUR control. We can acknowledge what we conceive as betrayal, or pain, or injustice, but we don’t have to stay in that mindset. We alone have the ability to move past those things in our lives that we want gone, no one else can really help us through these strong feelings. 

But 10 small muscles used to smile, a determination to not waste any more heartbeats on something, those are conscious decisions that we can make, and through those decisions, our passion for enjoyment, happiness, acceptance, friendship, love, all of those wonderful things that we all look for, can be obtained.

At the end of all of my 8-month classes, on the final exam, I always wrote this for the last question:

What is the one thing that you learned during this program that you will never forget?

There was no right or wrong answer to this question, and I gave a mark to everyone regardless of what they wrote, but some of the most rewarding answers I ever received was simply these:

I learned that I have a finite number of heartbeats, and that I am the one that decides where to spend those heartbeats. 

Watch my heartbeats!

Decide who gets my heartbeats.

I know that every time I read those kinds of answers to my question, I teared up a bit. But I also realized that I was witnessing someone that would move through their life with a conscious decision to allow their passion for life to rule their path forward, and to always remember that we have a choice in life, and that choice can bring a smile not only to our faces, but with minimal effort, to everyone around us.

The uniqueness of someone’s story can only be measured through the eyes of experience. Age defines who we are measured against the backdrop of our experiences in life, and the lives of those closest to us. As we grow older and share experiences with more and more people outside our inner circle, we discover things that shape us, define us, and determine the kind of person we will ultimately become.

What happens when the experiences we have from the outer edges of our memory are so tangled in confusion and pain that our mind decides to bar those memories from surfacing? Can we ever truly discover who we are or who we were meant to be? Facing painful memories can be both liberating and terrifying.

My memories are fleeting and entirely random; arriving with clarity or as flashes of vagueness; rarely are these memories happy, at times feeling distant and unsettling. These lay the groundwork of who I am today, and what I have learned from these memories has made me the person I am.

My desire to anticipate things was the only way I was able to survive.  If I could analyze things and make a move before they happened, I could quite possibly get through another day.  Much like seeing everyone’s hand at a game of rummy; you would know not to collect clubs if your opponent’s hand was full of clubs.  Not that I like to cheat at cards, but the analogy came to me and made me think of playing cards. I suppose that this is also where my desire to organize things stemmed from.  I could create harmony and order in my own little world even if things around me had gone completely out of control. And having said that, I also suppose that this is where my desire to have everything clean came from also.  If things were clean, organized and in harmony my life would be the same. Or so I always hoped.

If I close my eyes, I can recall that day as though it were only yesterday.  The feeling of overwhelming helplessness, the like of which I had not felt before.  It shouldn’t have been a new feeling after all of the sessions through the years, but somehow, I could tell that this one was different.

It was a fall Vancouver day, gray skies and always the hint of rain in the air.  The park that I stumbled to was deserted of course. All the children were on their way to morning classes.  This park had been my typical route on my way to school. I would chatter with my friends as we walked to our high school.   This morning, the park had become my refuge.

I had no idea what I was going to do, but I realized for the first time in my life, that I was not going to be able to go back.  This is how Carol found me; sitting on the swing, tears streaming down my face. 

Carol was my age, 15 and lived with her parents in the last house that bordered the popular park.  She didn’t make a habit of leaving late for school, but today she rushed out hoping to make up the extra minutes by running part way to school.  Instead she ran right into the middle of a family’s terrible secret.

I had never thought of our family as any different to the many families living around us in the government assisted housing project.  My mother was a single parent although at that time the term ‘single-parent’ wasn’t used. Our family unit would have been described as, a divorced woman with two teenage children.  It would have been expected that someone in my mother’s position would have to rely on government-assisted programs, so we weren’t looked down upon. Ours was the plight of many families sharing the large housing complex, known as “the projects”.  The name made the distinction easier for everyone. Row after row of shoebox-shaped buildings painted a dreary off-white, each unit housing people who are living proof of the tragedies that befall ordinary people. 

I don’t recall the actual conversation that took place when Carol came upon me.  I just remember her taking me into the house and presenting me to her mother. That would have been all that she would have known to do because children aren’t expected to have answers to complex questions; this is why we have parents.  The fact that I had only one parent had no real impact on me. I knew that my father lived in California somewhere but he had never made any effort to contact us.

The Vietnam War had caused our family composition to change.  My father was in the United States Navy and was stationed at (the later to become famous through Tom Cruise’s movie TOPGUN), Miramar Navy Base.  When my father had gotten the word that he was to join the US troops in Vietnam, my mother had decided that it would be easier for her to handle my father’s absence, by moving herself and my brother and I to Vancouver, British Columbia.  That was where my mother’s family lived and somehow my mother felt that she needed their closeness to get her through this stressful time.

That was many years ago now, but the madness really began in earnest after we had made the move to Vancouver, not that I would have recognized it as madness, nor that perhaps I had just started to realize it was madness. Children don’t have the tools to deal with parental mental illness.

The ignorance of childhood no doubt shielded me from any realization that my mother was different.  I assumed that all children had parents that went into “moods”. The fact that these moods had become more extreme never really hit home with me, until that morning in the park.

