Andrew Wark Family News

Dream world/ Real world

Saturday April 02, 2005 12:32 PM

We were fishing on a cool, placid lake surrounded by tall pine trees. Approaching a rocky, barren island, Andrew climbed from the rowboat and started casting with his hand line. I rowed to a sunny spot just offshore. I could see a large school of fish swimming all around me averaging 16 or 18 inches in length. “Cast over here,” I beckoned him. He looked so good in his blue shorts and a white tee shirt. He was tanned and his hazel eyes twinkled at me.

“Mum, can I borrow two dollars from my allowance from next month?” Dave was at my bedside, pulling me from the rowboat and Andrew and commanding me back into Saturday morning in Calgary. “I’m sleeping, ask me later.” “But Mum, I only need two more dollars and I can buy Mike’s skateboard. Pu-leeze?” My eyes were closed throughout this entire exchange. I didn’t want to wake up yet. I wanted to go back to the island with Andrew but I knew the dream was gone. “Give me a few minutes to wake up and the answer is probably,” was the only response I could muster. I rolled over, pulled the duvet over my head and groaned.

After a few minutes, I realized there were two paths before me. I could lean into grumpy Mum and indulge myself by rousing on Dave for waking me up too early or perhaps, just perhaps I would stretch my sleepy limbs and gently move into the day figuring a way to create a winning situation for both of us. Opening the bedroom door I was greeted by the familiar smell of Saturday morning. Mike was making crepes and Grace was cleaning her drawings off the living room windows. I told Dave that I really needed some help with the spring cleanup. “How about you and Jory, (Dave’s best friend), rake and bag up all the leaves around the hedges. I’ll pay both of you so you won’t have to borrow any money.”

Now, following a very satisfying breakfast, the kids have tidied the kitchen. Dave and Jory finished clearing the leaves out. Mike is cleaning the rec room and Grace is preparing activities for some friends who are coming over. A happy buzz enfolds the Wark household this morning. I am so grateful that I don’t wake each day to a lonely silence. I have three amazing children who delight to pull me into the clatter of love and life. Andrew can not be here, but I close by quoting from a letter I wrote to him marking our eighth wedding anniversary in Armidale, Australia. What I wrote eight years ago remains true for me today.

“Our children are our treasures. When I see each one – Michael, David and Grace – I behold the very wonders of you living before my eyes. I see your compassion and curiosity in Michael. I see your confidence to take on the world in David. And in Gracie, I behold the gentleness and power of your love.”

And that’s the news for Saturday April 2, 2005, Calgary.

Judy

The Land of the Living

Monday March 21, 2005 04:57 PM

The snow falls gently seeming to slow the movement of time as I leave Calgary and the children behind me. I see cattle and horses grazing on pasturelands banking both sides of the road. I cross a one-lane bridge and drive through a series of sharp turns that lead me into wilder terrain. Finally, I see the signpost I’m looking for and turn into the Kings Fold Retreat Centre. Today is what would have been my 15th wedding anniversary and I have chosen to mark this day by being here.

After parking the car, a friendly Irish setter bounds up to me. I suspect he must be the official greeter. I think, “He looks like a Casey.”

Inside the lodge, a slender, brown haired woman rises from the breakfast table, welcomes me and introduces herself as Clara. She shows me the library and the various nooks and hidden spaces where I can make myself at home. Clara mentions the dog and says, “His name is Casey.” I smile.

I choose a room named, Grace Notes. Simple in design, it contains an overstuffed, blue chair and a red sofa. Beyond the sliding glass doors I see the ridge above the Ghost River. The river was so named by the local aborigines because it would often change its course and, like an apparition, disappear and reappear in new places. Two and a half years ago, a mother lost her 19-year old son when a drunk driver killed him. She spent much time at King’s Fold finding solace for her grief. In turn, she created this room that so reflects her son’s love of music and the nature. This is a sacred space.

I spend the morning curled up in the big blue chair and once more I let God in. Wrapped in a hand knit throw, I open my Bible and read from the Psalms,

“Only in God is my soul at rest. He only is my rock and my salvation. My stronghold. I shall not be greatly shaken. My soul waits in silence for God alone.”

