The body remembers…

3 Bad-Ass Bs

I am still blown away how the body remembers. With a consistency that is both comforting and disconcerting at times. It happened again this last week over Thanksgiving.

I was on a sweet adventure with two amazing girlfriends on a hike to camp in the high-alpine under the falling snow, nestled against a pristine, crystal-blue, glacier-fed lake.

On our way down the mountain, it all came flooding back. The smells of the forest floor awakening dormant memories of both falling in love, and, saying goodbye to my mate during this same season.

As I put one hiking-booted-foot in front of the other, I had been overwhelmed with sadness remembering the innocence of my younger-self who had been falling in love, not knowing how it would end. She was shiny with hope, dreaming of a future that included growing old with her guy surrounded by their grand-children, instead of being a widow with an uncertain future.

But more-so, I was filled with gratitude for the present moment. Being in the mountains…my church…and how fantastically magical it was. Adventuring with bad-ass girlfriends who frickin rock. The crisp fall air and sunshine breaking through the morning fog and fresh snow underfoot. Feeling proud that I said yes to life even though I was scared to go (bears!)…and, not taking for granted that I had a healthy body able to carry me and my considerable gear into the wilderness. And to be honest, the last point is why I said yes. Because I can.

I was caught off-guard by the intensity of emotions this week as I was still processing things on a body-level. Not something I have let myself feel for awhile. But the bright leaves and crisp, earthy air makes me miss Daniel the most. Still. And tonight, without thinking, Chili and I walked to the Roundhouse, where I had both met and said goodbye to Daniel.

I did a little dance in the Roundhouse courtyard, which made my fur-boy wag his tail. Remembering how it felt to be a ‘pack of 3”. And it made me happy to know that I am still connected to my compass. It somehow continues to restore my faith in the universe.

And then…I opened up my computer tonight and I stumbled upon this journal entry that I wrote to Daniel across the universe exactly 2 years ago.

This is why I am so grateful for writing things down (and encourage others to do the same). I often come across a scribble in my journal or a memo on my iPhone. It evokes an out-of-body experience to read my words months or years later, as it feels like they most surely were written by someone else.

So that was a pre-amble of what I wanted to share :-)

October 14, 2019

And then I remember. My body remembers your body Daniel. It remembers falling in love with you when the leaves were beginning to fall too. It remembers the safe coziness of the beginning days of beingness with you, as I begin to pull on my cozy sweaters and mitts and toques. Our toques.

It was almost exactly the anniversary of when we were newly-dating and you had been admiring my collection of hats. You had announced “I can’t wear hats. They look dumb on me.” Picking up the gauntlet of this challenge I had pulled you in to every hat store on Granville Island until we both emerged wearing two knit toques. Yours was a multi-coloured striped knit hat of oatmeal, buckwheat grass, and ocean-sky blues that matched your eyes.

I can remember knowing I had found my person as we went home and stripped naked except for our new hats and snuggled under the covers giggling with happiness. You looked so sexy and happy peeking out under your new lid, and I was bursting with the joy from the sweet victory that we had indeed found your first hat, that I now know would only be the first of sooooooo many more to come. Including your “$5K hat” (another story). I mean really, there was hardly a hat you couldn’t wear. I remember when you first wore your toque to the Whistler GLC for apres ski. What a stir it made! It struck me as funny, given it really wasn’t even an extra-ordinary hat. But at the time, it made your friends talk. Making snarky comments about it. Leaving me wondering why it seemed to strike a nerve. Maybe it was because it was the first time the Daniel-ness of Bruce (another story!) was emerging amongst them.

It now hangs on the side of my hat bin, with a button from your memorial pinned on it - of you wearing it at the sugar shack covered in snow on a most bitter-sweet-magical weekend after you had received the full diagnosis and came to terms with the daunting road with cancer that lay ahead.

My body remembers absorbing and processing the news while the falling leaves fell to the ground and the days became dark. The panic and horror of your diagnosis is now rooted in the damp, composting-fall earthiness.

My body not only remembers the falling in love with you, but it also remembers the dying and the grieving of you at this time during the first fall when I was in the depths of loss after witnessing 6 years of cancer and ‘medicine’ cruelly leaving not even a thin branch for your spirit to cling to. It has been so confusing every year to experience the worst memories against the backdrop of both my favourite memories with you and my favourite season. Fall.

And each year since you have passed, I am always blind-sided because I do not see it coming. There are other ‘anniversaries’ that I brace myself for. But this season still catches me off guard. And for some strange reason, it has gutted me the most. It’s as if a script is stored in the cells of my skin and bones, and the fall fragrance presses ‘replay’.

One night last month, I grabbed Chili’s leash, latched up him up, slipped into my boots and out the door. We have our typical routes that we rotate through, but this night I found myself almost sleep-walking with purpose until I found myself walking around the backside of the Roundhouse Community Center to the inner court yard with its long row of windows and doors.

Under cover of darkness I peered in to find a cozy, glowing happy crowd, when it struck me that this night was the anniversary of when we first met in that very room. Where you had asked me for my number, to which I evaded, and at the end of the evening had “twirled out into the night.” (your words).

Here I was, 16 years later, with our dog, our pack of 3, our version of a family thanks to the Big C. I stood still and took it in. Yes, it was sad. But it also felt comforting to be so connected. To know that I have an internal compass guiding me and reminding me how my heart strings still remember. And that I still listen, even though I often do not know why.

And then last week when the ache was not letting me go, I remembered that my body remembered what it felt like, 16 years ago, to be catching a bus to whistler where I would be picked up by this beautiful man after being so torn whether to accept your beautiful invitation to come join you in Whistler where you were cooking a feast for all of your best friends. Its not only that I remember the clothes (and hat!) that I wore , what you wore, your signature guacamole (that I continue to make and share in your honour), the apparently impressive bottle of wine I brought that I chose in response to your request to bring a nice bottle, the music that I played as we danced all night while your friends gave us space, being blown away by the feast and the whole walnuts that you had cooked into the stuffing (OMG!), and your big smile and easy laugh while effortlessly cooking up a storm (even after being in emergency a few hours earlier after a pre-cooking mountain bike accident). While everyone else just sat back and enjoyed. 

I remember what it all felt like. I remember feeling so stretched to say yes when all I wanted to do was retreat to my cozy apartment in the city. I remember how it felt to have you waiting for me with a happy smile when I got off the bus. I remember how safe and welcomed you made me feel even though I was so shy and timid. I remember how fun it was to sneak away to the living room and share songs with each other, and how blown away you were by the songs in my iPod dj tool box.

Many of those songs would become part of our first 83 songs that were the soundtrack to our falling in love, including the song to our first kiss (ironically “your lips”). My body remembers waking up the next morning snuggled up with you. I can still remember how it felt. With your heart beating fast next to my heart beating fast. I remember wanting to stay in that moment forever. And we did, until finally we needed to depart the cocoon in search of snacks…or as you would say SHNACKS!

So I remember. Even if I try not to, my body, my heart, my skin and my bones seem to remember as they magically continue to keep exquisite track of what day it is.