HOME

August 7th, 2024

When it comes down to it, I don’t think there are any words that can describe the searing pain of staggering loss. Three weeks ago, suddenly and unexpectedly, I lost my precious Mom. 10 days later, I lost my dear and treasured friend, Michelle. Even as I write this, I need to acknowledge and honour the ‘we’ and ‘us’ and ‘our’ in the words, Mom and Friend, loss is never solitary.

In the collision of such acute pain, so many of us here in Alberta watched as a beloved part of our Rocky Mountains caught fire. When the town-limits of Jasper were breeched, we could hardly believe what was happening before our very eyes. And yet, especially in those early severe days, the collective outpouring of sadness felt unifying and familiar. Everyone was using the same words but for different things and somehow, mysteriously and miraculously, it gathered up the threads of communal grief in a devastating pause of solidarity:

“If I had known this was going to happen, I would’ve come for one last goodbye.”

“Our family’s most treasured memories are marked by these breathtaking mountains.”

“The landscape is forever changed.”

Over the last few weeks, the landscape of my life has changed forever, and I can still scarcely comprehend it. I am beginning to understand that no amount of time with the people you love can prepare you for their crushing absence. Yes, I am keenly aware that there is nothing that can prepare you for loss, yet mercifully, it can be softened by the embraces of others. I don’t think I have ever felt so profoundly carried in my whole life. I don’t think I have ever known God’s care like this. Even death is not without hope.

On July 19th, as we rounded the corner to Mount Robson, nearing the end of the longest most sorrowful drive home, I stood beneath its shadow and wept as my Mom’s favourite Psalm welled up and spilled out of my lips:

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—

where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,

the Maker of heaven and earth.”