originally posted:
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
It was just before 1:00 AM when I lost it. I had sat waiting, calling everyone I knew over and over on the landline. Suddenly, the reality hit me. I had to go out looking, I had to try and find him. The bitterness of a Canadian winter whistled past warmed windows, reminding me how bad it really had become outside. This only agitated my panic further. If someone didn't find him soon, the weather would claim him for sure. He had not taken a coat or his boots. No scarf or hat was missing. He had left with his keys and the clothes on his back. It was going on 6 hours since I had arrived home and found the place empty. You could immediately tell something was wrong from the behaviour of the cats and from the two broken dishes on the kitchen table. When the clock struck the top of the hour, I started to freak out. I ransacked the closet, desperately looking for winter wear to layer as protection against the whipping wind and snow. I piled on long-johns, wool socks and coat after coat, believing I knew where he might have gone. I finally headed out to face the storm, my keys stuffed down in a pocket and three scarves over my face up to the nose. I slipped out back and into the night.
For some reason, I had convinced myself that he had headed out of town, following the train tracks from Strathroy north towards Poplar Hill. In hindsight, he had often talked about just disappearing like hobos did in the 1930s and riding the rails. It didn't hurt that the train station stood 500 metres out the rear entrance. The police had tried to console me, they would keep an eye out for him in the town. Our friends had no clue were he might be, he had not contacted them. My family, and his family, seemed sympathetic, but I could tell they thought I was overreacting. On the early morning of February 13th, 1995, overstuffed into warmth like Randy Parker from A Christmas Story, I waddled past the car and out onto the railway tracks. The snow was rather heavy and the wind was not my friend. Despite the piles of shelter wrapped around me, I immediately started shaking. I knew there was no time to waste.
Past the train station, then the lumberyard, I quickened my pace. I completely failed to notice the flour mill sitting still and silent only feet from our home. Beyond the houses and the storage units, I wandered, only stopping on occasion to brush the snow that had accumulated on my scarves and the front of my legs. It was a tempest out. When I passed the 10th concession, leaving the city lights behind me, I started to call out for him. I battled not only the harshness of the gale but the wail of a strong north wind battering my senses. I pushed forward, crying out again and again, begging God that I might somehow find him. The depth of the snow to each side of the tracks tricked me into thinking he may be hiding beneath the waves of white all around me. Every tree I imagined might be him, standing, waiting for me to discover him shivering in the cold. The further down this road I fashioned, the more hopeless I began to feel. The more hopeless I became, the louder my cries. In an act of desperation, I started to bargain with God. It was the thunder down the way that brought me back to reality.
For a moment, I considered standing my ground and facing the oncoming locomotion. The headlight and whistle tempted me close to destruction. As the train approached me, I had to make a decision. I asked myself if I should continue on this inevitable quest or just lay down and give in to abandon. The jump was mighty and just in time. I flung myself into a pile of winter, deep and rippled at the side of the rails. Its fury shook me as the rage of the metal caravan attempted to tug me into it. I curled up in a standing ball, holding my place by the grace of something other than God. The backlight and curls of snow seemed like a will-o'-the-wisp, a mystical sign of its passing. I slowly turned around and started to crawl back onto the trail. I stood in futility, well knowing the fate that had elected me. From the moment I had walked through the front door, I just knew. I could feel he was gone from the second I found him missing. The train was a sign for me, a harbinger of the doom that was soon to expose itself. As the world spun in a torrent all around me, I gave up and fell on top of the cold hard ties. The torment was much more than I could handle. I was tempted, once again, to stand this ground until my doom, but I rose instead and started screaming.
It was like my soul had left me, my cry was fierce and it cut through the dark. In the distance, dogs began to howl with me. Perhaps they knew. Like a symphony of pain, defeat and resignation, our ululation lingered like the train still fading in the distance. It was agony to know I had no power, no recourse but to slink back home and wait for the outcome I already knew. I could feel him leaving. I just knew he was gone. I looked all around me and began to sob. My tears froze in the savageness of this cold. My eyes were flooded by puddles of ice and surrender. The walk back to life was heavy on me. No matter how I sought, I just could not find him. As I approached some semblance of sanctuary, I once again was blinded to the flour mill and the secret that it held. Come the break of dawn, it would reveal itself.
Life goes on, whether we want it to or not is irrelevant. It took months before I could function again. I was almost as crippled by his fall as he was. I was much more fortunate in my outcome. It became quite apparent to me that the dead do not rise again, but we do. Night after night I sat pining, never tricked by his shadow or any light that might reveal to me a glimpse of him. This in no way halted me praying for such mercy. The drugs and the booze made little difference. This withdrawal from life only made me worse. So many people told me it was not my fault. Each attempted to convince me that I was not the reason he had just walked away. I could not imagine that this was so. I lost myself to the agony. I do not know how I survived such pain. I had never been one to show my feelings. I had never been an open book before. No matter where I was, you could clearly tell my angst and misery. I was overwhelmed by my grief and a lingering sense of contrition. It was as if I had died there with him.
