My Broken Heart and the Murals of Montreal

Plus, a Pilgrimage to Northampton, Massachusetts

Don’t think.

• Don’t think about anything.

• Think about nothing

• Think about snow.

These are words I say to myself as I rise into consciousness from sleep.

As if I could stop the daily return to remembering.

I want to stay there, in that other world, but I can’t. I have things to do.

In the next two weeks we’ll move out of our little trailer compound at the farm, back into our travel rig, and return to the road.

Yesterday I took a day trip

to Northampton, Massachusetts, where Kiki lived. It was raining as I drove back north at dusk towards New Hampshire, and fully dark when I rolled down the long driveway at the farm and parked next to the pole barn. Facing the wide meadows and wooded hills at night, there are no lights, not a single house or road in view. Without moon or stars, the darkness is total. You might as well have your eyes shut.

I sat in the cocoon of the truck cab, rain pounding loud on the metal roof of the pole barn. I didn’t want to do it: gather my things, run across mud and wet grass to the trailers, put groceries away, take off my wet clothes, brush my teeth, get ready for bed. All too hard. I just wanted to sit in the truck in the dark and rest.

My Day in Northampton:

1. Got my hair cut at the salon where Kiki worked. Cried and caused two other people to cry.

2. Went to Synergy on Main Street and looked at sandals on sale. Once, I bought Kiki Blundstone boots there. They were expensive and I’m glad I spent that money. I wish I’d bought her all the shoes she ever wanted.

3. Went to Thornes, the little mall on Main Street. Walking in, I felt like I was going to throw up from sadness. Last time Keek and I were there, it was a few weeks before Christmas and we picked out an ornament, a little felted mouse in overalls holding a tin pail.

4. Wandered around town and took pictures.

At this point, you might say, why? Why not stay home and avoid the pain?

Because I want to remember her. I want to remember us, in her town together, people-watching and looking in the shops and talking over sushi at Osaka.

I don’t want the pain to win.

I want to remember what it felt like to be her mother. I was so lucky.

Main Street, Northampton, MA

5. Ate lunch at the Middle Eastern place. From where I sat, I could see the tattoo shop across the street where she got some of her tattoos. I was so hungry I ordered something called “The Royal Platter,” with no regrets.

6. In 25 Central, I saw the perfect dress for Keek. Champagne with a corset top and a tulle skirt covered in fluttering little silk hearts. I looked at the tag because for an insane moment I thought I might buy it for her. On the tag it said “Break My Heart Dress.” Of course.

7. Walked by the park where a DJ played salsa music and couples were dancing. For some reason that made me cry.

8. Finished crying for the day.

9. I wanted to go to Pulse and get one of those desserts we always liked, but my bravery had reached its limit. Maybe another day. Maybe next year.

The past ten weeks stationary in New Hampshire have been harder than I expected.

I have to remind myself, Eric and I have chosen an unstable life, a traveling life without a fixed home, without the security of routine. So of course we don’t always get what we expect. And not knowing what to expect is kind of the point. It keeps life interesting.

Last week we took a drive to Montreal.

It’s less than four hours through Vermont on an almost-empty highway and then you’re in another country where everyone’s speaking French and they have the best bread outside of Paris – so why not go?

Eric and I stayed at Le Hôtel de l’ITHQ which is a teaching hotel. It’s part of a hospitality school, and is staffed by students. Every person working there was enthusiastic and helpful, as if our arrival was the best thing that ever happened.

The room had a tiny (scary) balcony looking out from the seventh floor over Le Plateau. Our room seemed palatial compared to trailer living. It had a huge walk-in shower and a king-sized bed. Two pristinely white terry cloth robes hung in the closet. We can’t have robes in real life because they take up too much space, so we were pretty excited.

I read about a Portuguese restaurant, known for grilled chicken and poutine, and when we saw the long line out the door we figured we’d made a good choice. It was a hot evening and even hotter inside with the grills blasting and everyone packed in, but we grabbed a couple of seats at the window counter for front-row people watching.

The meals come in take-out containers and between the two of us we had enough food for eight people. Eric had the famous poutine. My dinner was grilled squid. The fries stayed super crispy even though they were swimming in olive oil laced with herbs, so greasy and garlicky I kind of wanted to lap it up like a dog.

