This past weekend I was once again reminded of why Saskatchewan is such an amazing place to live. When you live in a sparsely populated province that produces winters filled with snow and ice and brutally cold weather and then follows it with a “summer” of flooding and tornados – you have no choice but to rely on your neighbors. This land breeds hardy stock; folks who live their lives with integrity and authenticity. You won’t find six degrees of separation here – it usually only takes two to find a connection – to a cousin, a hockey team, a small town you lived in the year you worked a construction crew.

Spending time at the “cabin” (oh no, we don’t call it “cottage country” here in Saskatchewan) is another link that binds many of us together.

My family has been blessed by the foresight of my grandfather; who first camped at Sunset Bay on the shores of Emma Lake back in the 1940’s and then bought a lake front lot from Mr. Guise when he subdivided his land in the 50’s. The main cabin was built in 1958 and the “new” addition went on in the late 60’s. While we have made a few necessary renovations in the years since we took it over (like a sink in the bathroom and a deck that has more square feet than the cabin itself) it retains much of the original construction. We fondly refer to it as “the heritage site” – a place people can visit and reminisce about the good old days when you had an outhouse, an ice shed and you walked to the pump at the bottom of the hill for your drinking water.

We are surrounded by other fourth generation lake people and I used to recite the names of all the families on Guise beach during countless trips down the back lane, heading to the store at Macintosh Point.

Last July our Emma Lake friends and family were staggered by the sudden deaths of Jordan and of Ian Buckwold – two unexpected and tragic losses within weeks of each other. The support we have received has truly meant the difference between standing and collapsing. Last weekend we had the honor and the pleasure of gathering with many of our lake community to share a meal and witness the unveiling of The Neural Health project – an initiative that Greg and I firmly believe will change the outcome for all the other Jordan’s out there.

Greg has often talked about the layers that bipolar disease wrapped around Jordan’s mind and how those layers changed Jordan’s perception of the world and how others perceived him. But we always knew that somewhere in in his mind was still the real Jordan. So “Somewhere in Mind” feels like the perfect tag line for the Neural Health Project. We need to change the system. We need to get somewhere other than where we are. We don’t yet know exactly what that end result looks like, but it’s out there. We have somewhere in mind and we have started the journey towards it.

 It was such a humbling experience and I have searched for days to find words that would adequately express our gratitude to those involved for opening their hearts and their homes to host those spectacular dinners and for the passion with which they are approaching the neural health project.

Listening to them describe their vision and seeing how their message resonated with the audience, having people approach us during the evening to express their commitment to the project and to honoring Jordan – it touched us deeply.

It wasn’t an easy weekend – telling Jordan’s story always comes with an emotional cost. In my more selfish moments I sometimes wonder why I am fighting for the greater good when nothing I do will bring my boy back. And I am often left feeling guilty after sharing our experience – wondering what Jordan would think about us sharing his story so publicly and so honestly. Would he see it as a betrayal of his privacy or would he approve of us finding somewhere positive to direct our grief?

As we pulled away from the cabin Monday morning, a crow circled in the sky above and “Cups”  began to play on the radio. Message received son. We’ll carry on.