Finding North
North: a cardinal point of the compass,
lying in the plane of the meridian and
If you know where North is, you can find
your way in the world.
My Dad always knew where North
was. From his skills as a grain farmer
where he could tell the time by the placement of the sun in the sky, to his
talent as a hunter who could find his way in the bush, and by being a
dyed-in-the-wool prairie boy who was gifted with an innate sense of direction,
Dad always knew where he was in the world.
For this, and many other reasons, I always felt safe when I was with
him, and certain that he always knew where he was going.
On his 79th birthday,
however, I do not think he could have predicted that he would end up in the
Emergency Room while experiencing cardiac arrest. After that, he had a stroke. Our family was called in; the priest gave Dad
his last rites. We all kept a vigil by
his bedside that night, and wordlessly took turns holding his rough hands (he
had, after all, hauled his own railway ties just a few days beforehand) and
stroking his whiskered cheek. He seemed
unconscious, because his eyes were closed and he was not “responsive” to our
voices or touch, and yet, he emitted an energy that I can only describe as
warrior-like. I had every confidence
that he was, in fact, fighting for his life.
North
is the fundamental direction used to define all other directions.
That night, my mom and I were wide
awake and on guard for a sign, any sign, that could prove to us that time, in
fact, had not stopped, and that Dad was still with us and that he was going to
be all right. Around 5 a.m., we caught
a glimpse of the pink and orange streaked sunrise through the tiny window of
the intensive care unit, and Mom mused aloud, “It’s Spring. The days are
getting longer, the sun is up earlier. I
wonder which way North is?” I took a
guess. Mom took her guess. Then, to our amazement, my Dad lifted his
hand and pointed, in a forceful and assertive manner that, although no words
accompanied his gesture, was full of meaning: it is that way, you
fools.
He hung on for a week. He won and lost many battles during that
time. As many families can attest, to
watch this happen, all the while knowing but denying that there is an
inevitable end is an intensely emotional and deeply painful experience, which,
at the same time, deepens one’s respect for the wondrous miracle that is
life. Dad believed in this miracle. This miracle, this magical mystery, was his
North.
Unlike my Dad, I am not blessed
with an internal GPS. I cringe if
someone gives me directions like “enter from the South side,” or “take 20th
Street East.” I prefer instructions
like, “go left,” or “turn right at the convenience store.” Little wonder then, that I seemed to lose my
own spiritual sense of direction when he died, and when I believed he left
me. In the weeks, and to be sure, months
after his death, I became progressively more lost. Well-meaning friends kept telling me that I
would heal with time, but time’s passing did not seem to help.
In fact, the more time passed, the
more I felt held down by questions:
“What am I supposed to do without you?”
“How can it be that you are not going to walk through my front door
wearing a toque and a beaten up but warm coat with candy in the pockets?” “Are you gone?” “Are you with me?” “Are you in the stars, the sunrise?” And mostly, “Where are you now?” I felt strongly that if I could just answer
that, if I just “knew” where he was, that I could move on and find my way in
this world again.
I was stuck. Every day, sometimes several times a day, I
could transport myself to his hospital room and to the moment when his breath
changed and how my brother’s eyes locked with mine, and when my mom buried her
face into the nape of Dad’s whiskered neck, and how we cried out that we loved
him and that we were with him and where the gurgling noise in his chest
abruptly stopped and he sharply drew in one long, long inhale. And died. Time did not change this memory one bit. Often, I thought, if only I had a map to
guide me from here to there. If only I had a spiritual compass.
A
compass needs to be set at North for navigation.
When I was in grade eight, my Dad
accompanied my classmates and me on an excursion called Outdoor Education. We were grouped together for the Orienteering
session. We had to go into the bush, and
then use our compass to help us find our way out. However, our compass did not work. I was dismayed because we were supposed to
have our progress evaluated later on by our teacher. Instead, Dad placed his hand on my shoulder
and told me not to worry. He picked up a
fallen branch and pushed it into the pine needle-covered ground. “Look for the shadow,” he told me. Then he marked the end of the shadow on the
ground with a stone. “Be patient, and wait a little while,” he explained,
“since the shadow moves a little.” Then
he marked the new spot of the shadow's end with another stone and drew a line
in the ground between the two stones. Standing between them, the first on his
left (West), and the other (East) on his right, he grinned, “You are now facing
North.”
There
are many ways to find North.
Since then, I have learned that there
are several ways to find North when you do not have, or cannot rely on, a
compass. You can figure out which way is
North by the way moss grows on a tree, by the placement of the Sun, by using an
analog watch, or taking note of where spiders make their webs. Even at night, when everything is dark, you
can find your way by looking for the North Star. Indeed, I well remember the many cloudless
and inky black nights at our family’s farm where Dad would point out the constellations
to me, including the North Star, reminding me that it is the last star at the
end of the Little Dipper's handle and the one star in the night sky that does
not move with the rotation of the Earth.
“Try to see past it,” he would
encourage, so grounded in his faith that the Universe was bigger and more
wondrous and mysterious than he, or any of us, could ever imagine.
I hope he knows that I try to see
beyond the stars like he wished I would, and although I still do not know for
certain where he is, my fallen branch is solidly in the ground and I am turned
toward the sun. I hope he knows that I
am trying to be patient, to give it some time, and that although my faith moves
around in my attempts to find North, I am a little less lost than I once
was.
wishing you the beauty of your own North,
hk
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