Memories

I have always struggled with the end of August. Each year, those amazing summers of our childhood, the ones that felt they would go on forever, would give way to Fall and then Winter. As the evenings cooled and the days shortened, change hid immanently just around the corner.

As children, we would often travel down East to the Island by car. Sometimes we travelled in a convoy with Herb, Lou, Jason & Shannon, and sometimes just the 6 of us. Each journey was always filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation- those visits were always so magical; the sights, the sounds, the food, the people - amazing

When it was time to return to the prairies many sad goodbyes were exchanged, gas tanks were filled and we set off West. A return to school loomed large for us, and Dad needed to get back for work for the upcoming school year.

For me; those return journeys from PEI were tinged with a sense of melancholy & sadness. The drive home radio volume was much more muted than our trip east. As well, there was markedly less singing and air-guitar/ air drums emitting from the back seat. Dad’s rally cry to 'keep your eyes peeled' (in hopes of seeing every license plate or make of car on the road) even became less frequent. Moments of silence and introspection became more the norm as we travelled farther west.

And then, into the latter half of Ontario, irreversible 'changes' of the season became starker, more palatable, and although still beautiful, much more sombre and final.

Like master impressionist painters, those trees with light brush strokes transformed each side of the highway into a new mood, and a new tone. The lush greens became interspersed with a tint of a yellow, and a small flick of red, and maybe a hint of orange. And with each passing day, those changes became more distinct and more apparent. In a matter of days, all the hues of green were gone- replaced by the vibrant colours of fall.

And I absolutely hated it.

I wasn't ready to let go of those summers. I wasn't ready for back to school - new clothes and bad haircuts. I didn't want to miss out on the fun, the swimming, the exploring, the relatives or camping and family. In my mind, the feeling of and excitement should have stayed that way forever.

Alas, cooler nights and those trees always won, annually conspiring with the eighth month to irreversibly change everything. They triumphed in signalling a goodbye - a goodbye I didn't want.

Many years have passed since those days. The four distinct seasons of Canada are but a faint memory in the place where I currently live- now it's just varying degrees of hot as hell 24/7, or just really hot.

And today, in the middle of my never-ending flight back to Canada, I suddenly realized:

THE MONTH OF AUGUST HAS DONE IT ONCE AGAIN!

This dreaded month has plotted with nature and time forcing me into another goodbye; one that I never wanted to face, and truth be told, am not truly prepared for.

A few days ago, when I received the message that Dad wanted me to call urgently, I immediately reached out.

As an eternal pessimist-optimist, I knew his medical condition was serious but had hoped he would stabilize and turn a corner towards recovery. The perfect scenario crafted by my naive imagination saw Dad out with Diego in Little Red, camera slung over his shoulder capturing the haunting beauty and artistry of Mother Nature.

Instead of his usual 'gooood morning!' I was rattled and confused to hear a soft raspy voice and belaboured breathing. Was this potentially a low ebb and the start of a recovery, or could this really be the end?

Those two scenarios require two VERY different conversations and don't reconcile very well

The ‘optimist’ in me wished him a speedy recovery, telling him I would see him soon, (which he rightly pointed out was ‘up to the big man upstairs’) while the pessimist vetoed those thoughts, instructing me to optimize this precious time on a final goodbye. The two contrary conversations resulted in a blur of sputtering and babbling nonsense and anxiety on my part. I wish I could have had a redo- unfortunately, that was my last conversation with him.

Dad has always been guarded in expressing feelings & a master of controlling his emotions. Telling him 'I love you' often was followed with an awkward pause or a quick change of topic.