Fading Things

On Friday night as we drove to the cottage, I was not in a good mood. It had been a difficult day full of workday challenges, and while I was looking forward to getting up to the cottage, this particular birthday had me dining on ashes, as I would later tell my wife. Half my life was now in my past. And why did it have to be the half that featured more vigor and better health?

When we got there, my mood changed instantly. My other brother in law was there, my sister in law, my niece. To see them smiling, happy to see me, reminded me why it is that life is worth living: it isn't how much health you have, it is how much love you have. That's never in short supply if you just share your best self with everyone you can. At midnight, my brother in law handed me a parcel to unwrap, something he'd prepared with great glee. I opened it – it was a “campfire song leader's kit”, and included, wrapped delicately, firewood, matches, kindling, kazoos, and lots of funny little items, including John Prine's “Dear Abby.” He had put great care and heart into this (not to mention humour), and I was quite touched.

Saturday was a normal day. Or rather, a normal day that happened to have perfect weather. The other boys worked on tiling the new bathroom. I cleaned the gutters, a job nobody else likes. I like doing it, if the weather is nice. Many people are scared of heights, but I rather like them. After spending the day on yard work and chores, my wife and the other ladies went shopping. One brother in law went onto the computer, and the other went to take a nap.

So I went out for a walk as the sunset. The wind had stilled and the woods took on a quiet stillness, though it was still warm. I walked over and down a lane of abandoned-during-winter cottages to a nearby beach. A number of logs lined the beach, and I took up a perch on one at the right edge of the beach. The sun was long past now, but the afterglow lining the trees on the far edge of the lake was a deep and burning salmon red. The woods were still – there were no birds singing or flapping, no creatures scurrying through the limbs, or bugs buzzing. All there was was myself, and the burning lake and sky.

There is no greater beauty than fading things, I thought perhaps God was reminding me.

Was it so bad that my life might slowly begin the journey towards fading? After all, what has been given to me over the years? In my youngest years, I had my parents, my brother, my grandparents, my best friend Stephane, the forests of Orleans and Green's Creek, and summers in Saskatchewan. When I grew older, I had received the gift of my own family – my wife, who is my partner, and my children. I gained the friendship of my brothers-in-law and my wife's family. I reestablished a connection with my own family that contained a new closeness I had not known before. And I had been given the opportunity to make music an important part of my life. If my life had ended right there on that beach, I should be perfectly content that I have been given everything any man could ever hope for, and even more.

In the dark, I walked home, back down the road towards the glowing amber lights of the cottage, a hearth of warmth and love. Some friends of ours arrived in their van with my older daughter, we had a nice big dinner, ate cake, I opened presents while my brother-in-law was also made to open his (his birthday is the day after mine,) and we lived another simple day. Could anyone ask for any more?