Go Canucks Go

P-man's office gets the hockey seasons' tickets. I tried to go to a number of games this year with him but mostly stuff came up; sick kids or no babysitters. Too much disruption already in a week or some other mother-woman voodoo meant I would remain unaware of the true beauty of a Kyle Wellwood pass. But I went to the game last Thursday and it was really a good score (made even more so by the deplorable Vancouver loss yesterday). It was a great game.

But it was not for its greatness that I fought back tears. I have a tough time at playoff time because of John. John was my co-worker, fellow Library Clerk at a smallish City library branch 15 years ago. He was amazing. Well-read, kind to a FAULT, a gifted pianist who could knit beautifully. Boyish and dear, always a beautiful girlfriend not far off. John was my friend and an exceptionally special guy. Likely a baseline in my ongoing expectation that my work include lots of lovable aspects. We worked for a year and a half closely and remained friends after that. A happy time for sure those very early twenties of ours something embodied in our plastering the branch in Canucks paraphernalia in their race to the cup 1994. The whole city was as one at that time didn't matter a jot the little piece of this boy from small town New Brunswick and me in the scheme of it all. But I remember the fellowship in general and this demonstrable mischief of ours that made us more the pair we carried on as 35 hours a week, each week.

Made. And was. And after that. For after that year we had another and a few but within 5 years the cancer came. I looked into my nurse mother's eyes hoping for glimmer of hope when I reported its location and my dear friend's overall strength and remarkableness. Hoping in my self-absorbed way that my image of him would hold back a tide of fate and fact and outcome when cancer gets into your heart. Six weeks before the October would come when we would both turn thirty he was gone.

I always resented that loss. The loss of thirty. Why do I do that? I always felt it was something that would have made him a bit 'old enough' to have died. A bit 'old enough' to have counted as lived? Shame. What a nightmare of mistake that part of me inhabits. His was a life full and well-lived ten times over in less than thirty. I remember so much so what am I to say of years. A limerick contest he ran for the whole library system, paying for prizes himself just to do it while he lived in that little basement suite. The time he ran out of that basement suite to report the fire and free all the inhabitants from death or injury. The fact he began contributing to foster parents plan when he was about 19 long before globalization had cachet. Every kindness he showed me. The camaraderie of 25 back pages of the Vancouver Sun with Player of Day from the Vancouver Canucks stuck high in the windows, walls and on the book stacks of the library sticks me with his oddly over-sized head and bushy -- near Lorne Elliott -- curly hair til I cannot help but tear.

We have of late discussed with our kids the plan that we will do all we can to preserve our bodies and live as long as we are able. We promise to die a due and timely death once our dear ones are older themselves. I only wish as much had been so for John's folks.

In related news I ate popcorn at the game. I got quite a lot of it stuck in my teeth. Is it ok to pick your teeth at a hockey game? What about elsewhere? And, how do you pick your teeth?

The one

I bought the boots for Ciocia's January funeral. My long black boots. They're wearing out now. It was nearly three years ago I stood on that hill; p-man walking the stroller around. Naptime.

Ciocia's funeral was the first road trip we took. The Girl Friday was 16 months and I was 3 months pregnant. My girl traveled well to her Great-Great Auntie's funeral. They had met only once. In a hallway for just a moment when my girl was 3 weeks old. That was at funeral too.

This summer we traveled the same road to splash in the lake and buy cheap peaches by Ciocia's old house. A bliss for the children, pains for me.

Ciocia is the one for me. That person who existed beyond the pale. Equally loved by her family, her friends, co-workers, neighbours. A six foot tall, athletic, dark haired, baby sister of my grandmother she had no children. The world could scarcely know a greater misdeed, in my view, than what stood between her, and my Uncle John's, parenthood. A light of motherhood, hidden could not have been more wrongly shaded.

She was the one, as I say. She taught me to give till it hurts but she would not for one minute have carried on about it; I can't think how, or if, she ever said it to me. Just example. Purely empirical. Exemplary.

When we go away I often feel the pain of not traveling more. Not going to see family and friends more carelessly and freely. It is mostly because of Ciocia. My dearest most special aunt. A dream of turkey dinners, and fresh homemade doughnuts; stuffing ten dollars in my hand at each visit; sage beyond sage for every wayward worry I might indulge. I turn over how I wish my daughter might have known her. Her earnest and sincere friendliness, her generosity and boundless love-giving. I connect with the guilt of how I should have gone at least a couple times after Girl Friday was born and while Ciocia was alive.

But is all mirrors and clocks. A trick. This was the summer. This was the summer my girl would have remembered. This was the first year we would have had mountains of brownies and hours of fun. The year little boy-o would have giggled and giggled. The trips I missed were photo ops. I can worry I was too timid but what would Ciocia care. She was practical beyond practical. Babies she'd seen but people are a bit different. No elusive nerve for wayfinding of mine would have made her live these extra years. Nothing would have bridged the righteous and swift death that I know she rest assured would reunite her with her most beloved husband, John. Away from me and my little family.

I miss her so. Someone so pure of heart, a giver of every uncomplicated kindness, that's nice to have. I bring her forth when I can. I so wish the children could have had the blessing of her. Will try again tomorrow.