The Power of Love

As parents we may be blessed with a moment in which we feel that the children we gently shepherded through childhood will grow up exactly as we wish them to be. To be generous; to be caring; to empathize; and to have deep respect for the sorrows of others.

Jim and I had just that moment yesterday. Kelly had called immediately last Thursday when she got the message that Suzie had crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. She knew her Daddy would be in emotional pain and she wanted to offer whatever words of comfort she could.

She reminded Jim of the time when one of Kelly’s childhood dogs, Cotton, died. Her Daddy consoled her by telling her that all dogs go to heaven. Heaven was a wonderful place for a dog, a place where dogs were free, and healthy, and happy. And she wanted Jim to believe that of Suzie.

A few days later, a package came to the door. In it was a gentle gift from Kelly to her Daddy. In the package was the DVD Disney movie of All Dogs Go to Heaven. And in that moment, we were reminded of the enduring value of the lessons that we pass on to our children, but more so about the empathy and compassion of our youngest one. Suzie had handed us an after-life gift; the gift of once again recognizing the riches granted to us in sharing our world with Kelly.

We miss Suzie even more than we thought we would. Jim has lost his shadow adventurer. As Jim wanders through the house, I can viscerally sense something missing. I am looking in vain for Suzie at his heels. I feel fresh pain when I go to bed at night and Suzie is not lying trustfully and vigilantly on the floor beside the bed. If I have to get up in the middle of the night, I sigh with the recent memory of having to step around her sleeping form. She always woke up to make sure that I was okay and she stayed awake until I was back safely in bed in Jim’s arms. I dread leaving the house, only to come home and not see her waiting at the window wagging her tail and straining toward the moment when we would be back together in love. I asked Jim to vacuum the house yesterday in anticipation of company, and my spirit broke because I knew he would have to face the visible loss of Suzie as he would have to erase the last traces of Suzie in the hair she left behind in the corners of our house, and in the corners our hearts.

We gained so much by having Suzie; we have lost countless more in the silence of her absence.

My sister sent me something today about the purpose of dogs. It is a story that could be about Suzie and I wanted to share it with you:

A Dog's Purpose (from a 6-year-old).

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife Lisa, and their little boy Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker’s family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's Death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.

Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, ''I know why.''

Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. It has changed the way I try to live.He said, “People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?''

And Shane continued, “Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long.''

Thank you, Suze, for staying as long as you did. I will see you once again in the wee hours of the morning, on your blanket at the end of the bed. You may be merely a shadow image, but I will feel the love. I will return to bed drawing Jim closer into my arms, because that's what you would want for your buddy.

And thank you Kelly, and Shane, for reminding us of the power and purpose of man’s bestest friend.

And Finally, A Good News Story...

Sometimes Kelly, who is a devoted follower of my blog, says that my stories depress her with their crushing sorrow. Too true; I lay my heart bare quite often and I invite you into that scary place. Nevertheless, as I am in a state of pain today I thought it might be good for me if I told you a happy story.

I have written about Tracy before. You will find stories on my blog about my childhood friend who was murdered. (A note to file: I will really have to ask Corey how to link back for your convenience!)

In a strange twist of fate, one of my blog entries found their way into the heart of a young woman who grew up in Tracy’s neighbourhood. Indeed, her mother was pregnant with her when Tracy was murdered. The remnant terror that Tracy’s killer wrought on many more innocent victims, such as my new online friend and her mother, was palpable in her originating message to me. It is fair to say that many people grew up in the sinister shadow of Tracy’s death.

So, we begin an online friendship, sharing preliminary information about each other and with me struggling to explain Tracy to her. We make an immediate connection at a level that comes directly from the heart. We start to talk like we have known each other for a long time and in a place that shares through healing.

I’m explaining to my sister, Joanne, about this new friendship. Of course, Joanne is a teacher and is well versed in how the internet can be used for nefarious means. She asks me how I will know that this faceless person is not the murderer disguised as an online friend. Fair enough. I assure Joanne that I have enough details to check out the person and verify her identify. I tell Joanne that, although I treasure her “caredness” toward me, her big sister, I am mature enough to cross the cavern between internet fantasy and living reality.

And I find out through my online friend that her husband has the same concerns. What if I am the murderer and I’m trying to wipe out anyone’s memories so I am never caught out? Worse still, what if I am stalking a new victim? Fair enough, I understand that concern since my sister has the same caution.

We both appreciated the people in our lives that have our safety at heart and we love them more for it. However, we had already built a climate of trust and sharing that gently rebuffs but ultimately transcends their cynicism about reaching out to a stranger on the internet.

