I stopped going to funerals the March after I turned 17. I swore I had had my fill and that I would celebrate the lives lost around me in other ways. It was selfish but the pain, the memories turned nightmares, were too hard for me to bare any other way. So I thought.
Yesterday I woke up with a decision weighing on my mind. It was the memorial service for a high school teacher who had changed the course of my young life. Being an outdoor education teacher I justified the idea of going skiing by saying to myself " Mr. P would have appreciated me spending the day in the mountains he loved so much". A text message from my best friend put this idea to rest, she would be picking me up half an hour before the service. No time to make it west and back.
Truly I was expecting it to be relatively easy as funerals go. I didn't expect to cry, I had not cried much at the funerals of my own grandparents, not diminishing my love for them but just I had felt all cried out from the seven funerals in five days I had attended in high school. Also Mr. P had been fighting cancer for almost six years, heartbreaking to say the least but not an unexpected death. I did wear waterproof mascara but was cocky enough to leave the kleenex at home.
Stepping into the church, seeing the same faces imprinted on my brain 8 years ago I started to shake. A tiny tremor in my right hand that moved to my legs as the service progressed. Teachers holding me in tight embraces I was transported back to the grief of that February. I was shocked at the reaction I was having, embarrassed that I was not as OK, not as 'moved on' as I had convinced myself I was. The flashbacks and vivid memories I had shoved way down arose, flooding my brain. As I watched the service deeply moved, I could see the Prefects sitting two rows ahead of me in their formal uniforms. Like it was yesterday that was me, my uniform like an armour, allowing me to be simultaneously strong and proud, representing our tiny devastated community. I wept openly, reaching for my friend's hand sharing the same tight bond we had so many years ago.
Mr. P had a far greater impact on this earth than he probably ever knew. His brother in law spoke of his ability to make the ordinary remarkable, whether it was the drive to Lake Louise or the way he made maps come alive. He did the same for those in his family, for the students who he instilled a passion for the wilderness in. For me. He persisted in living big right until the end. Focusing on what he could do, not on what he couldn't. His best friend, struck with more tragedy in his life than most people will ever have to face, spoke to Mr. P's mannerisms. He always saw the best in people and in situations. Opportunities for learning and living. I was reminded of some of his famous quotes yesterday that resounded in my head like I was a grade 9 student again, hiking stunning peaks, learning to carry my world on my back.
- Be good first then be fast.
- Stay together, stay together, don't separate.
- Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, then drink more water.
Yesterday afternoon put me in my place, was an experience in rediscovering and coming to terms with where I came from, how much I've grown, how much hard work is left to go. I was scared, sad to the point of heartbreak and yet inspired beyond belief. I want to be remembered in the way that Mr. P is, for making a difference, for my love of nature, for my ability to inspire and shape people. Though it was an infinitely harder day than I had anticipated I am so very grateful that I went. John Wayne said "Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway". Yesterday took courage for everyone there, a group of people faced with hardship and tragedy and yet full of love and celebration. This lesson, of doing the things that are truly challenging yet with great possible reward, is one I will carry with me forever.
I will leave you with two quotes from the service.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
Everyday you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.
- Sir Winston Churchill.
And this.
Yesterday I woke up with a decision weighing on my mind. It was the memorial service for a high school teacher who had changed the course of my young life. Being an outdoor education teacher I justified the idea of going skiing by saying to myself " Mr. P would have appreciated me spending the day in the mountains he loved so much". A text message from my best friend put this idea to rest, she would be picking me up half an hour before the service. No time to make it west and back.
Truly I was expecting it to be relatively easy as funerals go. I didn't expect to cry, I had not cried much at the funerals of my own grandparents, not diminishing my love for them but just I had felt all cried out from the seven funerals in five days I had attended in high school. Also Mr. P had been fighting cancer for almost six years, heartbreaking to say the least but not an unexpected death. I did wear waterproof mascara but was cocky enough to leave the kleenex at home.
Stepping into the church, seeing the same faces imprinted on my brain 8 years ago I started to shake. A tiny tremor in my right hand that moved to my legs as the service progressed. Teachers holding me in tight embraces I was transported back to the grief of that February. I was shocked at the reaction I was having, embarrassed that I was not as OK, not as 'moved on' as I had convinced myself I was. The flashbacks and vivid memories I had shoved way down arose, flooding my brain. As I watched the service deeply moved, I could see the Prefects sitting two rows ahead of me in their formal uniforms. Like it was yesterday that was me, my uniform like an armour, allowing me to be simultaneously strong and proud, representing our tiny devastated community. I wept openly, reaching for my friend's hand sharing the same tight bond we had so many years ago.
Mr. P had a far greater impact on this earth than he probably ever knew. His brother in law spoke of his ability to make the ordinary remarkable, whether it was the drive to Lake Louise or the way he made maps come alive. He did the same for those in his family, for the students who he instilled a passion for the wilderness in. For me. He persisted in living big right until the end. Focusing on what he could do, not on what he couldn't. His best friend, struck with more tragedy in his life than most people will ever have to face, spoke to Mr. P's mannerisms. He always saw the best in people and in situations. Opportunities for learning and living. I was reminded of some of his famous quotes yesterday that resounded in my head like I was a grade 9 student again, hiking stunning peaks, learning to carry my world on my back.
- Be good first then be fast.
- Stay together, stay together, don't separate.
- Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, then drink more water.
Yesterday afternoon put me in my place, was an experience in rediscovering and coming to terms with where I came from, how much I've grown, how much hard work is left to go. I was scared, sad to the point of heartbreak and yet inspired beyond belief. I want to be remembered in the way that Mr. P is, for making a difference, for my love of nature, for my ability to inspire and shape people. Though it was an infinitely harder day than I had anticipated I am so very grateful that I went. John Wayne said "Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway". Yesterday took courage for everyone there, a group of people faced with hardship and tragedy and yet full of love and celebration. This lesson, of doing the things that are truly challenging yet with great possible reward, is one I will carry with me forever.
I will leave you with two quotes from the service.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
- Robert Frost
Everyday you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.
- Sir Winston Churchill.
And this.
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