To my Precious Ayden

I miss you so much.  I hope that every time you smell a pine comb you think of your Papa.  You wanted Papa to be your best friend so much, that you chided Papa one time for saying when he said in your presence that he and Molly were best friends (remember Molly, Papa’s dog that he saved from death?).  “But, what about me, Papa?  I want to be your best friend.”  

You were looking for pine combs in the forest at that point, and Papa was pretending that pine combs were so special that he had to hide them in his coat from others by zipping his coat to his neck.  It was a fantasy created by Papa to make it so much more fun for you; and you bought into that childhood fantasy by making sure that his coat was zipped up whenever anyone crossed your paths on the way home.  Papa still remembers the number of times you said, “Zip it, Papa!  Zip it!”

I hope you know that we are no longer in your life by our choice.  We struggled so hard to keep you as our grandson … and against others who worked so hard to take you away and to make our times together, you and me and Papa and Molly, a fiction.  It finally got to a point where we realized that to try and hold on to you was to make you a victim to those who were pulling the other end of the tightrope.  We let you go because we worried about the damage that it was creating to your life, by the hands and scheming of others.  Your psychological safety was more important to us than trying to hang on to what we wanted and needed and longed for.  One day, I hope you understand.

Our house is filled with pictures of you, frozen in time.  Sometimes I think I should put them away.  Immediately, I think that would not be right.  It was our time and it should be remembered.  But, every time I look at the pictures, the scars open up, and my heart bleeds for what could have been.  This weekend I will take off the bandages and pick at the scars.  It’s worth the present pain revisiting the past memories.  The scars won't ever heal, though. 

If life were as it should be, you’d be coming over this weekend and searching for Easter eggs.  As you did for the short years we were your grandparents.  You’d be sharing them with Papa. We’d be cautioning you not to give them to Molly, cause you wanted to share but didn’t know chocolate was fatal to dogs.  You just always wanted to share with Papa and Molly.

And, just maybe, although this moment is flash frozen, you’d be saying to Papa “can we take my bike and look for pine combs with Molly?  But we need to “zip it, Papa. zip it”.

Instead, I will die a little bit inside when someone talks about their grandchild and how much fun it was.  I am missing you.

 

I will see you again.

Love, grandma

Kerrie, Counting You Twice

It has been a busy and stressful winter. This place is not one where I unload my trials and tribulations. You all have your own and mine may be greater or lesser than yours. But we have them and we manage. The trick is to find gratitude in what you have, and not to dwell in the possibilities of what you might yet want to gain.

I went to see my big sister this week in Florida; a little rest and relaxation in a stressful, whirlwind time. She made it “all about me”. That is hands down my favourite kind of life when I am in downtime. I give a great deal to others in up time; my downtime is all the repayment for the life well served.

My big sister’s husband served us well this week. He made food, shopped, organized movies, was the consummate chauffeur, poured the wine (oh, yeah!), and made sure that life was as spectacular as it could be. A major player on the music scene before he retired; he is now a major player on the scene of service toward the enjoyment for others. And he plays the role so well.

I am so grateful for my big sis, though. She notices small things that many people overlook. She recognizes the awfulness of the small things and, by her comments, tries to make them normal or offers support in the moment of observation. I learned the power of my sister’s eye this week as she noticed how, incredibly imperceptibly, my hand or my body shakes when I am dealing with a stressful situation. If you were paying even what you think is close attention to me, you wouldn’t notice. You have to pay attention in the shadow of love, in the ambit of concern, in the hope of help. She noticed. She paid attention. I stopped shaking.

My big sister is a gift for which I am so grateful. We pay for so many things, in monetary terms, that we think will make us happy, or satisfied, or fulfilled. My sister is something that was delivered to me on a “no charge” basis. I am blessed by her love and her attention and her affection. Would that you could have what I have in a big sister.

When I go to bed tonight, I will count my blessings. I will count my big sister, Kerrie, twice.

I have much to be grateful for....

