The Windfall Weekend

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The roads were treacherous, but this was a much-needed getaway for us and so, despite the warnings on the news to stay off the roads due to one of the most threatening winter storms we’ve seen in decades, we loaded up the truck and threw it into 4 wheel drive. We had made it this far, though not far at all considering we were only 2 ½ hours north of home and just across the border into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. It was already bringing back a multitude of childhood memories for me, being up here “in da UP, eh”. We were headed to Big Powderhorn ski resort to do some snowboarding and enjoy some quality time with just the two of us & let reality slip into the shadows of the small-scale mountains for a few days. Little did I know how much the weekend would end up impacting me as we drove up the private road and the sun set behind us.

The past year had been an emotional one, finally coming out of the grip of a pandemic that turned the world upside down, and then the death of my Father turning MY world inside out. Not everything about the year was terrible by any means. We added our dream addition to our house after talking about it for over 3 years! We knocked down our old, rickety & dilapidated garage and together constructed a new one with our master suite above it. We put our heart into it with a lot of sweat equity and it wasn’t even done yet, but the reward that the arduous work brings was already presenting itself with every step to completion we took. It certainly came with some added stress though. Mike had even told me that building a house together would truly test the strength of a relationship, but I felt confident that we could get through anything considering what we had already been through just to be together, merging our families, and getting sober in the middle of all of it. Truly the whole demolition and rebuilding process is like an unintentional metaphor for the breakdown of our individual lives & re-assembalance of our new life together.

Mike knew I loathed the holiday season. It was far from the most wonderful time of the year for me. Premature Christmas music and the joy of all these festive fuckers nearly made me sick to my stomach and this weekend getaway was his gift to me this year. Bring the Grinch to the top of the mountain and see if her heart grows, I suppose. The Airbnb he rented for us for the weekend was nestled high on the ski hill within the resort, right off one of the back runs and surrounded by pine trees covered in fresh snow. It was decorated with all-white LED lights, trimming the frame of the cabin which lit it up in the darkness making it look like a magical fairy tale cottage in a snow globe. When placed in an enchanted setting like this even I, Miss Bahumbug, could appreciate the beauty of the season. And this was my “Dad’s country” as he always called it. Growing up just a bit further north of here, near the southern coast of Lake Superior, the untouched nature of the Northwoods would always be his home and somehow, I felt as though he was with us as we made our way inside the tiny wooden cabin.

As we opened the front door of the one room chalet, a hint of moonlight came through the window on the other side. Reflecting the white glint of the snow, the fireplace was illuminated even more brightly, casting ambient light on a gray, rectangular fireplace that was built into the beams of a vaulted ceiling that also housed a loft where we would sleep. Next to it, a stack of freshly cut wood sending an aroma of memories through me and we quickly had a fire made. It reminded me of the winter nights as a kid when my Mom would light a fire in the fireplace and I would stare into it with wonder. I found myself doing the same thing at this moment, not only lost in the memory, but remembering the “conversation” I had with her and my Dad while I sat outside with my morning coffee and cigarettes the day before. I had been reflecting on the heavy, poignant feeling of being a parentless adult. There is never a point in life where you don’t need advice or support from the two people who love you unconditionally and I was still asking for their guidance and some sort of resolve for myself to discern if I was on the right path with my recent transition to a writing career. Though I did not necessarily expect an answer, my Dad acknowledged my yearning almost immediately with a rock that I had brought with me on this trip. Maybe this memory by the fire in this moment was my Mom’s way of answering me too. All I had to do was be aware of the signs around me instead of being blind to them. That’s how you see magic anyway

Thanksgiving had been just a few days ago which always made me think of my Mom’s untimely death 26 years ago to the day and I had been living by her famous words every day since then… “this too shall pass”. Those words allowed me to live life knowing that resilience and endurance is crucial when life comes at you in meaningful phases of challenges and triumph. However, somehow every Thanksgiving, it seemed as though the grief of losing her would never subside. I felt off-beat this year in a positive way as if I had experienced some kind of revelation to recognize my gratefulness and appreciation for life instead of the usual guilt and melancholy felt during the holiday. I had made a promise to myself that I was determined to embrace the grace & magic of life. Dammit, if magic was real, the universe would let me know, so maybe a magical place like this cozy little mountainside shanty was just what I needed to solidify my once lost perspective on existence.

Once we had the little cabin alive with light and warmth, we could see the mantle of timeworn wood which was bare aside from one homemade candle in a mason jar with a quote written on it that said, “let the magic of life remind you of your own miracles”. I had seen that quote before, but it had a profound and almost spellbinding effect on me reading it here in this seemingly significant moment. It inspired me and warmed my heart as I turned back to Mike and embraced him with a tender, loving smooch on the neck. It had been so long since we took time for ourselves, just the two of us, without distraction or work. We had even agreed to shut our phones off for the night and set them up in the loft next to the bed. The large, triangular window in the loft revealed to us that the snow was starting to let up, so we decided to immerse ourselves in the hot tub on the back deck. This had sold us on the place when looking for our weekend abode. Our bodies needed the rejuvenation and so did our mental well-being.