Now I had to explain to another parent, why Carol had found me sitting despondent on the swing in the park, when I should have been making my way to school. If all children faced these moods that their parents went through, surely it was only a matter of time before other children would populate the swing in lonesome despair; the mind of a child ill-equipped.

But somehow, when I had been thrown out of the house that morning, I knew within myself that these moods that my mother experienced weren’t normal. But I was only a child and parents had the absolute final word.  How could I begin to explain this to a stranger? Would Carol’s mother not simply take the position that I had been a misbehaved child that had been reprimanded? Would she believe the confusion that I was faced with wondering what I had done to deserve my Mother’s wrath?

The drive to the Social Assistance office isn’t clear in my memory.  This is where Carol’s mother decided that I needed to go after I had started blurting out my story.  I remember sitting in the car with Carol saying nothing but feeling that my mother’s wrath would only increase once she found out what I had done.  No one was going to believe my story once they talked to my mother. She would tell them what an awful child I was and then I would be back in her bedroom sitting on a box, with my back against the cold wall.

The night was cool with that glow of rain that reflects off forming pools of standing water.  Everything that the rain touches becomes illuminated in a way that feels almost surreal. These are the thoughts that went through my mind after I had dashed downstairs to lock my Mother out of our house.  It had been another one of those nights when I had been denied the freedom to sleep. Mother was in one of her moods and I was once again forced to sit upright on a cardboard box instead of languishing in my bed, dreaming of all the wonderful things that teen’s dream of.  Mother was reclined in her bed, staying habitually to the one edge of the bed, as though she always hoped? that someone would suddenly come home to occupy that space. Do we all do that at some point in our lives when we find ourselves single for whatever reason; leave the other side of the bed vacant complete with its own pillow and blanket share?  These are probably some of the things that were going through my head as she made me sit there atop that cardboard box. The only other thing that always entered my mind at moments like these was to ask, why? What could I have possibly done that would warrant this form of abuse?  

Of course at the time, abuse of this kind was not recognized or categorized in any way.  I would sit for hours trying to figure out what I could do to avoid this punishment in the future.  But when you have no idea what it is that caused the behaviour in the first place, how could you strive to avoid repeating the behaviour.  I do remember putting my head back against the wall for support occasionally and closing my eyes but always I was jerked back to reality by my Mother’s raspy voice, “LINDA, don’t you dare fall asleep!”  And so the wait would continue. 

I knew that eventually my Mother would get past the anger she had at the time and would order me to get out of her sight.  This was the sentence I waited for so that I could dash across the short hallway to the refuse of my bedroom. I could close my eyes finally secure that the rage would not return again that evening.  But this time, it was different. 

My Mother seemed enraged this particular evening and instead of ordering me out of her sight she jumped out of bed and screamed that she was leaving me and would never be back again.  Could this be real? Could I follow her down the stairway, through the living room, dining room and kitchen and take the last three steps to the back door and LOCK it behind her? This seemed such an easy solution and she had moved to this action herself, which meant I couldn’t be blamed for it.  Really? I didn’t follow her immediately instead I dashed from my box perch in my Mother’s room into the sanctity of my bedroom. Because the bedrooms were on the second floor I could actually peer down at my Mother as she abandoned me, watching as the black umbrella she carried took on the glistening effect that the raindrops were causing to everything in their downward path.

I remember smiling to myself as I watched her walk away from the house, thinking that I was finally rid of this woman that caused me so much anguish.  It was at that moment that I realized that if I did dash down the stairs and secured the back door with the deadbolt, my Mother would never be able to come back inside again.  I would be free of the tormentor that she had become! I ran like the wind through the cold house! There, the deadbolt was secure! No one could now come into the house without my permission.  I could open or close the door to the outside only when I wanted to. I ran back upstairs to my room and joyously leapt onto my bed. I was free of her and it felt liberating. But as I lay there, I started thinking to myself, where would she go?  Was there something that I could be charged with by locking the door against her? Maybe this wasn’t the end of my torment, but something that would escalate into something even more horrific! What had I done? I decided to look at the window again to see if perhaps my Mother was walking back towards the house and would soon be at the door that was now locked against her key.  Did she even have a key with her? Did she think of taking a key with her when she had threatened that she would never return? Now I was scared! 

But as I searched the glistening night scene from my bedroom window suddenly my Mother was once again in my view.  I was terrified. There was no time to dash down the stairs again this time to unlock the deadbolt and then get back into my room before she got around to the back door and let herself in. 

Time seemed almost to stop for me at that point because I realized with amazement that my Mother was just walking around and around our 4-plex building.  The black umbrella slicing through the rain shielding me from my Mother’s gaze, if in fact she was even looking up to the second floor. I held my breath and waited for her next move.  She walked past the back door but continued to walk the circle around the building on the sidewalk that was made to encircle the 4-plex. She was once again gone from my view. I had to make my move!  Down I went to unlock the door that only moments ago I had viewed as my protection against my Mother’s madness.

