Nesting

Charlotte is here with us this week at our new-to-us house on Vancouver Island, so close to the ocean, you can sometimes smell it and hear it, though not quite see it. We are camping in a house that has not yet gifted us with a working furnace or much furniture other than a new king bed that is perfect for Don and Moondog and me (and sometimes also Charlotte); a table and chair set bought secondhand by my grandparents when they first moved to Canada as refugees after WWII and then lovingly refurbished by my Daddy; and a loveseat I bought at the local Habitat for Humanity store that cost 170 dollars plus 100 dollars to bring it over in a truck. Don is in the king bed on Facebook marketplace as I write, looking for a utility trailer to haul all the things we both need, want, and are happy to collect second-hand and over time, provided we have something to pick them up with. I am huddled next to a space heater in the spacious kitchen, with my down jacket on over my pajamas, listening to the herons squabble outside as they build their nests and play in the trees of our back yard. How majestic and jurassic they are. It’s a new world. A new world without Emily, yet I feel her presence so deeply here that sometimes I could swear she is right beside me.

The Salish Sea is a place she loved: she built log houses along its shores to huddle under; she served countless orders of food meticulously plated on exquisite pieces of driftwood laden with sand and kelp and stones and shells fashioned into exactly what our wishes were; she bounded on all fours like a little lion and frolicked with Heather’s dogs here; and she walked the trails with gusto, always searching for eagles and seals and all the little treasures her and Don would pick up and pocket along the way.

I am convinced she is happy, no - DELIGHTED - that we are here: that we can now call Little River/Singing Sands our home. I am certain she wants us to nest, just as the herons are doing in our fir trees. 

Spring has come, and the mating dances have begun, little purple hyacinths are springing up everywhere: the buds, the blooms, the surge of growth exactly mirror what is happening to me. (Well, maybe not the mating dance, because I have found my perfect mate, and we are together becoming more perfect by the moment. Haha.) But this place: yes, it is magical and transformative. We knew that when we came here for the first time seven years ago, when our friend Heather found our house for us just a few days after we had left this beautiful neck of the woods neither of us had ever visited. She called us at the airport as we were heading back to Beijing after a summer spent mostly on the Pacific Ocean, saying she had found us the perfect place. We bought it sight unseen, and came back the next summer to find that, yes, it was perfect indeed. Heather had worked her magic, but that magic is part of the universal magic that crystallizes and makes all events synchronize into this marvelous life, even when we don’t know why or how it will all come together.

Maybe that doesn’t happen for all, and who am I to say this after losing the most precious thing of all, a child? Yet here I am, feeling my Emily and knowing that we are destined to be here in this moment, and knowing that we have found our home and it is time to nest.

A Ferry Ride

I am on a BC ferry on my way from Vancouver Island back to the mainland. Tomorrow I will be picking up my Donnie, my Moondog, and Emily’s ashes. Charlotte will join us next week for several days and our family will be complete again.

I came to our Little River house just outside of Comox on Sunday, and have been busy acquiring what is needed (including, for the first time in our life, a king bed!), setting up internet, and desperately attempting to get heat, which has so far failed. Fortunately, my friend Heather is both housing me and helping, all hours of the day and night, to make my transition a smooth one.

I will say that I have been on a bliss trip since arriving, in spite of hiccups like absence of heat and a washing machine that produces sediment rather than clean laundry. There is a heron’s nest in one of the many gigantic tree surrounding our property and prehistoric noises emanating from it as well as gorgeous birds circling our property, even their shadows majestic. The ocean (Emily’s Beach) is moments away, the air is among the freshest in the world, and our house is a wonderland of surprises and delights. I keep walking the wrong way because there are so many bedrooms! Being accustomed to apartment living, I am feeling exceedingly spoiled with all the indoor and outdoor space. This is a paradise I have not experienced as an adult, and I can’t wait to start gardening and decorating, and communing with the abundant nature.

The sea is rough on the ferry just now, the waves are roiling, and I am hoping there might be an orca sighting or two. It’s herring season so the whales are abundant. A little baby has been caught in a bay up in the north of Vancouver Island because she followed her mother there who was consequently beached and died. A helicopter is attempting to  drop a sling today to return her to her pod. She has been wailing for her mama, and the locals have been sending out sounds of her auntie, trying to lure her back to her family.

Emily has lured us here to our SInging Sands neighbourhood, to the beach she adored/s, and with the promise of tranquility, community, and unparalleled nature. Already, with just under a week under my belt and minus my sweetie and doggie and along with much industry, I feel renewed. My word of the year is reinvention and, my oh my, it is happening in spades. For one thing, all my lovely work clothes have been traded in for jeans and boots, a toque is necessary for beachy walks, which will be an at-least daily venture (a promise I made to my Emily), and my spirit feels so much lighter. At risk of sounding cliche, it is soaring with the many eagles I have already seen. 

How can one be so blessed and at the same time left with a permanent hole in my heart? Emily’s physical presence is not here, but her spirit assuredly is. Gratitude and focus on the beautiful moments I have been given is my way forward. Also, supporting those who also have such grief through my own learnings, intuitions, and messages from my Emily has given me tremendous purpose.

Purpose, peace, playfulness and passion: this is what I am being gifted. My thanks go to Emily.