November 4, 2014
Today, the anniversary of Pat's passing, the sky is a brooding grey, and a wispy wind cuts through my jacket. I am in Banff, one of Canada's mountainous jewels. The mountains are freshly snow-clad so that if the sun was shining, the light would reflect off the peaks and you'd feel just a little closer to heaven.
But today the clouds curl and scurry and hang low over the valleys and drape the mountainsides. Dull, cold, and grey like an old dog's teeth, the mountains all around suffer and snarl. The sun will not come out to play today.
But I am on a mission. In my pocket is a plastic bag of ashes. Pat always loved Banff and we built memories here, starting with our honeymoon. We camped here all through our children's lives and into our empty nest. And we dragged friends and relatives into the mountains hoping to have them cleansed of the dust and dullness of the big city. And it worked. The savage beauty of Banff cleanses and reorients the crippled soul..
Banff and places like it inspire awe in the sensitive soul. One is moved to look upward at the craggy peaks, outward at the wild barriers and the beckoning valleys, and inward at the still, small, quivering soul. One feels the artifices of self-importance, of personal missions and accomplishments, of troubles and grievances slough away. One feels naked, small, and new. And, if accompanied by friends or loved ones, one is drawn to acknowledge their importance. We, and the love we share, are all that matters in this moment. The people in one’s life take a central, life-affirming position. For the moment.
Pat and I had many of these moments in our visits to Banff. In the crispness of the morning with clouds lazily caressing the slopes, or while walking along a path towards the rumbling of a waterfall, or while sitting by a mirrored lake, the sounds of birds and squirrels punctuating the silence, we would glance at each other and smile, and the smile would draw us into a brief embrace - an affirmation, and a momentary rebirth of mutual commitment.
So Banff was one of those ‘holy’ places for us, our cathedral into which we respectfully and expectantly travelled and were never disappointed. Banff was our place of worship, the place where we rediscovered our sense of worth to and for each other.
There could be no better place to serve as final and eternal resting place for Pat.
The deed is done now.
Half the bag was dispersed into the Vermillion Lakes. Tears flowed and disappeared into the clear blue/green water. I watched the ashes sink and curl and gently swirl in a widening circle. A strange emptiness. Deep and painful sadness. Sighs of resignation and a flood of memories. She will be at peace in the beauty, the harmony, the living wildness all around. Forever.
The rest of the ashes found a home on Mt. Norquay, on the valley side of the stone wall. I spread them in the grass, the wind gently caressing her as she fell. I turned around and there, just beyond my boot, I found another scattering of ashes. She'll not be alone in that place.
I made my way down the mountain. The sun suddenly came out and began to melt the chill of the morning. Tears don't need to last forever either.
