We have entered the ranks of the suburban folk by getting a membership at Costco. Initially, it felt rather exciting, but then it became overwhelming. I had a frustrating time at the Coquitlam branch last week, realizing that Don and I did not need a litre of oyster sauce or Thai chili sauce, two of the things I had on my grocery list to make the very un-Asian ‘egg roll in a bowl’ recipe I had found on the internet. I ended up at a much smaller grocery store to do the bulk of my shopping, but I did manage to snag a bathing suit for 20 dollars at Costco. On the subject of bathing suits, it’s been my contention for the last 30 or so years that the pool is not for me. In between a phobia of cold water, a bit of a body image issue along with a fear of submerging my head, I’ve not been much of a pool attendee other than to watch my fleet-fish daughters with awe and a bit of jealousy.

If you’re not a listener to my podcast, my word of the year is renew. With Emily out of the physical sphere, I find that I am willing to experience things that I wasn’t before, perhaps because everything feels new and different in the post-Emily era. This is a small but significant blessing that has quietly sat alongside the all-encompassing grief.

I had a free evening last week. Charlotte returned to her dorm for a few nights and Don had gone out for dinner with a friend. I had a few ideas up my sleeve as I always love my ‘Leah Time:’ variations on the theme of popcorn, bathing, books and clever sitcoms – my solitary standbys. But it was not to be. A few days prior I had come across a free Tony Robbins seminar on my Facebook feed and decided to sign up for it. Many years ago, I had read Unleash the Power Within and became a fan of Tony. He may seem like a bit of a stereotype in his big, brash way, but he served as an inspiration to me, who in my teenage, churchgoing years considered becoming “lady evangelist,” ministering to the millions. I can spin a good story and I’ve been known to be quite inspirational. Though no longer an aspiring evangelist, Tony’s book motivated me to join Toastmasters International and I consequently went on to become the Toastmasters champion of China! So, there. 

On the morning of my free evening, I had listened to three hours of Tony pontificating and had gotten myself stirred up, albeit in a rather muffled way in the basement of our bungalow. Long story short, my free evening combined with Tony’s motivational acumen, found me at The Hyde Creek Recreation Centre, already clad in my 20 dollar Costco bathing suit under my layers of clothing, whitest of white legs and an impish smile. Renewal creeping…

I’ve been joking about joining aqua fit classes for a long time now, but there were none available on this particular evening. The pool area was positively packed with people, predominantly older folks and young kids with their daddies, when I arrived just short of seven pm. Lessons were happening in the big pool, but there was a shallow lazy river pool  that flowed similarly to a river with a slow current for gliding. I thought I might try walking backward in it to get a bit of a resistance workout. I slipped in, finding it not spasm-inducingly cold, but more like a tepid bath.

I decided on ten rounds backwards up the lazy river, which was surprisingly challenging to navigate, rather like running up the down escalator at a mall. (Emily has watched me try this and nearly fallen over laughing in my failed attempt.) As rafting children with dads at the helm and fit older folks floated past me, I scrabbled in the opposite direction, joking that I was going the wrong way down a one way street. Some drifters seemed mildly amused by my antics, but there was no real interest in the 50-something woman in the Costco bathing suit trying to swim upstream.

A preadolescent son and his father bobbed by me several times, discussing the merits of various phones and how the son might afford (through jobs around the home) to purchase one; two young boys tossed a beach ball back and forth as they floated around me, not even giving me a glance; a dad with two gangly kids clinging to his neck and laughing boisterously glided past; older folks of all shapes and ethnicities meandered through, some on their backs, others forward-forging.

I observed two lifeguards trying to coax a teenage boy with Autism out of the pool. He kept holding his hands to his ears, ignoring them with a persistence that was admirable. He was in his happy place and was going to be damned if anybody took him out of it. Eventually, his mother waded in, fully clothed in jeans and a hoodie, gently leading him out: love in its purest form. I saw the exhaustion in her eyes, how much she cared for him and wanted to enter the world he lived in, and how he responded to her gently taking his hand and caressing it, acceding to her wishes. It was a love that took my breath away and brought me back to Emily because I know that love. I know that I have and would do anything to take care of my cherished children. 

During the entire time I had been navigating the currents of the lazy river, a man had been in the shallow lagoon of the pool, doing his own version of strengthening, minus an aqua fit class. His curly longish greying hair, his expansive chest, his eyes receptive and warm, and how he was rooted to the floor of the pool as he exercised independently, spoke to me. On my last round, not quite ready to end my workout, I swam-walked over to him and asked if he had any tips for me to create my own resistance program.

Matt introduced himself and was only too happy to show me his routine and discuss our respective injuries and what a fantastic way this was to accomplish both cardio and strengthening without injury. He was a good twenty years younger than me, yet I felt a connection, a knowing that we each had something to give one another. As we continued chatting, all the while forging on with our exercises, I realised that these kinds of moving meet-ups (in both senses of the word) were such a valuable way to develop and have community. I do not join exercise classes; I do not go to events with strangers; I do not get into pools – but somehow my preconceived notions were challenged on this day, offering me the gift of renewal, that discreet and patient friend of grief.

I told Matt about how my oldest daughter Charlotte was a lifeguard and instructor for the city of Vancouver; I told him I was a teacher; he talked about his journeyman ticket and some of the reinvention he was experiencing and learning to accept after his accident. I felt compelled to tell him about Emily – why I was at this pool in Port Coquitlam kicking my legs alongside of him on a Thursday night in January. I told Matt that Emily had ended her life and how Don and I had found ourselves here, on another continent, quite suddenly, starting this whole new life. He asked if he might hug me – previously we had been fist-bumping – and both of us cried in the lagoon of the lazy river pool. Matt told me that he had tried to end his life more than a handful of times over the course of his life, how depression had dogged him, how he had heard the attempts to help, and the commiseration through a ‘veil of gauze,’ as he called it, never being able to quite take in and accept the love, the empathy, the assistance that was being offered. He spoke gently, explaining the nature of his depression and how he was learning to heal, but what a rapid-filled river it was. As he shared, my understanding of and mercy for my daughter grew. 

“Don’t ever blame Emily,” he told me. “She is not to blame.” I realised I had not been blaming myself, but I had not entirely released my blame of her. Couldn’t she have tried just a little bit harder? Hung on a little bit longer? She was so very strong in so many ways. She was the one who had told her Uncle Carl some years ago, when he couldn’t quite perform the martial arts that she was demonstrating for him, “Get stronger.” She was always so strong until she wasn’t. The blame that I was still clutching began to drift away on a current of compassion.

Eventually, we said our goodbyes, I went to the jacuzzi and sat beside a woman in a hijab, and we smiled shyly at each other. Then I went to the steam room and just breathed for a while, sweating away the toxins, feeling released. I ended my evening in the sauna, remembering that Tony Robbins also sat in a sauna for 20 minutes every night before bed. 

Vulnerability: it’s a gift. When I share my stories, others can share theirs. And we both can heal and renew.