“Beware the Ides of March.” ─Julius Caesar, Act 1, Scene 2
The 2013-14 winter season was relentless.
In mid-March 2014 on what was likely another stormy weekend, I received a social media message from a former Lloydminster Meridian Printing (printer of the Lloydminster Meridian Booster, birthplace of The Newfoundland Inkslinger) colleague. I recently dug down and recovered the message. Here it is, paraphrased:
“Meridian Printing is no more. Our last day is March 28.”
At this time, I was on my second work-term in St. John’s with my new career looking promising. Since there wasn’t anything I could do about the Meridian Printing situation, my plan for that week leading up to March 28, 2014 was to simply change my Facebook profile picture to that of my old press machine with a message to my former colleagues that I was thinking about them. Layoffs had been demolishing departments for years before and after I left, and time had finally run out.
But – something else came up that week in 2014, and the Meridian Booster’s closure went out of my mind.
2024 marks ten years since my father passed away in 2014. A full decade. A milestone I’d rather not mark.
The date for me is a “fixed point in time”, a concept introduced in Doctor Who and other sci-fi series. It’s an event in my personal timeline that cannot be altered without consequences.
What if instead of returning to Newfoundland in 2010 and changing my career, I stayed in Lloydminster and continued with the Booster until March 2014? In this alternate timeline, would my father still experience the same fate? I would have to pack up and fly home in a hurry, without a job, and I possibly would not have been able to attain the qualifications I currently hold.
The day after my father’s funeral dawned as a cold April Fool’s Day in 2014. I stood outside, alone, eyeing the towering snowbanks with a shovel in hand. I couldn’t quite face them. Not yet.
On the early morning of March 25, 2014, I remember walking into my St. John’s boarding house room after preparing my lunch for the day and seeing the email notification pop up on the screen: “Call me at once.” I did, and was left shaken and confused by the news, then quickly planned an emergency trip to Carbonear. From then on, my cell phone is always on. Normally muted, but on.
Upon returning to Carbonear, I had a better idea of what happened. My father had a heart attack after clearing snow with the snowblower that evening after yet another heavy snowfall. Over the years since, the snowblower itself would only be used several times. I think of it as a cursed object. My grandmother, awakened by the commotion that night, fainted when she saw Dad on the floor.
An ambulance was called, and then a second one for backup, when the paramedics assessed the situation. Still conscious at this point, Dad’s last coherent words to the paramedics before the breathing apparatus was strapped on was apparently “Take care of her,” referring to his mother. My father and grandmother were both wheeled out to the ambulances, and my mother and sister followed in the car. My grandmother was OK (physically) and was discharged before I got home.
Meanwhile, I slept in St. John’s, unaware. I’m trained in Red Cross First Aid and CPR (been certified and re-certified since). If I was there, could I have made a difference? Logically, I couldn’t be in two places at once, but it is a question that bothers me to this day.
Feeling a great disconnect after the funeral (which continues to this day), I returned to my work-term in St. John’s and slogged through it successfully, then returned to Corner Brook to graduate from the Environmental Technology program. I still had my goals to complete.
Bad luck struck another blow when there was a downfall in the oil industry, and plans for a full-time position fell through that summer. This was unfortunate, because that was one of the positive prospects which was keeping me going that year, even before my father’s passing.
I eventually found my way out to the Come By Chance refinery with a contractor company, doing double-duty in the lab and safety departments. That lasted just over five years.
Then 2020 happened, and that was the end of everything. The layoff axe I dodged in 2010 finally lopped my head off. In 2020, the Ides of March heralded again, as world events caught up to me. March 15, 2020 was the last “normal” day in the lab, as I had to take a brief leave. Upon my return on the 18th after bringing my mother to a medical appointment, changes were happening quickly. Another lab I coordinated analysis with was barred to outsiders, and our own lab access was restricted. Around this time, the refinery ended all contracts and soon went into a standby mode, essentially closed down. By early April, it was all over. Now the refinery is known as Braya Renewable Fuels, making biodiesel for export. Time will tell if the new facility succeeds.
I’ve always been cautiously optimistic, but I’m a realist. I continue to exist and struggle to break out of this fixed point in time. Is it a cosmic phenomenon that affects me only or just a series of coincidences? As you can see from being on this website, I’ve started a small business and get work where I can. A lot of effort goes into this business, as any entrepreneur would know. My input is higher than my output, but I am proud of what I built. I will continue with it until a big enough opportunity comes along to let it go.
Stay safe out there, loyal Newfoundland Inkslinger readers.