I believe she walked around the building several more times before she came back into the house.  I was glad then that I had made the decision to unlock the deadbolt. I didn’t really want my Mother back but I also didn’t want to invoke her wraith either.  It was the logical move. 

I remember pretending that I was asleep as I heard my Mother’s footsteps on the stairs.  I held my breath hoping that the evenings theatrics were finally over. She did in fact simply go into her room and she got back into bed. 

Can you feel bliss in a moment like this?  The fact that I hadn’t evoked her anger again seemed to me to be a good thing.  I had made the right decision.

I will never forget that Monday… I was preparing for another day of teaching at Okanagan College in Salmon Arm, BC; I was home alone because my husband was away on a road trip; the phone rang.

I saw that the phone call was from the nursing home in Alberta, where my mother was living. I had been contacted two weeks earlier by the nursing home to let me know that my mother had been transported to the hospital because of a bladder infection that wasn’t responding to medication. She was doing well, they just wanted to be more aggressive with her treatment. I had spoken with my mother shortly after she was transported to the hospital, the nurse walked the phone right to my mother’s room, so we had a conversation. She was in good spirits and looking forward to recuperating.

The following week, when Mother’s Day arrived, I decided that I would call my mother again, just to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day, and to let her know that we had a surprise in store for her. Of course, the nurses were very busy that day with it being Mother’s Day, so instead of speaking with my mother that day, I just asked them to let her know that I called. I quickly asked how she was doing, and the nurse said that she had had a good breakfast and had complained about the food; a sure sign that she was on the mend. 

So, when that call came in early that next morning as I prepared for work, I was expecting it to be the staff from the nursing home, telling me that my mother was once again back at the nursing home. Instead, what the director of the nursing home told me was that my mother had passed away in her sleep the night before. 

I remember not being able to speak so I believe I simply said that I couldn’t be on the phone and hung up. I know that I dropped to my knees in stunned silence, not sure what my next step should be. Then suddenly, I knew that I had to go to my computer. I felt this overwhelming urge to type out my feelings at that exact moment. The words just tumbled out of my mind, almost faster than I could type… 

Have I earned the right to grieve?  Can I justify grieving for a mother who repeatedly subjected me to a myriad of emotions as she herself struggled with her demons?  Throughout my lifetime I have been subjected to a mother violent at one moment and tearful at another, walking as though suspended from a tightrope not of my own choosing but placed there by a woman who knew no limit to her paranoia, anger and dilutions.  The problem was I never knew which side of my mother was going to be in control at any given time. The change could happen without notice, without provocation; one-minute speaking as a friend and a mother and then at the next moment speaking from the depths of her insanity.  I search desperately for a treasured memory that isn’t marred by confusion, laced with accusations, or overpowered by violence. From this search I am only able to retrieve small glimpses of happy memories; but even those are overshadowed by my desire to leave out the twisted part of those few memories.  Like someone desperately trying to find some kind of justice in a situation that screams of unjust. How can I honour the memory of a woman who scarred my soul so deeply?

Confrontation has never been an option for me.  Asking my mother to justify her behavior towards me would be like asking someone who couldn’t see to describe the colours associated with pain and torment.  Flashes of red and black, powerful white, moving violently across the window in my mind laced with black zigzags exploding behind closed lids; confusion beyond words sparked by impeding violence that knew no restraint. 

Pleading did little to appease the rage that fueled my mother’s outbursts.  A rage hidden in the depth of my mother’s own scarred past, a violence I have no doubt was inflicted by those that should have loved my mother and allowed her a sense of security.

I have this overwhelming urge to talk to the one remaining relative that was present during my mother’s tormented upbringing.  But even this last link to my mother’s past hides behind an anger directed so unjustly towards my mother. There were no allies in my mother’s struggle to obtain sanity in her twisted childhood; she was alone trying to work through the pain of rejection, the terror of violence and the horror of abuse.  The role of a child should never be one of attempting to understand the twisted years of their mother’s life. How do we take the limited experience we ourselves have in the world and make right things that happened before we were even a thought in someone’s desire to have a child? There was no way to rescue my mother from her tormentors or the scars that they left etched deeply on her soul.  It is from this that my Mother attempted to carve out a clearer vision of what the world should be. A vision she couldn’t extract from the deep incisions that piece together her being. Hers is a life so tragic that I know in my heart I must forgive her for all the damage that she inflicted on me while she spent a lifetime searching for love and acceptance. The story will remain ever tragic and my struggle to love my Mother despite it all will always confuse those around me.  Yes, I loved my Mother as the vessel that brought me into the world. In her own way she stood as a champion, my champion no matter the situation and for that reason alone I will love her unending.

The words were done…

I finished getting ready for class and went to work. When I got in front of the students, I told them that I had something to share with them and hoped that they wouldn’t mind. I told them about my mother’s passing, and then asked if they would allow me to read something to them.

After I read the words that had galloped to the surface that morning, I remember that we were all tearing up and suddenly we were in a tight group hug. It was so cathartic; I had been able to sort through my troubled thoughts about my relationship with my mother and I was able to accept the warmth and healing of a group hug. That seemed all that I needed because I was able to stay the entire day and teach my class. There were no more words needed; I was at peace with my feelings.