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Pacific coast, British Columbia, March twenty-sixth... thousands of kilometers from my home. Lone dreamer, today is my son’s birthday. Twenty-six years have passed already. I remember his birth as though it were yesterday. It was one of the most beautiful days of my life. I also recall that terrible twelfth day of August when Micah left us… by taking his own life! Yes, I remember!
In order not to die myself and watch my own life slip away, I ran with all my might to take hold of it. I held it fast, clutching it to my very soul, and took to the road as a traveler. I traveled from one side of my country to the next.
Days, months, years of grieving, searching, healing, and comforting. I walked the streets of hundreds of towns and villages, and met thousands of people – some in their youth, others parents, some elderly, rich and poor. Many who, like me, have survived their tragedy, and others…
I visited families within my own French-Canadian culture, First Nations families, and families from the second and tenth nations… all of whom make up this magnificent Canadian mosaic.
And now, 300 cities later, and with 20,000 beautiful Canadian faces forever etched in my memory, I find myself at the edge of the continent, slightly out of breath perhaps, but with a full heart. As I walk along the shoreline collecting coloured pebbles here and there, enraptured by the song of the waves and the salty air, I reach once again for my pad and pen. Please allow me to share with you a few of my stories…
Claude Tremblay
(Excerpt from the book : The Traveller)