By Ian Cobb

One should not be brought to tears when perusing wedding photographs taken a week earlier – of one’s own wedding. But life and the universe always operate at a pace and with reasons forever lost to our limited mortal minds.

On July 27, I experienced one of the purely greatest moments of my almost five decades of existence: I married the love of my life – Carrie.

We decided to marry this summer because my mother, turning 86, was still able to make the trip west from Winnipeg, thanks to my brother and his wife bringing her.

We had a small wedding at the beautiful Bull River Guest Ranch – mostly family with a few of our oldest friends. It was the first time Carrie’s family and mine met and mingled.

I spent the two days leading up to the wedding and the day itself, struggling with my emotions.

I was overcome with love for everyone who shared our day with us and was constantly choking back tears of joy and appreciation. I marvel at the fact I didn’t turn into a blubbering idiot when the wonderful and gentlemanly Andy Stuart-Hill (JP) married us, with the Rockies shining in a hot late July sun as our backdrop.

I experienced sweeping gratitude for my family for making the trek west and sharing in our day; for Carrie’s family for helping out so much – for her mom and dad for creating her – for helping make her become the special angel that she is; for our friends and their help and love.

It was a day we will never forget.

Despite having been together almost five years, Carrie and I wanted to marry this summer so my Mom could share in the celebration. It gave us great comfort and solace knowing my Mother could witness our happiness first-hand, as well as most of the rest of our families.

Thanks to our friend Bruce and my daughter Hayley, we have about 800 photographs to go through, taken during and after the ceremony. Due to work commitments that flow 24/7, getting around to going through and editing photos has been slow in coming.

I thought I would give it a shot this morning and only got about a dozen photos into the file before tears forced me to set the task aside.

You see, a week after our marriage celebration weekend concluded, Carrie’s Mom, Velma, passed away.

Tears of joy have turned into tears of sorrow and grief; seeing photos of Velma smiling happily beside her family, and mine – now our expanded family – are too much to bear at this time.

While I attempted to sort out photos, Carrie was at a funeral home with her father Ken, arranging details for cremation.

Sudden death is always the hardest to accept and this is certainly no exception.

Velma was recovering from a recent knee replacement surgery, and despite that, was a healthy woman for her age (73). She had a health scare a week before our wedding but doctors assured us it was just a reaction to the oppressive heat we were experiencing at that time.

And now my new family is suffering from terrible grief and it breaks my heart.

Velma was the matriarch of the McKay family hereabouts and she ruled with calm, poise and a quiet, dignified love that shone clearly when she smiled and joked.

A Saskatchewan girl through and through, Velma was the quintessential prairie person; hard working and playing (much like the average East Kootenay person), was perhaps the Roughriders’ greatest fan, ceaselessly giving to any and all, accommodating, friendly and a loveable soul, despite the prairie exterior that masked her emotions.

I know that not just from having had the honour of spending time with her and Ken the past few years, but from seeing her wisdom, style and manners in Carrie.

Velma not only looked after her large family – but also her friends and others, including an elder friend in a local care home, who she tended to like her own mother.

Before I ever met Velma or any of Carrie’s family, I wondered how she could have developed such an even temper and such a giving heart; she has always possessed wisdom beyond her age and the highest set of norms of any society and such character is formulated in childhood.

Velma supported us in every way she could, from storing so much of the detritus of my previous life, before I smartly moved to Cranbrook to finally start living life, to our newspaper – e-KNOW, where from day one she was our greatest Facebook ‘liker’, along with her best friend Patty.

More than anything, Velma welcomed me to the family and loved me as one of her own and I am wracked with woe for not telling her how much I appreciated and loved her. The day of our wedding I wanted to but emotions tangled my tongue and I couldn’t. I can only hope she is looking over our shoulders now and can sense or feel the love from the many souls currently grieving her loss.

As is the case in life, love and death flow past all of us in equal measures. We are all touched by them and they make life worth living; love for the obvious reasons and death because it re-sets our inner dialogues to focus on what is important around us.

And what is important – what is most important – is being aware of life’s great gifts – the souls we pass in our terrestrial journeys and the love and sharing we experience with those people. Death usually makes the living live better, more aware of the special essences available to all living souls. It makes us realize that we must love and live for today and Velma McKay was keenly aware of that.

Today I am more forgiving than I was a week ago; today I am more grateful and aware of the love around me, than I was a week ago, and I thought I was acutely in tune then.

Today I will not go through wedding photographs. Today I will work hard, I will love without pause and I will play with my friends and family with gratitude and respect.

A day does not end within which I don’t feel great gratitude for having Carrie, my wife, in my life. And I will always be grateful for Velma (and Poppa Ken) for this once-in-a-lifetime gift.

When I moved to Cranbrook in 2009, I was a broken soul; lost and aimless. Carrie’s love and support resurrected me, as did the love and support shown by her family – especially Velma.

Godspeed Mama M – if it isn’t too late; I love you and thank you.

Above photo: Velma with her family at Bull River Ranch, July 27. Bruce Ogilvie photo

e-KNOW

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