Taking the loved-one from me does not take my love away; rather, I still feel in little smiles and heart-tugs and teardrops. (R Pentelbury)
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Happy 9th birthday, Erin...
How do we remember? How do we cope with the memories? How do we move forward?
We all remember Erin for different reasons and in different ways. And we have been impacted by her short life, her sudden departure and her ‘Life Lessons’ in personal and individual ways. I resolved very soon after her accident that I would make a conscious effort to remember her on a daily basis, no matter how painful that might be for me. I was determined not to let my memory of her fade or become less sharply defined. Time does dampen the senses and weakens the memory, so my greatest fear in the early dark days was that I would begin to forget her – how she looked, talked, moved, laughed, loved. Therefore I have deliberately made photo compilations and short videos to help me remember her, to re-live her antics and hear her voice. And each day I take time to stop, remember, and ‘talk’ to her. As I take time to remember her, I am cognisant that memories can drag us down and make us sad, or they can be treasured. It would be very easy to allow my memories of Erin to have a negative effect, for me to become angry that she is no longer with me, or to entrench my bitterness in all that has been lost. Instead, I choose to treasure the memories I have of Erin to make me feel better as they remind me of her Life Lessons, they help keep my memory of her positive, and they honour her.
Exercise has also been helpful to me in coping with my grief and, I believe, has contributed significantly to my ability to cope. Going for a run has always brought me a great deal of satisfaction. I have run almost daily since my Dad dragged us kids out into the wintry Transvaal mornings in the late-1970s when he needed ‘another addiction’ to kick his smoking habit. He, too, has run ever since and still inspires us at the age of 82. The endorphins that are produced during prolonged exercise are one of the brain’s ‘happy drugs’. The endorphins, allied with an oxygenated brain, have meant that I have never returned from a run when I haven’t felt a whole lot better than when I started. But my runs were always serious and focused by the view of South African Comrades legend, Bruce Fordyce, who said that if you were able to smell the roses you were not working hard enough! I would always run hard and would definitely never stop during a workout (an interesting aside is that since Erin’s accident all my runs are 10% slower than before – a run I used to completed in 40 minutes now takes me 44 - a measure of the physical impact of the emotional trauma).
Since December 22, 2014 I have made a feature of stopping while on my daily run specifically to spend time with Erin and talk to her. The place that I have chosen to ‘be with Erin’ is a beautiful spot at the end of a spit of land at Oliver’s Landing at Furry Creek. The spit juts out into the majestic Howe Sound, and there is a lovely deck with benches. It is a spot where I have fond memories of Erin riding her bike along the gravel path and then jumping off and climbing on the railings alongside the deck.
I stop there to consciously remember Erin by taking time to reflect, meditate, pray, and converse with her. It is here that the words of the Elizabeth Frye poem in the introduction to this blog resonate; waves lap, wind blows, grass rustles, birds glide… we are at peace; there are no distractions; I am alert. This is her time with me. Erin and I talk.
How does she answer me? She is present with me through the wind and lapping of waves, in the floating glide of eagles or gulls, in the stars where I can make out the figure of her frozen while doing a cartwheel , in the gently falling rain on my head and shoulders. I feel her in the peace of her presence, and, often, in the anger at her absence. I hear her as a quiet voice in my head.
Two of the conversations I have had with Erin really stand out and give me a glimpse of her new life. More importantly they speak to me of how I should be here and now, in the moment.
The first conversation involves a lemonade stand she and I had been planning to make – see the master plan below! During our 2014 summer holiday while on a bike ride in Cape Cod , we stopped to buy lemonade at a stand that a couple of girls had set up. Inspired, Erin returned from the trip determined to set up her own lemonade stand in our back garden to refresh the golfers who pass by. Erin and I had been discussing the various features of her lemonade stand, but had not yet built it. Standing out on the spit one morning, I asked her if she had built her lemonade stand ‘up there’. As clear as a bell came her reply: “There are no lemons here, silly!” Only Erin would have added the “silly” at the end like that! Another aspect of her reply that struck me (and relates to Elizabeth’s blog on “Where is Erin now?”), was my pre-Copernican view of the hereafter. I had asked her about existence ‘up there’ with reference to the notion of heaven being up and hell being down. Her enlightened response made no reference to this, but inferred a state of being – a sense of ‘here-ness’.
I stop there to consciously remember Erin by taking time to reflect, meditate, pray, and converse with her. It is here that the words of the Elizabeth Frye poem in the introduction to this blog resonate; waves lap, wind blows, grass rustles, birds glide… we are at peace; there are no distractions; I am alert. This is her time with me. Erin and I talk.
How does she answer me? She is present with me through the wind and lapping of waves, in the floating glide of eagles or gulls, in the stars where I can make out the figure of her frozen while doing a cartwheel , in the gently falling rain on my head and shoulders. I feel her in the peace of her presence, and, often, in the anger at her absence. I hear her as a quiet voice in my head.
Two of the conversations I have had with Erin really stand out and give me a glimpse of her new life. More importantly they speak to me of how I should be here and now, in the moment.
The first conversation involves a lemonade stand she and I had been planning to make – see the master plan below! During our 2014 summer holiday while on a bike ride in Cape Cod , we stopped to buy lemonade at a stand that a couple of girls had set up. Inspired, Erin returned from the trip determined to set up her own lemonade stand in our back garden to refresh the golfers who pass by. Erin and I had been discussing the various features of her lemonade stand, but had not yet built it. Standing out on the spit one morning, I asked her if she had built her lemonade stand ‘up there’. As clear as a bell came her reply: “There are no lemons here, silly!” Only Erin would have added the “silly” at the end like that! Another aspect of her reply that struck me (and relates to Elizabeth’s blog on “Where is Erin now?”), was my pre-Copernican view of the hereafter. I had asked her about existence ‘up there’ with reference to the notion of heaven being up and hell being down. Her enlightened response made no reference to this, but inferred a state of being – a sense of ‘here-ness’.
Another time I was interested in the concept of time, day and night in the hereafter and asked her what she (they) did all the time. Her reply was “We don’t DO anything. We just ARE.” I thought that a profound comment on how we ‘down here’ are always busy and trying to prove ourselves by what we accomplish, almost as if we find our self-worth in how much we can pack into our lives. That being busy gives our lives meaning. She reminded me that the art of ‘being’ is what matters, that who we are matters more than what we are or do.
Today - January 17th - would have been Erin’s 9th birthday and I will visit her Enchanted Forest to talk to her and add some trinkets to the wonderland that is growing with every visit. We are deeply touched by the creation of this tranquil loop in the woods, a place where all can visit, remember their loved ones, reflect, mediate, pray or contemplate. We were humbled by the large crowd that came to the Enchanted Forest to mark the anniversary of Erin’s accident, and felt profoundly supported as a result of this care. We all remember Erin for different reasons and in different ways. My wish is that her memory reminds us all to be present in the moment and to be just who we are. Just as she did – our little trailblazer.
Today - January 17th - would have been Erin’s 9th birthday and I will visit her Enchanted Forest to talk to her and add some trinkets to the wonderland that is growing with every visit. We are deeply touched by the creation of this tranquil loop in the woods, a place where all can visit, remember their loved ones, reflect, mediate, pray or contemplate. We were humbled by the large crowd that came to the Enchanted Forest to mark the anniversary of Erin’s accident, and felt profoundly supported as a result of this care. We all remember Erin for different reasons and in different ways. My wish is that her memory reminds us all to be present in the moment and to be just who we are. Just as she did – our little trailblazer.