The True Adventure

I've just spent the last three days visiting with my children and grandchildren, along with my Mom and Ray. I've had a granddaughter read me a story and sit with me to talk about toys. I've had a granddaughter insist that I sit with her and watch Toopy and Binoo. I've seen them laugh and heard them chatter, watched them play and seen them run to their mothers and fathers. I've loved every minute of it.

One of the greatest sadnesses for me in this disease is that I know, with a reasonable degree of certainty, that I will not see these precious children grow into adults, that I will miss their first day of school and their graduation, that I will not be there when they choose husbands and have children of their own. This, and so much more, will happen long after I am gone.

One of the things I like to say about my life is that I have "lived the kind of life people write books about." I've stood on the sands of the Arabian Desert, sailed my small boat out into the open Pacific. I've fished the Arctic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean, the Atlantic Ocean, and the Caribbean Sea. I've hunted big game in the high mountains and plateaus of BC and Alberta and had it hunt me back. I've traveled this continent from top to bottom and east to west, and touched the soil of almost every other continent. It's been an amazing life, filled with wonderful adventures.

Yet the life that has been most important to me has been my life at home, my family and my children. All I have done pales in comparison to a small child sitting next to me, sharing thoughts and wants, playing games and telling stories. I have had, and still have, four wonderful children of my own. I was there when they were born; I've seen them grow into adults. Now they are having children of their own. This is the journey in life that I will miss the most, the adventure that I most regret not having the opportunity to take.

Today I will go on another adventure, up to Tofino and Ucluelet, out on the Canadian edge of the Pacific Ocean. I will see the seas pound the shore, hear the skewling of gulls, watch the white foam of breakers leave their mark on the rocks and sand. Yet this will be minute, miniscule, tiny in comparison with the laughter of my grandchildren. They are the true adventure.