My cyber friend delivers me a precious gift; one that she could not have known would open a door of understanding into my world. I was telling her about how my life turned around in a very painful year of high school when I turned against my “loser crowd” and spend countless lonely moments in a place of not belonging. She makes the connection – undetected by me in over thirty years – that my life fundamentally changed in the school year right after Tracy was murdered! I now had fresh understanding of why Tracy’s death was monumental in my life. It was not merely about the tragedy over losing a friend, it was about how that heartbreak wove strands through my life, a life that very well could have dwelled in the neverland of losers.

In the far reaches of my heart, I always yearned to fill the need to honour Tracy.

I could have been one of the rabbles. Because of Tracy, I was now one of the riches. I owed Tracy that. And my online friend delivered me that unpanned gold. She made that connection.
Had we listened to our well-intentioned cynics in our world, I would never have been given this gift.

More important, Tracy’s life would never have been celebrated for what she meant to the future of friends and strangers, unborn at the time she was taken from our lives. Who knows what I might have been like had I not made the switch from loser to winner in the year of Tracy’s death? Perhaps the world might not have been graced by the “products of my success”; my relationship with my husband, my children, my friends.

And my new Tracy-friend holds her children a little tighter because she grew up in the missing-Tracy world. And her children are more treasured for that empty space; they know a love that is borne of a tragedy and delivered from a grace. And her husband is a presence in my friend's world that Tracy would never know, and so my friend holds her husband in her heart with a Tracy love. A Tracy kind of love.

I know Tracy would be proud. When next I meet with my new cyber friend, Tracy will be sitting in our presence. Tracy loved people. And she would love this story.

This has taught me that we cannot shy away from strangers. We can be wary; we can be vigilant. Those are good things. But if we are too careful, we will miss the gold that comes our way. Thank you for the gold, my new friend. Tracy is gone, but you are not. The riches of the friendship I may have mined through Tracy live on through your grace.

And through the grace that Tracy left in my life. And through the grace of Tracy that will never die.

Over the Rainbow Bridge

Suzie crossed over the Rainbow Bridge this morning. We knew she was going to; she could barely breathe or move yesterday and it looked and felt like it was her time. She went with lots of love and many refrains of "you're such a good girl". She crossed over with tears on her shoulder, as Jim wept knowing that he was losing a fellow adventurer, a devoted fan, a best friend.

She's with Karen now.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigour. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

We’ll meet you on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, Suzie, knowing you will have crossed over with your first love, Karen. Thank you for the grace you brought into our lives, the joy of your greetings at the door each time we returned home, the cuddles, the adventures, and the unforgettable love. Thank you for allowing us to be your friends until it was time for you to be with Karen again.

As Jim and I sat in tears this morning, I asked him if it was worth having you in our lives only to have to feel this aching grief a too-short fourteen months late. Without hesitation, we both agreed that you were the perfect image of the proverb “It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all”. Our lives were blessed by you. Our gripping sorrow is a lasting tribute to that blessing.

We will see you again, Suzie Q.

Be the Best of Whatever You Are

I am reading a book by Martin Luther King Jr., called Strength to Love. I came across a passage that spoke to my wandering soul and I wanted to relate it for you almost in its entirety. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, and that it fills your thoughts for a few minutes. [Note that he wrote this in 1959 and exclusive reference to “men” merely reflects society at the time.]

"We are challenged on every hand to work untiringly to achieve excellence in our life work. Not all men are called to specialized or professional jobs; even few rise to the heights of genius in the arts and science; many are called to be labourers in factories, fields, and streets. But no work is insignificant. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence...This is what Douglas Mallock meant when he wrote:

If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill
Be a scrub in the valley – but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill,
Be a bush, if you can’t be a tree.

If you can’t be a highway, just be a trail
If you can’t be the sun, be a star;
It isn’t by size, that you win or fail –
Be the best of whatever you are.

Set yourself earnestly to discover what you are made to do, and then give yourself passionately to the doing of it."

I know some people who give themselves passionately to life. I know many others who are so stressed out that they give so little. I strive to be one of the former. And the best of whatever I am.

Martin Luther King Jr.’s passage reminds me of one of my favourite sayings “Reach for the Moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the Stars.”

If you don’t reach the moon, may you land softly on the star that shines for your life. All the best.

A Mommy Who Took Good Care

In another twist of fate, one of my new friends in the Masters at Law program is a great and gentle guy called Frank Gomberg. As we conversed, I learned that Frank was a friend of my colleague at law school, Sharon Shore. I, of course, knew Sharon’s tragic story about her daughter Lisa and had read her touching and yet scary book on the events that led to Lisa’s death at ten years of age. Frank offered to give me another copy of the book so I could read it again.

