Journal Entry Fifteen- May 12, 2009 by Derek

Remembering Lin

It’s early, and I turn my head to look out the office window as the dark sky lightens. I look down once more at the keyboard; it’s still the same and all I see are rows of meaningless letters and numbers. I keep looking and wondering, where are the words?

Two years ago on this very day my precious wife left her body. Two years. I can’t even make sense of that. It has gone by so quickly -- or, no -- I mean it feels like such a long time ago. Oh hell, which is it? I go back to staring at those rows of black letters, numbers and symbols, willing them to come together and write what it really feels like now. My wrinkled, brown spotted hands seem unable or unwilling to peck out the words that I long for. I turn again to the window for inspiration and now shadows are forming around the magnolia tree. It looks like a good day outside but not in here so I drag myself downstairs to sit in my favourite swivelly chair with my morning java.

Remembering Lin.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s Carolyn; she has walked over to my place and wants to make breakfast for us. I am such a lousy cook; so really, it was a no-brainer. We made French toast and English bangers – a real international meal. Munching away eagerly, Carolyn says, “Let’s do something special today. How about a drive to Irvine’s Landing and do some kind of a ceremony?”

Somehow I’m not inspired. It’s like earlier when I tried to write, as if there aren’t any words or actions that could match or honour her passing. "Everything seems like not enough.” She nods in agreement, and we decide to just let the day unfold.
Not one to pass up the opportunity for the last word, Carolyn adds, “And let’s do some of the things that Lin liked doing.”
Antique stores and plant shops were Lin’s version of heaven, so we drove to the nursery. Upon arriving I sensed danger, for there was a large sign advertising: “Special Sale”. It was too late; I’m sure Lin was holding our hands, pulling us to the vivid purple pansies, then nudging us to the shrubberies, hanging baskets and then back to row upon row of pots bursting with life. I recalled having my patience tested every spring by that inevitable phrase, “Just one more plant, Derek -- I promise!” A few hours later we planted a small Japanese maple in Carolyn’s garden. It seemed like a baby compared to the one that Lin and I had rescued from the creeping hooked claws of the blackberry bush at our home in Langdale.

Remembering Lin

Kinnikinnick -- what a strange name for a park, a ten acre parcel of evergreens, maples, thickets of ferns, and of course the dark green foliage of the kinnikinnick plant. It wasn’t just the nature that drew Lin and me here, though. It was also the off-leash area for dogs. We spent a lot of time together and apart in this park, but always with Elsi, our wonderful one-ear-up-other-ear-down loveable mutt.

I sometimes have difficulty with my balance when walking so it felt very comforting when Carolyn clutched my hand as we entered the park. The truth is, I also felt a little timid, Iike I was entering a tiny green world that held way too many memories for me, and I would be held captive, unable to escape from its clutches. Almost immediately, a dog came rushing up to us, wagging his tail. Both the dog and its owner just beamed at us as if they had discovered the Land of Oz in there. I laughed, knowing too well this feeling. Oh what fun Lin, Elsi and I had in this magic forest. Carolyn smiled and said, “Do you see that huge stick? Elsi would have gone straight to it, dragged it off of the path and looked right at me as if to say, 'This is mine!'” Carolyn had spent a lot of time with Elsi in those last few months. She recounted how Elsi would run on ahead, and then stop and wait patiently for Carolyn to catch up. These are stories only a dog lover would understand. As for me, I had my own memories of Lin running back and forth with Elsi’s eyes glued to the stick as if she had been hypnotised. I remember how proud Lin and I felt when we walked the entire circuit of trails very slowly only a week after her surgery. There is a clearing with a mini forest of long tall slender alders where we would stand in absolute silence for the longest time. Today I deepened my realisation that there was gentleness to this forest that merged with the gentleness of Lin.

Remembering Lin

8:30pm.
At home I placed the framed photo of Lin on the mantelpiece and put on one of Lin’s favourite DVDs. It was Edwin Starr’s 25 Miles from Home. We sat down to watch and there was Edwin onstage, clapping and singing wildly to a sea of many thousand happy faces. A true performer, he worked the crowd yelling, “Put your hands together, people!” Carolyn and I responded by rising from the couch and clapping our hands obediently.
He sang That’s the Way I Like it, and right on cue Carolyn and I, now joined by Lin replied, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh...” The magic of music took us over and we were hooked, now laughing, dancing and prancing to Celebration.
Looking up at that serene picture of Lin’s gentle smile I could hear her, as I had in the past, singing along, “...come on...Woo hoo!” I laughed, I cried, I was sad, I was happy. At exactly 9:00pm, our bodies tired and calm, we lit a candle and sat in silence.

Remembering Lin

Later as I drifted off to sleep I recalled my day and felt so blessed to have Carolyn in my life. I smiled as Lin, still with Edwin, sang me to sleep with Wonderful World. “...Don't know much about algebra, don't know what a slide rule is for. But I do know that one and one is two, and if this one could be with you, what a wonderful world this would be...”