A Star is Born

Our biggest joy at Christmas. This takes a minute to load, but it's worth it. In the guitar videos, Ayden and Papa are singing to Molly. In the dancing videos, Ayden is dancing to Usher's "DJ's got us falling in love again" and "OMG".

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Reindeer, Squirrels, and Bears

My Mom used to tell us a story at Christmas time about kids all snuggled tight in their beds, waiting for Santa. At some point in our dreams, so she said, we would hear the sound of reindeer on the roof overhead. Having heard that scurrying of feet over us, we would wake up to the most wondrous things.

I am all grown up now and my precious Mom is gone, long now eleven years. It is never the same at Christmas without her. Nothing glows quite as brightly.

I often wonder how the path of my relationship with my mother might have grown or wandered over the years. We certainly had our troubled times. There were moments, days, years, where we were distant. There were moments, days, years, where we were as close as the next ring of the phone.

Kelly was wrapping a present tonight for the baby of one of her closest friends. The gift was lovely; still, the wrapping was something wondrous to behold. As I remarked on how special she had made the presentation of her love to her friend, she reminded me that she had learned from the best. My mom taught Kelly how to wrap presents. There is love and kindness and joy in each twist of the ribbon. There is thought in the placement of the tape. There is delight in the perfect shine of a gift that is wrapped in love. There is joy.

I want to talk to my Mom about the great things – and the tough stuff-- that has gone on in my life this year. I want her to be my cheerleader once again, the one who believed in me; absolutely in an unqualified faith. I can’t. She’s gone. I can only capture her essence as I gaze upon the gifts that she left behind, like the talent my youngest was taught. Wrapping her love in trails of ribbons.

When my Mom lay dying I bought tiny little bears for my sisters. The bears signified that we were “bearing watching Mom die all for the love of Mom”. This year my bear sat proudly under my Christmas tree. My grandson, Ayden, passed over all the brightly wrapped presents under the tree and picked up the bear. Said, “Grandma, I like this.” “What’s his name”? Although Ayden never knew that my Mom was named “Oma” by her grandchildren, he freely accepted that this tattered bear was named, before his time on this earth, “Oma”. He looked at the bear tenderly and called it “Oma”.

I have squirrels in my attic. As I write this message I am not hearing the sound of reindeer on my roof as my Mom promised me long ago. I am hearing the sound of a squirrel doing untold damage above me. Yet I am choosing not to be bothered with the difference.

It occurs to me that we have that choice. We can believe that our life is blessed with reindeer on our roof or with squirrels in our attic. We have a choice. I am choosing to believe in the hope and the promise of wondrous things. And, truth be told, as I write this sentence, the attic has gone quiet.

May you find joy and love this Christmas season; whether it be Reindeer or Squirrels. My wish is that you turn away from this message from me and give a hug to your loved one. There is wonder in your life today. May you experience that wonder all through the coming year.

Love, Brenda

La Mere; La Bouche

Someone who was near and dear to my heart passed away this year and I missed getting her call on Christmas Day. I thought I would share with you the letter I wrote her as she lay dying in a hospital room in Montreal. I had wanted to say goodbye to her in person but she said she was too sick for anyone other than her daughters to have as a visitor. Then, she changed her mind and asked me to fly down to see her. I did immediately and had a whole day with her before she passed away. She never did get to see this letter -- even though I had it with me, the timing didn't seem right and I felt that my visit with her bespoke all of its contents. Interestingly enough, she did ask me to take care of Colleen, not knowing that I had already made the promise in the letter!

La Mere. If you're reading this in heaven, know how very much you are missed. And say "hi" to Mom for me!!

---------------------

La Mere:

I had hoped to come to visit you this weekend but I completely understand your need to conserve your strength for the days ahead. I am glad to hear that you are in the hospital right now where you will get the medical care and attention that you deserve. It is quite possible that I might not see you again so I wanted to make sure that I communicated with you at least in writing about how very much you mean to me. I appreciate that Colleen will take the time to share this with you.

I don’t remember knowing you all that well when we were growing up. I remember the story about the woman in the red suit and how you dazzled all the Gleason girls on first meeting. Mom loved to tell that story.

I do know how close you and Mom became the years before Mom passed away. I know how much strength you gave my Mom in dealing with all of the difficulties that she faced in her life, even later in life as she faced problems with us kids, worries over the grandchildren, worries about her future, childhood issues that still bothered her, and – sometimes – just the ups and downs of normal life. Her calls with you were one of the highlights of her week. I appreciate you for that, that my Mom had a very loyal and understanding friend.