I have decided that I need to write a gratitude journal. It will be a chronicle of all the people in my life and of all the random things in my daily existence of whom or of which I am eternally grateful. The symbol above is the symbol of gratitude. If you are the subject of this post, I offer it to you with an abiding and heartfelt thank you for gracing my life.







To Molly

I am grateful that we gave you a second chance at this life. From a family who, judging from your behaviour, in some parts loved you and in some parts mistreated you, you found your way to our home where there is always only love. Like most dogs, you give much more that you get. For your part, you get attention, walks, and food. For our parts, we get the unconditional feeling of being the most important person on earth during every moment you look into our eyes. You never see – or at least you never comment on – our faults and our failures. You never fail to give us attention and love whenever we seek it. You do much more for us than any other human being is willing to do.

We think of dogs as beneath the intelligent of human beings. But you, Molly, are the epitome of a wonderful teacher:

If a dog were your teacher
These are some of the lessons you might learn...

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face
to be pure ecstasy

When it's in your best interest
practice obedience
Let others know when they've invaded your territory
Take naps and stretch before rising
Run romp and play daily

Thrive on attention and let people touch you
Avoid biting, when a simple growl will do
On warm days stop to lie on your back on the grass
On hot days drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree
When you're happy dance around and wag your entire body

No matter how often you're scolded
don't buy into the guilt thing and pout
run right back and make friends

Delight in the simple joy of a long walk
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm
Stop when you have had enough
Be loyal
Never pretend to be something you're not

If what you want lies buried
dig until you find it
When someone is having a bad day
be silent .....
...sit close by.

...and nuzzle them gently.

Thank you, Molly, for sitting close by and nuzzling me gently on those bad days. For that I am grateful.

I have much to be grateful for....

I have decided that I need to write a gratitude journal. It will be a chronicle of all the people in my life and of all the random things in my daily existence of whom or of which I am eternally grateful. The symbol above is the symbol of gratitude. If you are the subject of this post, I offer it to you with an abiding and heartfelt thank you for gracing my life.

I am grateful that, no matter the reasonableness or rationality of my position, I can be comforted by the fact that my mother watches over me and those she loved. I don’t necessary believe in life after death or in reincarnation, but I do believe that there are angels that watch over us. And my mother, by sheer virtue of the love and attentiveness she gave to us in life, would be assigned one of those angel roles when times of trouble creep insidiously and without warning into my life.

It is so true that tragedy strikes when we are least expecting it. It is equally true that the only thing that gets us through those crises are the support of people who are here and of people who are gone but have left indelible footprints in your heart. Footprints that are indelible because they can never be erased and because you know that the owners will forever walk beside you in spirit if not in reality.

Indeed, my sisters and I often joke about whose life needs more attention at a given time. I am known to tell my sisters to stop asking Mom for her “divine” intervention because it is my turn. As we competed in life over her love and attention, so we “compete” in her death for the comfort she can still deliver in large measure in dark moments.

My cousin and I were speaking about this belief last night. My cousin, who is like a sister to me, “lost” her Mom late last year as I lost mine a decade ago. Her Mom became very much like a mother to be after my Mom passed over. We chuckled over the fact that my Mom and her Mom would be calling together a meeting of those-who-have-left-us to see what intervention they could contribute to help me through this trying time. My cousin freely gave over her need for her Mom’s angel guidance, knowing her Mom’s attention was more desperately needed elsewhere.

As dumb as it may seem, it gave me a sense of comfort that one of my last-decade Moms might be the co-chair of the destiny that could be delivered to me. I have great people on earth to help me through this unexpected journey; I have untold people beyond who are gathering at Mom’s urging. They will not intervene in any material sense, but they will ensure that the “universe” delivers answers to me at the right time.

I freely admit that the notion of a board meeting in another plane with the “agenda of Brenda” is a way out there concept for some people. Nevertheless, it may give me one more hour of sleep in what has been a series of sleepless nights. The measure of that cannot be counted.

