The sun is shining for what feels like the first time since we’ve arrived in Vancouver. I’m sitting in the sofa in this old-lady living room full of cozy pillows and chairs of every descriptions and knickknacks and crocheted pillows and throws. 

This morning I lugged my computer and a warm blanket and a mug of hot water – my China-acquired  habit of sipping hot water throughout the day – to have my first one-on-one session with a counsellor. Today’s meeting was virtual but I will also be seeing her face-to-face on our next visit. I loved Shahrzad from the moment we started speaking: her compassion, her active listening, her being obviously moved by my grief and also by our beautiful family, consisting of parents and two daughters, even though one is no longer ‘here.’ Always, we will be a family of four.

My heart is a little lighter just baring my soul to someone who doesn’t know me, from whom I needn’t hide details or feel responsible for their grief on top of my own. I didn’t realise quite what a relief that would be.

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Last night, I drove Charlotte to Coquitlam Centre so she could meet a friend for dinner. I was going to come home and pick her up after a few hours, but I opted to stay and just wander the mall slowly, giving me something normalising to do while also giving Don some alone time at home.

I eventually sauntered into a Reitmans (a Canadian institution for middle-aged women and above; my mom was a devotee) because they have a wide selection of petite clothes for shorties like myself. I’m never sure when size change from 6-8–10-12 to 27-28-29 so I asked the woman on the floor if she could help me figure it out. With patience and kindness, we sorted through a vast array of jeans (No, I could never get these past my calves; I’d prefer a waistband that doesn’t reach my nipples.) until I found myself in the room with just a few pairs, neither of which was flattering. The room was respite, however, for a brief cry. (What am I even doing here? I should be shopping for Levis for Emily; how dare I engage in retail therapy when I need for nothing and I should be beating my breasts instead.)

I had found a colourful loosely knit turtleneck immediately upon entering that sparked some joy in me. I remembered Eydie telling me in a voice message the same morning to look for joy sparks, so I decided to buy it. It fit well and felt like a cozy, joyful hug.

The same dear lady who helped me, checked me out and asked for my phone number and email to qualify for discounts. I told her I had a Chinese phone number and it was not worth it, and she then asked the dreaded question, “Oh, what are you doing here in Vancouver?”

I broke down in a flood of tears at the register; she came rushing out from behind to give me a vigorous hug, telling me she understood sadness and hardship: that she had come from Russia and life was hard and full of suffering. I broke down and told her my daughter had died short weeks ago.

Another lovely employee, a glamorous woman of roughly my age with a similar accent to the cashier, came over and asked with a sincerity I could not resist, “May I hug you?” After permission was given, I was embraced long and warmly by both of these sweet women. I knew there were others around, probably waiting for service, but these ladies just stayed by my side and comforted me, whispering soothing words, offering prayers, insisting on knowing my name so they could add me to their lists as they asked God for grace and comfort. The more glamourous of the two ladies told me she was Muslim but said, “All Gods will hear our prayers,” to which I wholeheartedly agree. They made me promise I would come back and see them, and I can think of few things I would rather do than see these angels of mercy again.

I sit this morning in the muted sunlight, alive with a sense of belonging to something greater than I am; aware that all is not lost; hopeful for a future where I will be able to both comfort others in a deep and meaningful way, borne of falling through the ice and having so many hands helping me out of those frigid waters and delivering me into warmth and solace and the embracing grasp of friendship. 

Thank you to all of you on this journey with us; we know you also are feeling the loss and pain. May we all find peace both together and in our own ways.

Shalom.