Ricochet

Before my departure, I picked up a telephone call, only to hear the sobs of someone I have known for nearly thirty years. My dearest friend’s fragmented words collided with my own past loss as she uttered the unimaginable…

 “Yesterday, my 22 year old nephew was killed in a car accident!” 

This prompted a surge of my own emotions as I could barely mutter a reply,

“I’m so sorry…” my shaky voice trailed off. 

Only days before, we had spoke of our impending visit after a long break of not seeing one another, in the past 5 years. Our plans had shifted in an instant from celebrating our reunion… to the heartbreak of my friend in losing her beloved nephew. 

Once I arrived, my arms wrapped around someone who was there for me, when my own 21 year old daughter died in a car crash. I knew the weeks ahead would be a challenge; however I could not fathom what it was like to be on the other side. 

While I could not alter the circumstances, I reverted to the two things which bring me a sense of peace…I began to write and I cleaned. During my time at my friends, I have scrubbed her floors, washed laundry, organized her fridge/freezer and tidied up the apartment she has. In between tears, grieving and outbursts, I have been brought back to my own stages of bereavement. 

As I interacted with other family and friends of the young man, whose life was suddenly and violently taken, I learned more about who he was. 

Eythan Sumner Brown was a sports enthusiast, who actively participated as a baseball player, on the ice with his hockey team and had a passion for the slopes. In the short time on this earth, Eythan impacted countless lives and imprinted himself on many hearts. 

Eythan Sumner Brown

To my friend…she was his much loved Auntie Sherry. 

I am fortunate in that Sherry belongs to many groups and has a great support network in place. In between my heartache, I have tried to immerse myself in her world. She has allowed me access layers of who she is- complex, while embodying the naivety of a child. Her heart is a bonfire of love for others and she gives freely to whoever is in need. The trouble there lies within me wanting to fix her— to erase the sorrows and wipe her soul clean of the anguish. Yet I know firsthand, no amount of cleaning or coddling will bring immediate healing. I admit, there have been times when I want to scream that I pack up my laptop and go for a walk. As much as she needs solitude, I need some space. 

Strolling down brick sidewalks, my feet take me past businesses I once knew three decades ago. For me, Penticton is a place frozen in time. Gazing into a restaurant I once frequented, I see the same décor, booth seats and even menu…that has a 50’s element to it. Memories of my first date with my former husband at a local pub bring a smile as I recall the poufy velvet teal outfit I wore—my hair teased a mile high and saturated with the vibe of the 80’s.

Finding a comfortable seat at a local café, I set up my laptop next to another one, at the table beside me. After a few sips of my beverage, the young girl and I exchange a few words. Following requests to watch one another’s computers as we needed the facilities, we struck up a conversation. Sarah was her name and she was a writer, like me. When the topic of my first novel, “Under the Sitka Tree,” came up I mention casually the setting of my book. I say it takes place in a once thriving community and now ghost town called Ocean Falls. I was not expecting her words of reply to catch me off-guard: 

“My dad was born in Ocean Falls!” 

 

We both were astounded at the rare chance that our paths would cross and the one place I dream of venturing, Sarah’s father already had roots in.

As we further engaged in conversation, I shared about my draw to somewhere I have never visited and the appeal of what once was a flourishing B.C. community. In opening up to Sarah, I divulged about the key which is on my website and its origin, along with the muse for one of my main characters. I spoke of another woman from OF who provided me with the bones of my book…although fiction, the story-line has its own ‘Easter Eggs’ connected to the people. I talked of the honour being invited years ago to the reunion of the Ocean Falls “Rain People” and how tendrils of my interactions have made their way into UTST. 

Sarah told me she had gone into her father’s library of books and only a few days ago, she pulled from it the book, Rain People: The Story of Ocean Falls, British Columbia by Bruce Ramsey. Her desire to visit is as strong as mine, with both of us joking that maybe someday; we will meet amongst the trees of her father’s birthplace. 

We also engaged in a debate about Facebook: “To delete or not delete” and after exchanging contact information, along with a brilliant quote I gave her, we hugged. 

Afterwards, I sat in awe like some fangirl, overzealous about meeting a descendant of the town which inspired me. I reflected on how Sarah and I were in agreement that nothing in life is a coincidence. This welcome break from grief, came at a time when I needed it most…like a chance encounter with a long lost friend, Sitka came through for me, in a way only my book can deliver. 

Next weekend, as I attend the Celebration of Life for a young man whose dreams were cut short, I will rely on my faith to come alongside me in supporting my best friend Sherry. For sorrow shared is a reminder just how fragile our own lives are.

By TL Alton