I am grateful that my belief in my Mom will deliver yet another hour of comfort.

Take Care of the Little Ones

I have much to be grateful for...

My baby sister has turned fifty. In those years she has lived more life than most of us would live two- or ten-fold. That life has not been easy.

My sister was the victim of a psychopath. I have written about my stepfather before, the man who my mother loved but never really knew. That my little sister was able to rise above his influence and his destruction is a power of example to those who are survivors. Survivors struggle with the awfulness of the reality that the very people who are supposed to love and protect you end up taking advantage of the power they have over you. A power they abuse; a power they exploit; a power that should never have been given to them; a power they don’t deserve; a power that takes a lifetime to dampen its fire.

I cannot tell her story. I can only be witness to her struggles to reclaim herself. I can applaud her for every step she took...even if was at times one step forward and three steps back...to live a more healthy life than what she was set up to live. She was the victim of a set up. And she got out of that. She has wrenched from the demon the reins of her life. She has taken her own control. She has taken command, despite living a life that took away her choices and her autonomy. She knows that there is no person on earth that can write another’s personal biography. If they dare to do so, there is something desperately flawed about them. The certainty that she can be in control of her own life, despite the shadows of the demons, is what will – and has made – my sister free. She can – and she is, despite the despotic influences in her past to the contrary – writing her own script for the future. Today, it has all the hallmarks of a bestseller.

I wish I had taken care of my little sister better when she was young and in the clutch of the demon. I wish I had paid more attention. I wish I had paid attention to what was going on, rather than worrying about my own safety. I wish I could have saved her from the demon and from all the years of devastation his influence would wrought. I wish my time would not have been spent only saving myself from him. I can’t. I can only love and celebrate her today.

My mother loved my little sister. Indeed, I would say she loved her best. My mom waited to take her last breath until my little sister was at her side. It was her dying breath that said “I can only leave this world if surrounded by your love”. My little sister gave my mom a safe passage: You can leave this world knowing you did the very best.

My little sister is living a life where what could previously not be conquered is easily vanquished. Never forgotten, but diminished in power such that it no longer has the force to steal the future. She has succeeded in rendering what I might have thought impossible many years ago: she has shown that the demon we lived with was, all along, so fractured and fragile that – like a puff of smoke – was an irrelevant and worthless being. Power to little ones restored. You, demon of a childhood, are irrelevant, fractured, fragile, worthless, and impotent.

I have learned much from my little sister. I have learned that the real power of a person lies within. She has shown me that life can mirror a fairy tale; you can throw water on the wicked witch and she will melt.

And I am grateful. Happy birthday, courageous survivor. Mom took her last breath in the hope that you would be where you are today. Her last breath was, as she no doubt knew, the most important. Little sister, you are living in the promise of that breath. May it always be so...

A Life Enriched by Coffee not Chocolate

I have much to be grateful for....

I have decided that I need to write a gratitude journal. It will be a chronicle of all the people in my life and of all the random things in my daily existence of whom or of which I am eternally grateful. The symbol above is the symbol of gratitude. If you are the subject of this post, I offer it to you with an abiding and heartfelt thank you for gracing my life.

I have been living the wonderful life. I am so grateful that I have the opportunity to practice what is illusively called “work/life balance”. I am studying and loving it. I am teaching and loving it. I am being a Mom and a Grandma and a Wife and loving it. I am making just enough money to cover my vices and loving it. I am deliberately choosing where to spend my time and attention and loving it. I am not worrying about billable hours; or what time I might get home tonight; or whether I have enough underwear to last me to the next mandatory laundry date; or the eighty other thousand things on my to-do list. More importantly, I can concentrate on the things that draw me into the circle of why I am here -- the unrequited dreams on my bucket list.

Many of you have commented on my writing style and my story-telling ability. For that I thank you. Quite often, something is delivered into my life that says it more poignant and tellingly than ever I could. This story came to me this week and, although it may be somewhat secular (so, substitute your “God”), I want to share it with you:

A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee.

