By Kim Hanson 
The sun is shining when I leave our hotel. My burgundy puffer seems like it will suffice, but the chill in the air is undeniable. Breathing deeply, hoping to absorb my surroundings in a visceral way, I am aware that my temporary residence beside the Pacific Ocean is coming to an end. My husband, Rick, has come here for work. I have come here to walk by the sea, to feel the salt breeze on my face, to bathe my shattered soul in Mother Nature.
Vancouver Island, Oak Bay in February: the sea is free, flowing in and out, without restriction. In stark contrast, snow-covered logs, branches, and debris litter the beach. Lingering here, I snap photos of sailboats moored in the bay, homes that border the bay and the unusual blue, sunny sky forming a canopy over the bay. Breathing deeply with purpose, I visualize all that surrounds me.
Reaching McMicking Point, I tune in to the waves crashing gently to shore. A gull perches on the tip of a massive rock growing out of the water. An ocean-going vessel steams by. The briny air swirls around my nostrils. I try to inhale that smell into my consciousness. I wish it would overwhelm me.
My goal is to walk from Oak Bay to the Inner Harbor of Victoria, B.C., and then back through downtown to our hotel. The asphalt path takes me winding in and out, up and down. I take advantage of every opportunity to descend the cement staircases, with the heavy black metal railing, and walk on the rocky beach. The rocks are slippery . . . a bit treacherous. Walking requires attention and balance. The sea laps again and again, then recedes. In concert, my thoughts slow down. This place resonates with my soul. I zip my ski jacket to my chin and bury my chilly hands in the pockets. I try to vibrate along with this perfect slice of nature. I try to visualize the energy surrounding my body. The sea, the sky, the sun, each has its own rhythm I long to become a part of. If I can sync up with nature, pull the vibrations deep inside my soul, then surely I will feel God, won’t I? Surely, He will allay my grief.
Mike, our beautiful son, our middle child, passed away. He was 38 years old. Mike was sweet and sensitive, compassionate to a fault. He was schizophrenic, coping for years and years not only with the pain and confusion of his mental illness, but with many physical complications stemming from the heavy meds. One bleak, unforgettable day, he left us behind. We loved him so much, and he loved us back.
Across the street from the ocean pathway is a field—Beacon Hill Park, a mass of yellow, covered in some type of wildflower. Crossing the street to snap some photos, it becomes clear. Wild daffodils blooming profusely in February. The explosion of colour—the abundance of yellow, all the same shade—felt like spring and renewal and hope, all at once.
Passing the colorful, quirky huts of Fisherman’s Wharf, inhaling the unmistakable scent of deep-fried fish and chips, I arrive in downtown Victoria. The Inner Harbor is alive with sailboats bobbing in place, seaplanes going in and out, and water taxis ferrying people from side to side. By the end of my trek, my Fitbit will display 32,000 steps.
On this last morning, hazy, gray clouds hang low over Oak Bay, obscuring any glimpse of either the Chatham Islands or Mount Baker. The waves brush the shore. Watching the seagulls fight against the strong breeze elicits an overwhelming sense of peace and well-being. My shoulders lighter, my chest not as heavy. Breath comes freely. I think of Mike. I think of him all the time.
The heavy, wet air clings like static to the hotel blanket covering my lap. Sitting at the patio table, my steaming cup of Earl Grey tea rapidly cools off. It was February, after all. I snuggle deeper under my damp blanket and drink my cold cup of tea. Closing my eyes, revelling in these last few minutes, I wish to stay here forever, feel this peace forever. But it’s time to go home. God is here; in the whispers of the sea, in the wild flowers that bloom with indifference, in the unwavering, trustworthy cadence of nature.
But He is at home too. He will mend my broken heart.
by Sarah Porter 
by Sarah Westfall 
