Thinking out loud.

If there is anything I could be accused of and humbly agree with, it is, and has always been, overthinking. For far too long I have spent days and nights in my own head, sleepless, with all of those open-ended questions.

There is that ADHD fun thing where the wheels keep spinning like an out of control ferris wheel that sometimes loses its footing and spins off into the sunset, on fire.

I have always been somewhat good at calming the wildness of my brain. If anything, I have handled catastrophe with a sense of Zen that rivals Buddha.

But it is when the day winds down and the calmness sets in that the voice in my head says, 

" HEY YOU! LET'S SIT AND REVIEW EVERYTHING YOU'VE SAID, DONE AND FAILED AT TODAY, YESTERDAY, LAST WEEK AND TWENTY YEARS AGO!"

I know I am not alone.

You know, had someone asked me to draft a 2024 bingo card when this year turned the page on the calendar I think I would have failed miserably.

This year rolled in quietly, forlornly, dismally.

How could it have been any different, really?

But oh, how the tide changed.

And these days I sit, look around at the changes that are still chaos, a whirlwind, and ask how this is my life - in a much different light than I had asked the same question for so long.

Last night, floating on the bay, on water like glass, looking out across the bay and taking in the evening, I looked over - memorizing every detail of his face as he looked over the same bay and was reminded that so much of where I am, this year and this life, are because of his kindness and love.

"And, darling, I will be loving you

'Til we're 70.

And, baby, my heart could still fall as hard
At 23..."

You often hear about how love feels and what it is. But what about when you realize that it has taken devastation, tragedy, the deepest hurt and damage to finally bring it into your life?

That love.

"And I'm thinking 'bout how

People fall in love in mysterious ways.

Maybe just the touch of a hand..."

There is love - hell, I tell my friends and family I love them daily - but then there is that love.

The one that comes naturally and develops in a way you did not expect but you realize was inevitable.

And I overthink now - but I think of all of the good things in my life now, the good things to come, all of the hope, promise, happiness and growth that is to happen.

And there he is in every single moment. From the first text of the day, his voice, his smile, his laugh, jokes, hockey, life in general, the pure, true happiness - I think of it all of the time. 

And when things are difficult he is the steady hand, the voice of reason, the sounding board that always has the best advice and helps. He just helps.

He has always helped.

"Well, me, I fall in love with you every single day,

And I just wanna tell you I am..."

Every day. Just when I think I cannot love him more it is a simple word, a look, a smile that opens my shuttered heart just one more notch.

'"Cause, honey, your soul

Could never grow old,

It's evergreen..."

From the first day we met he was the kindest soul I had known. Never in a million years did I ever think we would be here.

"And, baby, your smile's forever in my mind

And memory..."

That smile. That smile can turn around my worst day, my worst moment.

"I'm thinking 'bout how

People fall in love in mysterious ways,

And maybe it's all part of a plan.

Well, I'll just keep on making the same mistakes,

Hoping that you'll understand..."

Mysterious ways, indeed.

And the more my overthinking brain thinks, the more I see how much had to align for us to spend those nights talking, to be so comfortable together, to build that foundation of friendship and trust that is so, so important.

And how we both could have let everything that was falling around us take us out rather than thrive in the rubble of it all.

"That, baby, now,

Take me into your loving arms,

Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars,

Place your head on my beating heart..."

But we did not.

And now, now I feel invincible. No longer does my brain funnel through everything I have done wrong or said wrong or failed at - now it cycles through the happiness, the fun, how fortunate I am, just how great things have happened and continue to happen.

How I can handle whatever life throws at me because I have survived, but I have only done so with him at my side and holding me up when I felt weak.

He has held me up for longer than both of us could have realized.

And I will always be grateful for that. 

He makes me the best version of myself. The best. The strongest. The happiest.

Who knew he was right there all along?

My friend, my goalie, my confidante.

That love.

"I'm thinking out loud

And maybe we found love right where we are..."

Now that I've found you

Hello again, hive.

I know, I know.

I hit my writing vibe and stride once again and then I disappear.

Well, as I am sure most of you know, a lot has happened.

The days since July 25th have been an absolute whirlwind. I have not blogged about it but I have posted and expressed my utmost gratitude to our membership for putting their faith behind me to lead our Union into the future and to fix the wrongs, finally.

I am not sure I have come to terms with it, still.

But I am forever grateful.

I am grateful for those who helped me during my campaign, those who have always stood by me and helped, those who have taught me many lessons in this industry, and those who marked their X next to my name whether they knew me or had worked with me in these last 10 years.

So grateful.

These last 2.5 years have been utter misery but, I will be the first to admit, out of great tragedy is often forged a newfound hardiness, an armour, an ability to take a bullet and ask this universe, "Is that all you have?"

