WEDNESDAY, MAY 5, 1999
Before Jim’s evening memorial service at the Chan Centre, eight friends join me for a walk at Jericho Beach. We amble along the fine gravel pathway, elbows linked. The late afternoon sun kisses the trees, sand and water. “I wish I had a camera, you make such a lovely picture,” a middle-aged woman comments as she passes. The irony is excruciating. Love and grief, hand in hand.
The weight in my chest draws my shoulders and head down. I use my whole back to raise my head and squint into the sunlight. Is he here? Yes, there he is on his usual perch. I gaze. His wings billow and he is airborne. My eyes track him, closer and closer, until he is less than six metres above us. I hold my breath as he circles. It is him. It must be him. An eagle: mating for life, the gateway to the divine. He gains altitude as he circles, and I stop, sigh and gaze upward.
Close to a thousand people are at the memorial that evening. One friend bursts into tears when she sees the wedding picture of Jim and me by the candle in the foyer. There are several billboards and easels displaying the colourful proofs of Jim's two books and his awards for writing, his Governor General’s medal.
There are speeches. Dad Haberl begins by thanking everyone for being there for Jim’s mom. She knew him the longest and perhaps the best. He says that Jim taught him right from wrong, something a father should teach his son. It is a stunning confession for such a confident man.
When Eric speaks, he says he witnessed the first magic between Jim and me in the Queen Charlotte Islands in 1982. He raises his chin in my direction and says that Jim’s face lit up whenever he talked about me. He admired Jim for belonging so naturally to many different groups of friends.
There is a pause as we wait for the next speaker to come from behind the stage curtain. People shuffle in their seats. And then the audience gasps as well-known motivational speaker and athlete Rick Hansen wheels into the light. He speaks of Jim’s dedication to his profession and his ability to relate to and motivate people.
Graeme gives details of the accident.
Scott says he admired Jim for following his heart, for taking the time to do trips in the mountains. Pat, Jim’s brother, says Jim’s death helped him to find his own soul.
Kevin reads aloud a letter to Jim:
Dear Jim,
It’s early morning and I finally feel like I can start a letter. I think everything’s checked off – you’d be proud, oh list-meister – checked off only because so many of your friends have stepped up and taken projects. They’re all going with a real sense of mission, and I think it’s gonna be good tonight.
The last five days have been like a dream, Jim. Lots of hugs and tears, and some good laughs, too. Remember when? And “How about the time that…” I’ve been feeling a bit weird about not being a basket case. I think Vicki is a bit worried. Some people have told me how strong I’ve been, we both know that’s not it – I think I’m just not ready to say goodbye yet. But don’t worry, I will. Whatever, eh? It’s the old songs that do get me going, though.
The support network has been truly awesome. Family first as always, but also so many different groups of people you were a part of over the years, Jim, Jim-Bob, Habby. In each circle, your natural way made you the guy that everyone could go to for an uncritical smile, a ready ear or an honest answer. How’d you do that? I guess they could tell you really cared – people first, right?
Some of the closest folks are pretty shattered, Jim. It’s an amazing group, big bro’ – some have been around forever, some just lately, but they’ve got good and true hearts. We’re so lucky. But it’s great to see everyone, there’s such energy when we’re together – you should be here. It’s wild, too; it takes something that rubs everyone raw to make some connections work. I feel closer to some people in the last few days than I ever have.
I’m gonna miss my best teacher and my guide. You spent a lot of time breaking trail for all of us and had a ready smile when we caught up. A deep, sincere thanks for your part in making me me.
I hope nobody tries to make you out to be a god tonight. I know you always had uncertainties, doubts and questions. But the hills are a good teacher and we found a few of the answers together. We’ll just try and remember your way, and carry you with us, and live it. Plain old Uncle Jim.
I’m really glad for you that you made it this far. It took you a while to realize that the path you were on was your path. And you found Sue. I loved seeing you find peace within, and I’ve tried to learn from that, too.
I don’t think you were too scared in the slide. Probably just feeling guilty ’cause you knew how sad we’d all be. Don’t worry, Jim, I don’t think you left anything unsaid. We can feel your spirit here. And we’ll try to be there for Sue. We’ll be okay.
You always wrote the best letters. I think you’ll be answering this one tonight. I can’t wait. So, Jim, “Heebla,” “Jacques,” “Boom-Chicka-Boom.”
Lots and lots of love,
Kevin.
The audience applauds loudly. Truth spoken right from the heart. So like Jim.
I sit on the edge of my seat, listening and waiting. I envision long roots extending from my body down into the earth. Patti tells me to envision light encircling my body, protecting me. I try. I try to breathe. I try to stay grounded but I am ricocheting through the universe with no compass bearing and nothing to hold me together. My hands tremble and my knuckles are white from clutching the three-hole loose-leaf pages on which I have written my farewell words. Two drafts.
I picture myself on stage, composed, reading my eulogy. People will say how strong I am, how brave. Partway through, the blood will drain out of me and I will collapse onto the floor, unconscious. People will gasp and press forward to help. But they will stop short when, from the top of the domed ceiling, an eagle will trill and dive to my side, spreading his three-metre wings protectively around me. I will rest while Jim shrieks at anyone who threatens to come near. I will wake, and, faced with his glaring amber eyes and sharp hooked bill, remain still. Haltingly, he will brush the soft feathers of his head against my cheek. I will stand, Jim perched defiantly on my arm, and we will go home.
Then Dave announces my name from the stage. My heart pounds so deeply my ears vibrate. Patti holds my elbow as we feel our way down the dark aisle. At the side of the stage she asks how I am. I turn to her and say, in someone else’s composed deeper voice, “Fine, thank you.” I skate on the surface of my grief, because if I go deeper, allow even one small fissure to open up, I will drown in the pain. I know it.