I know as well how much you helped Maw in dealing with her grief when Mom died. Maw was a very private person but she was able to talk to you with an open heart. Because I became closer to Maw when Mom died – both of us processing our grief together – I know how much your friendship meant to Maw. I am grateful for that.

But mostly I am grateful that you took an active role in my life post-Mom. You checked in with me often in those first couple of months and were so supportive of me, reminding me often of how very much my mother loved me. When I no longer had a Mom who celebrated my accomplishments, who asked after my children, and who hoped my dreams for me, you did a lot in the past ten years to fill that gaping hole that opened for me with the loss of my mother. Words could never express what it meant to me to know that you were there at the end of the phone, or in the midst of a visit, to celebrate my life’s greatest joys or to listen to my life’s simple woes. I will always treasure that about our relationship and remember you for the kind and generous soul you are.

Beyond all that, we could laugh together! La Mere; La Bouche!! You and I have a similar sense of humour and we could enjoy the extremes of life, taking pleasure in conversation that could shock other people with its audacity. I will smile often when I think about how we could laugh together and enjoy the more hilarious side of serious life.

And still beyond all that, you opened the door to many people, giving them permission and encouragement to say “I love You”. The Gleason family was not big on saying those three words. Although we knew we were loved, the words were never quite expressed. You told me you loved me when Mom died and that opened a whole new world of conversation and understanding. And I loved you back, immensely.

You have meant so very much to me and I wanted you to know that. I am hoping that I can see you again and give you a big hug and say “I Love You” in person. If that does not happen, I will be satisfied that I have had this opportunity to let you know that I count myself blessed to have been part of the circle of your love. I will carry that love with me for the rest of my days.

Finally, I wanted to give you a solemn promise that I will “look after” Colleen and that I will be at her side, or on her side, whenever she needs me. I will forever remind her of the love that you have for her. I will be her confidante, her friend, and her adopted sister. Where once you celebrated her life and her accomplishments, I will attempt to fill that void. Where once you worried over her troubles and had great hopes for better days for her, I will carry that burden for you. Although one can never take the place of a mother, I will do for her what you did for me. I promise to fill her world with compassion, and love, and joy, and laughter, as you did for me. She will never be alone.

La Mere, I wish you a safe passage. As you journey on your way from here to meeting up with your very good friends again, I wish you Godspeed. Thank you for all you have done for me in my life and for all the love you have given me.

I Love You.

Brenda


September 28, 2010

The True Meaning of Forever

I've been gone from posting for a few months. It's not because I'm too busy to post; it's just because some rather raw things have been happening that I'm reluctant to post about. Sometimes you have to be careful about baring your soul lest you unintentionally open to the world the wounds and trouble of others. It is not mine to share.

This post is mine to share. To give you context, we took Molly to see her foster parents, Cathy and Paul, at their cottage (the "white house" in the story) on the southernmost shores of Ontario (they are Americans who own cottage property in Canada -- yeay!).

We hoped Molly would remember her "baby" Sweetie (if you read my previous posts, although I've not been able to figure out how to link them here, you will know that Molly was found in terminal straits with her eleven month old puppy, Sweetie).

Things went well at first, until Sweetie got too far into Molly's space and Molly reacted with a "back off" move. However, we enjoyed a delightful time for the rest of the afternoon with both dogs close on leash. Molly "sent" an email to Cathy and Paul to thank them for the visit.

Although this email is about Molly and her foster parents, it is also about celebrating the serendipitous moments in your life. Had we not opened our home and hearts to Molly, we would not have been graced with the chance to open our hearts to Cathy and Paul -- true American heroes. Indeed, I could turn this whole post into a reminder that Canadians and Americans are soul-filled cousins who share the same aims and the same goals -- including a testament to the Western spirit of compassion, empathy, caring, courage, and tolerance. And that is the stuff of heroes. But, I won't do that. Instead, here is Molly's (edited) message to them:

___________________________________________________________________

This is Molly writing. (Well, to be absolutely truthful, it is Brenda writing what she thinks I'm thinking; and I'm thinking she's pretty close)

I really enjoyed my visit today and seeing you and Paul again. I recognized you instantly even though you thought maybe I didn't. You, Cathy, have a particular smell -- like a field of spring flowers after a soft rain. You, Paul, have a smell of the evening sunset on a wide open range. I will never forgot those smells.

