Loss and memory

I have been fortunate enough in my life to have lived without significant loss.  With the exception of my grandfather when I was 8 years old, I lived most of my childhood and adulthood without any major deaths among my close family and friends.  My grandfather and grandmother on my father’s side passed on much later in my late 20s and early 30s, but only after having lived long lives.  While it hurt, it was somewhat expected.  I could accept it to a point.

On December 22nd, 2015, my mother unexpectedly passed away.  After a lifetime of minimal grief, I was suddenly dealt enough pain to last several lifetimes by losing one of the most important people in my life.  On December 14th, she had collapsed while at work of a cardiac arrest and was rushed to the emergency room.  After several days on the brink, she began to fight back.  She was starting to recover.  Her organs and heart were beginning to work on their own, without assistance, and she was gradually becoming more awake and able to communicate through her eyes and hands.  Then, late in the night, she slipped away very quickly and with little warning.  We had the rug pulled out from under us.  After using words like “miracle” and “amazing” to describe her recovery to that point, the doctor’s were left scratching their heads and struggling to give us answers.  At that point, answers wouldn’t have helped.  She was gone and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

This is a fly fishing blog, so I won’t go too much further into the details of her passing.  However, I wanted to share an evening I spent with my Mother that I keep replaying over and over again in my mind.  My mother, like me, is a librarian.  This was the ideal career for her as she is a perpetual learner.  She researches everything she comes across and like me, when something interests her, she digs deep, and tries find out more about it.  Since she’s never been too into fishing in general (although in her rare excursions, she’s known to have an amazing lucky streak when everyone else gets skunked), it wasn’t until I started tying my own flies that she was suddenly very interested.  She was intrigued by the artistry of it.  She had always been particularly adept at anything creative.  She was known for making elaborate birthday cakes, displays for reunions, and catering massive events.  If it was creative, she had a knack for it.

One day, she asked if I could show her how to do a little fly tying.  At this point, I had just started, but she was eager just the same and I was newly enthralled with the activity so I was happy to share it with someone.  After several failed attempts to schedule a time where I could show her, I was finally able to get a moment with her when we weren’t chasing kids or cleaning up after a family event.  We went with the first pattern I learned, the woolly bugger.  For ease of instruction, I gave her a size 6 streamer hook.  Aside from the simplicity of the fly, I also chose the woolly bugger because it’s something that could be easily customized.  You could use really any combination of yarn/chenille, marabou, bead, hackle, flash, or even rubber legs.  This is what she really enjoyed.  Her eyes lit up at the possibilities.

After walking through the steps with my own fly, it was time for her to take the bobbin.  It took her several minutes just to decide which combination of materials to use, going back and forth between several before finally landing on her unique combination.  As she started her first tie, I was struck by how fast she learned it.  Unlike me, she had the patience and delicate touch I lacked which made my earliest days of tying a struggle.  I’ve since learned those skills (to a point), but she had them from the outset.  While my first woolly buggers looked like they had already been chewed up by a pike, her first fly was pretty clean.  The body could have been thicker considering the hook size, and the tail could have been shorter, but it would definitely catch a fish.
When she finished up, she asked while admiring her work, “So people pay money for these, huh?”  I replied, “Yes, and when you buy them in volume, it can add up quickly depending on the price of the fly.”   She paused for a few minutes, looking critically at her fly.  Finally she said, “You know, I had been thinking about learning how to make stained glass to sell, but I think I might like to do this instead.”  I couldn’t help but laugh, but this exchange so very much represented who she was.  Creative and perpetually curious.  Always willing to be positive and supportive, to herself, but more importantly for her, to her children.  Always looking to learn and to promote learning in others.  Always willing to take the time to explore how something is made, not just accept it at face value and move on.

While I started fly fishing and fly tying on my own, looking back, I’m now realizing that even that was driven by the traits instilled in me by my mother.  I had seen fly fishing in movies and had been impressed by the beautiful flies I had seen people tie, so being freshly retired from skateboarding, I dove right in to learn how.  What I experienced was an endeavor and perspective every bit as immersive and consuming as the skateboarding world I had just left.  It was a world that encouraged creativity, self-reflection, and patience.

Even though my love for fishing in general undoubtedly came from my father, I think my love for fly fishing was appropriately a marriage of the interests and personalities of both of my parents.  I’m so grateful that I was able to share at least part of the fly fishing experience with my mother, and she seemed to truly enjoy it.  I wish we had the opportunity to get her out on the river, but her perpetual knee problems would have made it hard for her.  I hope to be able to get my father out on the river soon, and I was surprised when my brother Damian recently said he hoped to learn how to fly fish in the near future.

I wish I weren’t currently dealing with this elbow pain.  I think that working through my grief might be a little easier for me if I had the opportunity to be waist deep in a rushing stream with just the fish and my thoughts to focus on.  Instead, I suppose I’ll have to hit the vise hard and just remember that evening with Mom and remind myself that nearly everything I do is in some way a reflection of her in some small way.  I’m finding that my focus on my family, friends, and the natural beauty of the world is perhaps the best way to honor and remember her.  This pain will never truly go away, but over time, hopefully it will turn into me living my life as a dedication to the values she instilled in me.

– Gabriel
dad jib jab

Kathryn Lynn Venditti



One thought on “Loss and memory

  1. Life, like the waters we fish, is a continual cycle with no beginning and no end. Life is here only momentarily and it is our job to respect it and treasure it before it heads downstream. Fish come and go. Loved ones come and go. The water continues to flow.


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