Remembrance

 

There should be nothing here I don’t remember.

The ferry between Westbank and Kelowna
that, when I was little, I thought would have wings,
which made my father smile,
should still be plying the waters
between Westbank and
and Kelowna’s shores.
The ferry is long gone, but the shore
is still lined with the weeping willow
and tear-streaked dreams of my youth.
My mother was so beautiful then,
with her long blonde curls, and huge blue eyes,
like a movie star, but fraught,
at what alcohol did to my parents’ love affair.

There should be nothing here I don’t remember.

Our house looked out across the lake
at the Big Blue Hills. My first dog, Dinky,
a black lab, followed me everywhere
and two turkey gobblers walked with me,
one on each side, as we paced,
up and down the driveway.
Wings outspread, they hissed, chasing 
my mom back inside
when she came out to check on me.

The town was small then,
surrounded by miles of apple orchards,
white blossoms in springtime, the air sweet
with their blooming. Now, going back,
some of the houses we lived in are gone,
and all of the orchards, street after street
of condominiums mushrooming up
where once life was sweet
under the apple trees of summer
and the hot August moon.

I had so many dreams then
of how life would be, when pain
would have ended
and happiness would be mine,
finally, to live.

They did not come true.
But ones better than I ever
could have dreamed
arrived in their stead,
taking me on the most wonderful
and unexpected journey.

Life took me far;
there were so many losses,
pain and tears I held inside
all those years when I had to be strong
for those four who depended on me.
I had so many helpers and guides,
to show me the way, along a path
of awakening, bright as sunrise
over the mountains, I gasping
at the wonder of it.

Now, in old age, tears come more easily
than they ever have – every tender scene,
every lost love in movies and books,
every sad story on the evening news,
and I am awash at the joy and the ache of it.

Tears – for the beauty of the journey,
for the glory and wonder of it, tears
for the pain of all that has been lost.

And yet -
as the poet said, so reassuringly -
“All that is lost
is not lost.”

 

Inspired by “Looking for the Gulf Motel” by Richard Blanco. The italicized lines are his.