You know, even though I was over the top happy, I feel a little badly for today. I wasn't as attentive as I might have been with you after all you went through to save me. You see, when I smelled your special smells, I was worried that my time in Toronto with my Jim was like a summer vacation and now I was being returned. Did you ever go on a summer vacation where you hoped it didn't end? Sure, you loved your home and your parents, but you had so much fun and freedom on the vacation that you wished life would be like that forever? That's what my life with Jim has become -- a forever summer vacation. I don't have to share him with any other dog, and that is important to me. I am the centre of his world. When you are at home, and not on summer vacation, you have to share your parents with your brothers and sisters. When you are on summer vacation, it is all about you and it feels like forever.

I was worried today that "forever" in human speak didn't quite mean "for the rest of your days" in dog speak. I was anxious that you would make Jim go away and not take me -- perhaps you'd tell him to leave quietly through that white house and I would never see him again! That kept me on guard the whole time I was there! You cannot believe how exhausting that was for me; indeed, I slept the whole way home -- a fact that Brenda marvelled at since she and Jim travelled through what she says were "positive walls of rain" for two hours. Brenda calls it "white knuckling" it home. But we got here safe.

And I now know I should have trusted you -- forever is forever!

As for Sweetie, perhaps it didn't go as well as you hoped between us. However, I hope that you realize that Sweetie is now yours and not mine; she always needed to learn how to separate from me so she could bond with people who would really take care of her -- people like you. I think you might not understand that my backing her off today was not being aggressive to her -- it was telling her in dogspeak "you gotta make your own way now, Sweetie. You are grown; you have a good family; you have to leave the nest" I may have hurt her feelings but -- to borrow another human term -- tough love is sometimes the only things that works. Brenda understands -- she told her son to "leave the nest" and he is doing so well now on his own. It hurt her when she had to force him to use his wings but now she delights in how high he can soar. I gave Sweetie her roots; you are now giving her wings. And, as her Mom, I am ever so grateful. Had she regressed in months back to the time where she cowered under me, we both might have lost our forever chances that we have now. I couldn't let that happen. Please don't think ill of me; sometimes you have to do things for your children that feel oh so tough at the time but they end up being the right thing at the right time. Sweetie deserves forever and it is not with me, it is with you.

I eavesdrop on Jim and Brenda's conversations (shhhh, don't tell them!). They spoke for a long time in the car ride back to forever about how much they enjoyed today and how very glad they were to make the trip. They said they were sure we would all be very fast friends if we lived closer together. Of course, they are right. I knew you before they did and I coulda told them that!!

So, on behalf of Jim and Brenda (and please don't be mistaken -- this is not me taking the alpha role in the family, this is just me speaking from the heart), and most especially on behalf of me, thank you for today. For a long long while I never knew what trust was. I wasn't sure if I could trust anything or anyone, cause sometimes things could turn out very badly -- even in a field of spring flowers or while watching a sunset. I just wasn't raised in a place of trust. But, thanks to you, I know trust. I know that spring flowers smell beautiful always and are the softest treasures in the world. I know that sunsets will always bring joy and awe.

More importantly, thanks to you I know that "having a second chance" is another way of saying "forever".

Thank you for forever.

Molly

___________________________________________________________________

Gosh, I Wish You Were Here...

Were you watching today, Mom, as your girls gathered to shower the newest member of the family, Maya, into the fold? I believe you believed in a heaven thereafter and so you might have been looking down today to see Bobby, your first grandchild, with Maya, your first great-granddaughter. Did you see your daughter Kerrie hold Maya so tenderly as you once held Kerrie’s firstborn Bobby those many years ago? Gosh, how I remember how proud you were to be a grandmother - an "Oma" -- for the first time.

I think that if you really are in Heaven, you have the ability to watch many places on Earth simultaneously (sort of like split-screen tv). So, while you were watching Maya being showered into the world by the women, you could also peek at the men who were banished to a local bar. Did you listen in as your grandson Corey gave advice to Bobby on parenthood, Corey having now had two and half years experience? Did you smile as you watched your two grandsons sharing the joy of being called “Daddy”? Did you marvel at the circle of life that you created; the circle that goes on despite the knife-edge gap that you left behind? Gosh, how I remember how you worried whether or not your life would have meaning.

Did you focus in on the moment when your eldest daughter, Kerrie, carried on your tradition? Did you delight in the fact that she made little Maya a knitted sweater and bonnet from a pattern that you left behind when you left us all behind? Did you recognize that Kerrie has the same loving hands that you had, each and every time you welcomed a child into this world with your knitted treasures? Gosh, I remember how your knitted love was what held us together.

Did you see Kerrie crying and telling Maya’s mommy that it was the gift you would have given to little Maya had Maya been graced with you in her world? Did you know that your life would have such an impact on those you left behind? Did you see how each and every woman in that room knew that a gift made by hand, stitch by stitch, row by row, carried love that would last a lifetime and into eternity? Gosh, I wish I could ask you -- Do you know how much you still live on today in our hearts and in our hands.

