The cliché “it’s that time of year again” comes to mind when
February rolls around. To me, it has little to do with Valentine’s day.
February has been declared as “heart” month in Canada to
help raise awareness for the Heart and Stroke foundation. I find it a little ironic
that a great person whom I’ve loved died of a heart attack in February before
Health Canada gave the month a name.
I think I’ve been contemplating since the fall as to how or
what I would write to commemorate Keith this year. How many ways can one say, “I
miss you, I wish you were here, I still need you”. It’s almost an insult to put
feelings into words as they cannot do it justice. I know I am not alone in
this. Once you have to grieve for a loved one, the grieving never stops to
those who survive.
So how do we get through? How do we accept that despite the
years that go by, that we are still hurting? Does it make us weak? Does it
prove our strength? Does it strengthen or weaken your belief in the existence
of God?
In the years that I have known and lived with Keith, there
were many gifts that he had given me, most of which I still carry inside me to
this day. Strengthening those gifts, relying on his untimely advice, and
imagining him by my side, will never replace the real deal, but it’s as close
as I’m going to get. Harnessing the memories of our conversations, discussions,
and arguments, I keep him alive in my own way. To others who’ve known him, you
know what I mean. It could have been based on a fruitless argument in the game
of Scattergories with him insisting that “Jiggy Jiggy Jiggy” was a form of
dance, therefore, rewarding him 3 points for a triple “J”, a theological
discussion with his theory on the resurrection of Jesus Christ (keep in mind he
was a teen in the 1960’s ;)), or a conversation about the finer things in life;
exploring a new recipe igniting the senses or discovering a new culture first
hand.
For Keith, I knew that living with me couldn’t always have
been easy. He had the joyful pain of taking me through my teenage years as I
adjusted from my nuclear family to a blended family and all the fun involved.
Growing up, I had a one track mind. I would finish school, become a teacher,
get married, have kids, retire, the end. It was him that planted the seeds of
international travel long ago. At the time, I was having none of it. I hadn’t
left the continent of North America yet, and couldn’t see myself doing so
outside of where my future honeymoon might take me. He kept persisting that I
kept an open mind.
A common scene in our home was him in the kitchen with our
mother attempting to wow us with some new recipe that he had scene in the paper
earlier that week. I think my tongue is still recovering from a few of his experiments.
It would never be his fault, as the “Texas Pete had accidently tipped over from
the cupboard above the stove and added a little extra heat”. Whether I liked
the dish or not, I was appreciative. My brother and I would roll my eyes at his excitement, it
was to us,
after all, just food. “Why are we eating this?” I would ask. “Oh, Cara,
you never know if you’ll be in Africa, so eat the @&#* Moroccan soup, will
ya? I only spend 2 hours preparing the ingredients”.
As the years go by, more and more physical remnants disappear
with wear and tear from our years together. One thing I have here in Abu Dhabi
has just about bitten the dust as well, but I haven’t had the heart to get rid
of them just yet. About a year and a half after he had passed away, I started
aerobics classes in town. I was about to purchase a new pair of athletic shoes,
and my mother reminded me that there was an almost new pair of shoes that Keith
had purchased around Christmas before he died. They had rarely been warn. I was
lucky that he and I have the same size foot! Now, they are the shoes that I
travel with if I am going on uneven ground, exploring new things. I am
literally walking in his shoes. They have been with me in Jordan, India, and
Egypt.
Those that were with me were a little puzzled when I took
off my shoes to take a picture in front of one of the many Sphinx statues
outside of the National Museum in Cairo. I hope it now makes sense. Keith, I
wish that you were the one in these shoes today, but as you cannot, I am
grateful that I can be.
Love always,
Cara
