Camping

We are camping at Sointula : a beautiful island called Malcolm Island near the north eastern tip of Vancouver Island. It is a quaint little place where wildlife is abound and the Orca are known to scratch their bellies on the pebble shores. It’s a beautiful paradise three hours away from our home.

I needed to get away from all of the reminders that make me sad. Of course that is impossible but falling asleep to the lull of the ocean is almost meditative and I slept better than I usually do at home.

I awoke this morning and I had a sense that all was good in the world and for a moment I was tricked into thinking that I was finally waking up from the nightmare. In the earlier days, when I awoke (well on the nights that I actually slept) I would have a moment where I could almost forget that Sam had died: where it felt like everything was normal. But then I would remember. For a brief few seconds, this morning felt like life was normal. I lay here refusing to look at the memorial tattoo on my wrist which always brings me back to reality. But I didn’t need to look. I loved those few seconds though. I relished in them.

We ate a breakfast of French toast and pure maple syrup (a camping tradition ) as we listened to the sounds of the ocean and CBC radio. I usually enjoy listening to the stories but this morning it was all about the mass shooting in the US earlier in the week. 21 dead. Heart breaking. There was a time when I would think ” those poor families: I can’t even begin to imagine the parents anguish at losing their child”. But now I only wish that I couldn’t begin to imagine. I have no idea of the horror of what they went through in the hours waiting to find out about their loved ones…nor do I have any idea how it feels to lose a young child in such a horrific violent way. But I do know first hand, what it feels to lose a child. And I wish I didn’t. 😦 I can’t help but to wonder about the parents of the shooter. How conflicting their emotions must be because for all the horror their son inflicted on the lives of those who he killed that day; their families; and the survivors of his rampage : they also lost their son and right now, he is probably one of the most hated men in America. How will they grieve? Under the circumstances: how will they even be allowed to grieve?

There is just so much wrong in this world. Every day the news is filled with horrible things and atrocities and it just never gets better. Will it ever get better?

But just for tonight, I’m going to try to fall asleep again to the lull of the north Pacific. And tomorrow, I will awaken into a world where I just don’t know where I fit anymore.