And, finally, though I had felt so defeated not so long ago and felt like all I had worked for and built up to then was for naught, there came a time a few short months ago when I woke up and realized the old person I had been was now dead.

And that was a good thing.

Who emerged out of that haze of smoke and debris was someone who could take a punch and still be left standing.

And at the same time, there he came.

"I'll take an ocean in my stride,
Steal the stars and hitch a ride,
To your door..."

I look back on what were 42 years of my life now, years of necessity and hard work, years of creation, destruction and rebuilding, and I ask how I ever did any of it without him.

Though I truly believe life is all a matter of timing and circumstance.

"And time builds a bridge through our bloodlines,
From the roots, we'll watch love rise,
Heaven knows how it grows..."

And it did.

Out of friendship, hardship, leaning on each other, life circumstance and learning to live again.

I realize now how much I have always cared about him and how important he was to me. Always genuine, caring, honest, open, a safe place.

Always.

And how I had always wanted to be the same for him, though back then he was just the beautiful friend with the kind heart who I felt so lucky to have in my life.

"I'll be branch that breaks your fall,
If you need me, make the call
I'll be there..."

I remember thinking one night how lucky the woman would be who got to love him. Never once did I think it could ever be me.

But here we are, and my life, the life that has come out of the damage and destruction, is more than I could have ever hoped or wished for.

Watching our favourite musicians, laughing, smiling, work dinners, phone calls, texts through the day and night, sleepy wake ups and shooting shit over breakfast - the things I never thought I would do.

I will not say "again," because these are things I never did. This has been, and continues to be, such an incredible thing.

And I am still in awe at every day.

"And I know it's late for lullabies,
But the future's yours and mine,
Now and for evermore..."

I find myself looking into the future now, each and every day, at what we have to look forward to - the exciting, the wild, also the mundane.

And every single day holds so much promise and growth.

My life - this collection of remnants of the before - is not the dread and lack of future I had anticipated; it is a timeline of promise, of beauty, of excitement - of love.

To resort to an old cliche, maybe love truly does set us free.

"Now that I've found you,
Now that I've found you,
I won't let go..."

I won't. There are days when I just cannot hold him tight enough because I know how lucky I am, how rare he is, how easily those special people can be ripped from your life in one fell swoop.

And so I hope I can show him every single day how much he is loved and appreciated for everything he is and everything he does.

"Let my love surround you,
Now that I've found you,
I can lay down with my ghost..."

The ghost of that person who I was.

I can finally be at peace with her, now.

I am not dismissing who she was or the work she put in.

But I love who I am now and what my life is.

Here we go.

"Now that I've found you, don't go..."

Coming home.

Our province was built, and continues to exist, on the fishery.

Whether you live in Leading Tickles, Ramea or St. John's you are connected and the lifeblood that runs through the fabric of your community, and the economic survival of your community revolves and depends on the vast ocean resources we have as well as the hard work of those who put their lives and safety on the line to and raw material to the wharves.

On Thursday evening, as I sat here in this exact spot at the table, hammering out words on a blank page, my phone buzzed:

"Glenn's boat is missing."

And the terror, the anxiousness, the shaking hands and tightness in the throat felt by anyone who knows someone who puts their life on the line in this industry when they hear those words, sank in.

The familiar dread felt in 2001 when the phone rang and Peggy Lee said, "Darrell isn't home." And just like that two friends and their dad vanished into thin air like they had never existed on the vast expanse of Bonavista Bay.

The horror of the phone call in 2004 when dad turned back to the supper table and said, "The Ryans are in trouble off the Cape." And the next morning surveying the rubble on the beach that was left of a vessel that, when seen weeks earlier, seemed beautiful and invincible. Two men gone.

The anxiousness with another call in 2005 that gave the same story, as the Melina and Keith II went down, the unforgiving ocean swallowing four men so close to home.

All too familiar.

As the daughter of a fish harvester there is not one day when he goes to work that you are not aware that the phone may ring and this time it is not someone else who has been thrust into the waves.

It may not be another family sitting vigil and hoping against the odds that are undoubtedly stacked against any human who battles nature.

That on the other end of the phone there might be someone telling you there is no contact with the people most important to you on a vessel that, tied to the wharf, looms over her berth.

Yet, still not invincible to the force that is the Atlantic ocean.

Being fortunate to work with harvesters in the industry that has filled my heart and soul since the day I was born, and realized that everything we had came from the sea, unfortunately also comes with the tragedy and loss caused by the unforgiving sea.

So we sat vigil as a Union, as an industry, as a province, as the children and relatives and friends of fish harvesters.

The conversations were grim.

Videos and pictures were shared of young men singing and laughing on the deck of the vessel, working hardily as boxes of turbot sat around them.

"As they steam up the harbour,
You can see their masthead light..."