Not all wounds find themselves a scar. Some anguish never really fades away. Quite often, you just get used to the pain. Time goes by, but this does little to help one heal. God never comes down from heaven and Jesus rarely, if ever, answers your prayers. If you are lucky, you learn to welcome its hold. What once was a stranger can turn into your friend. This does not lessen the lasting crush of loss or lighten the load one must bear. Eventually, as with all things in this life, we come to find a place for all the misery to rest. We start to recognize the lessons such a tragedy can bring to us. If we are smart, we make a conscious decision to pay attention. No matter how hard the past, you can always start all over again. Quite often, the most destructive and chaotic events from our life can produce much fruit. Sometimes, the worst thing that has happened to you can become the very best thing that has ever happened to you.
The demon which had possessed me for so many years has been caged and returned to where from which it came. I have gone on in life without him in it, but he is constantly part of my being. The lessons I have learned from his departure have graced me with a fortitude I never would have imagined I could own. Everything I am as a person is measured through this milestone. Every moment, every action I take is a consequence from both our actions. As the heavy weight of the experience lifted ever so slightly from me, I made myself a promise. I swore to him, and to God, and to anything ethereal that would listen, that I would secure positives from this event. I would ensure that his death had purpose, if only for myself. The ripple effect has been as mighty as the leap I made into safety that night and the jump that took him away.
When you forgive yourself, you start to heal. When you let go, you start to grow. Calamity may be a part of living, but how you respond to it will not only define your character but also the caliber of your life. You can choose to remain in your sadness or you can choose to rise above it. You can decide to construct positives from your experience. Failure can be a stepping stone. The mistakes you have made can be the building blocks that take you higher. This does not always erase any resulting bitterness or tragedy. Healing from your past does not negate that past. Do not dwell on what went so wrong, focus instead on how to make things better.
Our energies are better spent looking for hope rather than focusing on defeat. The challenges you face in your life are an invitation to change, to awaken, to be the person that you want to be. If you make the decision to bend with the wind. it can never break you. Instead of trying to forget what has happened to you, use it. This balance will allow you to move forward. How does the worst thing that has ever happened to you turn into the best thing that has ever happened to you? Make it so.
http://www.strathroyagedispatch.com/2011/12/13/good-news-bad-news-for-downtown-businesses
For some reason, I had convinced myself that he had headed out of town, following the train tracks from Strathroy north towards Poplar Hill. In hindsight, he had often talked about just disappearing like hobos did in the 1930s and riding the rails. It didn't hurt that the train station stood 500 metres out the rear entrance. The police had tried to console me, they would keep an eye out for him in the town. Our friends had no clue were he might be, he had not contacted them. My family, and his family, seemed sympathetic, but I could tell they thought I was overreacting. On the early morning of February 13th, 1995, overstuffed into warmth like Randy Parker from A Christmas Story, I waddled past the car and out onto the railway tracks. The snow was rather heavy and the wind was not my friend. Despite the piles of shelter wrapped around me, I immediately started shaking. I knew there was no time to waste.
Past the train station, then the lumberyard, I quickened my pace. I completely failed to notice the flour mill sitting still and silent only feet from our home. Beyond the houses and the storage units, I wandered, only stopping on occasion to brush the snow that had accumulated on my scarves and the front of my legs. It was a tempest out. When I passed the 10th concession, leaving the city lights behind me, I started to call out for him. I battled not only the harshness of the gale but the wail of a strong north wind battering my senses. I pushed forward, crying out again and again, begging God that I might somehow find him. The depth of the snow to each side of the tracks tricked me into thinking he may be hiding beneath the waves of white all around me. Every tree I imagined might be him, standing, waiting for me to discover him shivering in the cold. The further down this road I fashioned, the more hopeless I began to feel. The more hopeless I became, the louder my cries. In an act of desperation, I started to bargain with God. It was the thunder down the way that brought me back to reality.
For a moment, I considered standing my ground and facing the oncoming locomotion. The headlight and whistle tempted me close to destruction. As the train approached me, I had to make a decision. I asked myself if I should continue on this inevitable quest or just lay down and give in to abandon. The jump was mighty and just in time. I flung myself into a pile of winter, deep and rippled at the side of the rails. Its fury shook me as the rage of the metal caravan attempted to tug me into it. I curled up in a standing ball, holding my place by the grace of something other than God. The backlight and curls of snow seemed like a will-o'-the-wisp, a mystical sign of its passing. I slowly turned around and started to crawl back onto the trail. I stood in futility, well knowing the fate that had elected me. From the moment I had walked through the front door, I just knew. I could feel he was gone from the second I found him missing. The train was a sign for me, a harbinger of the doom that was soon to expose itself. As the world spun in a torrent all around me, I gave up and fell on top of the cold hard ties. The torment was much more than I could handle. I was tempted, once again, to stand this ground until my doom, but I rose instead and started screaming.
