Ebbs and flows and ice-jams of life...

Spring in Manitoba typically means watching water forecasts. Rivers run too high, streams overflow their banks and go way too fast, huge chunks of ice suddenly jam together and throw everything off...backing up the water, flooding the surrounding area, creating a disaster, then just as suddenly letting go, and allowing everything to flow smoothly once more.

We've been watching routine of it all unfold down by the little campground we'd created for ourselves by the river. It seems to be quite comparable to the emotional river I'm treading in these days I think. Smooth flowing for a few hours, moving along safely clinging to the 'riverbanks' that I recognize as my life, then suddenly having everything explode with the ice jam of a memory that stops me in my tracks, pushes all my forward momentum back and into territory I don't know, and leaving the mess of myself behind starting from square one again. Emotional whitewater. Wiped out, exhausted.

These pictures were taken last week a day or so after the ice had let go for the last time. My poor campground a collection of ice chunks, instead of campfires...but that's only temporary. The river is so full and powerful right now. The islands in the middle completely emerged in the torrent, you'd have to know they were there to believe it, as there isn't a sign. I'm not big on camping I'm afraid, I never have been...but this place I love. For years and years I've whined that I wanted waterfront property....a place by the lake, or the sea, or somewhere where I could sit still and quietly and have the sounds of the water clear my mind and calm my soul. Three years ago we were down on the field everyone refers to as the 'banana' field, on a bright sunny morning. When I looked to the west at the river, the sun was reflecting diamonds off the water, right back into my eyes, and they were opened for the first time to the fact that I in fact do have water front property after all! With that, we started working on a beautiful little campground where we could sneak away for an evening, afternoon or overnight....without a lot of risk. The risk was that Shane really disliked camping as much as I did...and I don't blame him....the accommodations weren't as comfortable as home, he couldn't defend himself against the mosquitoes (so he counted on our questionable help as we swatted our own!), there was probably lots more that he couldn't express to us. But our little campground seemed to be the answer....it was set up for his comfort, and we could go for short periods of time....being just minutes from home. If it wasn't a great time, travel and gas and hours hadn't been lost getting there....you just headed back to home.

Funny...for all the times we'd tried going places further away that got thwarted because it wasn't a good day for Shane....heading down to our own little spot always seemed to be just fine with him every single time.....he just knew I guess.

For now we'll just wait for the last of the ice to melt and disappear, which will soon be followed by green grass and leaves, and hope for smoother sailing for our hearts....if only it was that simple.

Last week was an exceptionally hard week. I'm horribly conscious of anniversary dates....I envy those who don't have every one etched directly into their hearts and brains, but I'm not one of those. Last week, April 15th marked the 8th anniversary since Greg passed away (Greg was my first husband who died of cancer). I've learned through the years there are certain days that I just have to be alone, April 15th has become one of them. I need to walk through the memories, and sit with the loss on my own somewhere quietly and just let the thoughts and tears come and go as they wish. I've tried on several occasions to just let it be another day, and make plans as if it was, but that never ends up good. Somewhere through the ordinariness of trying to do that, I fall apart...and people always expect answers as to why, or think its about them. No, it's just me, sorry.

This year I ran away to Brandon to manage my day, and allowed myself to be an anonymous tourist in a town that I know so well. There is so much to be said for spending time in mourning in places where no one knows your name. For moments you can forget who you are, and what your story is, and for short flashes...you almost forget your grief. It can be such a momentary relief when that happens. But the truth is you can run, but you can't hide, that came to me so clearly that day.

After I'd had my favorite salad at my favorite Brandon lunch spot (Lady of the Lake), I headed for the Riverbank Discovery centre to sit on a bench with the book I'm reading now, and just be by the river (same one that flows by my place...only my portion of it is sooooo much more peaceful I learned!). There isn't a lot of activity at the centre in mid-April, so sitting by the water's edge seemed to be the right thing for me to do at the time. I found a bench and got out the book I'm currently reading ..."Broken Open: by Elizabeth Lesser"...and attempted to concentrate on the words. But the surrounding sounds really wouldn't let me, and instead transported me over the past several years, taking me back to some of the things that made me the person I know I am today.

To my right, looking west, I could here the buzz of the construction taking place on the new bridge that is being built to support the twinning of 18th Street....not as soul soothing as the river bird sounds I'm used to. On my Left, and to the south was the sounds of the Heartland Auction Mart...and it was sale day. Across the river, I could hear the loading orders being given over the backyard loudspeaker, and listen to the bellows of the calves that were being transported to their next destination, wherever that may have been. My mind journeyed back over 15 years...

From early in our relationship, Greg had seen that I had a knack for managing the cattle operation and the health care of the animals. He decided early, that that was something I should take over and free him up to do the cropping and auto sales that were his passion. To this day it's a bit of a stretch to even imagine what it was that moved him to make such a major decision about such a critical part of our business, but he was convinced that I'd do a better job of it than he, and just stepped back. From there, it seemed for years, every Tuesday I got up early and headed for the auction mart....learning what I needed to know about who were the buyers, what were they looking for, how the whole process went...it was where I garnered a lot of the information I needed to be successful in managing a 1,000 head feedlot, and where I met some really great people who later became friends.

It was an odd beginning though. Not everyone understood what a woman was doing sitting in the stands week after week observing (in the first few weeks I was not welcomed at all, as some folks there thought I must represent an animal rights group the way I sat back and watched) , and lots of the 'fellas' questioned the sanity of a man letting his wife make the kind of decisions etc. that Greg trusted me to make...and as with so many other areas of our life, his answer was always "Lynda can do it."...and he was right.

It was an interesting, and successful part of my life, that I can't say I miss today, but I know through that part of living, I gained so much faith in who I was and what I can accomplish, repeatedly hearing "Lynda can do it...." with such positive assurance. Should we all be so lucky as to have someone in our lives that have such faith in us!

"Lynda can do it.." was a phrase he repeated so often in the last year of his fight through chemo, through having to to sit back and allow others to oversee his precious farm, to questions as to how Shane and I would manage when he was gone.....I guess all these years later, he was right, but at the time I certainly couldn't know for sure. Sitting on that bench, staring into the moving water, I swear I heard his voice repeat that to me yet again....I hope he's right, because there are moments these days where I just don't know.

Eight years later I guess I have learned that the pain does ease, that the memories do remain, that the good stuff sticks in your heart, and the bad times have vanished into the thin air of the past. My hope now, as I'm walking through this dark forest of Shane's loss, is that on the really bad days (and there are still so, so many of those...) that I'm able to reach out to what I know, so that I can survive what is...telling myself "Lynda can do it....." Time will only tell.

Lynda

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