One Direction~ Transition

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike. ~ John Muir

I have been ‘in transition’ of sorts; meaning I am planning a move. This shift in my world has seen me having to re-open and sort through over twenty boxes of my daughters belongings. I am down-sizing, while making key decisions I never thought I ever would. For the day Shayla passed away, my line of succession was gone. Removed in an instant, her beautiful legacy is suspended forever in time.

I have wanted to post in these few days, but also find myself inundated with the horrific images left from Hurricane Sandy, which stripped people of their own essentials. I contemplate their fate and the tears have come quickly, not forsaking me. I have spoken with others who have lost a loved one about their own understanding to what is going on around us. They agree that after the death of someone, you become highly sensitized to global events; as if you assimilate their pain as you can understand devastation…just in a different sense.

Tonight, I realized the internal healing I feel comes in the words I express in my posts. Therefore, I want to share about our one and only camping trip this year. In May, my partner and I travelled to Cultus Lake; a provincial park in the Fraser Valley region of British Columbia.

I once was an avid camper, seeking adventures in various campgrounds all over North America. Shayla grew up with me taking her into the state of Washington and backpacking. We collected sand dollars along the beaches and set out dollops of peanut butter for a campsite where the local squirrel was a mascot. We even became bold enough to attempt cooking homemade muffins over the open fire. The assortment of vivid characters we met along our travels was as diverse and free as the bursts of stars in the night sky. There was ‘Fire-Man’ who was a local legend, known for assisting those who needed fire power, with a clear bottle of liquid. One sniff of the contents and you knew to back away- no run – for the hills. Turns out he thought he was being neighbourly by spraying your wimpy fire with a good dousing of gasoline! Another of our favourite memories was the night we were stranded as all the campsites were booked in Fairhaven, USA. A kind employee of a hippie café gave us a ride to his house. He let us set up our tent and gear in his front yard. As we stumbled in the dark, suddenly he appeared to give us a warning.  We should be careful with hammering in any tent pegs as they had recently celebrated the Fourth of July and there were bottle rockets and a variety of fireworks everywhere! We thanked him and proceed to slumber in our sleeping bags and a droopy tent. It was these special moments that contributed to many years of bonding with my daughter.

This past May long weekend, it was my partner’s birthday and we wanted to go away. Cultus Lake had always been a place we were interested to pitch our tent. I was hoping to unwind and let nature lead the way. The anticipation of finding where our site was, always gave me a sense of enthusiasm in locating it as soon as possible. I enjoy a more secluded spot, near the water, but close enough to the public washrooms. I usually am the one getting tangled in my sleeping bag, while needing to use the facilities urgently.

We arrived to find a pristine vision was our invisible door to the landscape for the next three days. To really have your eyes opened to the scenery; a flickering campfire, marshmallows being toasted a nice charcoal and the sounds of the loons are needed. These all enhance the rustic experience. We were fortunate to have this for one night. The next day, I awoke to the blaring sounds of One Direction crooning “What Makes You Beautiful.” I stepped out of the tent to see three young girls, around the age of ten, all lined up and singing their hearts out to the catchy tune. At first, I was okay with it, even though I felt somewhat sad. These young girls reminded me of Shayla and her friends dancing and mimicking every move of the Spice Girls. I started a fire and took in the freshness of the air. I boiled water for my coffee and checked out the three pebbles of my babygirl’s that I had brought to be placed in Cultus Lake.

After we had breakfast and were ready; my partner and I went for a walk amongst the towering lush forest.  I noted that as we were leaving our campsite, the same song was being played on rotation. It could have started to grate on my nerves, but we were bound for the trails, far away from the technology of life. This excursion was a welcome release of the stress I had felt at home. I wanted to absorb each section of plant life, to snap a permanent picture in my mind of the wildflowers I saw. Trekking along in the woods, I appreciated what was going on in my surroundings. A glorious sunset peeked through the branches of trees as we made our way back. As soon as we drew near, I could hear the droning sounds of One Direction and my body was tense in an instant. I had come for tranquility; not repetitious annoyance. I decided it was time to release the pebbles and take part in something I have done many times since Shayla’s passing… to blow bubbles.

Once back at out campsite, we gathered what we would need and walked towards the beach. I took the first stone and said a few words, as I always do, placing it into the water. My boyfriend tossed the stone I gave him and the last one was thrown in. Then he took the bubbles and blew them towards Cultus Lake. I was able to capture a brilliant snapshot of something that I use to enjoy doing with my daughter. We went back to our tent and sat by the fire. No sooner were we relaxing and then the music started up again. I felt like taking the CD player and flinging it to the wilderness. Spots of rain began to fall and we knew we would have to retreat for shelter. The mere thought of being a ‘prisoner’ in a small two person tent was enough for me to express my wish to leave. I did not comprehend it at the time, but the young girls singing, giggling and dancing without end, reminded me constantly of Shayla. It was too much to cope with and I understood suddenly that I was not ready to be thrust back so soon into the camping environment.

The unspoken part of grief is the one in which our bodies react even before we do. To know every deep thought is impossible, but when I find myself vulnerable in this world, I no longer fight what the process is trying to tell me.

By T L. Alton