FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 1999
No life insurance. No mortgage insurance. No steady job. Back home in Whistler, I stare at the stack of bills.
When Jim and I signed the final mortgage papers, the bank representative asked whether we would like mortgage insurance. Jim faced me, eyebrows pinched. He said, “I think it’s a good idea given how difficult it is for a mountain guide to get life insurance. What do you think?”
“What does it mean?” I shifted to face him.
“It means that if one of us dies, then the mortgage is paid off, no questions,” he answered.
I slapped my hands on my thighs and guffawed, “We don’t need that!” We had just married, built a house and planned to raise a family. Death was not in my plans.
I curse Jim for leaving me in a lurch. I chastise myself for turning down the mortgage insurance, for giving up my biweekly teacher’s paycheque to move to Whistler and for becoming financially dependent on Jim.
Still, I am on leave with the Vancouver School Board, so I am eligible for a full-time position in Vancouver that pays well. There is an opening for an outdoor education teacher, a position in a program called Trek that in the past I would have coveted. I struggle, wondering whether or not to apply.
Every so often, the image of Jim’s body at the funeral home crawls into my consciousness. My brain knows he is dead, but my heart argues that he is still alive. If I teach in Vancouver, our house in Whistler will be empty during the week. What will happen if I’m not there and Jim comes home? Maybe if I am not home, Jim won’t come back. I need to be here. Who will keep the house exactly as Jim left it so he will recognize it when he comes home? But if I don’t get work, I might have to sell the house.
Friends help me fill in the job application.
Dad drives me to Prince of Wales High School in Vancouver, where I graduated 15 years before. We sit in those institutional chairs outside the principal’s office waiting to be called for my interview. Every now and then Dad pats my leg and nods wordless encouragement. At my feet lies a sports bag full of binders exemplifying my ability to create curriculum, to lead youth in the outdoors and to teach. The former head Trek teacher, Dave, stops on his way to my interview to say hello, holds my hand for a moment and reassures me that I need not worry, they will be gentle. I feel naked and as fragile as an eggshell.
The secretary ushers me into the principal’s office, where three beige leather chairs are arranged in a semicircle. The principal rises: “Hello, Sue, come in. I’m Andrew.” He shakes my hand and gestures to the others, “You already know Dave, and this is Lynn.” They get up, shake my hand and thank me for coming. They knew Jim. I sit on the edge of the empty chair and they take turns asking me questions.
In a cheery non-threatening voice, Lynn comments, “I see you have an incredible amount of personal experience in the outdoors, but would you tell me more about the experience you have leading youth?” I cringe at this faint challenge. I have no armour to defend myself. I have no confidence in myself and in the world around me.
I pat my sports bag as I babble, “Well, I have designed and implemented four outdoor programs for youth, and I have the curriculum here if you would like to see it. However, I do have more personal experience in the outdoors than experience leading others in the outdoors.”
The principal responds in a soft voice, “Do you think you are up to the challenge of a new job?”
I take a deep shaky breath, “In the past I have worked hard. I know I can work hard. But under the circumstances, all I can promise is I will do my best.”
He looks me in the eye, “That’s all I can ask.”
I leave the office and shelter under the warmth of my father’s watchful eye. I did it.
Two days later I answer the phone and the principal offers me the Trek job. I hold my breath for a second and force out in one hard exhale: “I would like to accept your offer. Thank you.” When I hang up, I stand still, shell-shocked, and wonder why I have accepted a job in Vancouver when Jim and I live in Whistler.
In just over two months, the school term begins. I have just over two months to find Jim, to prove to my brain that he is alive.