Alone after the sudden death of my 54 year-old husband, I struggled to figure out who I was and where I was headed in life. Trying to find the “Diane” within, I reconnected with hobbies of the past and at the same time, tried new adventures. The following excerpt from my memoir, Twenty-Eight Snow Angels: A Widow’s Story of Love, Loss and Renewal, is about my first kayaking experience on Lake Superior at the Bluefin Bay Resort in Tofte, Minnesota in 2005. Little did I know that paddling along the “Big Lake” would trigger a turning point in my grief process opening my eyes and heart to new possibilities in life.
With four kayaks lined up in a row, the instructor directed us to climb into our kayak and sit all the way back so he could adjust our rudder pedals. Great. I have to use my feet, too? Then he told us to grab the apron around our waist, pull it forward and fit it around the kayak opening.
“If you capsize, you need to pull this loop to detach yourself. Then hang on to the kayak, no matter what. It’s your only floatation device, except for your life jacket.”
Capsize? Tip over? I worried about finding the ring and getting trapped under the kayak. Our instructor launched his kayak into the clear frigid lake, yelling, “Now remember your five strokes. Forward . . .” His voice faded into the vast blue water in front of us. I panicked. What did he say? Are there FIVE strokes?
Trembling, I floated out onto a massive lake capable of throwing ten-foot waves during a November storm. Boulders resembling giant turtles appeared below the lake’s clear surface. We cruised along the calm water, admiring the rocky shoreline speckled with tattered fish houses. Paddling harder, I floated farther out into the open water and stroked through the gentle late morning swells. Our instructor glided along the smooth surface with ease as he pointed out landmarks and told us stories of the wreck of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald.
With the sun sparkling on the lake’s serene surface, I tried not to think about the huge waves that crashed over the ship’s rail and the twenty-nine men who died. My arms ached from the paddling and my feet continued to confuse left and right, but the lake’s beauty pushed me forward. I felt a new sense of strength flow over me. I thought about how much my professional life had grown with the support of my colleagues, especially Jane and Linda. I realized how much my travel experiences—alone or with others—had enriched my life and how much I enjoyed meeting new people along the way. I had even become more confident in tackling home maintenance chores.
Skimming across the water, an image lingered in my mind of the rustic log cabin I rented at Sugar Beach Resort in Tofte, Minnesota, in 2002, on my first trip alone to Lake Superior. I could see the cozy screen porch, the old paddle lock on the heavy front door and hear the ripple of the waves beyond the living room. Alone, I had slept with all the windows open, a gentle breeze and a full moon had kept me company, as the waves tickled the edge of the rocky shore. Paddling my kayak along Lake Superior, empowered by the realization that I could make my own decisions and meet challenges with or without a man in my life, I stroked faster and harder gliding smoothly into the pebble-covered shore.