A Close Call

I’m not sure if anybody will ever read this.  If anybody will have a record of the past few days of our lives.  But in the faint chance this finds its way to other survivors, I will write.  There’s not much time so forgive my brevity.

It seems like the distant past to think about the fun times with the children at the park, or playing in the backyard.  Or the endless curiosity satisfied as we journeyed through the interactive displays of the Winnipeg Children’s Museum.  It is equally difficult to remember the joy of a party with close friends.  Sitting around a fire, reminiscing about days gone by.  Even going to church this morning, and enjoying a quiet afternoon feels like weeks ago.  We never knew that while eating our barbequed kabobs, we might in fact, be having our last meal together.

Shortly after supper we noticed the storm through the kitchen windows but were not much concerned. We put the children to bed like any other night, with stories and a snack.  Then we sat down to play a game of Dominion.  The game went quite quickly and we would’ve played more if not for the early departure time of the aunts and cousins the next morning.  So instead we settled down for a relaxing time of east coast research by watching more Anne of Green Gables.  And then it happened.  There was nothing we could do.

Initially, the worst thing about it was the silence.  A silence thicker and deeper than the darkness which produced it.  I can’t remember who spoke first, but it must have been at least five minutes.  And the words only stated the dreaded reality we had each already concluded:  “there was no power.”

There was nothing we could do but make ourselves comfortable and wait.  We have candles set up but only enough to last the night.  There was also a quick decision made about what can and can’t be flushed.  But we know it is futile.  There will be no alarms waking us from our slumber.  Only rotten milk for our children’s mouths.  The sump pump will no longer hold back the water, nor the furnace hold back the cold.  It seems like we’ve been pulled into a missionary’s tale, but I fear you might never see our slideshow.  I sit here writing this letter by pen as the last of the red wax drips from my candle…farewell and goodbye.

p.s.  The power came back on shortly after writing this entry.  We live to tell about it.