He was walking with a dog around McGuire Lake, adjacent to the local hospital. We had seen him before, a few days earlier.
"Good morning. How are you?" … the usual greeting between fellow walkers. This time he started with the usual response "fine" and then hesitated with "actually…" and told us that his wife had died four days ago. He was walking her dog. Within a span of 30 minutes he poured out his grief, confusion and love.
We heard about her cancer diagnosis and subsequent death 27 days later. They had plans. He was 60 and she was 59 years old. They had barely had time to acknowledge the news. He didn't know how to pay the bills or do the banking.
There would be no service. Her ashes were in a container, waiting to be spread off Vancouver Island. She was a "crow" and he was a "raven". Their maker was the "eagle". A crow had been playing havoc at their home since his wife died so he was reassured that she was still with him.
As a long distance trucker he had spent long days on the road. His restlessness was combined with his non-stop need to tell the story, to share his life with two strangers. He repeatedly choked back tears while chewing on a toothpick.
At the end he had held her hand and asked her to take "a walk" with him. He described the "walk" to us, ending at a small red bench that overlooked the coastline of western Vancouver Island. When the metaphorical walk ended, and they reached the bench, she took her last breath.
We finally separated. He thanked us for listening and we promised to share a coffee with him in the future.
