Before Christmas, all three of our individual Christmas trees fell apart in unique ways. For my brother and I the lights simply failed; the other family tree was slowly disintegrating and is nearing the rubicon of being unusable. It seemed fitting since all traditions were wrong, awry, and quite broken.
In our family, lights burning out have often either heralded death or occurred relentlessly afterwards. The extreme case was my Grandfather’s passing, that is for another post, perhaps.
Right before Christmas, a light in the ensuite Mom and I use burned out. The symbolism did not escape my notice or heart; I chose not to replace it for the duration of the holidays. A light is indeed out; a family of four reduced to three.
I did a double take first thing this morning at 7 am when I turned the page-a-day Audobon calendar. A calendar often featuring different landscapes, and more infrequently, creatures of the earth.
A bird. In Cold Lake. My place of birth. In 1975 the population was 1,308. No, wait! I was born that year. 1,309. This is not a large town. When I was born in the Cold Lake hospital there were just two babies in the nursery, including me!
The town has since grown to the booming population of 15,000… but still! Of all the places…. in the entire world to be mentioned today? This is not even a Canadian calendar. A bird in Cold Lake featured today? Astounding.
Cold Lake was where Mom and Dad truly began life as a married couple. Below is an iconic pic circa 1975 – Mom and Dad’s Toyota in the foreground, in front of the Cold Lake sign (and Cold Lake itself) as they approached the small town. The Toyota Corolla was their first car, an important first major purchase for a couple many hours away from home base and where my Grandma and Grandpa Reade lived in Edmonton.
Mom and Dad were drawn to Cold Lake as teaching jobs were scarce then and Dad managed to score his first job out of University as a teacher in nearby Grand Centre. To me it speaks to Johnny Clegg’s “I’m searching for the spirit of the great heart” – such exciting, breathtaking potential wrapped up in a moment. The beginning of their beautiful life together, our family, Dad’s career as an English Teacher/musician/writer, and Mom’s in the medical field.
So much of “my town” are now ghosts; shadows of what once was. Living in the dark recesses of very few people’s memories, and soon to be gone forever.
People I’ve loved, places I’ve lived or worked in, all fading. The sun’s setting fast. The day Dad passed this song settled into my head and has lived there ever since.
I was blessed to see her sing this song and many others at three separate Folk Festivals over the years. I was moved to tears each time.
Our Town -Iris DeMent (1992)
And you know the sun’s settin’ fast, And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts. Well, go on now and kiss it goodbye, But hold on to your lover, ‘Cause your heart’s bound to die. Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town. Can’t you see the sun’s settin’ down on our town, on our town, Goodnight.
Up the street beside that red neon light, That’s where I met my baby on one hot summer night. He was the tender and I ordered a beer, It’s been forty years and I’m still sitting here.
But you know the sun’s settin’ fast, And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts. Well, go on now and kiss it goodbye, But hold on to your lover, ‘Cause your heart’s bound to die. Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town. Can’t you see the sun’s settin’ down on our town, on our town, Goodnight.
It’s here I had my babies and I had my first kiss. I’ve walked down Main Street in the cold morning mist. Over there is where I bought my first car. It turned over once but then it never went far.
And I can see the sun’s settin’ fast, And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts. Well, go on now and kiss it goodbye, But hold on to your lover, ‘Cause your heart’s bound to die. Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town. Can’t you see the sun’s settin’ down on our town, on our town, Goodnight.
I buried my Mama and I buried my Pa. They sleep up the street beside that pretty brick wall. I bring them flowers about every day, but I just gotta cry when I think what they’d say.
If they could see how the sun’s settin’ fast, And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts. Well, go on now and kiss it goodbye, But hold on to your lover, ‘Cause your heart’s bound to die. Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town. Can’t you see the sun’s settin’ down on our town, on our town, Goodnight.
Now I sit on the porch and watch the lightning-bugs fly. But I can’t see too good, I got tears in my eyes. I’m leaving tomorrow but I don’t wanna go. I love you, my town, you’ll always live in my soul.
But I can see the sun’s settin’ fast, And just like they say, nothing good ever lasts. Well, go on, I gotta kiss you goodbye, But I’ll hold to my lover, ‘Cause my heart’s ’bout to die. Go on now and say goodbye to my town, to my town. I can see the sun has gone down on my town, on my town, Goodnight. Goodnight.
Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog Where no one notices the contrast of white on white And in between the moon and you The angels get a better view Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
(Round Here, Counting Crows)
Feeling a bit ghost in the fog like this morning. I’m in the world, existing, but am I living? Christmas usually brings such joy and there is… nothing? I opened the front door this morning, face hitting the cold, staring at the neighbour’s Christmas lights. I stare. Nothing stirs in the Holloway depths. I close the door. Someday, I will rebuild. But not this morning.
In previous posts, I have alluded to the intense bird imagery our family has used, and how Dad was often referred to as a Great Grey Owl. I’ve also made reference for the near suffocating bird imagery we experienced leading up to this summer’s tragic events.