When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress.

Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups...And then you began eyeing each other's cups.

Now consider this: Life is the coffee, the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee that has been provided to us."

God brews the coffee, not the cups. "The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything." Live simply, Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Enjoy your coffee!

A thing well said is a thing enough said.

See you at Tim Horton’s. I'll buy you the coffee; paper cups only.

I have much to be grateful for....

I have decided that I need to write a gratitude journal. It will be a chronicle of all the people in my life and of all the random things in my daily existence of whom or of which I am eternally grateful. The symbol above is the symbol of gratitude. If you are the subject of this post, I offer it to you with an abiding and heartfelt thank you for gracing my life.

To my free bird daughter, Lynn

I used to bristle when people told me that you could never be the same as my own blood-born child, since they said you were my step-daughter. I always thought those misguided people were so wrong. It’s because they never experienced the absolute joy that you brought into each day or understood the immeasurable heartache each time you left to go back to your Mom after a weekend visit with your Dad and I. You were with us every second weekend and for two weeks in the summer and we looked forward to those visits as if we were being blessed with Christmas twenty six times a year. The best present ever.

I have said before that you taught me to be a Mom. I no doubt was never the best at that job but I always tried. Sometimes you were the one to show me the way; other times you bucked back so hard that I knew that somewhere, unbeknownst, I had taken the wrong fork in the road on the tortuous path to being a stepmother. Perchance you forgave me my trespasses; here we are some thirty two years later and I still count the sleeps until I see you again. As I did so many years ago.

I remember your angst, around six years old, when you wondered out loud if it was okay to call me “Mom”. You worried about how your “real” Mom, would feel about it and you asked me for my opinion. Your concern was a harbinger of how you would live your life – putting the soft centres of others ahead of your own needs.

I recall the time that you were trying to figure out, through your childhood lens, how it might be possible for your Mom, and your Dad, and Me, and David to all live together, happily ever after. You asked me if that was possible -- in one place, under one roof -- you would have Christmas everyday in that dream. The best present ever. It was the one thing that I could never give you. But there are many other things that I hope we gave to one another. This post is about what you gave to me.

Because of you, I was able to love your Dad more fervently, more forever. I saw the person your Dad was in the early years, when others were not so sure that he could be a wonderful and healthy person. How could he not be if he had such love in his heart for his daughter? I bore witness to the incredible devotion he had for you. And how you clung to him each time we dropped you off after a visit. You instinctively knew that your Dad needed that extra moment in order to make it through the next countless days, the thousands of moments that he would be without you. You knew the love he harboured in his heart for those who really mattered and your hugs whispered to him that you knew you much you mattered and that you’d be there forever.

Although at times it was heartbreaking for me as I watched how the custody game was played on the stage in our lives – and watched him struggle through his tears after his goodbye hugs with you -- I knew your Dad was the kind of person who would give his heart to someone and then, if it was safe and honoured, would never take it back. I have always shared your Dad’s heart with you; I always knew it could never be wholly mine, and I would not have it any other way. No matter that I had to share that love, it was the best present ever. And, in sharing that love, I was graced with the gift of you.

Fast forward and this many years later, I am so grateful for what you taught me about motherhood, about love, about separation, about longing, about mistakes, about forgiveness, about growth, and about beauty. You have struggled with your own demons, as we all have to do. At this point, demons are losing and you are not allowing them to overshadow the love that resonates in areas of your life where light shines from the people who love you. The light will always overcome the darkness. The light is where flowers grow.

I have watched you lately planting your own flowers and decorating your own soul. I am so honoured to have been a part of the journey and to stand two hands clapping for the wonderful being that is my daughter. I have much to be grateful for. I am thankful that you have shared with me the love of your Dad. But, most of all, that you call me Mom. It is the best present ever.

I love you more today than yesterday. But I will love you more tomorrow. I will always love you, my precious daughter.

With Gratitude,

Mom