Mica and Elias Guzman, and their grandaughter Faith
REMEMBERING ELIAS
It was a long and difficult trip home from Europe last week. After only an hour of the ten-hour flight, I was already counting the minutes. It was Friday and I was supposed to leave Germany on Monday, and with a packed flight I was grateful to be on board. I had learned less than twelve hours before that my Father-In-Law, Elias Guzman, had passed away on Valentines Day. My husband Peter reluctantly made the call to my hotel room in Erfurt, Germany, where I was scheduled to race a World Cup on the weekend. He wasn’t sure if he should tell me the news; wasn’t sure if I should know of such sadness when I had to focus. Some things are just more important than sport, and I knew immediately that I had to leave and be with Peter and my family to move through this sorrow and give each other strength.
That I made it to the small airport in Eugene, Oregon by Saturday morning seemed miraculous. Green fields basked in gentle sun and it was wonderful to feel warmth after leaving snow-covered Calgary. Peter waited in the car and seeing him made me feel that I had without a doubt made the only decision I could make in leaving Europe.
Peter’s Mother, Mica, hugged me upon arrival at the house. I can’t imagine what she is going through. On December 28 they had celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. They had renewed their vows with friends and family at their church. That she is now alone in the sense of life-partner saddens me beyond belief.
Seeing the picture of Elias in the living room under the small table holding the wooden box with Elias’ ashes felt surreal. I swear I kept waiting for him to walk in the room. It just didn’t seem real, even with all of that evidence in front of me. I didn’t want it to be real. Elias would always say to me on the telephone after I asked how he was, ‘Well, still kickin’! I’m not gone yet!’ It was our little joke. He would always say that he wanted me and Peter to go out and have a big steak, on him, and would make me promise. I always said yes but we rarely went.
What I remember most about Elias was his generosity. He loved to be out in the garden, not so much for himself but in order to have vegetables to give away. He loved to give gifts. He would shell hundreds of walnuts each year from his walnut tree, somehow managing to have perfect little walnut halves each time. I never really did like walnuts until I tasted Elias’- they were the best nuts I have ever had. He would slice and dry all of the fruit from his mini-orchard in the back yard, and again, giving much of the bounty away to lucky souls like Peter and me.
At the funeral, we saw just how many people Elias had touched with his generosity and humour. Everyone had their own special story about him and it was a gift to listen to who he was to others.
That I had to leave and come back to training was so difficult I almost didn’t want to skate again. What I’ve come to realise, though, is that one of the things that Elias was so proud of was my skating. He supported me and I think truly enjoyed the things I have been so gifted to do in sport. With this thought, I guess I’ve realised that all I can do is move forward, with all of this sadness, and try to find joy in my skating. If I can’t do it for myself, at the very least, I can do it for Elias.
