“I HAVE a favour to ask of you,” says a friend of mine, who volunteers at the off-leash park, when I see her at the park the next morning. She nods toward the dog beside her.

I look down. Staring up at me is the fuzzy black face of a fatter, fluffier version of Sasha.

“I’m just temporarily looking after her,” she explains, “but she needs a home with a lot of love.”

Maybe Sasha would like a buddy to hang out with. God knows that’s what I want more than anything else…my dog may as well be happy. I tell her I’ll think about it while I’m out of town, as I’m heading to BC tomorrow for my post-farewell tour.

IN VICTORIA, Cassie, her daughter and I hit the usual haunts; the teashop, chocolate store, Italian restaurant and favourite bookstore, where I pick up Jane Goodall’s A Reason for Hope and The Sacred Balance by David Suzuki. The latter catches my eye with its earth, wind, fire and water theme; the former because if I can find hope for the future, so can the planet.

“You’ve got a bit of an environmental theme going on there,” Cassie remarks when we’re on the street again.

“Well, there are some very serious problems that need to be addressed.”

“Oh, I agree,” she says. “It’s just that the big issues like climate change seem so overwhelming that I think a lot of people have given up trying to solve them.”

I glance at her daughter in the stroller. “That’s a pretty scary attitude.”

“I know.”

“Do you think it’s also a lack of awareness,” I ask, “or just plain apathy?”

“A bit of both,” Cassie replies, zipping up her daughter’s jacket. “But I bet most people feel that changing their actions won’t make a difference, so why bother?”

“That stinks!” says the small voice from the stroller.

“What does?” I ask.

“That car,” says the little girl, pointing to the vehicle beside us. “The farting one.”

Though a warm day, the parked car she’s referring to has been left idling.

“You’re right,” I say. “That does stink.”

AFTER VICTORIA, the three of us head to Vancouver to spend an evening with Stan, Megan and their new baby son. The girls go into a hot tub but since I don’t have my swimsuit with me, I go in with just my bra and panties on. Stan ends up joining us, but I don’t want him seeing me in my wet underwear, so I figure I’ll stay in the tub until he leaves. But he doesn’t get out, so I stay in the hot water for over an hour, drinking a beer yet. When I do finally emerge, I’m downright woozy.

“You better lie down,” suggests Cassie.

“Or are you supposed to stay upright?” Megan asks.

I can’t remember either so, like a homing pigeon, I wander toward the kitchen. Cassie follows close behind. Then, it’s as if someone changes the channel on me. One moment I’m standing in the kitchen and the next, I’m sitting on the verandah of a house in the country, looking out into a yard where there’s a big tree with an old-fashioned wooden swing and children are laughing and playing.

“I think I’m gonna need some help in here!”

I open my eyes to see who’s hollering, which is when I realize that I’m flat on my back on the ceramic tile floor. Cassie is behind me, her hands cupped under my head.

“Why are you yelling?” I ask.

“You passed out! I caught your head before it hit the ground. You scared the crap outta me.”

Stan and Megan come running in.

“Adri!” cries Stan, arms waving. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Just thought I’d have a little rest!” I snap, struggling to sit up.

“You better stay still a minute,” says Megan.

“Yeah well, I’d love to but unfortunately I have to go to the bathroom.”

Three puzzled expressions watch me as I stumble toward the nearest toilet and slam the door behind me. Two minutes later, I hear a knock and Cassie asks how I’m doing.

“Not very good.”

“Do you want me to come in?”

“Uh huh.”

The door opens, and she finds me on the throne, underwear around my ankles.

“Oh man,” I hear from the hallway. “Somethin’ musta died in there.”

“Stanley!” Megan hisses.

“I can’t help it!” I cry, lifting my head, which is when I catch sight of my whiteish-gray face in the mirror.

“Oh my God!” I howl. “I’m gonna die on the toilet!”

In rush Stan and Megan.

“You’re not going to die,” Stan reassures me.

“Yes, I am!” I cry then faint into Cassie’s arms.

As I’m coming to, I hear mention of 911 being called.

“No, no, no. I’m OK,” I mumble then lose consciousness again.

“Hang in there,” Megan says, “the ambulance is on the way.”

Minutes later, two paramedics appear in the bathroom doorway. I give them the wave, not a shred of ego left. The male medic asks me if I’ve been drinking.

“I had a beer in the hot tub.”

“How long were you in there?”

“An hour.”

He shakes his head and takes hold of my wrist as I faint again.

“That’s strange,” I hear him say. “I can’t find her pulse.”

I open my eyes and look at him. I am dying.

He smiles. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Some people just can’t handle hot tubs.”

Sure enough, he finds my pulse and then I’m relocated to another room, where the female medic places an oxygen mask on me for good measure.

“I’m a bit of a mess,” I explain, “because my husband died.”

“When?”

“September 29th.”

“That’s not even…” She glances at her watch. “Seven months ago.”

“IT’S RATHER ironic,” I say to Cassie in the car the next day, “because for so long, I couldn’t wait to die. But then yesterday I realized I don’t want to go yet.”

“Good!”

“And sure as heck not on the toilet of all places.”

She smiles. “Your performance reminded me of the pub-crawl sprawl.”

“Hah hah.”

“What’s the pub-crawl sprawl?” pipes the little voice from the backseat.

Cassie glances in the rear-view mirror. “Auntie Adri once showed some boys her bare bum by mistake.”

All three of us laugh.

“This is totally embarrassing,” I say, “but you know when I was in the bathroom yesterday and Stan said that something musta died in there?”

“Yeah?”

“I think something did die.”

She glances over at me. “As in…?”

“My ego.”

In response to this, one eyebrow goes up.

“Mommy?”

Cassie looks in the rearview mirror. “Yes?”

“When’s the Easter Bunny coming?”

“Well,” replies Cassie, “tomorrow is Good Friday, so three more sleeps.”

“What’s Good Friday?” the girl asks.

Cassie looks to me. “Care to field that one?”

I turn to face the back seat. “That’s the day Jesus died so that we could live. I mean, really live…you know, freely.”

The little girl nods her head. “Like a butterfly.”

ON GOOD Friday, I’m home again, curled up in my big blue chair reading the Jane Goodall book. I come to the part where, six months after her husband’s death, Goodall realized that she knew it was time for him to move on and did not try to call him back.

Clunk goes the coin. I drop the book into my lap.

“I have to let you go too, don’t I?” I ask the living room.

I know the answer even though I don’t like it.

“Sam,” I whisper, “I let your spirit go.”

Then I go upstairs, take two pills and crawl into bed. Sasha climbs up beside me but snaps angrily at Sven when she tries to jump up. With a sigh of resignation, Sven flops on the floor and we all fall asleep.