I love the strident blast of the ferry’s horn announcing its departure below the screeching gulls, which circle the ship and dive-bomb for stolen french fries from startled passengers, whose fingers are otherwise engaged in plugging their ears. The ferry blast, the shrieking gulls, the tug of the wind, the salt tang, and the pungent tickle of vinegar: they all weave a tapestry of delight that heralds the beginning of the annual family vacation to Galiano Island. This adventure is a greatly anticipated pleasure – a gathering of the clans, so to speak. Down below decks, and snuggled closely together, wait the holiday-laden vehicles belonging to Jones, Shewchuk, Carenza, and Leonard branches of our eclectic family. Up above, we lean excitedly into the wind in anticipation of the week that spreads before us in a smorgasbord of sundry pleasures.
What could be better than a beautiful wood cabin tucked away in the midst of tall cedars? Or, the swoosh of a forest swing that flies you twenty feet skyward through the pine boughs? Or, the laughter and friendly taunts of bocce and crokinole competitions? Or, the sweet scent of marshmallows toasting over the nightly fire pit? Perhaps the most delicious feature of this Galiano gift is the outdoor shower. There is something precious and almost holy about revelling beneath the warm rain of water, while the sun streams through the stained-glass window on one side and the trees stand guard beyond an open cut-out window on the other. Morning is definitely my favourite time for this treat. I luxuriate in this delight, while keeping a cautious eye out for sneaky spiders that love to spin down from the rafters on a gossamer thread or hide themselves away in secretive corners. Further treats for the week include moped rides along canopied stretches of road; beach days to swim, build sandcastles, and search for sea glass; and visits to artisan stores to appreciate the creativity of the Islanders. Between the joyful shrieks of the little ones as “Uncle” races them along the forested path in their wagon to the companionship of meals prepared and enjoyed with love, I reach the burnt out end of each day blessed with an elegant sufficiency.
I love to run the rural roads of Galiano early in the morning, just as I do each day at home. My reward at the end of every Galiano run is to collapse in a grateful mess at the beach just down the lane from our vacation home. Resting on the sun-warm logs, I breathe in the ocean as its waves curl over themselves to crash thunderously against the barnacled rocks and then draw back again, vacuuming sea-wrack, waterlogged bark, and sundry flotsam and jetsam. This beach is both a ritual and a pilgrimage, because this beach has witnessed both my joy and my despair. It has become my rite of passage. My first Galiano vacation began two years ago in August 2018, the day after a radiologist at Royal Columbian held me back following a diagnostic mammogram to schedule me for two separate breast biopsies. She had seen something needing further exploration. The long walk out of the hospital was surreal, and I was overwhelmed with both disbelief and fear. The wait until the first biopsy stretched away from me like an endlessly deep chasm, and in the meantime, I was leaving the next morning for the fun and games of the Family Vacation.
Needless to say, that first Galiano experience was a struggle: a struggle to find joy in the midst of fear, a struggle to join in with the laughter when I only wanted to cry, and a struggle to keep my reality away from my family, so not to ruin their vacation. Only my son, along with my brother and sister-in-law, knew what I was facing. I found as many opportunities as I could to slip away down to the beach, where the crashing waves covered the sound of my grief, and the sun dried up any evidence of my tears. The beach was my haven; it was the place where I wrestled aloud with God about my future and the state of my trust in Him. The beach was really my Jericho, where I truly struggled to find an elegant sufficiency.
As the summer transitioned into fall and winter, the days stretched through three biopsies, X-rays, blood tests, MRI’s, two surgeries, and radiation. The tests revealed that I had two areas of DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ) and a third rare, but sometimes connected, Paget’s Disease. They did not get it all in the first surgery, but the second time was successful. I can only say that I was blessed. It was a difficult year of test and wait and procedure and wait, but the cancer was deemed non-invasive at the point it was caught. My first follow-up was this past March, a week before the Covid lockdown began, and I was given the two most blessed words: all clear.
I have returned twice to Galiano since that first summer visit. Not a day there goes by that I do not re-walk the steps I trod in 2018. I embrace the laughter on the deck, the communal preparation of meals, the forest swing, the outdoor shower, the sun-dappled roads, and the daily pilgrimage to my beach. I breathe in the ocean, raise my face to the warmth above, and thank God for the journey He walks with me. My journal reminds me of the words I wrote the morning I was to receive the results of the first biopsy. I recorded the words I heard so clearly in my spirit in the midst of my prayer: “Go forth in peace. Your prayers have been answered.” They calmed me and allowed me to receive the news with a sense of peace that is not naturally mine. I never interpreted those words to mean that the results would be benign, but rather that God was blessing me with strength, peace, trust, and faith. He did indeed. That was the beginning of heading off to many medical visits and many waits for news, but through it all He kept me close. In the course of that long year, I also received a vision on my way to yet another appointment. I saw, in precise detail, a diamond, rough and unpolished, being ground with grit to reveal its beauty and preciousness. That image gave me great hope. There are still times when I struggle with the worry that it may return. This is the state of being human and living within these imperfect bodies. Nevertheless, I wrap myself in this rite of passage. I lift my face to the sun and let the sound of the waves wash over me on my Galiano beach; I am truly thankful for this moment and for this time of elegant sufficiency.
