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Cars make turns at a snail’s pace. We haven’t seen a police officer for the almost two weeks that we’ve been here. One day, in a disruption to traffic, we say, "We see a police officer! They must be doing a ride check.” Upon pulling up, we see it’s a volunteer road toll, with volunteers collecting money to help pay for the blueberry festival fireworks that night. It’s as if the island runs by itself on a code of behaviour that all people understand. There is no wifi or cell coverage in my cottage. I haven’t checked emails for a week. No Facebook, no texting – if this happened at home I’d be cursing the poor connection of the cell provider. Here, however, it seems a gloriously liberating relief.
One day in a gift shop, I purchase soaps in the shape of a lobster dinner. There’s a lobster, a container of butter, and two lemon pieces, all made from soap. The perfect gift for my son who wanted me to bring back a lobster supper. At the cash register, I’m told that the soaps are made by The Prince Edward Island Reach Foundation. (www.reachfdn.ca) The label reads, "Reach is a social enterprise that supports youth who are recovering from mental health and addiction issues, helping them build confidence and essential skills for the workplace.” She tells me that this company is dear to her heart, especially in light of the recent death by suicide of her niece.
I tell her that I’m a guidance counsellor and that the issues of our youth concern me. The two of us, perfect strangers, quietly cry together, as we discuss our youth, her niece, and the pain and impact that mental health issues have on all of us. I am reminded that even though the PEI shores bring me such stability, there is universal pain, even here. I go back to the shelf and purchase another lobster dinner. For now, it’s the most I can do.