In the first post since UFTM revived, I said that I’d like to focus more on the people we met more than the places we saw. Well, we haven’t been anywhere in a week, so here’s one of the people we met.
The first human that my wife ever experienced as a friend was Debbie. They were two or three years old and lived across the field from one another. According to Gail, they had great childhood and teenage years in Pickardville, Alberta, growing up together in a way that only rural prairie folks can.
But then the years came, and their paths diverged. Debbie lived mostly in Scotland, and Gail in Grande Prairie. They were friends on Facebook, and might have seen one another a handful of times in their adult lives, but not much. Until this week.
Somehow Gail found out that Debbie was in Calgary, and she was there because she has terminal cancer and had come out to Canada from Scotland while she was still able to do so. That was on a Friday and her flight back to Scotland was on a Monday. Could we come out and see her?
So we did. Our sister-in-law, may God bless her, lent us her Expedition, and we did the round trip from Barrhead to Airdrie and back in a day. Alberta at its summer finest.
My intention was to drop Gail off and make myself scarce, but when we arrived, Debbie was having none of it. “What do you even mean?” she demanded. “No, no, no, no, you park right over there and come in here. My friends are here, my son is here, you aren’t going anywhere. You come in with us.” No contest. I went in.
I think it was Samuel Johnson who said that the prospect of death “wonderfully clarifies the mind”, but it looked to me like Debbie’s mind was pretty sharp with or without the prospect of death. She had laser blue eyes, an expressive, almost flamboyant manner, a direct and commanding presence. During her career she had been, among other things, a school administrator, and we all know what they are like. Not to be messed with.
As could be expected, it was a cheerful event but also an emotional event, all at the same time. There were a dozen folks or so there, in a house owned by some of Debbie’s Alberta people. All of them were farm and oil patch people; there was hospitality and food and booze in abundance. No booze for me though, in case you’re wondering. DD and all that.
In spite of the number of people, Gail managed to get in an extended visit with Debbie. I don’t know exactly what they talked about; probably old times, mutual friends, kids, etc. We saw pictures of Debbie’s husband, her house, her workmates, and so on. We probably showed her some of ours too. I thought that Debbie might tire out more quickly than she did, but she was still going strong after 3 or 4 hours. And then we left, and it was emotional. Intense.
Our takeaways:
It was worth the eight hour trip.
Life is short and life is precious. It goes by so fast, and we miss so much of it, particularly the people in our lives. Even today, Gail is regretting chances we had to connect with Debbie (and others) in our lives but were too busy, too broke, too something or other to do it. We’re glad we didn’t miss this time.
Gail and I are hillbillies at heart. Alberta farm/ oil patch people seems to be where we belong. Makes sense, I guess.
And one other observation: I have no clue what Debbie’s philosophical/religious journey has been like, and I never asked her. But I did hear her tell Gail that she had made peace with “the man upstairs”. Anyway, more evidence that the prospect of death, if it doesn’t clarify the mind, certainly makes people think about the big questions.
Ya. About an hour ago I heard Gail playing “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks, and when I went into the moho she was snuffling a bit. Drooling, some would say.
A melancholy time indeed. We are all like grass.
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