Love, Love, Love...

     With my husband away doing chores up at the cabin last weekend, I spent numerous hours sorting through everything in our storage room, deciding what to keep, donate, recycle or toss. Much of the work was fairly easy since we've only lived in this home for 6 1/2 years.  

     A bag containing knitting needles and wool, along with the abandoned notion of ever becoming a decent knitter - donate to a friend. The contents of a binder filled with training information for my volunteer position during the 2010 Olympics - recycle. Cake platter, vases, picture frames, artificial flowers, dishes, and numerous knickknacks - donate to charity. Broken stemware  - toss. My mother's Danish-designed casserole dishes, gravy boat and coffee cups, all in mint condition, along with my Oma's soup tureen - relocate to kitchen for daily use.

     When I reached the bottom shelf, I pulled out the box labelled 'Michael's stuff', along with his black 'The Orchard on Bowen' satchel. I carried both inside the house with the intention of revisiting them later that evening, not wanting to distract myself from the task at hand. However, my curiosity soon won out so I opened up the satchel and began flipping through the handouts and scanning the notes he had made during his time in rehab. After a few minutes, I remembered that I had read all of this shortly after he died. It was difficult to reread and I knew I needed to set it aside for now, otherwise I would get pulled too deeply into the sadness.  

     Returning to the storage room, the next box I tackled was filled with decorative items I had collected over many, many years but no longer displayed or used.  Among other things, I found a genie lamp, miniature red book with each page containing the words I love you in  more than 30 languages, quartz crystals, red glass heart, as well as a green stone one. What a beautiful surprise. I vaguely recognized some of the items but have no recollection where any of them came from. It was as if the universe was taking this moment to show me some tangible representations of love that has been, and continues to be, present in my life. I gifted the genie lamp to my granddaughter, a crystal to my grandson, and placed the remaining  items into the dedicated silver bowl in my den, alongside the many other love tokens already there. 

     The following morning, I took advantage of the beautiful weather and walked along seawall in West Vancouver. Midway along the route, I glanced over at the tiny park tucked in off the  path and stopped in my tracks. Someone had taken the time to rake the fall leaves into the shape of a gorgeous heart.  Love, love, love ...

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Walk With Me

     Easter Sunday's forecast called for sunshine, so my husband and I took the short ferry ride over to Bowen Island for lunch and an easy hike around the lake. We had already celebrated early Easter with a family brunch on Good Friday, so our day was wide open.
     The last time we had visited Bowen together was in the spring of 2010, during our son's six week stay at The Orchard Recovery Centre. For six consecutive Saturdays, my husband and I travelled there to learn more about addiction and begin rebuilding relationships. After one of those sessions, the three of us had used our free time to walk around this very lake together. It was a memorable afternoon because, for the first time in a long time, we were speaking to each other from the heart, which stirred up many intense emotions, negative and positive. That year, Easter weekend fell during Michael's six week stay there, so this was an added layer my husband and I were now experiencing.
     All the emotions and memories now being triggered was not something I had foreseen at all. Thankfully, a mantra soon appeared - Walk with me. During each long in-breath, I silently expressed those words, and with each long out-breath, I slowly released the air in my lungs. I repeated this cycle as needed over the course of the hike, visualizing Michael's spirit walking with us now.
     Later that day, while approaching the dock for the return ferry, I looked up to see a lone, majestic eagle fly in, very low, directly overhead. I overheard the young, native woman walking behind me tell her friend, "In my culture this is a powerful spiritual symbol. My grandmother will be so happy when I tell her about this." For me, this eagle's appearance was an incredible sign of support. This trip certainly became much more than I had anticipated ... it turned out to be the perfect way to connect with our son on this Easter Sunday.
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The Orchard Experience

I was curious.  Had I known my son as well as I thought I did? As I lay on his bed reading through the notes from his time at The Orchard treatment centre, I found myself feeling relieved that there were no huge surprises.  The new information that I did learn left me feeling sad, but not shocked.  After he died ten weeks ago, one of my first thoughts was gratitude that he had found the courage and strength to commit to that program last year.  By doing so, he gave himself and our family the gift of rebuilding relationships.  We were able to have the difficult conversations.  Without that shared experience, this new reality would feel vastly different.  As it is, he left knowing how much I loved him, and I am left knowing he loved me.  That goes a long way.