Sometimes you come abreast of a situation that informs you starkly that although all is well in your world it isn't necessarily so in the world that others inhabit. Of course, all you have to do is read the morning papers and story after story sketches out scenarios of conflict, deprivation, starvation, mass atrocities. We become accustomed to reading about countries -- usually geographically far off from our own -- that either have fallen into dysfunction or never were wholly functional. Those stories appall you and you feel a twinge of regret for the poor people directly exposed to the effects of civil strife, government incapacity, discrimination, and misery.

This morning while I did the laundry Irving went out to empty some of those garden soil bags into the wheelbarrow for distribution around the front lawn with the intention of re-seeding the grass. It seemed the perfect time, the atmosphere cool with a good stiff breeze to cool it down even further and he carried on while I did  household chores. Eventually I joined him out-of-doors and carried on with my self-imposed task of trimming cedars and old junipers, and tidied up a bit more around the gardens.

Jackie and Jillie did some restrained exploring, wandering off to the neighbours' lawns until we were ready to go off to the ravine for their afternoon hike through the forest trails. There's the thing about taking a circuit through woodland trails at a leisurely pace; it has a psychologically calming effect, relaxing both mind and body while entertaining the mind and exercising the body.

We came across several friends; one a young man who always likes to hike alongside us and discuss matters of interest to him. I leave those discussions primarily to Irving. What did come out of their discussion was that on our return home, in response to the  young man's own experience in re-scheduling a second dose of vaccine, Irving made the requisite call in view of the province just equipping the city with an additional number of doses, to reschedule our own second shot. And this time it's for Sunday at a site more congenial to us geographically.

After we parted from our friend, we suddenly came across another old acquaintance whom we haven't seen in a while, walking her dog Millie. She smiled as we approached one another, then said she had bad news for us. Her husband had died the week before. That's the kind of news that is similar to being slapped hard across the face; you can't believe it's happened. He was 62, and though he had a family history of strokes at a young age, he was examined regularly for the condition of his heart and all appeared normal.

They'd had their second dose of vaccine. She felt extraordinarily lethargic, her husband experienced a different kind of discomfort which grew over the next few days. He felt tired and began to feel breathless, but wouldn't hear of seeing their doctor; he was fine, just fine, the discomfort would fade and he'd be back to normal. Two days later he took his car in for an oil change, and when he returned home he rushed up the stairs and collapsed on their bed, his heart beating wildly. She checked his blood pressure and it seemed reasonable, but his pulse was wild. Go to the hospital? Forget it.

She spoke to her sister-in-law, an emergency room nurse who advised her to get her husband to emergency as soon as possible. She called an ambulance and was told en route in the ambulance by the paramedics that they were heading directly to the Heart Institute; doctors were awaiting their arrival. An echogram revealed he'd had a heart attack and it had blown a hole in his heart. Surgery was scheduled urgently; two matters to be addressed, a severe blockage and the hole. 

They have three sons, the youngest, 24, lives with them still. They were all at the hospital with her, and they were devastated. Each was permitted, one after the other, to go in to the hospital room where their father was hooked up to life support and where he spoke to them quietly and calmly. When she went in her husband reminded her of everything that had to be done, then he said it was too difficult for him to talk, much less breathe.

A week ago the decision was made on the advice of doctors that the now-comatose man should be pulled off life support. As she told us everything in great detail, she was calm and collected. Her face expressive but impassive, her voice steady and determined to describe everything. Ventilating is often a comfort. We stood there, listening, quietly commenting briefly, but it was her show and she was determined to eke out a description of every bit of detail, and we listened, shocked. 

She spoke in that hollow detached way that inclines the listener to think that emotion has been repressed, tamped down of necessity to carry on. She was carrying on.