The year my mom was pregnant with Derek, my dad surprised her by booking a week at a cabin out past Kenora. They were out there at the end of July and Derek was born at the end of August, but it cultivated a love for this place that couldn't be broken. Every summer while Derek and I were kids we would go out there for 1-3 weeks of summer vacation. The countdown for the lake would begin right after Christmas was over.
Gustafsons was a great place to grow up. It was a place for us to learn and explore and evolve, where we made lots of friends we'd see every summer. We spent countless hours playing hide and seek or Sticks (our favourite game - which was basically a longer game of capture the flag). It is filled with so many memories.
One summer we bought a cabin a street away so we no longer stayed at Gustafsons (although we visited often). When my parents split, my mom continued to spend some of her summers out at Gustafsons while my dad kept the cabin.
Derek had spent many summers as a child following Bob (the owner) around until he was older and actually worked there for a few summers. He'd stay at our cabin all summer and bike or drive a little boat to work everyday. When he was working he was treated super well. On his breaks he was usually fed freshly baked cookies or given some Pepsi to wash down his pizza pops. (Now you may get where my eating habits formed). Whenever he was sweaty from working he could run and jump into the lake to cool off before returning to his job. At the end of the day he'd hop back on his bike or boat around back to our cabin. It was the perfect gig.
The lake was his absolute favourite place to be, and who can blame him. If you've been out there you probably understand.
I wasn't out at the lake last summer, and this year it's just been the past month or so I've been able to get out. The summer after Derek passed was too raw, although my dad and I did spread some ashes and plant a memorial tree for Derek at the cabin on our first time back out there. But this time out seemed like the right time for me to be a part of something at Gustafsons. I had missed one of the little ceremonies there - where a family friend (and close lake friend of Derek's) had got a plaque made for him and they put it near the cabins we always stayed at.
I brought out some ashes with me. It kinda grossed me out more than it made me sad - to pour them into a ziploc bag. I almost felt like Zac Galifinakis in that one movie - road tripping with ashes. It's creepy to think of a body being burnt into such tiny pieces and I didn't really associate it with Derek - even though it's supposed to be him. It also seems like so long ago that I saw him or hugged him or tried to hold his hand at Christmas (another story for another time), so associating his body with the ashes didn't really happen. Perhaps I have just become detached.
After spending the last couple days helping out around Gustafsons, staining cabins in the messy shirt Derek always wore when he stained cabins, my mom and I decided to spread some ashes around camp. I was being very nonchalant. Not really thinking about it too much as we walked around camp. I had my hood up like some kinda thug and kept a straight face. Then I realized my mom was crying and the whole charade fell through. It became real again. Whether I found the idea of his ashes creepy or not, it had made everything final. This is Derek's body. This is all we have left of him. This means he is actually gone.
I pictured Derek walking behind me, wearing one of his usual hoodies, hands in his pockets and smiling. Somehow it was super easy to imagine him... maybe he actually was there with us and that's why the image seemed so clear. At the end of our loop through camp I told my mom that I was picturing him there and she laughed, saying how he would be running ahead of us and leading the way. She was probably right. Everything was always a competition and even in death I can't imagine that part to have settled down at all. And even though I don't know this for sure, I'd still bet he was there with us that day... whether he was in front or behind.
Gustafsons was a great place to grow up. It was a place for us to learn and explore and evolve, where we made lots of friends we'd see every summer. We spent countless hours playing hide and seek or Sticks (our favourite game - which was basically a longer game of capture the flag). It is filled with so many memories.
One summer we bought a cabin a street away so we no longer stayed at Gustafsons (although we visited often). When my parents split, my mom continued to spend some of her summers out at Gustafsons while my dad kept the cabin.
Derek had spent many summers as a child following Bob (the owner) around until he was older and actually worked there for a few summers. He'd stay at our cabin all summer and bike or drive a little boat to work everyday. When he was working he was treated super well. On his breaks he was usually fed freshly baked cookies or given some Pepsi to wash down his pizza pops. (Now you may get where my eating habits formed). Whenever he was sweaty from working he could run and jump into the lake to cool off before returning to his job. At the end of the day he'd hop back on his bike or boat around back to our cabin. It was the perfect gig.
The lake was his absolute favourite place to be, and who can blame him. If you've been out there you probably understand.
I wasn't out at the lake last summer, and this year it's just been the past month or so I've been able to get out. The summer after Derek passed was too raw, although my dad and I did spread some ashes and plant a memorial tree for Derek at the cabin on our first time back out there. But this time out seemed like the right time for me to be a part of something at Gustafsons. I had missed one of the little ceremonies there - where a family friend (and close lake friend of Derek's) had got a plaque made for him and they put it near the cabins we always stayed at.
I brought out some ashes with me. It kinda grossed me out more than it made me sad - to pour them into a ziploc bag. I almost felt like Zac Galifinakis in that one movie - road tripping with ashes. It's creepy to think of a body being burnt into such tiny pieces and I didn't really associate it with Derek - even though it's supposed to be him. It also seems like so long ago that I saw him or hugged him or tried to hold his hand at Christmas (another story for another time), so associating his body with the ashes didn't really happen. Perhaps I have just become detached.
After spending the last couple days helping out around Gustafsons, staining cabins in the messy shirt Derek always wore when he stained cabins, my mom and I decided to spread some ashes around camp. I was being very nonchalant. Not really thinking about it too much as we walked around camp. I had my hood up like some kinda thug and kept a straight face. Then I realized my mom was crying and the whole charade fell through. It became real again. Whether I found the idea of his ashes creepy or not, it had made everything final. This is Derek's body. This is all we have left of him. This means he is actually gone.
I pictured Derek walking behind me, wearing one of his usual hoodies, hands in his pockets and smiling. Somehow it was super easy to imagine him... maybe he actually was there with us and that's why the image seemed so clear. At the end of our loop through camp I told my mom that I was picturing him there and she laughed, saying how he would be running ahead of us and leading the way. She was probably right. Everything was always a competition and even in death I can't imagine that part to have settled down at all. And even though I don't know this for sure, I'd still bet he was there with us that day... whether he was in front or behind.