Working today from home, I was blessed to be spared braving the winter storm we are having here in Montreal. Although I would normally take public transit, I knew the walk on slippery and some slushy paths would not have been pleasant.
By the end of the day, I could see the rising temperatures had turned the snow to ice. What beautiful images I saw as I admired the bare-branches-no-more, and tiny icicles hanging on like tear drops. I felt elation and a sudden gust of childlike wonder. For long moments, I could feel my grief dissipate, replaced by mild sparks of enchantment.
A young teen called once to say he wanted to take his life. Let’s call him Real. He had seen too much sadness in his short years…abuse, death of a close friend and the pain weighed too heavily on him. I knew he was calling from the far North and asked him if he often saw Aurora Borealis. “Why yes,” he quickly responded, “It is my ancestors telling me they are safe and happy in their world. I am going to join them now.”
I asked him if his ancestors might also be asking him if he still had things to do on this land before travelling beyond to meet them. He paused a long moment…he later accepted to go to emergency and get help.
I can never forget this youth for he phoned our service four days later to thank me, and that he was in hospital getting the care he needed.
multi-hues whispering from beyond a life of grace
ancestors travelling on tinted vapours call of serenity.
He was only 13 months old and could barely walk in his stiff white winter boots. I took him out of his car seat. I placed him on the huge parking lot at his father’s garage, that was filled with virgin snow. He looked down and lifted one foot and saw his footprint in the snow; he froze with his baby blues widened, reflecting the light from the showroom. He then started tiptoeing so as not to mess up the white powdery carpet.
The only death I truly accepted and understood the infinite journey was my grandfather’s death. Although I was only six, I was blessed to be in a family that was open about life and death; my grandmother being a midwife, talked often of the births she assisted and it did not take away my youth as so many of my Anglo-Saxon raised peers felt…French Canadians kept many European mores I think. And so I remember going to hospital to await the news the doctors would pronounce of the impending fate of my GrandPapa. We often sat by his bedside holding his hand daily for a year, as I lived with my grandparents that year. My sister and I saw the priest perform his last rites, Extreme Unction and his last smile at me surrounded by his children the day he passed.
So for me, finite meant my favourite person had an expiry date to his suffering; he would be in a place where there is no pain, where he could run freely …and yes, I believed this and to some extent still do.
At my age, I have lost many relatives and friends to death and more recently a friend and colleague for whom I have shared a series of haiku;unfortunately there are many I have not quite accepted…sudden deaths, people too far for me to go to their service are mostly the people I still struggle to accept and sometimes I feel it was all a dream and they are still here.
How often I wanted to dial the number of my friend, Janet, who died suddenly when I was far away. The only person who read my mind, felt my emotions; our signal to chat after midnight…one ring…we both knew was the other who wished to talk until dawn. I still don’t accept the infinite passing of this friend.
(American Sentence)
Grandpapa, tu es toujours près de moi, dans mon cœur, ombrant mon âme.
(haiku)
humble corps affaibli enfin libéré douleur fini
âme pétillant pure et infini les cieux attendent
yeux brillants plonge dans l’éclat céleste lumière blanche