The water was delectably hot with the steam swirling up and meeting the cold snow that was slowing to a stop and gently falling all around us. The jets massaging my shoulder and spine was invigorating to body & soul. The weightlessness of the water allowed me to straddle Mike and look into his blue eyes that seemed extra special tonight as I affixed myself to his gaze. I thought back to all those intriguing glances we had shared over the years at grade school events where our kids attended school together, knowing nothing about each other, yet always sharing a moment in those mutual gazes. I had actually thought about him often over the years while my marriage was crumbling, but never entertained the thought that fate would bring our destiny together. It now hardly seemed real that I had fallen into the cracks of an abusive marriage laden with manipulative tactics and unethical behavior that left me too scared to leave. I remember the fear of it though and still feel the cowardice within me every day as I try to undertake the process of letting that trauma heal. I had never suspected that my handsome, blue-eyed, gaze exchanger would reach out to me and change everything with his admission of mutual admiration. I had coached my daughter and his son in soccer one season when they were young. He remembered how I was always barefoot on the field saying there was just something about me. With that declaration, my heart was set and we began talking more and more until I completely fell in love with him. I realized for the first time in my life what true love actually felt like. I grew stronger in my own confidence and conviction to pursue a divorce and chase after the happiness that I finally felt I deserved.

My passion for him then and now was as feverous as the water we were immersed in and I thought of the quote on the mason jar candle. “Let the magic of life remind you of your own miracles”. Sometimes magic is funny like that, like abracadabra, I'll turn your world upside down until you realize the miracle right in front of your eyes, but you'll have to work for it. Gazing into those blue eyes, I realized my miracle because life at that moment reminded me of how I felt so many years ago and now I had that fulfillment. I whispered in his ear, “fuck the moon, I’m going to love you to Saturn”, a lyric from one of my favorite songs that he had added to our shared playlist, and as we made love, an unexpected meteor shower began to intensify in the sky above us like the stars were falling to solidify the miracle. This was my person. My soulmate. No matter what. That was a miracle and I embraced it.

As we slept that night, I woke with a shiver and made my way downstairs to add some wood to the fire. It had started snowing like hell again and I could see it accumulating on the deck where we had made love just hours before. There must be almost a foot already, but we were in the upper Midwest, so nothing unusual. I sat by the fire to warm myself and watched the sparkle of each flake fall to its collective place on the ground. The fire sparked and a burning ember flew out onto the floor in front of the massive fireplace. It pulsated with its bright orange glow as the heat inside it tried to stay alive and as it did, the hue on the black ember took the shape of a torii gate, the traditional, vermillion-colored gates you see in Japan at the entrance of Shinto shrines to symbolize the entrance to a sacred place. I found myself, once again, absorbed in memory of the time I spent on Miyajima Island on one of my trips to Japan. It was one of the most magical places I had ever had the chance to visit. The opportunity would have never presented itself if it had not been for my Dad and the miraculous work he did for international relations with his exchange program. My family was forever tied to the country because of the phenomenal legacy my Dad left behind and the impact he had.

I found myself thinking about what my legacy would be when I leave this earth. Would my parents have been proud of me? Was I proud of myself? The fire popped again and I had to jump backward on my feet to escape the burning embers this time. When I did, the mason jar candle was bright with flame even though I had never lit it. When I looked closer, there was a rock leaning up against the glass. It was the same egg-shaped, flat skipper rock that had mysteriously appeared in the middle of my kitchen doorway on the floor when I had come in from my “conversation” with my parents the day before. I had left it in my coat pocket though, so how? The candle flickered as if beckoning me to pick up the rock. When I did, a cold breeze swept through, putting the candle out, the rock still warm in my hands. A lone tear fell from my eye onto the rock and soaked in as if absorbing the grief that was still fresh from losing my Dad… my rock as I had always called him. I opened my laptop to write this experience down so I would never forget any detail of it and on my lock screen, which filters through pictures from my phone, was a screenshot of a text from my Dad on one of his last semesters in Japan, “Goodnight, Kali, I love you”.

I crawled my way back up to the loft and snuggled back in bed wrapping myself around Mike, not to steal his body heat this time, but because it was the most comfortable place I could think of to be while processing the message I had just received. I don’t believe in mere coincidences like what just happened and knew that the guidance and encouragement I had asked him for had been answered. Wrapped around the love of my life, I felt without a doubt that I was exactly where I was supposed to be in life. Even though my parents are both angels now, they are still watching over me. I had never felt this content in my life. As I drifted back to sleep, I heard whispering in my ear this time. It was the voice of my Mom. I had not heard that voice for a quarter of a century, but the familiarity was unmistakable… “I told you so, my lovebug”

It is for all of you out there who find it difficult to see the miracle in the Holiday Season. I write this story not only so you know you are not alone in your sadness, but to also give you strength to rise up from that dark place. I want you to recognize the miracle that every day in life brings. You just have to notice the signs. Miracles are all around us.