Everglow

On Friday night I had the good fortune to attend Starry Nights high atop Burnaby Mountain at the stunning Simon Fraser University Campus, shown in my photo above. It was a warm, clear evening at the end of a hectic, emotional week and I have to thank a dear friend for forcing this introvert out of her quiet cocoon called Friday night to witness an evening full of mysterious, unknowable, awesome star-gazing. Staring into the deep blue heaven of stars brought some much-needed peace to my heavy heart in a tough week haunted by tougher memories of this time just one short year ago.

On the anguished Sunday morning when I wrote “The Little White House on Church Street” last year, I had just returned to Coquitlam from my parent’s cozy, welcoming house in Forest Ontario, a place that encircled our family with warm, generous love for years. A place that by week’s end stood silent and empty, all occupants quietly vacated.  My dear Mum to Watford Quality Care, a place that thankfully she has grown to call home, and my dear Dad to St. Joseph’s Hospice in Sarnia where we would lose him just one too-short month later to a brave battle with cancer. My sister Jen and I worried for months about what might happen on the day that Mum moved to Watford after years of living together in their own home. So on the week of Mum and Dad’s 50th Anniversary, I flew home to help Jen and circle our wagons around them. Thankfully Mum eventually thrived. Sorrowfully Dad had spent his strength caring for both of them for too long and could not hang on much longer. That week, watching Dad’s frightfully quick decline, I felt helpless. Frightened. Anguished and utterly heartbroken.  I numbly flew back to work in BC knowing that our lives had abruptly changed and would change again soon. That Sunday morning when I wrote a post I didn’t intend to publish, I typed away through a stream of bitter tears in an attempt to rid myself of the haunting images of the past week. That photo of Dad trying to comfort Mum before Jen drove her away was a stolen moment that seared itself into my very soul. Saying good-bye is too hard! In a year filled with too many good bye’s, that photo weighs heavy even one year later. It brought a stream of tears when I saw it again this past week on the anniversary of our desperately difficult week of letting go.

Today on this one year anniversary I want to say a long overdue thank you for all of the kind comments that followed on that Sunday when I shared “The Little White House on Church Street.” I was just about to drive 9 long, very hot hours across the bottom of British Columbia for a week on the road for work. After an agonized, tear-filled hour of writing about that week back home, I took a long breath and just pressed “Publish” not intending to look back; just ahead to the long and winding road to the Kootenays. Your kind comments of support on that post that difficult Sunday lifted my weary heart and soothed my anguished soul. For that generous gift of comfort across the miles I cannot say thank you enough!

Since then, I have learned that everyone experiences the journey through grief differently. At their own pace and in their own time. And yes, time DOES help. Once back home in BC last summer after Dad’s funeral, I moved from numbing shock to deep sorrow when I began to slowly understand that this vitally important person in my life was truly gone. Dad was my greatest life cheerleader. Unwanted and unchecked tears in private places like the shower (of all places), or on my balcony looking out over the mountains happened less often in the months after Dad’s passing. Gradually memories that are still frequent hurt less. Some bring smiles and even laughter. Lately unexpected, welcome feelings of gratitude have crept up where the scorched earth of loss once lived. We are lucky! We had our dear Dad in our lives much longer than many, and I know in my heart now that we made the most of our time together. This is SO important!

So on Friday night, when I got the gift of looking up to the stars, to the heavens, I could imagine Dad looking down, keeping watch still. I did not feel quite so alone in this vast universe. Good memories shine like tiny, bright stars, bringing light to even the darkest places.

I’m going to leave you today with lyrics from a song that has kept me company in this year of learning how to live through loss. This long yet short year of letting go. It is by Coldplay. It is called, like the stars up in the sky, Everglow.

“Oh they say people come, say people go. This particular diamond was extra special. And though you might be gone, and the world may not know, still I see you, celestial.…

Oh what I wouldn’t give for just a moment to hold, yeah I live for this feeling this everglow. So if you love someone, you should let them know. Oh the light that you left me will everglow.”