Summer Therapy

There’s a quote by Alexandre Dumas about the pursuit of happiness that says: “Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales- whose gates are guarded by fiery maleficent dragons- we must fight in order to conquer it.”  

"Softly in her sleep, pictures of the life she's longing for slowly appear
She's seen them all before but somehow never quite this clear
She just smiles, she don't want the world..."

This summer, while earning my ‘stripes’ with work and independence, I also sought refuge in the perpetual flow of festivals, events and historical attractions, which abound on the Island. It was my involvement in activities, which helped me in dealing with life impacting choices. Decisions I had to settle on that resulted in me going forward on the board of Life. Standing in the mirror, I gazed at my pattern created by Shayla long ago, which was inked on my body. Over the past months, I have made my way thru the ripples surrounding the circular tattoo my daughter drew. Navigating the design she created-much like a Rubik’s cube-moving through one thing- propelled something else to change in my life. 

 Interwoven with my grief was a Zen balance of placing the loss of Shayla aside and allowing my new identity to emerge- one beyond my bereavement. 

Who am I? A childless bereaved mother? A woman without the roots of a family? A lover without a soul mate? 

Every event I attended brought me defining moments where a transformed version was breaking thru the physical surface. 

In the summer, I attended the annual PRIDE Parade, because intolerance is not just ugly, it is downright shameful to judge another person on who they should love. Given the stigma, hate crimes, suicide rate and bullying associated with this lifestyle; I lent my support over something connected to my daughter. Shayla stood up for the underdog and was relentlessly harassed for it! During the day, I was fortunate to have a chance encounter with a young lady. She seemed heavy with despair and the words I spoke came from the centre of my deep faith. After, we hugged and I left feeling what I shared may have impacted her, in a positive way. 

Another event I went to is the Buskers Festival because I enjoy the performing arts and seeing live events. I relished in the week long festivities, within the inner harbour. This was my second year attending and always there are crowd pleasers and fan favourites. The English Gents – a comedy duo actually from down under- were by far, the group people were talking about! The world class act performed an array of daring acrobatics, even to the point of being so daring to show off in their Englishman pants- underwear, while sipping tea!

My passion for gardens saw my feet saunter amongst royal roses, blooming irises and Japanese gardens at the grounds of Hatley Castle. Another day was well spent at Government House, where I had afternoon tea with my dear friend Lilian, at the 19^th century Carey Castle Mews. 

My time was precious as I worked many hours. It was a treat to attend a local market and buy produce from the many farmers, whose bountiful goods thrive on Vancouver Island. I shared in many conversations with those who livelihood is centered on their farms. Across from the church I attend is a stand where everything is handpicked, washed and sold in an abundance of flavour and fresh harvesting. 

One humid day, I drove to several markets along the way, before going to a beach I had heard many locals rave about. Known for its breathtaking panorama of the ocean and adjacent islands, what the sea held for me that day was glorious! As my bare feet touched the finely separated rock and mineral elements, my eyes fixed upon a discovered treasure. Within my view was a castle fort of driftwood and smooth stones- where I could hang my tassel wrap, butterfly pouch and dig my toes into the sand. 

With a piece of elongated driftwood offering support for my back, I settled in for the day. My observations of where I was kindled sentiments, as I took in, all the grandeur. As I dug my toes further into the beach before me, I felt something. Intrigued, I began to extradite with my feet, then using my hands, I pulled out what had literally been hidden right where I sat. This was a gift from the heavens -after I had made the difficult- yet freeing decision to let go of my daughter’s Memorial Stone at McKinley Landing. It was a phenomenal fragment of smoothed granite, which held glints within it, just like the one handpicked for Shayla’s monument. Knowing I would never see the memorial stone again, I was given a mini-version… a reminder of what had evolved between me and the larger one, over the years.  

 My buried treasure, once unearthed had found a place, instilling the word Peace upon my heart. 

On my summer list was a visit to The Butchart Gardens. Last December, I had walked amongst the twinkling lights, as it was on the “12 days of Christmas,” itinerary my daughter and I had plans to share.  

At the Bed and Breakfast I worked for, the gardens were always at the top “To do” of world- travellers. I went on a night when the skies would be lit up by the renowned Butchart Gardens fireworks.  

As someone who saw the fantastic, visually explosive show in Disneyworld, with Shayla by my side, I could not imagine me being swept up by any other display. I was left in awe of the flickering stars emitting colourful sparks, while the noise of swirling objects floated on by in front of a massive crowd. The forests were painted a red glow, with the illumination of coloured flames.  A changeable display of Roman candles, Crossettes, Dahlia and Ring types of effects, lit up near the ocean. The ½ hour pyrotechnics hit me like lightening- as I sat on my knees I was cleansed in the visual creation of ground and aerial fireworks.

Afterwards, I was invited to step into the illuminated night grounds and explore another side of what The Butchart Gardens has to offer.

It was an unforgettable night where amongst the strangers, I never felt alone.

Road trips have become a favourite of mine- like slipping on a pair of old worn jeans, I never tire of  climbing into the driver’s seat to go exploring. On the way to Port Renfrew, in the quaint area of Shirley, is a whimsical eatery called “Shirley’s Delicious Café.” Rising to the rafters are the memories of countless visitors, whose lives are no longer detached, upon entering.

The decor inside, has the interior bathed in a tapestry of vibrancy, which flows from one wall to another. As I struck up a conversation with an employee, my gaze was diverted to a wood piece hanging on the wall. Exhibited on it was my beloved Sitka Tree and I knew the drive was worth it to come to this place. 

After having a wholesome meal, the leftovers were packed as there was so much food. In my time there, I came to understand the depth of Shirley’s existence. It has something within it that imparts on those who visit- a sense of spiritual community. Inside, where the tables of people sit together, immersed in food, conversation and art, one needs to be mindful of the heartbeats from the woodlands encircling it. Upon leaving “Shirley’s Delicious Café,” I let my footsteps be carried away. As the oceans songs echo through the trees, I settle within the essence of this business… reminding me that not all who wander are lost.

Reflecting back on this summer of transformation and the levels of loss I allowed to resurface, I contemplate the decisions I made, spurred on by taking the GriefShare course. How I finally dealt with the eight boxes of my daughter’s stuff arriving and sorting through the remnants of her life. 

Turning one pile of donation into 20 bags; I gave away her things going to a variety of charities, including Saanich Baptist Church, where I attend. 

The stuff I chose to keep is very personal; reminders of the deep bonds of mother and daughter that have never been disconnected. 

Shayla's corsage, Pearl necklace and earrings from her Prom.

Who am I? I am a Christian. I am a gifted writer. I am worthy of being loved. I am a Survivor.

Spending time in solitude has given me reassurance that none of the above would have been made possible without my faith, friends and the acceptance of a decision I made to walk away from the man I loved. I have discovered when I stand firm in my convictions that something in return has to be let go. In doing so, there are new reasons and moments to stay where my feet are planted- not looking back. Instead of filling my sand pail only with pebbles, it is important for my well-being that I place amongst the stones, other hidden treasures. Like those I discovered this summer of growth- each experience telling its own story. 

 By T L Alton