Fall is here and I REALLY miss my husband. The good thing is there is only one month left until he returns from this deployment. They are at their last port before heading back to Pearl Harbor and then transiting home to CFB Esquimalt.
I made it through this one a bit easier than I actually expected. Maybe it was the fact that we had summer in Victoria until just a few weeks ago, and only now the cool, dark and wet weather is upon us. Today is Saturday, a beautiful bright sunny albeit cool day, after an extremely dark, rainy and windy Friday.
Or maybe I made it through this one easier because my therapist only resides about 2 km away and is en route home after a bad week in the office.
Or maybe I am just really getting the hang of being a military wife.
The drives home from work this week felt longer than usual and I caught myself thinking about hometown friends and family and life growing up in a rural community. Did I ever share that I grew up figure skating and watching my brother play hockey in Ilderton, ON, the home of Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue? Fun facts about that: I remember the skating carnivals we participated in every end of season around Easter. I vividly recall watching Scott Moir’s mom and aunt skate to “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree”. I idolized them. Fast forward another 10 years or so to my first job out of college which found me working for the law firm that Tessa Virtue’s dad was a partner in. It is truly crazy to me when you think about it: how small the world really is. I find myself believing more and more in 6 degrees of separation: that notion that we are all linked by a chain of acquaintances that are only 6 mutual introductions away from (meeting) anyone in the world.
As I drove home this week, friends and family were on my mind. 3,200 km as the crow files, between here and there, is a LONG way away. I love my life here. But its difficult, especially the older I get, not to think about those I left behind and those who made a difference in my life.
I have been texting a childhood friend and school mate lately. His parents are are about the same age as mine, in their eighties, who have been experiencing some medical issues lately. I think about them daily and say a prayer under my breath for them often as I am not sure that the road ahead will be easy. And as I think about my childhood friend, Buddy, I have countless wonderful memories. We went to school together and our elementary school was small. I believe my grade 8 graduating class consisted of only 12 kids which meant I was always in a “split” and he was in my class. Our parents also knew each other well, so our families were connected. They had three boys and I was the token daughter Beverly never had (even though I know she had nieces). She often filled in as my mum when I needed one (my mum was our Girl Guide leader which often left me an orphan for activities requiring your mother). He (Mark) is still the ‘old man’ that gives me the biggest hugs ever and who apparently warned my husband on our wedding day to take care of me. That I was like their own. There was much time spent at their farm: hot summer days exploring the farm, playing in the hay loft or the corn crib, watching the cows get milked, playing with kittens, checking out the newborn calves, swimming in their pool, picking sweet corn straight from the field, drinking milk fresh from the cow, and the countless BBQs we took part in… the memories are endless. And when I think of them, I am happy.
Then there is the job I had from about the age of 12 until I got my first “real job” after I graduated college. I spent my Saturdays and summers working in a local hardware store run by a man and has wife I regarded as my god parents. They knew my mother, who babysat their children, who’s children babysat me, and who’s children I babysat. My grandma also worked at this hardware store for many years. This job is where I learned how to repair a screen and replace glass and putty a window. Were I learned about paint, nuts, bolts and everything else hardware related. I started spending my elementary school Pro D days there, which then turned into a week one summer, which then turned into Saturdays during the school year, that then turned into every summer until I finished college. I remember those Pro D days often landed on wholesale days when Ed would go out to purchase inventory. I always got to go with him and it always included a special lunch out. And on our Saturday shifts, lunch was always provided. Either homemade or brought in from a local restaurant. I remember Margaret would make up the best lunches… I mostly remember the casseroles she made, the dish wrapped in newspaper to keep it warm, or when we would order in from the a local place we dubbed “the Choke and Puke”. I don’t even know why we called it that because we actually loved the food from there. There were many of us over the years who worked weekends and summers there. It was truly a family business and a staple in the community and I was part of that family. That community. I remember when Ed sold the hardware store to his son and his wife. With John, I remember when he got married and recall the birth of his first child. I remember water fights in the parking lot of the store on hot summer days and I actually remember putting paint away the day we heard that Elvis had passed away. And I remember when his wife became ill. It’s incredible how certain memories are attached to people or significant times in our lives. Growing up in that community, working in that hardware store, those people… they were significant to me, still are significant to me. That job and those people, they shaped me into who I am today. And again, when I look back on all of those memories and remember, I am happy.
Topper. That’s what Ed called me. Topper. I miss him dearly. Every time I went home after we moved West, I made time to see him, although it wasn’t very difficult given he lived on the property adjoining my parents. But I always found time, whether it was for a short visit or to have him down to for dinner or have him for a BBQ. Ed passed just a month before the world shut down in March 2020, and I am so grateful I was able to attend his celebration of life. A life of 93 years. A flower sill stashed in my phone case as a constant reminder of him and his life and what he meant to me.
There are others. That made a difference. My grade 3 teacher, Mrs. Johnston. Cousin Nancy and her husband Pete, a retired Master Warrant Officer, who helped us make our military life a reality. Our brothers and our best friends who also supported us, still do, no matter what. My current “therapist”. They are the people that shaped my very happy life.
“Never forget that you are one of a kind. Never forget that if there weren’t any need for you in all of your uniqueness to be on this earth, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. And never forget, no matter how overwhelming life’s challenges and problems seem to be, that one person can make a difference in the world. In fact, it is always because of one person that all the changes that matter in this world come about. So be that one person.” – R Buckminster Fuller
Think about that, and then contemplate 6 degrees of separation.