But, I don’t really have to ask these questions, Mom. I know. You were there today. You were there in Maya's little hands with perfect nails that will one day be painted as you painted ours. People will say to Maya, as they say to your girls and to your girls' girls, and now to your great- granddaughter Maya, "what wonderful nails you have!". Maya will know that you live on. Gosh, Mom, if only Maya will know how your love weaves its way through our family.

The love that you gave lives on, stitch by stitch. Knit, pearl, love.

Gosh, I wish you were here.

Prodigal Talent

Jim has always wanted to have one of his offspring to jam with. And so it is true. To give you context, we are teaching Molly to be comfortable with Ayden -- here Ayden is jamming for Molly.

If you wish it, it will come:

It is treasurable being a grandmother and learning all over again the wonders and tears that come with the presence of little ones in your life. There were tears in my heart for Ayden and for Natasha this week.

Natasha and Corey decided that it would be good for Ayden to go to daycare, primarily for socialization with other children his age. So, this was his first week. And to say it didn't go well is an understatement.

By Tuesday night, Natasha was in almost in tears and clearly distraught. Ayden truly believed that he was being punished and that was why he was being left alone at THAT PLACE. As she took him in for the second day, he started crying. "Whatever I done, I be good now Mommy; whatever I done, I won't do it. I be good. I sorry. I don't want to go. I promise I be good. I sorry, Mommy." My throat is closing up as I hear the pain in Natasha's voice.

Turns out the daycare wouldn't let him have his pacifier when he was put down for a nap. To a two year old new to daycare, being without Mommy at naptime is difficult; being without his pacifier is cruel and unusual punishment. It fact I think I could elevate it to a violation of the baby Charter of Rights and Freedoms!

But this daycare has a one-size-fits-all policy. If one child has a pacifier, the others will want one too (whatever would they do if it was something as heinous as a teddy bear?!!)

I was reminded about how Lynn was forced not to have her pacifier at a young age. She yearned for it at naptime and I wept silent tears with her. Although I respected her mother's desire to wean her from her "security device", I came from the mothering school that held: as long as they are not carrying their pacifier (or bottle or blanket or teddy bear) at their high school prom, let them grow out of it in their own time and at their own pace. Of course, Lynn got back her own by deciding to suck her thumb instead. I am pleased to report she was not sucking her thumb at her high school prom.

And so I tell Natasha to trust her intuition as a mother. She has to trust the small voice inside of her that tells her what to decide about daycare, what to do. A mother's intuition is foolproof. Only you can know your own child, and what is best for him, because he whispered to you for many months from your womb and you have already shared many dreams for and with him.

And if mother's intuition is not enough, just call Jim and listen to his sputtering with anger over HOW ANYONE CAN TREAT HIS GRANDSON SO BADLY!



Lord Byron said about intuition "There is no instinct like that of the heart."


So, trust your collective instincts, Corey and Natasha. And if I am wrong, I sorry.

I Raised You Up

This brought tears to my eyes as I thought of how my children sometimes struggle with their adult lives. I hope that I taught them, either explicity or through example, to walk on stormy seas.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MMTbSTLFL1Y&feature=PlayList&p=B9FED2760B73287B&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=23

Mom, Hard Wired

I was reading a book today about Leadership and the brain that, interestingly, taught me about being a mother. The author talks about his learning about neuroscience and how those insights made him think about fatherhood in a whole new way.

Our brains are complex, dynamic, diverse, and ever changing. Every time we come up against a new experience, our brains draw a map of that experience, using neurons and atoms within the brain to reconstruct the new into the customary. Our brains are like a GPS system, guiding us through the various twists and turns and entrances and exits of each new experience. Once we travel the same distance over and over again, we no longer need to consciously think about how to do something, our brains automatically download a map that instinctively tells us how to react each time the situation is the same or similar to ones we’ve experienced in the past. If the “new” experience is not an exact replicate, our brains compensate by adding new branches for future journeys.

The author talks about how his one year old daughter was learning how to take the stairs. If he didn’t hold her hand, she would tumble down the stairs, and her cries were life knife edges penetrating his heart. So, his brain “learned” him to hold on to her hand as she conquered the stairs, and never again did she fall. His brain gave him a new map to understanding how to be a father with a faltering baby, a neural pattern.