At many times during the drive yesterday, I tried reaching out to Dad, desperate for a sign of presence. Something, anything. I wondered if there was none to be found, or if perhaps I had missed something in my distracted emotional state. I tried to find peace in the sunshine that guided me home.
The morning after, I went to my page a day Audubon calendar that features an assortment of nature scenes. In between wanderlust dreamscapes living creatures are sometimes featured. I turned the page.
❤️
The scientific mind, immediately activated, tried to rationalize. What are the astronomical odds vs a “the fortune cookie couldn’t possibly know what you need” (ie the calendar is premade) sort of My Dinner With Andre-esque conversation launched in my head.
Still, I remind myself of civilization’s highly limited knowledge and understanding of the world around us. I’ve had many personal experiences demonstrating a seeming malleability – or at least a resonance of energy – that seems to ripple throughout (and somehow influence) space and time. We don’t know more than we do know. And I find some peace and comfort with that.
As it turned out, it was not the long drive, snow, wet and icy roads, cold, dark, or commuter traffic that had been stoking the intangible anxiety that had underpinned my existence for days.
Nor was it the specialist appointment itself, or the doctor’s arrogant attitude, the loss of dignity revealing a private condition to a near stranger, or the pain that comes with the exam.
In the end it was the return to a place I hadn’t been since July 29, 2024 – the University of Alberta campus, in an annex part of the hospital. Heading north, north west.
(Under the dog star sail—
Over the reefs of moonshine—
Under the skies of fall—
North, north west, the stones of Faroe)
I was about three minutes in to my drive when suffocating trauma memories from the cardiac ICU ward unexpectedly flooded back. The memory blinded me temporarily. I gasped, as one would if suddenly stabbed in the back with a knife, and tried to regain my bearings. Another, blinding like lightning, I gripped the wheel and was grateful for a red light.
(All colours bleed to red)
Thus began a long, 45 minute journey back in time. I realized as I turned onto 23rd Ave I was retracing my steps of that last morning. After the hours of sleep Dad had granted us 3:00-5:00 am, and after the phone call for family to gather.
I passed through the same 91st street intersection that gave me a speeding ticket when I was racing to Dad’s bedside, after being told his situation was grave a few nights prior to the 29th (I spent that night with him, holding his hand, pouring my heart out. Despite being unconscious, he rallied for a few more days).
I passed along the familiar road Dad and I drove every day of my three years at Strathcona High School where he taught, remembering the talks, the tapes we’d listen to. Songs I’ve mentioned before running through my head-
(All this time—
The river flowed—
Endlessly—
Like a silent tear—)
It’s funny how memories go. When they return, you’re reminded not just of what happened, but your mind state, your emotions – I remember the feeling of blessed completeness of feeling at the center of a massive wheel of intertwined family and love, when all my grandparents were still alive and in my orbit. The excitement at being exposed to new thoughts and possibilities and the hope and promise I felt of a life before me, including the excited apprehension anticipating university. Worlds – no, universes – away from where I am now. It’s that screeching reality pressing in, and the awareness of the chasm between then and now that rips through the chest.
I turned onto Argyll, driving the same path Dad and I took every school day morning at 7:30 am. I passed where the pulp mill workers were on strike for years on end – where the acrid smell of wood and smoke would flood the car vents.
At last, I deviated from the well-worn wagon trail, but on to another. Instead of turning to take the High School route, I continued straight. A later trod path, from the days of attending University to earn my degree, and 7 years after graduation and teaching when I would return to work at the Stollery with pediatrics.
The final stretch of road toward the Mazankowski Alberta Heart Institute was especially rough. It was hard to distinguish what was splashes on the windshield and what were my tears. And then finally a sudden veer left, turning away from the place where my heart died a thousand deaths.
Denoument
The specialist appointment had its usual assaults and indignities but before long I was turned around and headed home. Oddly enough the sunshine came out, to the point of blinding brilliance, as I made my way south. The sunshine and blue sky offered a more hopeful outlook, and I reflected on how in time, at some point when things felt less bleak, I would need to forge a different, new path for myself.
(It’s a cruel, crazy, beautiful world—
One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye— Goodbye—)
(It’s your world so live in it!)
***
Songs:
Why Should I Cry for You, Sting (Twice)
All This Time, Sting
Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World, Johnny Clegg (Twice)
There are some circumstances where being alone with your thoughts can be very positive. I love mulling things over, making connections, reflecting on experiences, solving problems, etc.
During the period of grieving and healing though there are certain activities that I find especially challenging. They seem to be a nourishing space for intrusive, unwelcome thoughts that can quickly gain a foothold. I wonder how this compares to others’ experiences. My most dangerous thought scenarios include:
Middle of the night, in bed (nothing good ever comes of this time!)
At bedtime, in bed
Showering (such a vulnerable time! No wonder so many were horrified by Psycho’s murder scene)
Driving (for me there’s also a disconnect with the surroundings as you pass by without interacting)
I find the latest OECD stats (November 5, 2024) for OECD countries (38 developed and dramatic countries spanning the world) rather sobering. Be kind, everyone. It’s tough times for many. ❤️