But there was no light.

There was no mayday.

No communication.

No sign.

Family members begged for dad, son, friend to come home; for captain Carter to bring them home as they knew he was capable.

Nearly every conversation had brought some mention of how dire each passing minute and second looked as there was no communication from the Elite Navigator.

And last night, into the early morning hours that I know everyone has spent awake since hearing the first reports, while chatting about diminishing hope, I opened Facebook and the first message I saw was, "All seven on the Navigator r safe."

Safe.

For moments I know everyone who saw that post sat in silence, shock, dismay.

Good news is not often heard in our industry when such tragedies strike.

Safe.

And since that moment small details have trickled in of a faint handheld red flare seen by the Canadian Coast Guard vessel Teleost who was then able to reach the life raft and bring all seven to safety.

Bravo Zulu.

This industry is full of disaster, heartbreak, and every ounce of anxiety and worry when a vessel is known to be in distress or overdue is felt in the souls of every person in this province.

We are the fishery.

Captain Carter brought his men home and the scene on the wharf in Valleyfield this afternoon will be one the ocean has stolen from so many - but the crew of the Elite Navigator are coming home.

Dads, sons, brothers, friends, are coming home.

And I know last evening the entire province breathed a united sigh of relief as the news circulated. The radio recording from the Placentia Coast Guard will never not give us chills and remind us that the ocean is unforgiving but unites us all, while reminding all of us that next time it could be us.

It will never be you until it is.

To the families and friends of the crew - I hope you could feel the arms of an entire province and industry around you as you waited with bated breath and dread.

Welcome home, boys.

"With their hardy crews and captains,
They're the finest fishermen.
And the girls are all excited,
The longliners are coming in..."

Drive On.

In those first days, when everything was filtered through a lens of intense grief thicker than any shitty Instagram filter, I could not see anything past that exact moment.

No month later.

No six months later.

No five days later.

No later.

And as we filled the Rock House to Dave Whitty, Nick Earle and then the always incredible Matt Mays I still could not see tomorrow.

Matt belted out his usual hits and, like he had been able to hear me the day prior when I said into the empty car, "If he plays 'Drive On' I don't know how I'll get through it," the familiar chords came.

I will never forgot that moment.

Because, in that moment, he looked at me and sang directly, his words gentle but strong:

"There's no fear of losing,
The horizon holds the winning hand.
The rear view plays a movie
You never gotta see again..."

And later that night when I got the opportunity to talk to him, one-on-one, he said he did sing it directly and to me and hoped I would carry the message and live by it into the next days:

"Everybody seems to want the same thing,
Blinded by the light of a diamond ring.
Well look at you you've got too much to prove,
Too many songs to sing..."

There have been many song sang since.

A lot of laters that I did not anticipate, a lot of those movies in the rear view that I would argue I do have to sometimes see and mostly when I need a reminder.

It can be hard to even know where you are if you cannot see where you have come from, come back from.

And some of those rear view movies will keep repeating over and over because PTSD is a bitch and there is not much that can be done abut that other than to turn down the volume.

"There would be no good sunsets
If it wasn't for the rain.
You can't have true love
Without pain..."

There will always be pain, that ache that is chronic and only exists in those who know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and be left with a gaping, open, empty chasm.

It is like the ache in that bone you broke when you were rolling down the hill at age six and now, 36 years later you know when it is about to rain.

Dull, deep, faint but there.

"So you drive a little faster,
'Cause you don't even have a place to go.
You breathe a quiet Hallelujah,
And let it all fall..."

But, I have learned it is possible to live both with that ache and to harness it; to carry it but also use loss and grief as a driver to ensure what you do have - these new, good sunsets - are appreciated and never taken for granted.

Sunrises, sunsets and all of the days to come are visible now - all of the things that seemed so impossible, out of reach - the "never agains."

There are still never agains - but that is okay. There are now soons, eventuallys and whens.

And all of those nevers I declared so defiantly have shrunken into maybes.

With one big change of mind and heart.

"Organically," he said when describing how it grew.

I like that.

Beautifully, as well.

Beauty out of destruction and devastation.

So many songs to sing, right, Matt?

"So drive on into the moonless night,
And just for a second everything is alright.
Drive on and give it all away,
You've got to trust yourself..."

And, for the first time in a long time I trusted myself and I am so, so thankful I did.

Because these last few months and the days, months, years, every single second left to come indicate something great; something grown from the devastation left by others.

"Let yourself turn into something else,
Feel yourself fall into the great white open..."

I am liking who I feel I have, and am, turning into.

I love the person he makes me feel I am and can be.

I am glad I shook away the nevers.

So, as I sit here watching the clouds darken the room, eyes open and the chasm in my chest a little more fuller every day, thanks Matt.

Thanks for the advice and the lessons.