Trinity is his daughter’s name. In a particular poignant conclusion, he states ”When I saw Trinity fall down the stairs, the impact of this experience was strong enough to create what is termed hard wiring in my brain. A specific thought pops up each time I take the stairs with her, and that thought is now a part of my life, a new habit that I live by. This thought is now an automatic function, and in several years’ time, when Trinity is quite adept at taking the stairs, I will probably still feel the urge to take her hand”.

That paragraph brought home a conversation that I had with Kelly this week. I am trying in our conversation to make certain that she is doing okay in California. I keep asking questions about the various areas of her life – apartment, friends, school, Todd, health, money, papers due, teaching, and on and on. She keeps repeating “all’s fine”. I keep asking, probing, penetrating. All’s fine.

Tonight I realized that what I was doing was making sure the baby was going to make it down the stairs okay. Obviously, the stairs she is travelling today are wider, deeper, bumpier, more consequential, and five thousand more miles scarier. And so my brain is ever watchful.

I am happy that my brain is permanently wired so that I will always, always be there for my children. A GPS guiding them home. Whatever staircases life brings them – both on the ups and the downs -- my hand, my heart, and a wired mommy-brain will be at the ready. You may not need that today, baby girl, but if the staircase is ever too daunting, know I will be there with my hand outstretched.

iBrain

Just finished reading a great book by Dr. Gary Small called iBrain. It’s about how “technology’s unstoppable march forward has altered the way young minds develop, function, and interpret information”. Although the “high-tech immersion” of today’s digital generation can “accelerate learning, boost creativity, and enhance IQ”, it also has the potential to lead to “a meteoric rise in attention deficits disorders, increased social isolation, and internet addiction”.

There was a cute story in the book that I wanted to share. It reminded me of Corey and how when he was young he would play video games for hours. I, unlike the mother in the story, didn’t do anything about it...

His skateboard lay on the side of the house, along with his bike, basketball, and soccer gear. Eleven-year-old Ryan hadn’t touched any of it in weeks, maybe months, ever since he’d started playing The Game. He’d race home from school, do a perfunctory job on his homework, and run upstairs to the computer, where he would transform into his Game Identity: Swordsman of Farlander, Protector of the Grand Vision. Many of his friends were online there too, all in their various identities, but Ryan was the god of them all – he had reached Level 10 – and no one else, no matter how many hours they had spent playing The Game, had reached Level 10 yet. Of course, Ryan, or rather the Swordsman, had had to kill quite a few of his friends, capture their treasures, and steal their visions, but that’s how you got ahead in the Game.

During a particularly gory battle with his best friend Dylan’s alter ego Titanus, King of the Mountains, Ryan’s mother came up and said it was dinnertime. Ryan barely acknowledged her; he was so wrapped up in the battle at hand. Killing Titanus would reap a hefty treasure and several visions. The fact that it would devastate his best friend and send him back to Level 1 was irrelevant.

Ryan’s Mom, hating this ridiculous video game and herself for buying it, repeated, “It’s time for dinner. Did you hear me, Ryan?” “Yeah, okay, whatever,” he responded without taking his eyes off the screen or his fingers off the keyboard. Mom: “Maybe you don’t understand me. I mean NOW.” Ryan: “Okay. Right after I kill this guy.” Mom: “No, not after you kill this guy. Now.” She reached down and shut off the computer.

Ryan shrieked, “Mom! What did you do?! I didn’t save my game! I’ll have to back to Level 1! Mom: “I have a better idea. Why don’t you go back to being a normal kid?” As she removed the game’s CD, required for online play, she kissed Ryan’s cheek and said, “Wash your hands, honey, we’re having roast chicken.”

Ryan wailed, “I’m the Swordsman!”

Mom smiled, “Great. You can slice the chicken.”

Gee, perhaps Corey has some skills – liked the Swordsman of Farlander – that I haven’t yet tapped into!...

Rub your Cheek for Forgiveness

It is always striking to me when I am learning something new and then have an unexpected event occur that demonstrates the power of what I am learning. As part of my Masters in Law, I am learning all about the brain and it how processes rational thought and emotion. I read the other day how children do not really develop their full rational ability to reason (left brain) until somewhere around the age of five; most of the time they deal with everyday life using their emotional lens (right brain). Ask any mother of a two year old and she’ll tell you that, without having studied brain science.

The example struck home yesterday. We had a family dinner where Lynn brought her dog, Gatsby, with her and Molly met Gatsby. By any stretch of the imagination, it did not go well. They ended up being in a dogfight with each other and, had it continued, Gatsby would have been on the losing end.

