Our last family hike.
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”—A.A. Milne
On July 1st, J & Freya drove 3,200km away to move to Ontario—and took two very large pieces of my soul with them. The last 10 weeks has been a blur of processing this major period of change & upheaval in our lives, selling our condo, finding a new place for me to live, working & shooting, packing, cleaning & moving (during a week of record-breaking heat), putting all J’s worldly possessions in his trailer and his truck, and enjoying the precious time we have left—all in the middle of a pandemic.
So, on the summer solstice, J, Freya & I went on our last family hike in the mountains. It was our last weekend together before we would begin packing up our home. Given how busy we were with the impending move, we chose a familiar, quick & easy hike that took us meandering through the forest to get to a beautiful lake. When we got to the lake, we sat for a long while, talking and savouring our time together; watching Freya look for sticks in the water, enthusiastic at the chipmunks that would run past. As we were leaving, J sprained his ankle on a rock, and had to limp the remaining 5km back to the car in agony. We were concerned it would spell trouble for our move, but thankfully with a pair of crutches and a boot, he was able to move around as we packed up.
In the following days, everything became real. In the middle of a 38ºC heatwave we boxed up our lives. On our last night in the condo, it was so hot that we dragged our mattress out onto our balcony and slept under the stars in each other’s arms with Freya at our feet. She was also relieved to have a break from the heat. The next night—our last night together—we talked until late, trying to stretch out time, and trying to say everything we wanted to say. Every day for those 10 weeks that I knew we would be saying our goodbyes, I tried to commit every moment with them to memory, not wanting to miss a single detail of Freya’s joyous run through the grass on our morning walks, or the way J’s eyes wrinkle when he smiles, or how our fingers felt clasped together when we walked hand-in-hand. I cherished our conversations and all those small, simple things that made us us. I didn’t allow myself to linger too long on thoughts around how impossible it seemed to imagine being with anyone else, or how scared I was that we wouldn’t find our way back to each other, or how sad I was that this was how things had to be for right now. I simply wanted to focus on enjoying the time we had left.
In the days leading up to their departure, we cried together many times; often not being able to say a thing, not for lack of anything to say, but rather, because there was too much. It felt as if every word fought to escape me, a stampede in my ribs and my throat, running into each other on the way out of my mouth, only to come out in my silent, heavy tears.
Sometimes love means letting people go so that you can each do your own healing & growing. Sometimes growth means having to do the hardest things to become the best, most fulfilled version of yourself. J & I have grown so much together over the last 3.5 years. How lucky I am to have been in love; to have had a partner with whom I never got bored; who made even the most mundane or ordinary of moments fun; who was always up to join me on my mountain adventures; and who gave me true affection & admiration. Before all this, it felt as if we were at a critical breaking point; each of us grappling with our own anxiety, our own stress, and the pandemic. It seemed as if we were struggling to understand each other even in the most basic of conversations. In these last couple of months, knowing that every passing day would bring us closer to our time apart, it was as if we were able to truly see each other; to stay fully present and appreciate all those things about each other and ourselves we had been taking for granted, and to set aside all that caused conflict between us. It allowed us to see clearly what we did not before, and as much as I can wish and hope we had learned earlier what we know now, I know full well that oftentimes, it takes something devastating to happen for you to wake up; for you to shake off the patterns and ways of seeing that were no longer serving you, and for you to truly change.
I know we will come out of this better people, and therefore, better partners, whether it is for each other, or for someone else. I am grateful for this opportunity to learn how to have grace, self-compassion and gratitude even in the face of overwhelming sadness and a major transition; for this opportunity to finally understand that no matter what happens, I will be okay. This is one of the biggest learnings for an anxious person such as myself.
Now, we enter a chapter with very many unknowns. We don't know what the future holds, but I know I'll see them again one day soon—and even if I don’t, no matter what, I will be eternally grateful to have had him & Freya in my life. I will miss them and our mountain life together so very, very much.
