Patricia Van Tighem - The Bears Embrace: A Story of Survival

Table of Contents

This book is dedicated to
all of my family,
my children,
my beloved Joe."

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Ourdeepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It isour light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We askourselves: Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented,fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?... We wereborn to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.Its not just in some of us; its in everyone. And as we letour own light shine, we unconsciously give other peoplepermission to do the same. As were liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

NELSON MANDELA

Why should we give up the dream of embracing the bear?"

TERRY TEMPEST WILLIAMS

Acclaim for PATRICIA VAN TIGHEMs

The Bears Embrace

A literary marvel that describes the authors experience with clarity and immediacy, reflects on them with calmness and candor, and draws the reader into a world that, in less skillful hands, might easily repel or terrify. The Globe and Mail (Toronto)

Gripping.... Addictive to read, impossible to put down.... Extraordinary. Vancouver Sun

Brutally honest. Tremendously disturbing. The Tacoma News Tribune

Oddly compelling and suspenseful. The Arizona Republic

Harrowing and vivid, Van Tighems narrative raises questions of random events and meaning, the bravery of surviving an attack... as well as the healing power of telling and owning ones story. Publishers Weekly

Van Tighems story is a testimony of courage. Macleans

An unsparing chronicle of fear and suffering and the hard-won courage that beat it all. Kirkus Reviews

Authors Note

The names and identifying details of some charactersand places have been changed to preserve anonymity.

I

The Hike

The sky is clear and blue, blue. The trees are yellow. The air is crisp, cool, full of autumn sunshine. I am content riding along in our little blue Volkswagen Rabbit with my hand on Trevors knee. We are headed south on Highway Two to Waterton Lakes National Park.

Trevor hums under his breath, and I look over at his bearded profile. I am uncertain if weve made up after our disagreement last night. He planned to go rock climbing one day this September long weekend, maybe do a hike with me the next, but I wanted us to spend all three days together, backpacking. We havent hiked for such a long time.

Last night I sulked in the rocking chair, tipping myself abruptly back and forth. Ill go alone, then, I said. Trevor sat in a calm pool of lamplight across the living room, his bushy dark head bent over a textbook. I need to get away somewhere this weekend. He kept his head down. Trevor!

Im listening. Then, opening his arms, Come here. I moved to the big armchair and sat on his knee. All right, he said. I felt his sigh on my neck through tangled hair. We can try out our new tent.

We enjoyed packing up. Trevor went out at the last minute for groceries and brought back all of my favourite backpacking junk foods. Now hes singing beside me in the car. I love his voice. On one of our first dates, we went out Christmas carolling, and hearing him sing then strengthened my determination to hang on to him. He looks over and smiles.

Hi, my love.

There are shorn yellow fields on either side of us. Farmhouses dot the little gravel roads that run off from the highway. In the distance, the mountains show clear in the late afternoon light. Trevor and I have escaped to those mountains many times since we met five years ago. We used to get away to hike or ski or ramble almost every weekend. But recently, with both of us working shifts, its been hard to organize time away. I settle into the seat and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Trevor gives my hand a brief squeeze.

This was a good idea, Trish, he says. His voice is teasing, daring my I told you so to pop out. I dont rise to the bait. I can hear him laugh.

Trevor is still wearing his good pants and sports jacket. Hes in his third year of medical school and partway through his pediatrics rotation at Childrens Hospital in Calgary. Im a nurse. I dont know if I feel like one yet, though I graduated a year ago and have worked since then on a busy surgical floor. I find it frustrating and difficult. There are many cancers and deaths to deal with, and not enough time to give patients the attention they deserve. I want to give this weekend my all and shake off the tense Patricia, leaving the pulls and pressures of nursing behind.

Trevor and I will stop in the little foothills town of Pincher Creek for supper, then stay tonight at a lodge in Waterton. Weve left our plans for tomorrow wide open. Well wake when we want to and take our time with breakfast and discuss where wed like to hike. Were driving into dark storm clouds now, and a spattering of rain hits our windshield. Its strange how fast the weather can change.

On a hot evening a week before our hike, I stand facing the mirror that stretches across the counter in our Calgary bathroom. The room has the cheap beige countertop of student housing, and cheap beige flooring. There is a green-and-black framed print on the wall, Recipe for a Happy Marriage, received as a gift at our wedding three years ago. Im in my white nursing uniform, a shift just completed.

I am twenty-four. My hair is blonde and brown, like a taffy pull. My teeth are well aligned after teen years in braces. All my life, Ive been told that my blue eyes are lovely. I think so too, shy approval coming from deep inside. My nose would be better if it were smaller and straighter. My mothers nose. My grandfathers nose. I smile at myself just to see how I look. Some people have such marvellous smiles, smiles that wash over you and warm you. I wonder if my smile is like that. Trevor says it is. So does my mother.

Im proud of how I look, but I struggle with that pride. As a Catholic, Ive been taught that pride is a vice. Not good. Not right. I remember how my instructor would wring her hands in ballet class. Such proportion, such legs. If you would only stand up tall! Look proud! A small part of me was flattered. A little smile would come, but I could never allow myself to take her words to heart. It is easier now that Trevor adores my tallness.

What are you doing, Trish? Trevor calls. Come to bed.

Just changing. Im coming.

I unzip my uniform and let it fall in a puddle at my feet. I stand slim and fit in bra and panties. My eyes linger for a moment on my unblemished body. My patients have had breasts removed, tumours investigated, bowels totally resected. I hug myself and shiver.

I flick off the light and pull on an old flannel nightie, blue, with no softness left in the fabric. Trevor calls me again. He has turned his reading light out, done with studying for tonight. Hes preparing for exams, squeezing his reading in between classes and labs and tutorials and hospital ward rotations. He likes children, loves the time he spends in pediatrics. Can your husband come out and play? our little neighbour Jason asks me whenever he sees our front door open.

Did I take too long? Are you asleep already?