And I will continue to do exactly that.

Drive on.

The Story.

"All of these lines across my face,
Tell you the story of who I am..."

I am alive again.

Aware.

It is funny how one minute you can be in a hole, wondering if you simply have to accept and take up residency in the ditch, and the next there is so much light and things are not quite so dire.

Sitting in this airport in Charlottetown after a morning where I was engaged, laughing with colleagues and for once seeing everything basked in the sunshine, I realize how long it has been since I have truly felt like a living being.

These past two and a half years (well, two years and three months if we are being exact) have been torture.

Hellish.

I have simply existed.

I have woken, breathed, worked, carried myself through - but not lived.

It sure is something to wake every morning and the only thought in your head is getting through to go to sleep and do it all again tomorrow.

And for two years and god knows how many days, that is what I did.

Everything in splinters.

"But these stories don't mean anything,
If you've got no one to tell them to,
It's true..."

I have said for many years that hockey is therapy, hockey has saved me and without my hockey family I do not know how I would have pushed through so much.

And so, how fitting that it is hockey that has brought me the reason to live again?

The reason to breathe?

The reason to find myself daydreaming while looking at a picture and getting absolutely lost in the happiness and absolute ridiculousness that has brought me, us, here?

It sure is something, that fate.

It is quite a feeling when you emerge from the wreckage of what was your life and survey the landscape that is left.

"You see the smile that's on my mouth,
It's hiding the words that don't come out..."

For so long I stared at the rubble and did not have the energy to drag myself, my way, through it in an attempt to find whatever was on the other side.

For so long I did not want to.

To be honest, it is very easy to sit amongst the damage and just be.

The difficulty lies in movement -

Movement forward.

Movement progresses and movement leaves something behind.

I did not, do not, want to leave my previous life behind.

But, I have realized that I can move and carry it with me, like callouses and scars, evidence of hard work.

And I will not leave it all behind - I will leave claw marks on it all as I go.

Because, as difficult as it all has been, as hellish and cruel as this life and world are, it all has made me - this.

And my god if I am not feeling damn good about moving into this next phase of this living.

With him.

He who accepts all of my scars and complications. I find all of his beautiful, too.

And though there are times when I look at myself and wonder how and why anyone would ever want to crack me open and see what I am, who I am, exactly what has poisoned everything for me to the point where I never felt I would live again - I am accepting that this beautiful soul has done just that.

And he is still around despite knowing and seeing the ugliness of it all.

Every time I take a breath now I am more conscious than ever that I am alive and there is more to every day than just making it to the time to close my eyes.

"And it's true,
That I was made for you..."

I'm here.

It has been a while, hive.

The therapeutic space where I could write, open my wounds and let them bleed, became a target, as most things do these days.

And so I bled in silence, for the most part of the past year or more.

Thank you to everyone who continued to reach out. Your messages always let me know that in the dismal reality that is every day on this cesspool we call social media there also exist many lights who shine through the cracks and keep breath in struggling lungs, at times when we feel like we are drowning.

So, here I am again -

Eyes open, wounds cauterized, a semblance of the person I used to be but, given what I know now about grief, loss, recovery and love - I do not want the person I was back.

And I am beginning to love who the woman is who emerged from the rubble, the one who was collateral damage.

"Nothing is the same, everything is a better change,
Sometimes I see silence in your eyes..."

Change.

That taboo concept that everyone both dreads and welcomes in the same breath.

So much has changed.

So many walls have come down.

"Let it all crash down,
When it ends, it begins with you..."

And when your eyes open for what feels like the first time in 2.5 years, there stands the person who helped carry you along more than he will ever know, even through his own hurt.

There for the beginning, the end and the new beginning.

Constant.

In retrospect, life is funny, that.

The kind, gentle soul who was always there to chat, laugh, talk about life and always try to help.

He helped and helps more than I can even put into text on this page.

I see a road forward now - a beaten pathway lined with the remnants of a fight to survive and be, cut through with pain and anger, and pure spite.

And it looks long but, in the grand scheme of things, it is but another trail to conquer.

I know we can and we will. 

This world seems a bit clearer now; the days brighter, the night times not so scary.

The monsters are no longer at the door.

And there is hope.

Every day I breathe it in and am thankful for having him in my life; not just for now, but for the years prior and for the years to come.

My bright light.

And in his eyes, his smile, his arms there is so much promise, so much to come. 

So much love.

I am sitting in this airport, the one where the worst moment on my life happened, and I feel peace.

Finally.

Finally.

These past few months have been a whirlwind and the days continue to be. When the dust settles, there he is.

"You took my life, turned it around,
You put my feet back on the ground.

I owe you, eternally..."

And this love - born from pain, hurt and pure devastation - means more to me than anything in the world.

I will make sure he knows every day.