He Who Conquered the World
Life is about Showing Up.
He Who Conquered the World
We were married on a bright blue March day in Seattle. A few minutes of rain dashed in for luck. I sat staring out the window as the tatted make-up artist did the final touch-ups and my girls swirled around me in nervous laughter. My maid of honor was hogging the mirror space, and my mother-in-law was trying to sneak a peek; my dad was waiting patiently to walk me down the aisle. I took a moment to breathe. I rarely did that at any time in my life. Enjoy the moment. Now is all there is.
We planned in a rush. We knew it would either be a wedding or a funeral, and we decided a wedding was the optimal choice.
My stepfather had been battling leukemia since before my mom married him. Talk about a love story. It had returned, ravaging his body from the inside out. Thus, I planned a 250+ wedding in under three months.
Bob attended, cried, saw all of his extended family, ate what he could, and left early. The reception, a party of my mid-twenties friends, raged on until they shut us down, thank god.
More transplants, more handwritten letters to the insurance companies pleading his case. His doc buddies found him clinical trials. His climbing buddies made him signs, "We have you on belay," His tennis friends played with him regardless of his level at the current time. He went to the gym daily and cursed me when I hit the treadmill longer than him. His favorite movie is the one where Meryl Streep is rowing against the raging river, "She's sexy!"
At the time, my mom seemed to be the opposite of Meryl. Sexy Rivery guidesque? The first time I saw my mom exercise was when I saw her click-on cross country skis in the city of Seattle when it snowed (it rarely snows), and she promptly broke her collarbone. I was a shitty high school nurse. Yet, she grew into her Merly-ness. Her strength lies in her growing wisdom of all things, choosing safe(er) sports and spouses who adore her.
When I first met Bob, I detested him. He arrived freshly divorced and sporting a suede jacket and bellbottom pants for their first date - well, first I was aware of. It was the early 90s his sartorial choices were not ironic grunge fashion. It was uninformed. Mom liked men with very impressive CVs. He fit the bill. They married when I was a freshman in college. I was the maid of honor, and all my friends were invited; they were utterly inappropriate - keg stands - and they helped to salve the wound.
My husband adored him. He and Bob were best friends. We decided to take an annual couples vacation with them. We were those people now! We vacationed with family! As couples! They loved B&Bs. WE detested them. They paid! Wait, we loved B&Bs!
We flew into Salt Spring Island, B.C., on a small Kenmore floatplane on one of those northwest summer afternoons that stay in your mind's eye to get you through the slog of a Seattle winter. They picked us up from the Ganges harbor dock. They drove the eight+ hours as retirement was forced upon them when life or death choices were ahead.
When you land on a hippie island this gorgeous, of course, there is a farmers market happening at this very moment. We stocked up on everything. It seems everything is lots of island-made goat cheese.
We drive to the B&B along rolling hills and shocks of sun streaming through the ancient trees, and I breathe again. We settle in and group up for happy hour. We snack on the ever-present goat cheese, local wine, berries, bread. We play hearts and gin - they school us time and time again. The Gulf Islands shimmered below the deck as we played.
Touring is on the next's days agenda. Being 27, we lollygag behind, and they have everything planned, not a minute to waste. Every scraggly road has a sign, "Eggs for sale." We have to drive down almost every quaint lane. We see the goats! The hippies! The dazzling lake. Then as we thought we had seen the last handwritten "Eggs for sale" sign just as we were about to turn around for happy hour, we were silenced. A barred owl is in front of the car. The four of us are stunned. None of us have seen this night prowler the flesh in all of our travels. Why did it stop and visit us? The sun doesn't set until 10 pm in this part of the world at this time of year. We sat in silence as we marveled at its heart-shaped face. Do some moments happen for a reason? Or do you create those moments by what you seek?
We continued our annual local jaunts, while mom and Bob traveled the world, literally sticking pins in their map. Five years later, we visited Hood Canal, a manageable 90-minute drive, now with our two small boys. We stayed in small cabins, we ate crab cakes, we threw the football, we lazed about in the Adirondack chairs.
He became a grandfather, step nothing he barked! He came to every single possible event he could. No matter how terrible, wonderful, big or small. He had my little family on belay too.
When he died, my mom asked if we would be there when the powers that be decided today would be the day. We all held hands around his hospital bed and let him go.
He left us that day to conquer our own worlds. We are each day a little more.
About the Creator
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