February 6

Rain this morning, temp is 5.5C.
I was going to try and dash off another poem but with company last night followed by a hot tub - it didn't get done. Maybe I'll have a look and see if I have a short piece of prose amongst my work that I can put on for today.
Aha, found one.

A THREAD

This true story is about how a connection once made becomes a thread that binds, maybe one person or perhaps a group.  I think for most it is usually how friends can retain a bond that survives time and distance.  This story is about a connecting thread that survived because of the bonding of two people from two families and thanks to their friendship its loop stretched to others.

  

  

  

I

n 1947, Port Hardy, the northern most settlement on Vancouver Island, was accessible only by boat.  There were no roads other than planked logging roads and a narrow gravel road to Coal Harbor some fifteen miles away.  There was an airport but it had been constructed for wartime use and was still restricted from civilian traffic.

  The Union Steamship Company had several ships that plied the inland waters between the mainland and Vancouver Island; their role was to deliver freight, mail and passengers to the various communities along the coast.  It was on one of these ships my parents, our dog, one of our cats( the second one followed a month later) and I arrived one drizzly January morning.  My father had already been there for the past six months and had come home for Christmas and to help with the move.

  We loaded most of our belongings in the back of the Forestry pick-up and drove the mile to the Ranger station.  A second trip was made to get the remaining boxes and we were soon getting established in the house that was provided for us.

  Late that afternoon there was a knock on the door and a loud “hoowhee” sound then a voice called out, “Anyone home?”  I opened the door and there on our step was a tall, stern looking lady.  Her hair was gray and black, laid tight to her head with a bun at the back.  When my mother stepped forward the stern and forbidding appearance suddenly gave way to a tiny smile that lightened the face before us.

  “I’m Florence Melan.” She said. “I’m your neighbor and dinner will be ready in about half an hour, you will all be there. 

  My mother said, “Oh no we couldn’t ….”

  “I said you will be there.” Was the reply.  She turned to leave, then turned back and stepping forward she took my Mom in her arms, gave her a squeeze, turned and marched off without a backward glance.

  I remember that moment vividly, and the words she spoke.  I can close my eyes today and experience it again.

  From that moment, Mrs. Melan (Mellie to her friends) and my mother became life long friends.

  They visited back and forth often over the years that we lived there.  When we eventually moved they wrote each other frequently, Mrs. Melan’s letters were full of news, her family, her political views and more than a smattering of town gossip. 

  Their relationship was a curious blend of friendship and motherliness of an older woman towards a younger one.  When we first became neighbors both of Mrs. Melan’s daughters were gone from Port Hardy pursuing their careers and education.  Perhaps my mother helped fill that void. But I believe that Mrs. Melan also filled a void for my mother

  Mrs. Melan was a surrogate grandmother for me.  My one Grandma lived in California, the other in Vancouver.  A couple of times during our years there, my parents went to Vancouver, these  trips would be ten to fourteen days long.  Each time I would be packed up and sent to the Melan household for the duration. 

  Some five years after we moved away, I was briefly in Port Hardy so I dropped by Mrs. Melan’s home.  When I knocked I looked through the window in the door, she was dozing in her chair in the kitchen.  I had to knock several times, each time a bit louder.  She eventually awakened, came to the door, opened it and said, “Yes, what is it?”  Then as I started to reply she cried out, “That smile, I know you, John its you!”

  I was treated to one of those hugs somewhat like the one my mother had received all those years before.

  Mrs. Melan died a few years later.

  Our lives moved on.  My wife and I moved to Sidney on the south end of Vancouver Island in 1987, followed by my mother a short time later.

  One day our phone rang, it was my mother and she was very excited.  Mellie’s oldest daughter (Thelma or Mel as she was called) whom she had visited several times over the years had just moved to Sidney.  In Mom’s words, “They would almost be neighbors!”

  Their friendship grew stronger; I know they confided in each other things that were not shared with anyone else.  Sometimes their daily visits were just watching game shows on TV and smoking cigarettes (shame on them! J).

  My mother was now the older woman and as such she was able to provide a shoulder for Mel during a difficult time in her life.  But as time went on and my mother started to fail, Mel’s role changed.  It was hard to define; not a caregiver, more than a friend, not the younger woman role but some kind of combination of all. This relationship lasted until my mother’s death in 1998.

  A few weeks after my mother’s passing, Mel phoned.  She wanted to come for a visit.  A new relationship was born!  We never quite got to where only two women could go although my wife, Maryann, may have made up for some of my delinquencies.  Mel didn’t visit frequently, but she attended most our family gatherings and special occasions; she sometimes would just stop by and have a visit that we took great pleasure in.  We carried on two traditions started before Mom died, the first was an afternoon coffee party to decorate our Christmas tree and the second was Chinese food on New Years Day.

  One day perhaps about three years after Mom died, we were having a coffee together, without preamble and looking past my shoulder Mel quietly said, “I miss her, I miss Vi so much.”

 In the beginning I was definitely the junior partner, but as time went on and I could help her a bit with computer problems and helped with re-acquiring her driver’s license, change a light bulb, a more give and take relationship developed.

  So in a slightly convoluted way a relationship that had started more than a half-century earlier carried on, I’m sure Mrs. Melan - Mellie and my Mom would be pleased.

  Mel died September 19, 2007.