And so, I read “No Moral Conscience” again. I read it over two days as I subwayed downtown and home for this week’s classes. I wonder what the other subway travellers thought when they saw tears streaming down my face as I read Lisa’s father, Bill’s, poignant eulogy of his only girl!

I sent Sharon an e-mail after I finished the book and it reflects what you too would feel if you hear the story:

I wanted to tell you that I hold you and Bill in the highest estimation for all you went through at getting at the truth for Lisa and what happened to lead to her death. I cannot imagine the pain that you felt each and every moment during that journey; but as a mother I would hope I would have the same strength, persistence, and fortitude to face up to the incredible obstacles that you had to overcome. As I was reading the book and thinking about the years of fighting for Lisa and the years of having to overcome the vengeance of the guilty (eg your delayed call because of the "good character" hearing), I couldn't help but think that you were continuing to live the penultimate compliment that Lisa gave you on the last night of her life -- 'You take such good care of me, Mommy'. You did, you continued to do so in her memory, and you do that today. One cannot hope for a better Mommy.

Thank you for sharing your story with me through your book.

It is tragic that Sick Kids failed Lisa and her family, through the admitted negligence of the nurses. I had held Sick Kids in the highest regard because they actually saved my little sister from the negligence of the then Branson Hospital. Branson was giving my sister medication that was actually making her worse and, hours away from death, a nurse friend of my mother’s intervened and got Valerie transferred to Sick Kids. The doctors at Sick Kids diagnosed the problem immediately and corrected the killer medication with antidotes. Had they not done that, as we were told back then by my Mom, Valerie would have surely died at Branson.

And yet, here is the same situation but Sick Kids is now the negligent party. It takes away my wholesale esteem of Sick Kids, but more importantly it reminds me that the care you receive is wholly dependent on the human beings who are dispensing that care.

I plan to take that lesson forward in my life. We have to be especially vigilant and diligent in questioning medical care issues.

But most of all, we have to take “such good care” of our family and friends. We owe it to Lisa. If her death taught us anything, it should teach us that.

I was telling a friend the other day about a wonderful passage from "Have a Little Faith" by Mitch Albom where the characters are talking about the worst part of dying. Beyond knowing what lies beyond this life, one of the most tangible fears is the fear of being forgotten.

Lisa, your mommy who always takes "good care" of you has made sure that you will never be forgotten.

Seeking Grace

I was sitting in class on Friday when I happened to check my e-mail at the noon break. Bad news on the internet highway: our friend Jeff Graham had lost his battle to his brain tumour.

Grammy, as he was known to his friends, fought the battle long and hard, beating back the tumour on a number of occasions. He delighted in his life, in his beloved wife Susan, and in his two children. He seemed to be the happiest man on earth despite the fact that he was living with a virtual ticking time bomb in his head.

I could barely keep it together during the afternoon. There were many times when the silent tears would start flowing down my face. I know that my colleagues at the table were watching me closely and they agonized over what they could do to help. Up to that point they’d known me as always laughing and positive; all of a sudden, my face looked like the sunshine had been stolen from the day. They gently suggested that I go home.

But I wanted to stay. Holding it together was a way of honouring Jeff. I remembered his e-mail to me when I was called to the Bar:

“My hope for you, is that you continue to challenge yourself, and that you give it all you got in achieving them. But most importantly, while completing these tasks, keeping the most important things front and centre, and that is "your family and friends." Thank you so much for what you do for me...”

Jim and I spent some time that evening remembering Jeff and honouring all the memories. Most importantly, Jim sang songs that used to delight Jeff (he was a huge John Denver fan) and that reflected the love that Jeff had for Susan and his kids.

Jeff’s favourite song was “Rocky Mountain High”. As Jim sang the familiar words, tears coursed down my face; they were such a fitting testament to Grammy:

He climbed cathedral mountains,
he saw silver clouds below,
saw everything as far as you can see.
And they say that he got crazy once and that he tried to touch the
sun, and he lost a friend, but kept his memory.
Now he walks in quiet solitude, the forest and the stream,
seeking grace in every step he takes,
his sight is turned inside himself, to try and
understand, the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake.

Jeff’s brain tumour meant that he had to walk in “quiet solitude” as few could understand what living with the constant threat would be like. Yet, he sought grace in every step he took and he taught many of us what living with grace was all about.

I will miss you, Grammy. We’ll sign off -- until we meet again -- with your signature goodbye to me:

Be Well and Take Care.