This is harder than I thought. I am accustomed to the clatter of life that my kids create. At any given time, I am chauffeuring them to piano lessons, gymnastics, youth group or wherever else they need to be. I referee the boys when they butt heads together, help Grace research her germ project, remind Dave to clean up his mess. When the kids are at school I exercise, make plans for spring break, volunteer, meet friends and vaguely attempt to keep up with the housekeeping. I write everyday. I do everything possible to fill the empty silence for it constantly reminds me that I am alone now.

I have a little nap, lunch with the other guests and then I walk along the ridge. Casey joins me wanting me to play fetch. I come to a log chapel filled with simple stained glass images, a pottered bowl and a towel, a jug and a plate. Gentle light fills this place. Softly, I begin to sing and then realize that there is no one here to disturb. I fall on my knees and raise my voice, crying out what I cannot say to anyone else but God. As I sing, the deep pain is dislodged and released. I pray another Psalm, “I would have despaired unless I believed that I would see the goodness of God in the land of the living”. I can grab hold of this. Life didn’t end the day Andrew died. Life and goodness and great things are still in store for each of my children and for myself. Open my eyes to see the reality of God’s goodness everyday.

The remainder of my time here is given to Andrew. I pick up a the thick sheaf of love letters that he wrote to me in 1988 when I was in Washington, DC, for four months on a journalism internship, and he was still in Belize. The first one is a card with a photo of a duckling cupped in two hands. It says, “La vida es fragil” (Life is fragile). Andrew’s distinct printing reads,

“My dear Judy, I wanted to leave you some words that would be there when I am not; words that can somehow capture the sense of depth, beauty, honor and gratitude that is in my heart for you.”

Well, that got the waterworks flowing. As I read each letter I realize how thoroughly Andrew cherished me. Yes these are the words of a young man, madly in love. But when I read the letters Andrew wrote to me when he traveled throughout Asia on assignment, and the messages he wrote to mark our anniversaries and our children’s arrivals, I see that same, deep love expressed throughout the life of our marriage. He always let me know what I meant to him.

I arrive home this evening and bring with me a renewed peace from God knowing that the children and I can expect good throughout the course of our lifetimes. I know there will be challenges and the sorrowing days are not over yet but underlying goodness will be our portion and we won’t be greatly shaken. I also carry a deep sense of how much Andrew’s love transformed me into who I am today. His love is real and alive and embedded in my being. This is the way I carry him forward. The children and I don’t need to leave him behind. And when real love comes knocking once more, as I do hope it one day will, I will recognize it because I have known it. I celebrate my anniversary by breaking my self-imposed fast from alcohol. I savour a glass of red wine with my dinner. And the difference in my drinking is that last year, I drank when I was sad. I drank to dull the pain. This time, I am at peace.

Judy

Reflections

Wednesday January 12, 2005 11:33 PM

On Christmas morning, I woke to a warm, sun-drenched day. After the kids looted through their stockings, I gathered them around our advent wreath and said: As we light these four candles in honour of Dad, we light one for our grief, one for our courage, one for our memories, and one for our love.

As Grace lit the first candle I said: “This candle represents our grief. The pain of losing you is intense. It reminds us of the depth of our love for you”

Dave lit the second taper and I continued, “This candle is for our courage, to confront our sorrow to comfort each other, to change our lives.”

Michael stepped up. “This light is in your memory, the times we laughed, the times we cried, the times we were angry with each other, the silly things you did, the caring and joy you gave us.”

I finished with the fourth candle, “This light is the light of love. Day by day, we cherish you in our hearts and a special place there will always be reserved for you. We thank you for the gift your living brought each of us. We love you.”

With the completion of this simple act, we then opened our gifts, took our breakfast, donned our swimming suits and spent the day at the beach.

I had purposed in my heart to do Christmas at home, surrounded by the treasured traditions that Andrew and I had carefully crafted over the years. But with the approaching winter solstice, I found everyone in the family seemed out of joint. As if we didn’t fit into our own skins, we were often grouchy and overly sensitive to each other. Minor squalls quickly turned into tempests in the teacup of our home.

