Let us never know what old age is. Let us know the happiness time brings, not count the years.
Ausonius
The way I see it, you should live every day as if it's your birthday
Paris Hilton
I thought of you today, Erin (as every day) and the gaping hole of absence gnawed even more achingly than it usually does. Our world had been dowsed white with the first snowfall at the beginning of December and on the second Friday of December the school called a snow day in the face of a dire snow storm warning. Not a flake of snow had appeared by 8am or even 1pm – but by 2pm when Cameron and I headed up for our first day of skiing the snow was coming down in a sheet of white streaks. The flakes danced in the air in front of our noses and I could imagine your tongue sticking out to catch them. I remember my first ski lesson with you – when I tugged and tugged you up the gentle slope until my leather boots were soaked and I proudly watched you make your first tentative glide down the hill on uncoordinated skis. You became my willing ski partner ready to embrace the challenge of speed or endurance. Cameron was less committed to the sport as, like me, he struggles to keep warm while you, warm as toast, would always exude heat as if fired by a furnace deep within your frame. Your bronzed-tinged hair would stick out from under your jacket that had endured 3 ski seasons (and which you donned on your last day out over your t-shirt and shorts) because you loved it so much.
And so Cameron and I set off on our first run of the season – you were present with us, on the ski lift, as we bolted off and chased each other down the mountain, down the run where we’d videoed your prowess, and when we arrived back cold and exhausted for the snowy drive home. With my longer skis I was not able to glide off-piste and chase him as you used to do - between the trees, along the tracks, the swishing of skis and yells of joy cutting through the silence...for Cameron has lost his skiing mate, too. He is becoming a very competent skier now and is now confident enough to negotiate the black slopes. I still rule the speed domain, but it will not be long when he surpasses me in that arena too. I remember how after ski school we would do one final run together from the top of Whistler Mountain all the way down without stopping…I wonder how your skiing would have progressed – neat turns, dexterous maneuvering and still bright red cherubic cheeks at the end of the day’s outing? And I think of you now leading the way – far in the distance on your own journey forging the way for those of us who are yet to follow.
And I thought of you today, Erin (as I always do, every minute and hour of the day). Your presence was strongly with us as we were suspended through the air above a pristine white world on the Sea-to-Sky gondola with Papa and Aunty Beth on the last day of the year. It was a scintillating day of sunshine tinting the snow with dancing sparkles and exhilarating raw cold. We stood at the top of the mountain overlooking the Howe Sound’s astonishing beauty, then tentatively picked our way across the wavering sky bridge and peaked our faces through picture frames dangling from the trees, beaming faces belying our internal sadness. Cameron and I went for a walk on the snow-covered paths, marveling at the rivulets frozen in magnificent sculptures clinging to rock faces. He jumped in to snow banks, made snow angels, slid down slopes and plucked icicles like you used to pick wild flowers (but Erin, now nobody except us will be able to enjoy those blossoms…). I followed suit with my more tempered adult enthusiasm and wished you were with us to partner his antics. I remember when you and he would lie prostrate in the snow to etch snow angels, arms flapping to create the wings, strong impermanent marks in the snow. And now here you are, my real angel – intangible but, unlike the fading snow angels, your mark on our lives is indelible, permanent and strong in spite of your absence in all our outings and new memories.
The Vancouver rain has returned once again to wash away nature’s ice etchings, snow angels, Aunty Beth’s snowman and the pristine white winter wonderland world we enjoyed for a month. It is another reminder of the relentless passage of time, of the march to Spring, of a new year beginning without you. And I think of you today, dear Erin, on this special day, Wednesday 17th January, 2007, when you burst dramatically in to the world, too impatient for a hospital welcome, demanding to engage in the wild act of living. This would have been your 10th birthday – the grand embracing of double digits, the first rite of passage, that first of coming of age.
Your almost eight years were full of joy, of adventures, of love and of laughter. You have touched our lives and others’ lives - and continue to do so in remarkable and tangible ways. Happy birthday, Erin! We miss you with all our hearts and souls.
