In the summer of 1966 my family moved halfway across the country from Manitoba to Nova Scotia. This was not the first time I had moved in my lifetime, but it was the first time a move would have any impact on me. I was 10, almost 11, in school, leaving friends and what had been my home for 6 years of my life, at a time when most children are starting to go through big changes anyways.
It was exciting and scary all at once.
The trip itself was long and boring. My father was not one of those dads who would stop to look at the world's largest ball of string or to take in any of the sights. He was a pedal to the metal kind of a guy. Bathroom breaks strictly when we stopped for gasoline or meals. Woe-betide you if you had to go any other time, unless you were my brother whereupon my mom had a glass jar for him to use.
Fair dues it could not have been fun for them to travel that far for that long with three bored kids in the car. I remember the drive being long, hot and dull.
We spent a few weeks living in the apartment above my grandfather's house and then moved into our Airforce accommodation house a few weeks before school started in September.
I made a few friends, especially once school started, but my best friend of all that I made was to be a friend of mine for many, many years. Long past our school days. We did everything together. We took bicycle picnics together in the summer time, rode our bikes to swimming lessons every day in the summer, shared our hopes and dreams and just enjoyed being friends with each other. She was my tree climbing buddy. We were close as close could be. My parents called us Mutt and Jeff. She was tall and I was short. She was blonde, blue eyed, and I was dark. We both had our troubles but we had them together.
Her father lives just across the road from me now. She passed away yesterday afternoon from a brain tumor. Although I had not seen her since I was back, I had hoped that we would run into each other sometime. It had been about 12 years since we had sat and talked with each other. I hadn't even known that she was ill. Apparently it was only just discovered a few weeks ago.
I cried. Because of what we had once meant to each other. Because she was too young and it was too soon. Because I hadn't taken the opportunity to get in touch, thinking there would always be time. Because her father has now lost his wife and two of his four children. Because a bright light has been lost.
She was a beautiful woman to look at, still. I remember seeing her bring her father a cake on his Birthday last summer, and wishing I could speak to her, but it wasn't the time. And you know, time gets away . . . she didn't always have the happiest life, but she always had a smile on her face whenever I saw her.
One of my favorite memories of her is a bicycle picnic we went on together on a hot summers day. We drove out to the border between Annapolis and Kings county. I remember her standing on one side of the sign and me on the other and us shaking hands. Then we drove our bikes up the mountain to Tremont. We sat on a hill overlooking the little white church, eating our peanut butter sandwiches and drinking our glass jars of water and talking about life in general. We would have both been 11, maybe 12. We laughed a lot that day. I can still hear the sound of her voice in my head.
Her name was Cindy and I am sad. I will have to go and get a card to give to her father tomorrow.
I know she is at peace and with her mother and her brother. May her family find comfort in that.
I have to teach this morning. I am hoping it goes well. I had a box of stale rice crispies by the back door that I was going to put out for the birds, but the cats got into it during the night and the room is full of rice crispies. I have been trying to clean up, but its hard going! Not my favorite job, but I will prevail.
Have a great day and don't forget!