By Jason Marshall
I refuse to let stress and anxiety grab hold of me. That’s my rule. But chaos is a rule breaker.
My day just went sideways and rather than immerse myself in the madness, I’m savvy enough to know it’s time to recalibrate and unpeople for a while.
Just me. My brain. And fresh air.
That’s how the universe reboots my positive energy.
Life is exactly that: Energy. It’s a vital force that flows through every living thing. It sustains us.
When mine runs low, I struggle. When the tank is full, I thrive.
Simple mental math.
My charging station? My hometown cemetery.
It may sound peculiar at first. But hear me out.
When mom and dad were laid to rest, the cemetery was a place of profound sadness. Visits were few as I wrestled with unanswered questions and the overwhelming pain of loss. I was convinced it would never heal.
But time is the great healer.
The very place that depleted my energy and consumed my soul now refills both.
Rustling leaves and birdsong are the soundtrack of this spring day. I’m not here to hide from what’s troubling me. I’m here to retool.
From the moment my feet touch the grass, the tension loosens its bionic grip.
Considering that grief, memories and faith are all colliding, there is a sense of peace like no other.
Here I feel grounded. Safe. Even protected.
It takes a village to raise a child, and part of my childhood is etched in granite everywhere I look. Their names remind me of youth. A simpler time.
They each are a character in my story. Oddly enough, that is comforting.
The world was smaller and no one journeyed down a social media rabbit hole. You went outside more than the length of a charging cord and experienced life first-hand.
When it came to parenting, a tight-knight community provided a sense of security. Even without cell phones, somehow my mom knew exactly what I’d been up to when I walked through the door at dusk for supper.
Not even today’s electronic highway could outduel the information network of the 70s that was built around a party-line telephone system.
In short, trusting eyes were always upon you.
Today, I’m flooded with vivid memories about people I have not thought about in decades. They come with goosebumps.
I’m at the ice cream shop on the corner for a scoop of maple walnut. Then across the road to the general store for a cold bottle of Coke and a bag of penny candy. The faces of the people who made that happen are as clear as ever.
I remember my summer job included cutting his lawn. And she gave out homemade caramel corn every Halloween.
And that couple there. Well, they were two of the cool parents. We hung out at their place what seemed like every day after school, playing Operation or catching the latest Gilligan’s Island episode. They always made sure we had snacks and Kool-Aid. Always.
These guys right here. Good friends of my parents and they had a pool table. That was huge. Always loved visiting their place. And resting beside them is the old fella who lived beside us. I remember him because back then the milkman delivered door-to-door and I’d run across the lawn to get a little container of chocolate milk. Payment for staying out of his way, I guess.
My Nanny. I miss her. So many memories come raining down on me that I shiver. For some reason picking dew worms on a damp night and using them to catch sunfish in the nearby creek the next day are what pop into my brain today.
Her parents are here too. My great-grandparents. The owners of geese that terrified me every time we visited and tried to cross the barnyard to the house.
Aunts and uncles. And cousins. Those we even called family though we didn’t share DNA. Visits were frequent and laughs plentiful. So much laughter in their homes. Somewhere in that treasure trove of memories, I hear someone playing the spoons and catch a whiff of pipe tobacco.
Then head-to-toe goosebumps. Every body hair standing at full attention.
A robin glides past me and lands on a headstone, and I realize I’ve found mom and dad. The robin looks at me, then takes flight again. I’ve reached the destination. But the journey. The journey brought so much unexpected joy.
Moments that seemed small at the time now shed intense light and obliterate any semblance of darkness that had crept in.
My tank is full, thanks to the little things in life and beyond. They will eternally make a difference.
Jason Marshall has been a writer and journalist for more than 35 years, and is an on-air host and general manager at Valley Heritage Radio just outside of Renfrew, Ontario. And he’s truly a big kid at heart. You can email him anytime at jason@valleyheritageradio.ca