I climb the stairs alone to the podium. I glance out into the sea of black. It’s like staring into a cave full of breathing. Pat’s face is illuminated in the front row. He looks worried. Scared for me. I fix my gaze on the paper in front of me. My voice wavers: “My name is Sue and I am Jim’s wife.” My throat closes and it is seconds before I can breathe again. I take one long deep breath and let it out between trembling pursed lips. And I read. I stand there and I read it. There are even a couple of times when people laugh.
Today we are here to celebrate Jim’s life. Everyone who knew Jim loved him.
Jim valued friendship. Alastair once said that Jim had more close friends than anyone he knew. Greetings began with a hearty hug. You’d often hear a sincere “Good man!” at the end of phone conversations with buddies. I can hear him laughing uncontrollably at Mike’s jokes. There are countless stories of being tent-bound for days, of forgetting fuel, of battling pulmonary edema and of reaching summits. All of these adventures bonded Jim and his buddies. Jim opened his heart and created a safe haven for friendships to grow.
Jim was loved and supported by his family. His mom and dad believed in him. He had love in his voice when he walked through their door and said, “Hey, Mom!” and gave her a big hug. Kevin and Jim had an unspoken bond. Jim said that when they climbed together things just flowed and that there was very little need for words. He loved that. Jim was like a second father to Kevin and Vicki’s kids. At the mere sight of Jim’s car, Jaslyn and Connor would come running, yelling “Uncle Jim!” and beat down the door to get in the first hug. When Jim and I first started dating, my stepmom said, “Isn’t it nice to be going out with someone who everyone likes?” My father sang his praises often. Once we met a client of Jim’s when we were out for dinner. The man came over to say hello and said, “You know you have quite a son-in-law here.” My dad replied, “I know, I’m thinking of changing my will.”
Jim was passionate and full of heart and soul. He listened to his soul and lived his life accordingly. He gave people the benefit of the doubt; he took the higher ground, he looked at the positive side; he believed that things happen for a reason; he believed that it is better to give than it is to receive; and he believed that love is worth the risk. This inner strength grounded him and created something of which we are all a part. He inspired us to follow our dreams.
Now we have a big mountain to climb because we are all missing him very much. We will climb this mountain with his help, even if it takes 15 breaths for each step.
I am very fortunate because I met my soulmate and spent so many wonderful years with him. I am grateful for all of his love, kindness, understanding, passion and support … for all of his hugs, kisses, smiles and chuckles. I am a better person for having known him. He was an extraordinary being, and I know that his spirit will live on in all of us and in everything that is good and beautiful in this world.
When I am done, I listen to the breathing. I whisper, “I love you, Jim, always.”
I want Jim to see that I will be okay, but I am not convinced of this myself. I want to honour everything he and I shared. I want to shout my love for him from the top of the mountains. And more than anything, I want him to come back. I want to read the best eulogy ever so that he will come back.
The service ends with a slideshow of Jim’s life: 2400 photos, music, two projectors, one image fading into the next. Climbing and mountaineering photos dominate, but there are also scenes of the ocean. In each one there is a love of being with Jim. Depending on one another in the wilderness fostered that love. Facing the unknown together with a sense of clarity and purposeful action created a respectful bond. One full section is dedicated to Jim and me. I grip my seat and gulp air as photos of Jim and me from all over the world colour the screen: under a waterfall, on top of a mountain, dancing, hugging and laughing. I smile to hold back my tears. Van Morrison belts out “Have I Told You Lately that I Love You?” I used to cup Jim’s face in my hands and ask him that. Or sneak up from behind and wrap my arms around his neck and whisper in his ear. He’d laugh and say, “No.” And I’d say, “I do, truly, madly and deeply.” It was the song we danced to at our wedding.
I strain to hear the words of the final song, “Here in the Heart,” by Daniel Lavoie:
Here in the heart of me
That’s where you’ll always be
Deep as the deep blue sea
Close as the air I breathe
I wipe my nose on my sleeve and hang my head and whisper, “Close as the air I breathe.” Patti guides me by the elbow to the hall outside the auditorium.
“People will want to talk to you,” she says and positions me front and centre. The foyer fills, and I lean against a table, chew my lip and feel like my parents have just dropped me off at my first day of kindergarten, naked. Groups form. The room buzzes. A few people talk to me, and then I slip up the stairs to the landing, crouch down and cry.
“There you are.” It’s my sister Sharron. I stand up, wipe my eyes and she leads me downstairs to the bubbling crowd. Kevin is right. Jim’s family and friends are happy to be together.
A colleague of Jim’s, a guide, rests her hand on my arm and says, “I’m so sorry, Sue. You know, Jim made me want to be a better person. And I’m going to do that. I’m going to try to be a better person, not just for me, but for Jim.” I hug her, more out of habit than anything else. The room spins.
I ooze along with the crowd until we are outside in the dark.
“Hey, Sue, some of us are going to the high-school pizza haunt on Broadway. Please come.” Pat’s voice is charged.
“Okay.” Keen not to be left behind. Keen to be anywhere Jim was. My sister drives me. Pitchers of beer, pizza, raucous laughter. I laugh at a joke and catch myself. How could I laugh when Jim is dead? I think I’m going to be sick. My body sits still, but my soul weaves across the room, tries to escape and collapses on the floor. There are shouts, people at my side, an ambulance is called, a stretcher, and my soul is whisked away. I watch it all happen and am surprised to feel the warmth of my thighs beneath my hands. My body is still here, sitting on the chair, the party goes on around me, and Jim is still dead.