River of Lilacs

Had I known wishing to see my family would turn out this way, I would have wished for something different. Seeking a fresh start, my husband and I settled far away from family. We wanted our own life, not influenced by the past. As time went by, though, my longing for family only increased. Then, with the birth of my son I wanted the reassurance of what family was about. A gathering would do this, I thought. Perhaps a reunion would be a way of showing me that family is a source of strength on which I could rely. 

They could all come to visit us. We had a small house, by the sea. The yard was framed in fruit trees and lilacs, and the lilacs connected me to this place. We had wonderful purple and white lilacs where I grew up. As a child I would hide under the lilac tree, filling my lungs with perfume. I wanted my mother to fill our house with lilacs, but she never did. Now in my own house I could look from the bedroom window and see a wall of lilacs ready to bloom. This is where I was one Sunday late in the afternoon. I was sitting on a family quilt, with the smell of bread baking and a fire crackling. Missing family on days like this was easy. I wanted them to stop over, to just be part of my day. The phone rang and my mother’s voice was most welcome.

“Mom, it is so great to hear your voice, I was just sitting here enjoying some quiet, the baby is asleep and it’s windy out.”

“Susan, are you sitting down?”

“Yes, like I said I was sitting here in the bedroom. It is spring here but still a little chilly, we even have a fire going.”

“I have to tell you something.”

Her voice was so serious, stiff and about to crack, I stood up and started to pace. “What is it? Is it Lee?” My step dad had been very sick for months now. I instantly thought of flying to Florida to be with them.

“There has been an accident.”

“Who? What is it, Mom?”

“Your sister, Nancy, had a canoeing accident.”

My older sister lived in Idaho, so instead of Florida, now I was going to Idaho. “Where is she?,” I said, “I can leave right away.”

“She has not been found, a search party has been looking all day.” She hesitated, almost stopping, “They believe she drowned in the river,” her voice still serious and unwavering.

This could not be, not my sister. Tears streamed down my face I thought it has to be a mistake. Refusing to believe she had drowned, I clung to the hope we could find her. At the same time, though, I was filled with a sense of dread. Life felt frozen in that moment, as I was engulfed by fear.

“Susan, are you there?”

“Mom, when are you coming out?,” I asked, “We must go right away.”

“I’m not sure if I can come, your step dad is awfully ill. Who would take care of him?”

“You have to come, you have to.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, with the same stiff, serious tone of voice.

This was my mother. Did she not know I needed her? I needed her now more than my step dad did. How could she even consider not going? What if my sister turned up? How could she think of missing that? At that instant, I remembered that my mother was not the kind of person on whom I could rely, and yet I struggled to imagine her otherwise. I had been away a long time, and I had created in my mind a false image of her, an image of reliability and strength.

“Susan, is Steve home? Is someone there with you?,” she asked.

“Yes, he’s here...”

“Be strong and I will call you later. Why don’t you call Sara (my other sister)?,” she asked.

“I want to see her, I need to see her.”

“I know, so call her. I will talk to you tonight. Take care dear and I love you.” She sounded softer and said words she rarely ever spoke to me. Maybe there was hope she would come out to comfort me.

I hung up and did not want to hear myself speak of this tragedy. Somehow if you talk about it, it takes away the chance that things may turn out different. I told my husband my sister had an accident, and they had not found her yet. He knew this was more than an accident, as I had never cried tears so strong. We made our way to the beach, as my grief was too big to keep indoors. Nature was where I always went for solace, but the vastness of the beach could not contain my tears.

We would have our gathering, beginning at the airport. My sister, her family and my family would meet in Seattle to fly to Idaho. My mother did join us, but she let us know that it was a great effort to leave my stepfather. The two hour car ride to a small town in northern Idaho gave time for my hope to grow that they had found her. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I would have my family reunion, and it would be sweeter than I ever imagined. Seeing the tear streaked face of my sister’s best friend, Mary, dashed my hope. She had not been found, at least not yet... I knew then we had to find her. This was my older sister, who gave me a road map for my life. She validated all I ever did, she was always there for me. I could not live without her words of wisdom. After all, she knew about life before I did. I wanted to please her, and so I led part of my life according to her likes and dislikes. Approval was important to me, because she cared about me. We would find her, and now I would be able to take care of her.

Three days passed and we decided to visit the river, as a part of a memorial to her. I was going to see if she was wandering delirious in the woods. The river was rushing madly, and the loudness drowned out any sounds of her footsteps. We found the place where it happened. In the spring time the river runs fast, carrying tree limbs from winter storms. These pile up at the curves in the river and catch on the jagged rocky banks. It was here in this log jam where my sister was last seen. She was the only one not to make it. Her husband, Ken, and another couple swam to shore. They screamed for her, but they never saw her again. I imagined her to have been caught in a current, swept gracefully through the log jam. There was an opening and she had found it. After all, she had rescued me many times. She knew how to get out of tight spots. This time I would be there for her and guide her back. But by nightfall, there was no sign of her. It was time to go, but I did not want to leave her all alone. The grief I felt was more powerful than the river. Tears flowed as though they would never stop. I began to realize perhaps she had moved on, and I was all alone. With the realization she was gone, I began to accept her death.

The next day we had a gathering of two hundred people, on the site of Nancy’s future studio building, on top of a hill with a view for miles. Here I felt as though I was on top of the world. The expanse before me let my mind wander free and explore all the possibilities in life. She told me about the inspiration she discovered here, how it was unlike anything else she ever experienced. As I stood there looking from where she had seen life in her own way, I started to feel my own possibilities. If she had to die, maybe it would enrich my life. Now, I had to see for both of us, but mostly I had to learn to see for myself. For one thing, I told myself it would be a long time before I dared to wish for anything again. I never imagined my desire for a family gathering would turn out like this. I began to sense that now it was up to me to create my life. She did not give me my road map. She was just part of my journey.

We read from her journals that day. We shared our stories about her, our poetry and our love for her. Her life was a journey she shared with us. She saw life how she wanted and it flowed, just as the river does. Sometimes not fast enough, and sometimes it took her by surprise.

My tribute to her was to find the freedom to create my own life. I would not let her down because I could begin to live my life as I saw it. For if I saw only the lack of her being there, she would add nothing to my life. She was still with me, as she always had been. No matter when or how we see them, family lives within us. I took this knowledge with me when I went home and filled my house with lilacs.