Rather than allowing that to happen, we put Molly in her crate in the kitchen. At one point, Ayden heard Molly whimpering. He said, “Listen, Molly crying”. “Gamma (that’s me), come see”. I took Ayden to the crate and told him that Molly was in there because she had been fighting with Gatsby. Molly was having a “time out”.

Ayden understands “time outs” because he gets them if he does something bad. In order to get out of a time out, Natasha insists that Ayden say he is sorry. Ayden has a habit of softly stroking his cheek at the same time he is saying “I sorry, Mommy”. Indeed, before he could really talk, his way of saying sorry was to stroke his own cheek.

So he started talking gently to Molly through the bars of the crate and was saying "Say 'sorry' Molly" and trying to show her how to rub a cheek. He seemed to believe that Molly wasn't coming out of the crate because she wasn't performing the "stroke cheek" trick. He kept trying to teach it to her through the bars.

When Gatsby left, I told Ayden that all Molly had to do now to get out of the crate was “sit” (at this point she was standing) instead of stroking her cheek and she could get out of the time out. Of course, Molly did the sit on command and Ayden was delighted to release the lock on the pen! Molly immediately scooted past Ayden and found Jim's lap and affection. Ayden was comforted that Molly was again happy.

Empathy is an emotion that comes out of right brain thinking. What a delight to see a little human being practicing empathy with a four-legged friend. Would that we all were like that!

It was once said: “In early childhood you may lay the foundation of poverty or riches, industry or idleness, good or evil, by the habits to which you train your children. Teach them right habits then, and their future life is safe.”

From his two-year old foundation, Ayden is making the world – and one little Australian Cattle Dog – happier, with compassion and forgiveness.

Welcome to My Emotional Brain

I am reading these days about the new discoveries in neuroscience, the study of the brain. It’s a fascinating area of study and it solidifies my long belief that individuals don’t always act rationally; sometimes your emotions – or your gut – kicks in to tell you when a decision feels right, even if it isn’t wholly rational.

As I was reading a great book yesterday, I was thinking about the decision to adopt Molly. If I were using the rational part of my brain, I likely would not have set in place the wheels of adoption. After all, she has no known background, having been surrendered for a specious reason to a high kill shelter. A dog with no known background is a risky venture. She has had heartworm, a disease in dogs that might cause complications and, at minimum, requires lifetime medication and diligence. She has fear aggression, brought on by abuse that she suffered at the hands of reprehensible humans. I didn’t know how she would be around children, and I worried about her with Ayden, my beloved grandson. All I knew about her was the words on a website that is designed to “market” dogs and from foster parents who were strangers.

With all the love and empathy I had for Jim, I knew how much he was heartbroken over Suzie and wanted a new companion. I have to say here, I think I am a good companion; however, I don’t follow him around constantly, lay by a blanket at his feet while he plays guitar, or am constantly ready for a cuddle or a belly rub.

Jim wanted a new dog. He visited shelters and online sites. I gently suggested that a new Suzie would come in time, with serendipity and grace. We didn’t have to rush; the “universe” would show us when it was time. He thought I was half (well, maybe, completely) crazy.

And then there was Molly. Her story on the Black Dog Second Chance Rescue tugged at the emotional part of my brain. Although I processed the rational cautions, I paid attention to the part of my brain that said “she feels right”. I paid attention to the part of my brain that listened to the underlying love in the messages that her foster mother sent to me by email or my phone, all the while that she was giving me rational cautions about what might not be right with Molly. Empathy won over reason.

Molly has scored a perfect 10 (indeed a perfect 20) in the week that we have had her. She is all that we would want in a canine companion and more. Despite the arguments that warred through my rational brain, I have been proven wrong time and time again in the last eight days about her. My emotional brain was absolutely correct.

Yesterday I was listening from the living room to Jim talking to Molly downstairs. He was saying to her how they were both “second chance” situations. I didn’t know – and I didn’t ask – whether Jim believes his second chance was his sobriety through Alcoholics Anonymous or his “triumph” over kidney cancer. What was fascinating to me was the connection that he and Molly have over the fact that had sympathetic and empathetic humans not intervened, they would not have had the second chance. And had those humans acted perfectly rationally (remember, I was told that I should run away from having a life with Jim), neither of them would have had a “second chance” at the happiness and contentment they feel today. Reason would have hijacked Emotion.

And so I am affirmed in the belief that sometimes we pay too much attention to rationality and too little attention to emotion, empathy, and altruism. Reason doesn’t give a second chance. Rationality, the product of reason, is a crude and cruel discerner. Emotion (or the gut instinct that says “this feels right”) can be the best choice.