It was like my soul had left me, my cry was fierce and it cut through the dark. In the distance, dogs began to howl with me. Perhaps they knew. Like a symphony of pain, defeat and resignation, our ululation lingered like the train still fading in the distance. It was agony to know I had no power, no recourse but to slink back home and wait for the outcome I already knew. I could feel him leaving. I just knew he was gone. I looked all around me and began to sob. My tears froze in the savageness of this cold. My eyes were flooded by puddles of ice and surrender. The walk back to life was heavy on me. No matter how I sought, I just could not find him. As I approached some semblance of sanctuary, I once again was blinded to the flour mill and the secret that it held. Come the break of dawn, it would reveal itself.
"Alone in this house
Again, tonight
I got the TV on,
The sound turned down and a bottle of wine
There's pictures of you and I on the walls around me
The way that it was and could have been
Surrounds me
I'll never get over you walkin' away"
Life goes on, whether we want it to or not is irrelevant. It took months before I could function again. I was almost as crippled by his fall as he was. I was much more fortunate in my outcome. It became quite apparent to me that the dead do not rise again, but we do. Night after night I sat pining, never tricked by his shadow or any light that might reveal to me a glimpse of him. This in no way halted me praying for such mercy. The drugs and the booze made little difference. This withdrawal from life only made me worse. So many people told me it was not my fault. Each attempted to convince me that I was not the reason he had just walked away. I could not imagine that this was so. I lost myself to the agony. I do not know how I survived such pain. I had never been one to show my feelings. I had never been an open book before. No matter where I was, you could clearly tell my angst and misery. I was overwhelmed by my grief and a lingering sense of contrition. It was as if I had died there with him.
"I've never been the kind
To ever let my feelings show
And I thought that bein' strong meant
Never losin' your self-control
But I'm just drunk enough
To let go of my pain
To hell with my pride
Let it fall like rain
From my eyes
Tonight I wanna cry"
"Would it help
If I turned a sad song on
'All By Myself'
Would sure hit me hard now that you're gone
Or maybe unfold some old yellow lost love letters
It's gonna hurt bad
Before it gets better
But I'll never get over you
By hiding this way"
Some things change you forever and you can never go back. 28 years later and the bitter sting of what occurred that February night lingers in my dreams. I used to resent going on and rising above it all. I often felt as if my healing was a betrayal of his actions. I was a turncoat unable to follow through and repeat the harm he had done. This in no way was for lack of trying. Any guilt that still lingers is covered by a peace that I have found. I have moved past the way things turned out to be. For years it haunted me, every moment a constant reminder that I had failed him. I would ruminate in the stench of it all. Slowly but surely, time became a blessing with the curse. No matter how I tried to hold on to the pain and the resentment, it eventually started to disappear like that train fading in the distance. I didn't want it to go, it was all I had left of him. Eventually, I had to decide whether to get on with living or get on with dying. I knew I could not go on hiding from all the world. Occasionally, I still question my choice.
I am no longer blinded to that flour mill. It never fails to act like a giant concrete gravestone, standing in the centre of town, a marker of the life I have been forced to live and the one I had little choice but to leave behind me. Every time I pass it, or see it rising in the distance, it has been a constant reminder of how death surrounds me. Finally, the town has abandoned it to progress. The old mill has been purchased and will be converted into a brewery. Ironically, the ground upon which he landed will now produce the beer that made his life somewhat easier while he was here. I cannot imagine driving past the spot and not seeing it there. The great monument I was blind to that night, will now be the final rubble, so soon to be dead and gone. I will not miss it whatsoever.The demon which had possessed me for so many years has been caged and returned to where from which it came. I have gone on in life without him in it, but he is constantly part of my being. The lessons I have learned from his departure have graced me with a fortitude I never would have imagined I could own. Everything I am as a person is measured through this milestone. Every moment, every action I take is a consequence from both our actions. As the heavy weight of the experience lifted ever so slightly from me, I made myself a promise. I swore to him, and to God, and to anything ethereal that would listen, that I would secure positives from this event. I would ensure that his death had purpose, if only for myself. The ripple effect has been as mighty as the leap I made into safety that night and the jump that took him away.
"I've never been the kind
To ever let my feelings show
And I thought that bein' strong meant
Never losin' your self-control
But I'm just drunk enough
To let go of my pain
To hell with my pride
Let it fall like rain
From my eyes
Tonight I wanna cry"
(Tonight I Wanna Cry, Keith Urban 2007)
Our energies are better spent looking for hope rather than focusing on defeat. The challenges you face in your life are an invitation to change, to awaken, to be the person that you want to be. If you make the decision to bend with the wind. it can never break you. Instead of trying to forget what has happened to you, use it. This balance will allow you to move forward. How does the worst thing that has ever happened to you turn into the best thing that has ever happened to you? Make it so.
Sources
http://www.strathroyagedispatch.com/2011/12/13/good-news-bad-news-for-downtown-businesses
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