I was sitting under Glen’s porch at the lake, throwing pots,
when a call came from my dad. He was
calling to say that my Uncle Bev had passed away.
Uncle Bev had been living with multiple myeloma for several years. The same thing my grandfather Doral passed away from. He had struggled with the disease for many years, but his family seemed to know the end was approaching.
My dad had gone down to Barnwell a few days earlier, with the rest of his siblings, to say goodbye. Bev passed away shortly after. I was so glad to know that his children, and siblings had time to hold his hand, and share words of love with him and with each other.
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| The view from Glen's porch, looking towards Aline Hill |
My dad told me we would hear later about the timing of the
funeral.
I knew it was not likely that I
would be able to make the trip to Barnwell. I had been so lucky last summer, that things worked out to make it
possible for me to travel there for Nadine’s funeral.
I thought back to that trip from the lake to
Barnwell, with my mom, my dad, my sister Bonnie, and my
own two kids. A roadtrip full of stories
about all of the Johnson relatives, memories of laughter and tears, work and
play, struggles and celebrations, hardships and achievements.
I smiled thinking about running into my
Johnson cousins at the 7-11 in Claresholm (seriously!? What are the odds of
parking beside ones relatives at a bathroom break on a roadtrip?!). I loved moving around at funeral (both at the church and the cemetery) holding the hands of
those I have long loved, and reconnecting with aunts and uncles, cousins, and
grandchildren.
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| The view towards Bastion mountain |
And so, I sat under Glen’s porch, thinking about Bev, and
looking at the lake around me. I pulled
out my camera to take a few shots of the view.
I remembered the many hours my Uncle Bev worked on other people’s
projects.
I remember him working on both
my parents, and my uncle Glen’s house at the lake. Sitting there under the deck, I wondered
about the times that Bev too, while he worked on Glen and Janet’s house, must
have turned his eyes towards the lake, the times he too would have watched the
wind blow the waves inwards, the clouds move across the skies, and the sun set
behind the mountains.
Each day spent in
Arta and Kelvin’s house at the Shuswap is also a day reminding of my
Uncle Bev there, working alongside my dad.
The funeral is now come and gone. I could not go, but did grill my dad and brother Doral. I have listened to my brother and father tell me about the music, the tears, the words of love. I imagined myself there in the company of my relatives, celebrating the times spent with each other, celebrating a live well lived.
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| Evening falls over Bastion Mountain |
I thought about my earliest memories of uncle Bev and
Barnwell. Barnwell was different from
Calgary. The air was different, the
water tasted different, and there was a sense of adventure and openness. The
wind seemed to blow all the time. You
could see it rippling across the grass, almost like a living creature. The trees seemed to stand sentinel against
the wind. The trees also invited you to
climb them…and imagining my dad swinging from them and breaking his arm was
enough of a reminder to keep my own feet rooted on the ground, despite the
invitation. My cousins seemed
braver. The irrigation ditches were both
terrifying and exciting to scramble around in, and I somehow remember thinking
that they belonged to my Uncle Bev. He
seemed to know everything about science, and about the stars. I remember being astonished to know that he
could fly a plane. What kind of magic
was that?! I loved visiting his house,
which seemed so huge, the size of a mansion!
I loved playing there with Meriliee, and Val, who had a closet big enough
for us to hide in. I remember the piano,
with the Reader’s Digest of Favourite Songs propped up, and seemingly any
number of people able to play from it. I
remember his voice, that sounded so much like my own dad’s. I remembered how my own dad’s voice would
change anytime he got a call from Bev. That
sound, the sound of his voice, is inscribed on my heart.
I only know one hundredth of a
part of the grieving that Virginia will be feeling at the loss of his
companionship. I am so grateful to have had him be a part of my life.
