My Love Story: The Tragedy Of A Moving Mountain

Atop the hill I stood, my fifteen year old self, wearing a yellow raincoat and clutching the loaf of bread and tin of milk I had been sent to get for breakfast. I knew I had witnessed something strange, but nothing, absolutely nothing prepared me for the reality of what it was. I never thought our beloved mountain would hurt us, we scaled it, slid down its slippery slopes when it rained amid squeals of delight, farmed it, cut trees for fire… And it provided the most magical sunsets. We shared a love story, my people and this mountain. How did that love story turn into a bitter, painful betrayal? How did it become a moving mountain, why did this mountain move?

When it became quite clear to me what the moving mountain had done, I was numb and in total disbelief. My entire family was gone and I was alone, in this vast, cruel world all by myself. It was unfathomable to me that I wouldn’t get hugs from my mom and sisters and I would never build things with my father again. I don’t remember crying, or mourning them because that would’ve been an admission that they were gone. I held out hope that they’d be recovered from the mud alive, and we would be a family again. They were never recovered, neither dead nor alive. That mountain took everything from me.

I sat in the orphanage for days, silent and emotionless. My heart was broken into shards but I kept it inside, willed it to stay put. I was never going to be weak again, love again, hope again, or believe possible any kind of joy. Nothing was going to hurt me that deep ever again, not a man, not a woman, not a moving mountain. I shut down, built my heart a steel cocoon. I was unreachable.

The most the orphanage doctors and counselors got out of me was, “I am okay.” I knew something about me worried and puzzled them but I did not care. My soul was frozen in time, I was not about to thaw it. I was so angry and yet so determined to bottle my feelings inside that, I had my own personal, internal moving mountain, except this wasn’t mud waiting to move, it was red hot lava. It was only a matter of time before I imploded.

The kindly white doctor who made sure to spend time speaking with me everyday tapped me on the shoulder one morning, “Come with me,” he said.

In his consulting room sat a white couple, the woman had the kindest eyes and most beautiful smile I ever saw.

“Saah, I’ve heard so much about you,” she said rising up.

Her husband gave me a firm handshake, looking straight into my eyes, as if assessing the contents of my soul.

And his wife, Roxanne, she gave me a tight, warm hug. She smelled so good, and that hug, it did something to me. For the first time in months after that damned mountain moved and took my family, that hug reminded me of the comfort and love that used to envelop me; my Mama’s hugs, her lemony smell, and the safety I had felt.

Even after her arms released me, I stayed in her embrace and buried my head in her bosom. This was a familiar place, I wanted to stay there. There was no pretending that I didn’t care, or that I didn’t miss my Mama, my family, my safe place. And in Roxanne’s bosom, I found the closest thing to the home I had thought I would have forever, so I stayed there.

Roxanne wrapped her arms around me again. And the dam burst. For the first time in months since my family perished, I wept. I wept for the tears I had been unable to cry, for the father whose deep voice had been silenced for good, for my little sisters, whose tiny hands I would never hold again, for a Mama whose bosoms had been replaced by that of a strange woman. I wept.

When I looked up, the kindly white doctor was smiling, he looked really happy and satisfied with himself. Little did I know he had carefully chosen Justin and Roxanne to meet me that day, and that he was satisfied with the outcome.

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” Roxanne asked after I calmed down.

“Yes,” I replied.

That was the day my love story with the Tremblays began. The day love came to my rescue, to save me from grief and self-destruction.

We took many walks in the ensuing days. In the beginning she said nothing, did not try to make any conversation, she matched my silence and allowed me to just be in her presence. And then she asked if she could hold my hand as we climbed and descended hills. In no time, I was telling her about what life had been like for me, before the mountain moved. I told her where I had been, standing on top of a hill, seeing and yet not comprehending, while my family choked on mud.

One morning, Roxanne drove me to the base of the hill from where I’d witnessed the moving mountain. It was a chilly day, heavy, angry clouds hung above and the winds whistled past. That morning mimicked the fateful morning disaster struck my community. We stood stood on the hill in silence, holding hands. I looked at the mountain, daring it to move again, and I looked at the angry red mass of mud, remnants of a disaster that brought untold grief and destruction. I looked up at the skies, hoping for a glimpse of the God my mother had believed in. Where had He been?

As if reading my thoughts, Roxanne said, “God brought you and my family together for a reason, Saah…” I began to shake my head in disagreement, but she ignored me and continued.

“Time and chance happens to us all honey. And God is still God regardless. He took you out of the disaster’s reach for a purpose. And your Mama, she would like for you to move on and live. Make her memory count for something,” she said, looking at me, those kind eyes.

“Why did God, if He is there, and is love, allow this to happen?” I asked, tears streaming down my face.

“I don’t know Saah, but I do know He is, and He is love, and He brought me to you and you to me for a reason. Would you like to be my son?” she asked still looking at me, those kind eyes.

“You’re already my Mama now,” I replied, smiling through my tears.

“I mean legally. Get it on paper, so I can travel with you,” she said.

About a year and a half after I lost my whole family, I stood at the base of Sugar Loaf Mountain, and I said goodbye to my family, still entombed, when the mountain moved. And then I boarded an airplane with my new family to Canada.

Roxanne and Justin, like my late mother, strongly believe in the grace and supremacy of God. And they taught me, pushed me towards healing and growing. In any way possible, they pushed me to excel, in school, in sport, in pursuit of God. Even when their own son struggled with addiction and bad health, they pushed and supported me.

That is how I learned grace, and love. And began to understand what Roxanne had said to me years prior, “Time and chance happens to us all.”

Editor’s Note: Dear Saah, thank you for sending us this story, for creating such beauty from such tragedy. Time and chance does happen to us all. I hope you conquer that mountain, moving or otherwise. And I hope you do get to make your Mamas proud (yes Mamas, both of them).

Ps. The surname of Saah’s adoptive parents have been changed for their privacy.