I think mornings are my favourite, especially when it’s not raining. Today was particularly calm and beautiful and as we pulled the anchor the sun popped through the clouds and glorified the quiet bay that gave us much needed refuge after a long day of sailing in fairly big conditions yesterday.
The moment was profound. One of those moments where you believe in something larger than oneself. I had a clear connection with Sarah and I felt her beauty in every way. I told her as I kissed her over and over again on the dock before my departure that I would see her eyes every time I looked in the ocean, well I do, but I see her spirit in every animal, sunset and sunrise I witness out here as well.
Over the past week I have received some very beautiful and kind texts, emails and calls. People expressing their love for Sarah and for me. I’ve been deeply touched by the kindness. But I have not fully processed the loss of my dear friend. I have experienced so much loss in the last years, that I feared I had grown numb.
But this morning, I’m not numb, just quiet. She is shining all around me and I don’t want to miss it.
I have been coping with my grief in a small environment, but everyone around has been kind and gentle. I know I must be at that age where we start to lose loved ones, but she was too young with too much life and too young a family.
I have a great belief that there isn’t an end and her laugh echoes in my brain constantly throughout the day. I pull up my phone and her text’s still pop up and her pictures do as well. So she is there. I have seen a mother bear and three cubs, a loon called loudly when we were in Alert Bay and then yesterday a Sandhill Crane sang out to us as we anchored in this bay. We learned at the Hakai Institute that you are very lucky if you spot a Sandhill Crane - and there she was saying hello and welcome. Hi Sarah, hi Sarah…bye Sarah.