I am grateful in my life that I intuitively listened to my emotional brain. As I sit here writing this, Molly is lying at Jim’s feet listening to him play a love song.

And I think of the quote by Blaise Pascal that, loosely quoted, reminds us that the Heart has its reasons that Reason cannot know.

I am grateful that I made the decision about Molly with my emotional brain, the one that sends a welcome message to my heart.

I am No Longer Afraid

My name is Sister. And I have been afraid for most of my life. I am a dog.

Three human years have passed since I was born. I do remember there was a time just after I was born that I felt safe. I was sheltered by my “mother”, she would let me suckle and she would bathe me and correct me gently when I did something wrong. I had brothers and sisters and I learned to play and romp with them, all the while knowing that my mom was there to supervise and correct lovingly when any of us stepped out of line. I learned from my brothers and sisters about the right way to play; if I bit them out of excitement or fear or bullying, they would ignore me until I learned that it was much more fun to be playing than be ignored. I belonged. I was part of a pack of animals that were learning and growing and loving life together.

And then they were gone.

I am in a place called Kentucky now. I’m not sure about this. I can’t figure out how to behave in the way that is expected. It is different for me and so I am anxious to do the right thing. But, there is no mom to show me. I have one very big thing (a “human” I am told is the right word) that is gentle and kind and shows me what behaviour will get treats and food. There is another big thing (a Man “human” I am told) that is not so gentle. He will kick me if he is unhappy with me; he will chase me with a stick; he will lay that stick hard against my fur and my face.

I am so confused. And I am afraid.

The more I try to please, the less that I do right. Even if I try to skitter or skulk away, I am chased by this Man human. And it hurts.

There are smaller humans here. I have to curb my natural, inbred instincts not to herd them into a group and nip at their heels. They seem to be good to me. They touch me in places that feel like my mom’s touch. But they are afraid of the Man too. Often, they will sneak away to feed me treats and pat me even though I am in this cold basement place the Man throws me into. The feeling the little humans give me – it feels like the feeling that I had with mom. But, we are so careful not to be seen. It will not be a good thing for either of us if the Man sees. The energy around us is fear.

And I am afraid.

I am too young to have puppies. But, because of instincts and circumstances, I am left to breed three times in two years. I hope it makes these humans happy; I am trying so desperately to figure out how I fit in here. But it is exhausting for me. I am tired all the time. I am stressed out from this constant needing of these pups when I am going without myself. I am running on instincts and I am praying that my instincts are correct; else I will feel the power of that kick; the force of that anger; the isolation of that basement. I am fearful that everything I am doing is wrong.

And then they were gone.

I am alone. I am sitting on a cold concrete floor and there are many other unfamiliar sounds and sights around me.

I am afraid.

I want the human that was gentle and kind; I miss the little humans who braved their fear to give me attention. The kicking, chasing, unhappy human is better than this. I am in a cage. I don’t regret the past, and I don’t worry about the future. I am a dog, after all. Dogs don’t fret over the past or agonize over the future. We have our memories, of course. I remember how my mom adored me; I remember the fun and frivolity of my brothers and sisters; I remember the loving and kind humans. But, they are gone. And what is this?

I am alone with my fear.

One day I am picked up out of this place. I am taken in a moving thing to a place that is called New York. I hear the cage people call the human in the moving-thing “Molly”. I don’t know where I am going.

I am afraid.

And now I am sick. There is something wrong in my heart. I feel like I can’t breathe; like something is choking me. I hear the human things call it heartworm and speak about how I might die. I don’t know about dying. If it brings me back to that place with mom, it’s okay. I want to feel loved, and licked, and corrected, and playful, and safe.

I am afraid.

And now I am with humans called Cathy and Paul. They have to take care of me as I fight the heartworm. I am caged most of the time for my safety, but these humans come around to talk to me in a voice that is soothing and warm. They don’t have a basement, so I think I am safe. The Cathy one reminds me of my mom as she strokes me gently and tells me how good I am. I like her words. The Paul one is a little intimidating for me – he is a Man human and so I am afraid. But I feel some sort of gentle energy coming from him. One day he gets too close to me and I instinctively nip out like I’m supposed to. I immediately know I am wrong doing that; Cathy is not happy and Paul is devastated. Once again, I am confused. I don’t figure out that he doesn’t mean to hurt me like the Man did. I have to learn that there are good Humans in this place, like Cathy and Paul. I feel like I’ve come home again, to my mom. To where I am safe.

And so, they give me a new name: Molly Jo. I know the new name fits me. It is a name that speaks of hope and love and being safe again. Leave Sister behind with all her fears. Molly Jo, you belong.

