Fall Fairs, Dog Grooming,

Fall fair in Ontario with large pumpkins.
September 10, 2024

& the Nature of Grief

Friday September 6, is the seven-year anniversary of my sister Jacquelin’s death. If you’ve read my memoir, Dance Into the Light, or heard me speak about it, you’ll know that I attempted to rescue my sister from her darkness.

Midway at fair at night

On Labour Day, Monday September 2, I went to the Burk’s Falls Annual Fall Fair. The last time I attended a fair was about twenty years ago and that was at the Canadian National Exhibition. I don’t recall going on any rides, but I remember wandering among flower and landscape exhibits in the Agricultural Building. The time between fair attendance has been far too long, and had my friend Mark not extended his invitation, another year would have passed.

Three of us––Mark, Sue and me––headed out at 10 a.m. sharp. The morning was unseasonably chilly and it was a challenge to decide on what to wear. When in doubt? Layers. I chose a long sleeve shirt and a jean jacket. At the last minute, I added a hat and for good measure, I tossed my feather-weight coat onto the back seat. By noon there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. In the heat I rolled up my sleeves. Sue, who remembered to bring sunscreen, shared a dollop. Had I donned a T-shirt, I would have been happier. However I was glad for the hat.

On our way north, the highway was empty which made it easier to ponder the landscape. The northeast corner of Muskoka with its abundance of towering coniferous trees, lush wetlands and Canadian Shield ruggedness, caused me to gasp. That’s not unusual because the simple beauty never ceases to astound me.

The fair’s theme was Western Games & Performance. Except for the display of crafts, flowers, vegetables and small farm animals in the barn, the equestrian activities were new to me. I have no experience with horses. From a distance, their exquisiteness takes my breath away. When I used to cycle through Sunnybrook Park, and later walk my dogs there, I made it a point to stop at the stables. While watching the horses with one another, and with their humans, I admired  their exchange of emotions and what I interpreted as a bond of friendship.

From the metal bleachers at Burk Fall’s fairgrounds I observed capable handlers at work with teams of strong, healthy and stunningly gorgeous horses. Their coats shone and their perfectly groomed manes and tails moved in the wind.

I think back to my relationship with dogs and how I loved to attend to their fur. Some people in my family used to tease me about my persistence. At my parent’s house, my favourite thing was to sit on the kitchen floor with Jenny. She was a 140 pound German Shepard, their last dog. I loved to comb and work through her tufts. I did this in the midst of repeated much-loved stories and rambling conversations. Jenny would succumb to my careful touch until I sometimes came upon a stubborn knot. She’d lift her head to tell me she’d had enough. “Okay Jenny. You’re right,” I’d say, as I captured clusters of fur before they tumbled across the floor. German Shepherds shed a lot and for an enthusiastic groomer like me, this was a labour of love. Whenever I have the opportunity to groom one of my dear canine friends, I relax into the undertaking. Touching, holding, caressing and patting, feeds my soul. It brings me to a meaningful, yet simple purpose, that connects me to another.

At the fair was a steel band. They were wonderful and they played tunes that were recognizable but not one of us could pinpoint the song titles. But it was the rhythm that mattered. It was impossible not to feel at one with the music.

A collection of steel drums with Canadian flags attached, set up outdoors for a musical performance.

During the late-August writing retreat at our cottage, my two dearest friends picked up on what I was unknowingly attempting to hide. I was out-of-sorts, close to the edge and weepy. In the kindest way possible, they each stepped up to tell me what they saw. Hearing about myself through their lens gave me a nudge to pay attention. Without realizing, I was residing in the memory of the week before Jacquelin took her own life. Seven years ago, while attempting to save her, I was living in anticipatory grief. The memory of those hard days bubbled up. Once realized, it made it plausible for me to work through my discomfort. Naming it, reminded me to surrender to the grief, go with the flow and to be patient with myself. Owning that I was having a tough time with the approach of the anniversary of Jacquelin’s death opened up the conversation I needed to have with myself.

Jacquelin, I miss you. Still. I miss our sincerest moments together. Today I’m remembering the smallest things. Your crooked smile, your giggle, and your strong coffee. I never really minded your insistence on hard boiled eggs at our cottage breakfasts…still loving you, B.

To help make myself feel better, I’m off to make chicken soup.

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