Our discomfort stemmed from the memory last Christmas with Andrew, for at that time his body began to take a final beating from the cancer. I read back over the blog and realize how frightening it must have been for the children.

I thought that I had a grasp on my own grief journey, but I felt powerless to carry the children through their anguish as well as celebrate Christmas with any semblance of reason.

And so, about 12 days before Christmas, I found myself walking through our neighbourhood park. Despairing tears chilled my cheeks. I stopped in at a friend’s home and said, “I just can’t do Christmas.” She wisely said, “Then don’t. Go away. You have many Christmas’ to be home.” So we did. On December 19th, we boarded a plane for Veradero, Cuba. The following is an excerpt from my journal at that time:

It took a full 24 hours for me to begin to unwind and adjust to this strange reality. I feel an immeasurable length of unseen web-like matter bind every part of my being. Gradually the roar of the ocean, the heat of the sun and begin to unwind me. My shoulders visibly relax.

I lie upon my deck chair, beneath the same brilliant sun that killed my husband. I am strangely comforted by the island whisper, 'manana, manana'. After four days of building sand castles with the children, and taking the importance to watch the pelicans, I rediscover the rhythm of my soul.

Daily, I swim in the sea and feel the sand and the waves strip the webs of stress from me. I rise from the ocean dripping; I breathe deeply and am renewed.

The daughter of one of the entertainers finds Grace. She is a lithe waif named Susanna. Her only language is Spanish and Grace speaks only French and English. Somehow the children are fluent in the unspoken, universal language of play. I join the girls in the pool. They become little fishes and swim between my legs. Our laughter is like the splashes upon the water. It is good for the soul.

The boys make friends. They disappear to archery and shooting with their mates. Mike takes a scuba lesson. David is seen in the distance, diving off a paddleboat with his new best buddy, Cameron. They come to me when they are hungry and I send them to the beach cafe to order their own BBQ chicken and chips.

I eat papaya drenched in limejuice. I banter with the waiters in my limited Spanish and delight to hear them call out to me with a fresh familiarity, “and what does our Chin-a desire today?” It reminds me of many years ago when I walked the streets of Belize City and the locals would call out, “Chinita, hey China-girl.”

Our time in Cuba accomplished what it was meant to do, lifting us out of the swamp of despair that I fell into as we approached this first Christmas. The New Year has begun and I sense something fresh stirring in my spirit. For one thing I’m writing again.

A week from today marks the first anniversary of Andrew’s death. I have been praying about how to mark this occasion. Grace has her own ideas and came to me saying, “Mama, I want to collect recipes from all of our friends and family who knew Dad and make a cookbook in his memory.”

Tonight, I discovered David holed up in his room, writing a story. When it was bedtime, he showed me what he had written. “The working title is, “As a Kid.” For the very first time David has begun to put in words, his take on what happened to his Dad.” And as he writes, I sense no heartache, just reflection. This is very significant!

About a month ago, I was going through some boxes and discovered two of Andrew’s journals I never knew existed. These blue, hardcover exercise books record the significant years through his time spent in: Hawaii; the Philippines; Belize (including when he met me); and conclude when Michael was born and we moved to Hong Kong. Through these volumes, my son is getting to know his Dad in the era before Mike arrived.

These present signs tell me that we are not ‘moving on’. I don’t like that expression, for it seems to indicate that the grieving family is leaving something or someone behind them. Rather, I have a greater sense of all that Andrew gave us than what was taken away.

Oh, I will always cherish Andrew’s love. I carry it with me always. I’ll always miss him. And believe me, my immediate membership into the fraternity of widowhood and single parenting is one I’d gladly resign from. Nothing prepared me for these identities that are now so much a part of me. I’m certain there will be days ahead when the waves of sorrow will come again, however, the grace to get through and to face the future with hope remains because of God’s greater love.

With that, I send you my hope for a fresh start in your New Year.

Judy

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