One of the things about living here in the Comox Valley is the relaxed pace, especially where we live. There are few cars and the sounds we hear are more likely nature than people. Oh, and the furnace kicking in. I love that.

I always fancied myself a listener, but now I am a better one. I listen to the various bird songs, to the sounds of the ocean, which surprisingly, are not always the same pounding, rhythmic tone I had come to expect, to the other creatures in our neighbourhood, not all of whom are pets.

I also listen to people here and am learning to give my rapt attention. Living in China all these many years, my poor Chinese and the background hum of chatter was not something I engaged with regularly. I enjoyed being in my little bubble. Here it is not possible. When walking Moondog, I say hello to everyone I come across, ask their names and, of course, the names of their dogs. We chat. When I suspect a kindred spirit, we chat longer. Already, I am finding my people.

When in the stores, I always engage with the cashiers and folks helping me out. I need a lot of advice about many things. (Why are there no yellow warm light bulbs anymore? Warm white will not do for me. I am concerned, but hopeful that there is still such a thing.) Meantime, I always ask the name of the person taking care of me, and when I leave, I thank them for their help, and use their name again. I’ve run into Angela several times at Home Depot, and we are always glad to see one another. I offered a cashier a piece of gum at the checkout the other day. Who does that? Me! These encounters bring a bit of joy to them and, somehow, a lot to me.

In my secular but seemingly Benedictine lifestyle I am shaping for myself, I am learning to treat each person as though they were God herself/himself/theirself. For some time now, I’ve made it my goal to be the light in the room (or in this case, the expanse of this Vancouver Island grandeur), not in attention-getting way, but in a warm-light-bulb-casting-ambience sort of way. That has centred me and given me a focus that does not take me out of my grief, but touches me like a warm blanket rather than a bed of thorns. It’s shifting. I’m sadly grateful all the time. How interesting that gratitude and sadness hold hands, like lovers.

Through serendipity (which I ask Emily to bring me everyday), I met two amazing women, Lorraine and Laurie. Lorraine I met briefly last year, shortly after she had lost her beloved and then a few weeks ago as Heather and I stopped by her house to pick up some boxes of kitchen necessities that she graciously saved for me as she relocates to an apartment. Then, Heather and I happened upon her and Laurie on Emily’s Beach where we were sitting last Sunday with our doggies, speaking of our love for our Emily and reminiscing and mourning, crying and laughing.

When Heather and I are together, magic often happens – she certainly attracts it – and there they were – these two friends, coming to us, to the loveliest spot in the world, where Emily would prance and prepare our beach food orders as we sat and watched her and the changing sky and the ocean dances. It was easy to share my grief with them in this place, and we all four walked back to our house and I gave them a tour of our chaotic beauty and they oohed and aahed and blessed our house with their energy, as strong and healing as a sage smudge.

How happy and sad I am here, in equal measure. It’s been a hard week: Emily was honoured at school on Monday, when her volleyball number 9 jersey was retired. Her friends and teammates spoke about her. I am sure it was beautiful, and I will watch a recording at some point of this poignant offering of love for our daughter. The next day was equally bittersweet: it was the last day of school for seniors, and there is a traditional Long March across our massive international school campus in Beijing, all the way from the preschool, through the elementary, across the field to the middle school, and over the bridge to the high school. All the students from every grade and class come out to cheer and clap, and it is a moving and celebratory occasion. I have stayed away from social media this week because I am not ready to see these beautiful shining faces with their futures in front of them, with my Emily not in her physical presence with them, (though I am sure she was there). She was so close to the future she dreamed of with such anticipation and excitement. Again – how perplexing to be able to hold such excitement and wonder and at the same time this dark depression that at times obliterated it to the point of her having to exit this world. I cannot fathom this, though I deeply commiserate. I feel such compassion for my dear girl, though I know this is no longer necessary, given that her pure positive energy is now not just at peace, but holds only joy.

Those two events that have sat heavy on our hearts this week, and had us crying and laughing and avoiding and facing. The third thing that tilted us off of our axis was that our shipment arrived from China and, with it, a new view of our carpets and art and furniture that has been a part of our familial life for these many years. Every piece holds a memory of Emily. Also, of course, came many items that belonged to Emily, that we will need to find places for, some privately, some publicly. Sheltered now in a house that is becoming cozy and our own, Emily feels even more deeply here. Again, sadness and joy intermingling.

I’m drinking my coffee on the sofa facing the front yard, a bright blue sky giving me the desire to grab our dog and march out the door quite soonish. Everyday that walk to the beach is my sacred journey. What a privilege it is to take it.