The next morning,

I woke in the dark and couldn’t go back to sleep. The only other time we’d been in Montreal, we’d come with Kiki, and many memories had emerged as we’d walked through Le Plateau the night before. I missed her desperately.

I expected the day would be hard but it turned out to be the best day I’ve lived since Keek died.

Best day doesn’t mean I wasn’t sad. Sometimes, grief can mean sad but happy at the same time. Part of the reason it was so good is because I felt her nearby all day.

After our spectacular complimentary breakfast at the hotel, featuring crispy/squishy Montreal bagels with smoked salmon, and heavenly chocolate croissants, we headed out to walk around the city.

The heat wave had broken and there was the faintest mist of rain. I was on a hunt for the city’s many murals, and was pleased with the day’s grey light, perfect for taking pictures.

One of over 3000 murals in Montreal

As we walked crosstown

on Avenue Duluth, a pedestrian street, I looked around with what I think of as my “artist eye”, watching for possible photographic compositions. It puts me in a kind of meditative state, even as I’m walking and talking to Eric. Tuning in to shapes and colors and light while walking leaves no room for anything but the present moment.

Like many people, I have trouble with the sitting-still part of meditation. But I’ve found that I can quiet my thoughts by walking with my artist’s eye turned on. And everyone has an artist’s eye. It just means noticing what’s appealing and interesting to you. Doesn’t even have to be visual – maybe it’s sounds or smells.

Public art is everywhere in Montreal

Walking side by side with Eric along that street, I felt a calm I associate with Keek’s presence.

We went into one of the many cool shops lining Avenue Duluth – a store that sold hemp hoodies and shirts made by a local artist that came with special cardboard eyeglasses that made the images pop and glow.

As we were walking out onto the street, a woman stopped us.

“Excuse me, I have to tell you something. I was watching you for the last few blocks and I’ve never seen two people walking together in such a peaceful and serene way.”

And then she went into the store and I turned to Eric.

“Was that the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said?”

He was as surprised as I was. We were both thinking the same thing.

“Keek’s with us. I know she’s here. That woman could tell.”

When I say I feel Keek’s presence, it’s not like I’m looking around for a ghost. It’s a sense of peace and security and divine grace. That feeling is why I know there’s an afterlife and why I’m no longer afraid of death.

We walked to Boulevard Saint Laurent

and I shot lots of mural photos and we looked in the vintage shops. We stopped at a brewery to get out of the rain, then continued our walk back to the hotel, for a total of 20k steps. (I don’t keep score but Eric likes to track everything that’s trackable.)

That evening we ate in an Afghan restaurant, at a window table, and watched people on bikes and scooters buzzing by. Walking back to the hotel, I felt a nostalgic summer-night feeling from when we lived in New York City as newlyweds, many years ago.

The outdoor cafes and sidewalks on Rue St. Denis were crowded with all kinds of people, speaking French, speaking other languages. I was wearing a pink dress. Eric and I were holding hands. I didn’t feel any particular age. I was just a person having a good day.⁜

In other news…

One of my readers, the singer/songwriter Jim Terry, composed and recorded a song inspired by my post It Was the Best Thing We Ever Did. I can’t wait to share Jim’s song, and the story behind it, in a future post.

A few days ago I was interviewed by Nathalie Himmelrich for her podcast How to Deal With Grief and Trauma. My first time on a podcast – I was excited and scared! Nathalie is amazing and her podcast is a terrific resource for anyone living with grief and trauma, or really, anyone at all.

What’s next?

We’ll be back on the road soon, first to South Carolina for a two-month volunteer job at Hunting Island State Park. I have a million things to do before we leave and consequently, the next letter from Turkey Town will be postponed a week, until Sunday, September 1st.

I didn’t forget about the trailer tour video, I just haven’t filmed it yet! I expect it will show up in the next issue.

Thanks so much for reading.

Love, Tina

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Links:

All about Montreal’s murals: Montreal Street Art

The Hotel of the Institut de tourisme et d’hôtellerie du Québec: The Hôtel de l’ITHQ

Restaurant Ma Poule Mouillée: Giant Plates of Deliciousness

Get your Royal Platter here: Amanouz Cafe in Northampton, MA