BC Council for Families

The sun breaks through the forest’s canopy sporadically, trickling down beams of light to illuminate the grass and shrubs below. I walk slowly down an old dirt trail, used more often by deer and bears than humans. I know where I’m going. I’ve walked this path before.
The old trees end suddenly, giving way to sand. I weave around the dune berry vines that creep along the sandy rolls. Looking at the forest behind me, I see eyes stare back. Wooden figures, overlapping and interconnecting, stand proud amongst the trees, guarding the innocent. I used to run through these woods with my sister and scandalously run my hands over the totems as I passed them.
I turn back to my trail. Salty beads of sweat start to form on my nose and I brush them away as I laboriously climb the first sand dune. I can hear the ocean calling me from the other side. Each wave breaking upon the next whispers a sweet come hither.
At last I am at the top. I breathe in the sweet tang of forest pine laced with the salty ocean air. I savour the moment, simple as it is, before I look around me.
The dunes look like the bottom of an hourglass when time has run out or stopped. Two young girls, two sisters, play in the sand. They watch the tiny particles slip through their fingers.
They sit close to each other, so close that their heads, bent in concentration, almost touch. The only marking that time is passing is the constant waves crashing down like a beating drum and the wind whistling through the sand.
They are writing their names in the sand. The wind wipes out their work, giving them a clean slate. Undeterred, they repeat the process, over and over and over again, running their names together, overlapping and interconnecting, in the sands of time.
The younger of the two sisters looks up. I realize I am looking at my younger self. We make eye contact and in that instance, the illusion shatters. The moment is gone.
The sky that was once clear is consumed by dark cloud cover. It rumbles in anger as it stretches out to block the light. The girls look at each other and run away from me, towards the shelter of the forest and the guardians that watch and protect.
I am alone on my sand dune. I look down on my kingdom to find it empty. It starts to rain.
I wake up and I cannot shake this shockingly vivid memory of me and my sister in our childhood, my sister whom I no longer speak to because things became complicated, tangled and twisted like the dune berry vines.
I miss the moments when time stood still for us, when we played in the dunes. Those moments are gone, but they are lost.
I turn over in my bed and stare at the phone.

Back when Rory was about 5-years-old and I was still with my ex-wife, I remember an evening when I was in the living room with her and we were in the process of putting Rory to bed. He has always been fairly independent so after he had put on his pajamas, I sent him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. After about 15 minutes, my ex and I agreed that too much time had gone past...and it was far too quiet. Off I went to check on the boy. Now it is important to be aware that we had regularly provided him with the popular childhood amenities of the new millenium including designer toothpaste for children, often in bubble-gum flavours, and Disney-covered tubes. Rory had been indoctrinated from a young age not to touch the adult amenities in the bathroom, but he was typically curious. I found him standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a guilty and uncomfortable look on his face. He sheepishly looked up at me and said, "Daddy, I don't like this adult toothpaste" and he held up my tube of Ben-Gay. Ouch! I was still wiping tears of laughter away as I called the poison control hotline. The woman on the other end also burst into laughter and spluttered through giggles.
"No....no...he'll be fine. He'd have to eat like three full tubes of the stuff before it could be hazardous........but I bet his gums are tingly and warm....hahahahah." Then she hung up. To this day (he's now 14) Rory insists that I help him put toothpaste on his brush in the evening . . . just so there's no screw-ups.

I was born during an October snowfall. My mother smiled warmly and said, "She's just like a snowflake - one of a kind - a winter's butterfly."

Like snowflakes, I drifted through the usual rites of passage: swathed in a snowy white shawl at birth, arrayed in a snowy white baptismal gown, presented in a snowy white confirmation dress, and married in a snowy white bridal gown. Our honeymoon began in a blizzard, but a warm heart and cold toes snuggled next to me in front of a crackling fire.

My life has been defined by the surprise of snow. "How can it snow when it's so cold?" I asked my husband as the thermometer dropped outside our hoar-frosted window. "You'd better pick up the girls from the school dance before it gets too deep." A few minutes later he stood at the door holding the gear-shift which snapped in two in the brittle cold.

Surprised again when snowdrifts cumbered the untracked road. "Look out!" I yelled as a moose dashed across the road in front of our truck. We slithered to a stop in the deep snow just as its calf crossed in front of us. It leapt over the bank, somersaulted and disappeared in a huge drift. "It's buried!" screamed the kids. "It'll suffocate and die!" Dad grabbed the shovel. We rushed over the bank, dropping sudden, sheer into waist-deep snow. Digging frantically with shovel and mitts, we freed the calf only to face its irritated mother. A snowflake fell upon her raging eye and melted into a tear. Nuzzled by her calf, she turned away and ploughed through the drifts.

Like families, snowflakes are fragile but strong when they stick together. "It's a perfect day for a cross-country ski across the lake," said my husband. Ice crystals dazzled our eyes with their crystalline glow. A sawtooth outline of snowy pines encircled the tiny lake. Our children's laughter and the susurrus of swishing skis filled the air as I broke trail on the way home. Crack! Suddenly I was sinking. Water covered my skis and boots. "Don't stop! Keep moving!" shouted my husband. "Distribute your weight over your skis!" I pushed my leaden feet forward. Crack! I sunk another couple of inches and hit a solid layer of ice. Cried with relief. Like Olympians, we spurted the last hundred yards home.

Discovering the joys of snow are infectious and warming. Gentle falling snow makes me think of home where I find warmth and cheer and happiness. My family are the snowflakes of my life. Each is unique and beautiful and brings love and warmth to my world. Snowflakes remind me that youth is not a vanished thing but something that dwells forever in my heart. When I no longer thrill to the first snow of the season, I'll know I am growing old.

Well here it is, my most immaterial moment of my life. I am not quite sure how old I was, but I do know I was still in training pants. My mom would tell this story to everyone, if given half the chance. So yes here it goes.
As we leave the house mom says “don’t forget to tell me when you have to go potty”. I returned “thanks already gone”. So off we go to the bank. When we got there, she asked me to “go play with the toys in the corner”. “Yes okay” I said, and off we went.
I was playing away when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I had to go potty. I tried to get her attention by calling her “MOM, MOM, MOM”. “Stop yelling play with the toys”. I thought maybe I’ll keep playing and it will go away, it does sometimes.
Well this was so defiantly not the case this time, I thought. I raced over to where my mom was standing in line. I tugged on her once, and was told “GO PLAY”. Twice and she looked down. “I really gots to go” I said. Mom said “she was almost done and she would take me to the potty then”.
So off I went back to the corner. I looked at that corner and thought I don’t want to pee my new pants. So down they came. I went potty all by myself, with no help. I was so proud.
Then the bank manager came over. Well I wasn’t so proud then, disgusted and he walked me over to my mom. He asked is this yours. He broad casted what I had done. Well after some laughter and some congratulations, again I didn’t feel so bad. When Mom was done, she took me out for a treat. She told me where I went potty was wrong, but that she was still proud of me. I went out and I didn’t pee myself.
It is surprising how something so small and embarrassing can be so inspirational to someone so small. Thanks Mom for reminding me of the good times. I Love You, Mom.
I have not peed myself since before then. Sometimes we have to learn things the hard way to help them to sink in.
This is my story of inspirational, hope you have enjoyed it.