IT'S A SHORT STRETCH
ACROSS BOUNDARIES
Journal of Healing – Oct. 8, 2003

By Mary Koch

We went for a drive across the border last week. It’s ridiculous that with Canada less than an hour away, this was our first border-crossing in the nearly 10 years since my husband’s stroke

We used to run up to Canada routinely for dinner or a day of skiing. There’s much to love about our neighbors: their penchant for tidiness, their clipped English ("Ay?"), their sing-able national anthem, their universal health care.

But after the stroke, the international border became a personal boundary. There was no good reason for that. We’d never experienced problems crossing the border. But I assumed that was because we used to appear ordinary. We no longer do.

I drive an over-sized van with a severely disabled husband belted into a wheelchair behind the driver’s seat. Perhaps I've been looking at too many John Ashcroft cartoons, but I thought we might appear suspicious, especially since 9/11.

I finally decided it was time to break my bonds of apprehension. John was eager to go; he had no border qualms at all.

* * *

THE FIRST SHOCK was the new construction at the border. Instead of the low-profile, humble buildings that once housed customs officials, we were confronted with an imposing facility of stark neo-industrial architecture.

Osoyoos, which likes to think of itself as the Riviera of British Columbia, hasn’t changed much except for development blight. Compared to the new condominiums obscuring the views of Lake Osoyoos, that glass and steel structure at the border is downright charming.

Even with the condo take-over, there is still public access to the lake’s sandy and, of course, tidy beaches. On a weekday afternoon in late September, we had the beach pretty much to ourselves. There was one couple lounging in swim suits, absorbing every last ray of sunshine from our lingering summer weather.

I parked John’s wheelchair at the edge of the sand and took off my shoes and socks to wade in the water. As I waded, the woman sun-bather walked into the lake, intent on total immersion. "A little cool, ay?" she grinned and then took the plunge. She was a powerful swimmer and went far out into the lake with steady strokes.

* * *

IT REMINDED ME of a time shortly after John and I were married when he introduced me to Omak Lake. Swimming is the only sport in which I have even a small degree of ability, and when I felt that velvety water I just took off. I swam way out, finally returning to the beach and to John’s reproaches.

"Don’t go out that far again," he said. "If you got into trouble, I wouldn’t be able to help you."

I had stretched his boundaries, just as he stretched mine every time he stood at the very edge of a cliff with his camera to get a better photo angle. That’s a large part of making it through marriage – allowing our boundaries to be stretched.

We left Lake Osoyoos to drive up the heart-thumping switchbacks of Highway 3, stopping at the sky-high viewpoint, savoring the panorama of lake, valley and mountains stretching across two countries. Then we headed back to the border.

The stern-faced customs officer wanted to see my I.D. and asked, "What’s your relationship with your passenger?"

"Married," I answered, adding "mostly friendly."