Memorial to Neil, my bro

There were 5 1/2 yrs. between us; he was my living doll then my constant companion. By age 3 he took possession of our little red wagon and with our beloved collie became an explorer traveling miles upon miles throughout the prairie countryside. Neighbours would report his whereabouts not being able to approach him due to his fearsome protector Ginger.

Oh the adventures we had; from climbing trees, farm equipment, barns - anything, exploring everywhere, to our shared curiosity about everything and the connection with every animal within our world. Talking and wondering and the laughing; the fall down and hold your tummy laughter. And of course, the mishaps, the 'paint' as we called any injury that leaked or gushed blood.

During the 60's Neil and I shared household chores and responsibility for our youngest brother Adrien who was an escape artist and an explorer in his own right. Neil and his friends were a neighbourhood work bee group, raising money by mowing lawns, collecting bottles and running errands; then on Saturdays we'd all go riding horses at Mr. Steele's riding stables.

Neil became the captain for his hockey team and there was the thrill of watching him win his belts at judo tournaments. And his go-carts; these amazing constructions of salvage lumber, wheels, electric motors, auto parts with a block of wood dragging on a wheel as a brake, that would rocket along the back alleys to the nearby hills. No one was ever killed although there was plenty of 'paint' spilled. Shooting was a major interest; there are a lot of dead cans in those hills.

There were many years when life led us in different paths. He was on the coast, I remained on the prairies. Beyond phone calls and the occasional letter from a remote logging camp there was the annual pilgrimage to the Island to share our families and our love of the ocean and mountains. Usually there would be an opportunity to escape together and recapture some of our childhood connection. We supported each others' dreams, applauded our children, laughed together, cried together and hugged a lot. There was the shared humour, handling major and minor crisis with black humour. Like appreciating the handicapped parking privilege when he was recovering from a broken hip.

Neil remained an explorer and became a woodsman; happiest when he was outdoors. He loved exploring back roads and bush trails, heart-stopping 4-wheeling to up to a viewpoint. He became very knowledgeable about trees, familiar with the business of logging while traveling and living in camps throughout coastal BC to pursue his profession as a log scaler.

How I loved his stories, the treasured stories about the forest, the ocean, the sea life, bears, crows, eagles, the adventures and the interesting characters that inhabited that world.

It consoles me to know there are uncounted homes sheltering families resulting from Neil's efforts and talents.

Neil's last few years were stressful in the extreme for himself and all of us who loved him.

Finding him peacefully asleep forever was shocking; he was 47. In looking back over the last couple of months of his life, he reached out and connected with most of us who loved him. I will forever be grateful for our last lunch and our last words and our last hug.

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Helen's Story

Hello Helen, my bravest friend.

As cancer survivors, we have connected and get together every couple of weeks or so. We can say things to each other that the rest of the world wouldn't understand. We both know we need to be brave for our families and friends. Isn't that ironic? That we need to put on a good face to help them? Yes, we are both blessed with wonderful support systems, loving people ready and able to 'be there' for us. Still, there is the need to project confidence, to be cheerful. It's draining sometimes. The black humor is helpful in laughing about and getting through the horrible things that have happened and are happening to our bodies. And sometimes we just need to say horrible things. And sometimes we just need to cry, swear, scream and admit to being scared.

We have walked around her yard admiring the roses, flowerbeds and shrubs. She is especially proud of a garden bench they have built. I can hardly believe she had just painted the deck and hot tub area. She loves to gift plants or produce. Her beloved dog Pepper and one or more of the six cats usually accompany our wanderings.

Helen tells me again that this is a hell of a way to lose weight. She says that this must be a cosmic joke; that she wished she had been a little more specific when she prayed to lose weight. She not ready to go yet. She is completing an online course on Excel, still working at honing her mind.

She tells me about the latest procedure to relieve the pressure that builds up just under her diaphragm. That there is very little discomfort when the tube goes in, it's the removal that's a bugger. She is very concerned about losing her body fluids when she is already so depleted. Her appetite is non-existent. She is forcing herself to eat from time to time.

The going out for chai tea ritual has become so precious. Now she asks that I pick her up because all the drugs are making it impossible for her to drive. Hugs have to be very gentle.

Her suffering is immeasurable. She is elfin looking now, so tiny, with incredibly beautiful skin and her red hair glows. She still wears a toque or hat most of the time although her hair has grown back. She needs to stay warm. Her body is so fragile that her skin is translucent and her bones are almost visible.

Her forty sixth birthday is tomorrow. I stop by to give her a card and wish her well. Four days later, she is gone. On Christmas Day. Is there a message for me there? I hold sacred her place in my mind where she is surrounded by shining light her red hair glowing.

A couple of months later, her brother called me to tell Helen had left me something. Immediately I think of the picture I have admired; hopeful that I will have a copy. He comes to my house to hand me an envelope. Yes, there is the picture and wonder of wonders, a check with the instructions to use it for something special for myself.

For several months, Helen's legacy remains untouched.

Then a miracle happens. One of those coincidences that brings the spirit world close.

Six years previous, there was another friendship forged in fire. Beyond sharing a room with all the physical and mental traumas of after-surgery radiation treatments for five weeks; we determined to make our time together an adventure and set out to explore Vancouver. All of our subsequent meetings have had a flavour of adventure.

Shirley called out of the blue with an invitation to join her and a group of family and friends on a mini-cruise. The cost so coincidently being the amount of Helen's legacy.

WHK

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