Worst Fears

Mr. Spit travels pretty extensively. Some people go to Paris and Rome, Mr. Spit spends his time in High Level and Grimshaw. Towns that are small and lonely and, well, grim.

Mr. Spit has a company truck, he's put 120K on it, in just under 3 years. He hangs off bridges to inspect them, walks on ice that could be rotten, crawls through culverts that may be to small. I worry. I'm sure I'm not the only one. I'm sure that I am not the only wife who worries about a husband far away, a husband who does not come home each night, a husband who lives with more risk than in an office. Prayers for Mr. Spit's safekeeping, that he would pay attention, not be hurt while driving, or on site, or any where, while he is away from me, they are never very far from my thoughts.

The situation started last night. Mr. Spit is home for the weekend, and he answered the phone. It was his boss, asking if he had spoken to Engineer A. It seems engineer A was missing. He had been speaking to his wife, while driving home from his construction site an hour outside of Edson. I think he was on his way home to her.

They have just recently moved to this province, so that he could take this new job. He has spent the late spring and summer away from her. And I must confess, I have thought of his wife often, knowing how much of an adjustment it is when your husband is not home, when you have to be both mum and dad, when the moving and finding a place and unpacking falls to you, while you are all alone. I have spent many nights very tired and wondering how I would get through the next day. I speak the language, know the city I live in, and I do not have a toddler running around. I am not 8 weeks pregnant. I have wondered how she was doing. I have thought about calling. She lives 2 hours from me, and 4 hours from her husband, and there really wasn't anything that I could do for her, other than to tell her that you get used to this, and it gets easier, if not better. That you call every night, and you always say good-bye, and that you do the best you can at loving each other, under difficult circumstances.

She was talking to him on the phone, probably making plans, probably telling him how much she missed him, and he seemed to be confused and disorientated, and then she could hear him breathing, and then he was gone. Repeated phone calls yielded only a busy signal.

The RCMP, the staff from the office, the contractor, the dogs, search and rescue, they started looking for him. They found him late last night. Certainly the road was very bad, and maybe he was travelling too quickly, might have been tired. A lot on his mind.

I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm sure the company will see the final report from the RCMP. They found him last night, and medi-vaced him to Edmonton. Mr. Spit's manager called again this afternoon. He was gone, hurt too badly to live.

A wife, a three year old little girl, and a baby on the way. They have no family here. She barely speaks English, and both of our worst fears came true this afternoon. The unspoken worry in the back of our minds, because he is not here, and we can't watch him, and the world is a large place and there are blind corners on bad roads, and sometimes when you are tired because you have already worked 60 hours by Thursday, sometimes you just don't pay attention.

Memento Mori.