One helluva month August was

Well, hell, August is over and all of the ‘firsts’ following my bride’s passing have come and gone.  And now I feel…I don’t know.

It’s very, very weird.

I thought a switch might go off.  Anniversary, check. Birthday, check. Christmas – you get the picture     But when the one-year anniversary (is that the right word?) of Patricia’s death hit on August 5^th and was followed mid-month by the 365th day after her funeral, I was left still feeling numb.

Patricia in one of her favorite places vibing on the energy of the Rocky Mountains

Not sure what I was expecting. A switch to turn off? Or on? A locked door to swing open? “OK, pal, you’ve done your time. Move on.”

But nothing significant changed.

The sun set. Then rose again. Oh, the grass over her grave is thickening up. And there are a surprising number of new neighbors near Patricia’s spot. Younger, older. Various backgrounds. Death is very open minded, it seems. No prejudice or playing favorites.

When it comes to how I feel, though, or how the world feels without her in it, it’s pretty much the same. A little less raw, maybe. But raw enough to sting. I haven’t come up with any great insights on this.  Other than I know the world would be a better place with Patricia in it.  That’s a no-brainer. But I have to go back to what she said on this front in her final days: “I’m not going to ask why.”

She just wanted to focus on the joys she had in her life.

So do I.

And, in keeping with her advice, to keep embracing the joy in life today. I’ve had a lot of that over the past year. With my girls, my oldest friends, newer ones. Even strangers over drinks in pubs.

The numbness always finds its way back though. And I was dreading what impact it would have on me and my girls on Patricia’s death day.

August started as perfectly as it could have. Such a relief as I had been so anxious about how I would feel. And worse, how my girls would feel as D-day got closer, then hit. I’ve learned over the last year that I can be ready or not, but the emotions churn up the gut every time there is a milestone.  Sometimes it feels like a machine agitating butter to make cream. Other times it’s like waves pounding to shore before a hurricane.

There’s no stopping it or dodging it.

That’s why I was thrilled that Anna and Kristina wanted to go on a trip together to mark the day.  And I was blown away when they suggested Oregon, home to one of our great family vacations when my girls actually were girls. Patricia planned that early adventure to a tee. She booked a cabin on Cannon Beach. And once in Oregon, we did loads of day trips including one to Portland.

But much of the adventure was getting there from Edmonton. Patricia plotted out a roadie using one of those old school AMA Trip Ticks where we had to actually unfurl real maps. Night one was in Spokane, Washington. Then we spent some time in Seattle before meandering down the coast, making loads of pit stops on the way. She made sure to plan one stop in Astoria, Oregon- the town where they filmed The Goonies. If you haven’t seen that flick, I don’t know what’s wrong with you 😊.

This time around, Kristina, Anna and I flew. The ladies and I stayed at the Woodlark Hotel in the heart of Portland. I arrived about mid-day, Anna and Kristina didn’t get there until early evening. So I spent my time walking around, reacquainting myself with the city.

I love it.

It’s a city of grit, art and soul. In many ways like Edmonton vibe-wise.

Oh, and heart. There are people struggling post – Covid and they are visible. And there are loads of folks lending a hand and welcoming you, keen to fuel whatever interests, whatever you need. There are also loads of places to get a coffee or a beer where people are eager to chat.

But my best conversation came on day one at the Woodlark. After exploring and just ahead of the girl’s arrival, I sat down at the lobby bar. The fella running it was a great conversationalist as many in his trade are. He was something special, though. In the convo he asked what brought me there. I explained Patricia’s death and the reason for the trip. Blurted it out, really. I do that sometimes. It often meets with awkward responses.

Understandable.

Not with my new friend, though. We carried on chin wagging until Anna and Kristina arrived. More talk followed over the coming days. Same thing with everybody else there. A real welcoming bunch. They are in the hospitality biz, so I suppose that makes sense. On the night before we checked out, however, there was a postcard      in our room from the team. It explained that they heard why we were there and wished us much love and healing. They peppered that with three ‘Someone in Portland loves you’ fridge magnets.

That choked me up.

The trip was so amazing.

Fantastic dinners, a scotch bar, a ghost tour of an 1800s hotel. On August 5th we hired an Uber driver to bomb us around some wineries and just see the sites. At one, we sat in the sun overlooking a classic vineyard. At Remy Wines, we plunked down on a deck and heard amazing stories from our host over several glasses including their Three Wives rosé. Turns out that this place not only makes grapes but works to promote diversity and inclusion by holding workshops among other things.

Patricia would have strongly approved.

That night we toasted my bride, the girls’ mom, at the Woodlark’s restaurant.

The next day we rented a car and went on a mother of a roadie. First stop, Multnomah Falls. So striking. We climbed past the main viewing area. And on, and on. Up and up. Eventually we were mostly on our own. So gorgeous. Such beautiful air to breathe.

On from there to Cannon Beach.

Not an Interstate Highway drive. Views of the Columbia River, a mountain climb, then that most inviting town we spent so much time in and around – Cannon Beach. We hunted for parking then went for a bite and a beer at the Wayfarer Restaurant right on the beach. A table magically opened up for us with a view of the iconic Haystack Rock.

We walked off the meal on the beach. It was busy but had cooled off a bit so not crazy. We just kinda took it all in. Memories hitting each of us in waves. But these were gentle waves. Healing ones. We spent a lot of time walking, stopping and just drinking it in. People were flying kites, making sandcastles, stuff we might have been doing all of those years ago.

With Patricia.

I’m not going to say she touched my shoulder from the next life, or spoke to me through the breeze. But I sure felt my bride there.

The drive back to Portland was satisfying.

Fittingly, perhaps, we did the ghost tour that evening at what is now Old Town Pizza but was an early bar and hotel. I was open to a tap from Patricia there, too, but, alas, none came. The tour was less about specters and more about Portland’s history and the way some folks in the 1800s were tricked into setting sail to work on     board ships. We capped off the evening on a rooftop patio in the Old Town, Tope.

The haunted hotel above and a look at Portland from Tope’s roof-top patio below.

We also managed to fit in a trip to the magnificent Portland Japanese Garden, a tour of an early city founder’s home (the Pittock Mansion) and, of course, time in the massive and wonderful Powell’s City of Books (been there twice now, got the t-shirt).

Then it was all over. Back to Calgary, Edmonton and Toronto the next day. But filled up to full with the memories.

I realized how my bride lives on through Kristina and Anna. It’s not just a cliche     . And I see how they are becoming stronger. Both for themselves, for      me, and each other. I remember what it was like when my mom died at 58. I was a year older than Anna was, two years younger than Kristina. I worry about them, knowing how hard it was, but then I see how much stronger they are than me at that age. How well-equipped Patricia made them for everything.

The weeks since then have been wonderful, horrible, exciting and frightening. It’s interesting, if infuriating, how fast the switch can flip. Me and Dobby      (our mutt) have been on some great walks, including to Elk Island and Banff (joined by Anna) National Parks.

More healing, and fall walks are planned. And Calgary trips. And Toronto. And???

And writing. Another book is pouring out and I continue to hunt publishers for the first two.

I guess I’ll just keep my feed moving, drink in the joy, learn from the pain and share the stories.

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