Stairway To Heaven

My brother Ed and my husband were with me now. We talked to the R.C.M.P and were allowed to go out to the accident site. On the way out we listened to the radio. The announcer was talking like it was just another accident. "officials are saying the propane truck in Buttle Lake was potentially the biggest bang near the Campbell River since the Ripple Rock disappeared in 1958". He goes on and on and ends by saying, "The crisis ended Sunday with nothing louder than a long sigh of relief."

What! Is he crazy? A long sigh of relief for who? Oh, there he goes again, "this has to be the worst accident I've seen in 13 years, or at the least, the most difficult in terms of salvage, if not in the terms of loss of life," says one of the R.C.M.P constables. He goes on to talk about the video footage and how if it sparked it would create a bang like which they've never heard around these parts. It never ends. Now its a closed road to the site of the accident and a NO FLY zone.

But we had to go. We had to see for ourselves where it happened. Maybe it would make sense of a world gone mad. I had to go to the place, the spot that spirit had called my brother home, just to drive those last few miles. Oh ya, I could see him now driving along with my son laughing and talking with his big brown arm out the window.

We rounded the corner and there it was, his tanker floating in the lake and skid marks that had left deep gouges in the highway. With everything I knew about myself and death and grieving, I knew I had to be here. I'd just wonder every time I saw water, is this the last thing he saw? We got out and walked to the edge of the cliff. I looked over and saw my son's clothes on the rocks below. My heart skipped a beat as I was told by search and rescue that he'd hung onto the ledge for 6 hrs.

The divers were just taking off their gear and they told us they had just found the body and we had passed it on our way there. I could see their lips moving and heard snatches of the danger if the tanker blew up. They were sending in experts across Canada to get the truck out.

We drive back along the road and I now know where he died and it was important so there would be no more holes in my heart, that was wounded more with every new bit of information. The scene was unfolding, but I didn't care. I couldn't.

Next we were at the morgue to identify the body. This was bittersweet. My rational mind knew he had gone home. The elders say this in not our home. We are here for a short time and its a gift of the Creator and when we leave we go home. Creators grace could never take us to where his love won't look after us. Even it it was in death i had to be with him and to make sacred the last sight of his being.

The coroner asked if I was afraid. I told her no, that the body that housed my brothers spirit was what I needed to say good bye to. She was so kind and compassionate and asked if there was anything she could do. Just don't' cover him up. Take the sheet off his face please.

When i walked in there he was filling the whole table that he lay on. A big beautiful man resting as if in sleep. Looking at him, I saw his perfection. His chiseled face, a beautiful straight nose, his mouth soft and full. This was no death mask. This exquisite man whose long eyelashes lay resting on his brown velvet skin had gone home and mother earth had gently covered him in the soft silt of the lake bottom. I wiped the creases in his nose and I stroked his hair and told him what a gift to have had him in this lifetime as my brother. I thanked the Great Mother for covering him and rocking him gently as if to sleep.

My son Russell was with us now and told his uncle it was a good day to go home and that he would always miss him and remember him. There was no hint that he had fought in his last moments. On the quiet clear bottom of a cold mountain lake, he heard the forgotten song, slipped out of the body we loved and the winged ones took him home, safe in the portals of heaven.