To Live Is To Mourn

Today the sun rose in a beautiful, old fashion way. So I put boots on, and my thick sweater and went outdoors for a walk. I carried with me a bag of lettuce and spinach to feed the ducks in the park. But they showed little interest in my offering.

The town was quiet and at peace. Like the Sunday mornings of my childhood. I walked up the hill towards the Presbyterian Church and stopped to look at the graves in the cemetery. I knew I shouldn’t go too far, because my knee was still sore. But I also needed to stretch and explore. It had already been over a week since my last walk.

St. Andrews Presbyterian Church

I crossed the street and went inside the coffee shop. The girl behind the counter was bright and cheerful. I told her that I would be paying with a gift card. She told me that gift cards provided freedom. I told her that I was all about freedom. But she had turned and didn’t hear me.

Afterwards, I walked slowly along Thomas Street. I wanted to take a photo of what I thought was an unused, and unwanted empty lot. (I had written about it just last summer.) Now, it was all dug up and being prepared for some great and needed development.

Coming Soon!

I then made my way along a side street, and then took a pathway that brought me out behind my old high school. I crossed the football field and then took another pathway that brought me into the surrounding neighborhood. My knee was already beginning to protest, but I assured it that I had a plan, and that we would be home before too long. Still, I headed north a little on Joymar, before cutting over towards Mullet Creek, and Dolphin Public School.

A few days ago my sister informed me that she would be moving out to B.C, to be near her son. The news caused me a bit of sadness at first. But as I stood there watching the Creek I was able to accept that she was leaving, and let go of all those feelings. I felt truly resigned.

Dolphin Public School.
The Bleachers at Dolphin Park.

I walked across the field behind Dolphin, and stopped to take photos of the bleachers. I remember a beautiful young girl with red hair named Kathy, that I pined over when I was young. I watched her there play baseball once, and the bleachers always remind me of her. From there I walked along until I reached Britannia Road, then followed a shortcut I had used for many years.

I followed a shortcut I had used for many years.

I stopped to take photos of the empty lot where up until just a few months ago 34 Queen Street had stood. It was mournful to look at. I then turned left onto Ellen, which is the street I grew up on. I wanted to see what progress the renovators had made on my childhood home. The siding and the metal shingles had all been stripped off, and it appeared that they were preparing to stucco everything. The carport and the second floor addition were nearly completed as well. The Maple Tree that my father had planted in the backyard, was still there. Which I was thankful for. I looked around the foundation blocks one more time, for any of my toy cars or plastic men, but found nothing.

There is only an empty lot now where once stood 34 Queen Street South.

Finally, I turned towards home, using the Back Road. I stopped to take a photo of the old pumping station, as it is difficult to do so in summer when all the leaves are on the trees. When I reached my building I met a neighbor who I spoke with for a few minutes. She asked me to try and convince my sister to not leave.

My old childhood home under renovations.
The Old Water Pumping Station.

1 thought on “To Live Is To Mourn”

  1. This made me a bit melancholy – thinking of how much our little town has changed, how much is gone, how expensive its becoming to live there…How the personality of the place is being altered and – in some cases – erased, torn apart, demolished to build huge often ugly homes with no yard and no connection to the place they sit…

    Life is about change, about transition, about letting go.

    But I have never been good at any of that.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.