Page 63 - 08_Oct-2025

Love Letters
UNTYING
THE KNOT
Letting go of something I’d been
carrying for far too long
by LISA MARTIN
ABOUT A YEAR AND A HALF after my marriage
ended, I flew to Vancouver for a short vacation. On my
way out of the house, on a whim, I grabbed my wedding
ring from the back of the closet and tucked it in my wallet,
amongst the loose change.
Then I hefted my baggage, and took myself to the airport.
That night in Vancouver, I stepped off a dock into a
friend’s metal dinghy. The small craft propelled us across
the water to the spot where he had left his boat anchored
amidst thousands of reflected lights. We’d been friends so
long we’d been at each other’s weddings. Now here we
were on False Creek, both of us with our marital knots
untied.
My friend told me that when his wife left, he bought
this boat to live on. One night while he was away from the
boat, the anchor dragged and — beached like a whale —
the boat took on water and sank.
He took the wreck apart, plank by
plank. Tore out what was irreparable and
replaced it with what would serve. Curved
the wooden ribs of the boat with steam,
filled the hull with cement. He did the
hard, slow work of restoration until — in
place of a disaster — he had a boat again.
I sat with him on the stern of that boat,
considering the metaphors. Anchors that
drag and ones that hold. Knots you lie
awake at night worrying over — the ones
you tried to tie — that you are sure you
did tie — but that didn’t hold.
Any good sailor will tell you not all
knots are created equal, if you want a
knot to hold you’d better attend to the
way you tie it in the first place. But, for
all that, there are factors beyond one’s
control — salt, humidity, the friction of
metal on rope, the shorn edges of things
no one ever thought would end up jagged,
or torn. Knot, that word for the speed at
which a vessel travels over water, and a
metaphor for a marriage — tying, tied,
untied.
I fished through the change in my wallet
for the ring I knew the feel of, by heart.
With the slight waves, the lights in the
water kept shifting, renegotiating the
balance. I stood up, leaned on the railing
and looked out.
Then I threw my wedding ring right
out into those shimmering lights, the
darkness and depth beneath the surface.
Ripples formed around the ring as it hit
the water, as they would form around any
plain or precious thing.
We stared together at the place the ring
had disappeared.
“Better it than me,” I said.
There were circles around the ring’s
disappearance. And then circles around
those circles. Healing must have something
to do with this — with the boundaries of
what’s occurred. Eventually, those circles
became so wide — they included so much
— they lost their original meaning. ED.
This is a new series of essays by Edmontonians reflecting
on human connection. Pitch your little love story to
[email protected].
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