Ausonius
The way I see it, you should live every day as if it's your birthday
Paris Hilton
I thought of you today, Erin (as every day) and the gaping hole of absence gnawed even more achingly than it usually does. Our world had been dowsed white with the first snowfall at the beginning of December and on the second Friday of December the school called a snow day in the face of a dire snow storm warning. Not a flake of snow had appeared by 8am or even 1pm – but by 2pm when Cameron and I headed up for our first day of skiing the snow was coming down in a sheet of white streaks. The flakes danced in the air in front of our noses and I could imagine your tongue sticking out to catch them. I remember my first ski lesson with you – when I tugged and tugged you up the gentle slope until my leather boots were soaked and I proudly watched you make your first tentative glide down the hill on uncoordinated skis. You became my willing ski partner ready to embrace the challenge of speed or endurance. Cameron was less committed to the sport as, like me, he struggles to keep warm while you, warm as toast, would always exude heat as if fired by a furnace deep within your frame. Your bronzed-tinged hair would stick out from under your jacket that had endured 3 ski seasons (and which you donned on your last day out over your t-shirt and shorts) because you loved it so much.
And so Cameron and I set off on our first run of the season – you were present with us, on the ski lift, as we bolted off and chased each other down the mountain, down the run where we’d videoed your prowess, and when we arrived back cold and exhausted for the snowy drive home. With my longer skis I was not able to glide off-piste and chase him as you used to do - between the trees, along the tracks, the swishing of skis and yells of joy cutting through the silence...for Cameron has lost his skiing mate, too. He is becoming a very competent skier now and is now confident enough to negotiate the black slopes. I still rule the speed domain, but it will not be long when he surpasses me in that arena too. I remember how after ski school we would do one final run together from the top of Whistler Mountain all the way down without stopping…I wonder how your skiing would have progressed – neat turns, dexterous maneuvering and still bright red cherubic cheeks at the end of the day’s outing? And I think of you now leading the way – far in the distance on your own journey forging the way for those of us who are yet to follow.
And I thought of you today, Erin (as I always do, every minute and hour of the day). Your presence was strongly with us as we were suspended through the air above a pristine white world on the Sea-to-Sky gondola with Papa and Aunty Beth on the last day of the year. It was a scintillating day of sunshine tinting the snow with dancing sparkles and exhilarating raw cold. We stood at the top of the mountain overlooking the Howe Sound’s astonishing beauty, then tentatively picked our way across the wavering sky bridge and peaked our faces through picture frames dangling from the trees, beaming faces belying our internal sadness. Cameron and I went for a walk on the snow-covered paths, marveling at the rivulets frozen in magnificent sculptures clinging to rock faces. He jumped in to snow banks, made snow angels, slid down slopes and plucked icicles like you used to pick wild flowers (but Erin, now nobody except us will be able to enjoy those blossoms…). I followed suit with my more tempered adult enthusiasm and wished you were with us to partner his antics. I remember when you and he would lie prostrate in the snow to etch snow angels, arms flapping to create the wings, strong impermanent marks in the snow. And now here you are, my real angel – intangible but, unlike the fading snow angels, your mark on our lives is indelible, permanent and strong in spite of your absence in all our outings and new memories.
The Vancouver rain has returned once again to wash away nature’s ice etchings, snow angels, Aunty Beth’s snowman and the pristine white winter wonderland world we enjoyed for a month. It is another reminder of the relentless passage of time, of the march to Spring, of a new year beginning without you. And I think of you today, dear Erin, on this special day, Wednesday 17th January, 2007, when you burst dramatically in to the world, too impatient for a hospital welcome, demanding to engage in the wild act of living. This would have been your 10th birthday – the grand embracing of double digits, the first rite of passage, that first of coming of age.
Your almost eight years were full of joy, of adventures, of love and of laughter. You have touched our lives and others’ lives - and continue to do so in remarkable and tangible ways. Happy birthday, Erin! We miss you with all our hearts and souls.