Wednesday 6 July 2005
11:07 a.m.

The other day I let the puppy out of its pen and we went for a long, lovely walk north of the yard, through several barbwire fences, across the hay field, past the clover field, over the summerfallow field, and then back on the gravel road.

We were followed by two screeching hawks that circled above us for about 10 minutes. I stopped often, just to look up at them in wonder. Once a doe appeared and watched us, then bounced away, leaping up and over a fence effortlessly, like it was the lowest hurdle on the course. Later on our walk, she appeared two more times, crossing the road near our house.

The biggest thrill for me was seeing that the prairie tiger lilies (western red lilies, they are properly called) in the ditches have multiplied drastically. They are Saskatchewan’s provincial flower and because they were so overharvested by admirers, it is now illegal to pick them. Perhaps this law is finally paying off. They are so stunning that the urge to take them home is strong, when you happen upon them growing in the wild. They are there in bunches this summer, dozens ...

The batteries in the camera died after I took the photo above, so I don’t have a picture of them yet. Not that this camera will take a good one. But that won’t stop me from trying.

When I got back to the house I came in and felt like phoning Mom, as was my habit before moving to Kelowna last August. The fact that she is not here to be called hit me noticeably. As I was telling Dad when he stopped in on Monday, it still seems as if her absence cannot be real or lasting. He feels the same. Isn’t that strange, considering we were holding her when she died, we sat with her body for several hours afterward, we’ve sorted through all her personal effects and clothing and found new homes for them, Dad’s done all the required paperwork and brought her ashes home in an urn from the funeral home, we’ve been through one funeral “tea” out in BC and are going to endure a memorial in our home town tomorrow, and yet to us she cannot possibly be really, lastingly gone?

This is probably the shock, disbelief, and denial part of the grieving process that is talked about. Yet we knew it was coming, we had time to accept it and even expect it, and so it doesn’t really make sense that we should now be experiencing these things. But we seem to be.

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