Misty, our little dog died a few years ago and the whole family, needless to say, was extremely sad. Sooner or later, everyone experiences a death in the family; even a pet can often times be an integral family member. Each of us, although we hug and try to comfort one another when a death occurs, we eventually have to deal with it in our own way. Being quite a bit older than my wife and her two daughters, death has visited me on numerous occasions – many close relatives and friends having passed on – some of them very tragic and sudden. What I’ve discovered to help me through these sad and emotional times is a little camera, which I keep stored away inside my mind. Over the years, it’s snapped many photos of people I cherish, so that the little moments werecaptured and can be replayed whenever I want to relive that time with them again. Although sometimes the tears flow when I relive those moments, there are far more smiles and sometimes I even break out in laughter.
My father and mother divorced when I was very young. Since I didn’t live with my mother, only saw her on holidays while growing up, it was always somewhat of an emotional experience for me to say good-bye when the time came for me to return home. Unlike now, with everyday use of emails and cell phones, for me, the main source of communication was primarily hand-written letters, especially if any long distance was involved and this was how I mainly kept in touch with my mother.
One day, shortly after my mother’s death, while I was going through some of my personal stuff, I came across a letter I’d written to her and for one reason or another had forgotten to post it. After reading the letter, I was prompted to write her once again as I visualized some of the moments my little mind’s-eye camera had captured of her. I guess in a way, this letter is my way of dealing with her death, not so much in saying a final good-bye but perhaps more importantly, hopefully saying hello to her sometime in the future.
Dear Mom
I don’t know where the time has gone; a great many years have passed since we were last in touch. It’s not that you haven’t been on my mind mom nor missed, because seldom does a day go by that I don’t think about you and what you mean to me.
I remember when I was just a boy, five years of age; I went to live with my dad (something unusual for that era, since the kids mainly remained with their mothers rather than the fathers after a divorce). Although my new surroundings would soon be very different from the one room log cabin we were living in at Woodpecker, BC, I’ve never forgotten that little cabin or the day my dad arrived. I was outside playing in the melting snow, the narrow roadway leading to the cabin, muddy and rutted, when I saw my dad, wearing a heavy overcoat and a cocked fedora, crouch down, smile and begin clapping his hands, beckoning me towards him. I remember feeling very happy as I ran towards him and how good it felt when he lifted me up in his strong arms. Of course I was very young and unaware of the reason he came, most likely just thought he was coming home from work after being away for a long time. It felt strange later that day, when my dad and I were on a Greyhound bus destined for Vancouver, when he said, “You’ll have a new mother and you can call her mom if you like? (What was wrong with the mom I had, I wondered?). Also, you’ll have two new sisters to play with.”
To this day, I can still see my step mom and her two girls standing in the living room beside the front door when we walked into the house. They were all smiling but I still felt the awkwardness of the situation.
You have no idea how much I missed you mom and the many nights I silently cried myself to sleep over the years. But what I remember most is feeling so excited when I came home from school and found an envelope addressed to me; of course a shiny dime or a quarter always arrived with the letter. To be honest mom, during those early years of growing up, I’m not sure if your letters or the money I received with them gave me more incentive to write back, but regardless, we exchanged many letters over my childhood years.
Although we never lived together again, I want you to know mom that I loved you very much and the excitement I felt when summer holidays arrived was indescribable. Because it was then that we went to my grand folk’s wilderness homestead along the Fraser River, which wasn’t too far from the little cabin where we had once lived together. I loved those summer interludes, tromping through the forest with a .22 rifle in my hand, grouse and rabbits fluttering and scurrying for cover. It still amazes me to this day, how I stomped about with no substantial trails to follow and never got lost – maybe the reason was King, the part collie dog accompanying me; he of course knew the way home and, I just naturally followed. I was basically a Vancouver city boy by then – hardly a country lad. I can’t say I ever felt worried wandering around in the bush except maybe the time I came across a bog because the black mud and water were still dripping off the branches and leaves - it had obviously just been used as a bathtub that hot summer day to cool off a big old bear. I remember being very alert; eyes and ears wide open as I carefully made my way back to the big, two-story log house overlooking the river. Yes, being with you those summers mom were some of the best times of my life and if it were at all possible, I would love to return, if only for one day.To be continued...cheers, eh!
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