And then we are on the move again.

I am afraid.

We are going across something called a border. We are going to Canada.

Cathy and Paul leave me with new humans called Jim and Brenda. I am so distressed as Cathy and Paul leave in the moving thing. I was almost there, back to mom, with the Cathy and Paul life. I can feel the energy that is coming from Cathy and Paul (in human-speak, they are “in tears”). I know they are kind and gentle. And so, why am I leaving them?

I am afraid.

Jim and Brenda are kind, and affectionate, and loving. They leave with me with my grief over Cathy and Paul. They don’t make me do things; they feed me and give me love and take me for walks. They know it is going to take some time for me to get used to yet another strange place with strange humans. They have a basement but it feels and smells differently than the basement of my tortured memory. There is no kicking; there is no yelling; there is no abuse. I have learned that Jim's basement holds music and comfort and warmth.

Brenda tells me that Cathy and Paul gave me to them because this is my forever home; and they have given me the very best thing. She said that what they gave me is their job and they have done a good job. I feel an energy again that speaks to me of full body rubs, just like my mom used to do. Cathy and Paul have done that for me and it is more than any dog could ever hope for, after my journey.

I am afraid but now I have hope.

I have been given a second chance.

I am a blue heeler. I am from Kentucky. I am a girl.

That makes me a Blue Kentucky Girl.

Blue is a supposedly a sad colour in the human world. But, Blue is a colour that defined my world and I am proud to have overcome the worst of it. And I feel grateful for those that looked beyond and saw that I could learn, that I could give and feel love, and be a good companion, and learn to live with the humans.

Thanks to them

I am no longer afraid.

I am a dog. My name is Molly Jo.

Everyone Deserves a Second Chance

“She was on death row. She sat in a cold shelter kennel, on the concrete floor, watching; waiting; as others were taking from their kennels and adopted. She never thought her day would come. And it wouldn't have, if it weren't for Black Dog Second Chance Rescue Organization. We absolutely love the cattle dog breed- they are often misunderstood- all they really want is to please their owners. And when their owners turn them into the scary shelter, they become confused. Molly was no exception. She was confused. And sick. She had heartworm.”

Those anonymous words tugged at my heart as I read them. I was cruising the internet to see if I could find a dog to replace the hole that Suzie left in Jim’s heart. Every time Jim looked at a dog since Suzie went to the Rainbow Bridge, I felt the heartfelt truth of the saying: Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.

And, so it was to be. A three-year old Australian Cattle Dog named Molly Jo (“Molly” for short). She came to the Black Dog Second Chance Rescue Organization (BDSC) in Amherst, New York, via Kentucky. She was in a “high kill” shelter when the BDSC rescued her. She was taken in by two loving foster parents and received all the medical treatment, love, and attention necessary for her to regain her health and her esteem.

However, the BDSC doesn’t allow dog adoptions outside a 45 minute radius of Buffalo. This is not bureaucracy or isolationism; this is to ensure that the dog remains within a radius where, if the adoption doesn’t work out for some reason, the new owner can return the dog safe into the arms of BDSC who will try again and again to find the dog a forever home that is just right.

Nevertheless, I thought I would take a chance. Taking a chance would be true to one of my life mottos, courtesy of the hockey-great Wayne Gretzky: “We miss 100% of the shots we never take.”

Fast forward and we were approved for a home visit, to ensure that Molly and we would feel comfortable with each other, and BDSC would feel comfortable that Molly was going to a good home. Molly’s foster parents even offered to make the two and a half hour trip to Toronto for the welcome visit! How very kind and generous we felt them to be.

At 11:00 this morning, a car drove up to the front of our house. Jim was so excited he was like a kid on Christmas morning. Up the walk came two of the most special people on earth, Cathy and Paul, Molly’s foster parents. Both of them were crying as they led Molly to our door. They had fallen so in love with the little girl dog that they were heartbroken to leave her. Hugs between virtual strangers were exchanged, in the spirit of love and kinship for a little dog who deserved a second chance in this life.

As I sit writing this, Molly is slowly becoming used to us, although she spends most of her time at the door waiting for Cathy and Paul to return. It will take her a few days to get used to us and to recognize that being in our home, where there are hearts full of love, is her blessed second chance. Less than eight hours later, she is giving Jim and I tentative kisses, proving truth in the wonderment: “Who knew that dog saliva could mend a broken heart?”

We are grateful to BDSC and to Cathy and Paul, angels on earth, for giving us a chance to show Molly that the world is a loving and safe place.

And to Molly, thank you for today. Thank you for starting to heal the wounds of a broken heart.