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

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 Country and my Fellow Citizens

I have been glued to the internet watching the chaos unfold in Egypt over the past week. And it reminded me of how very fortunate and grateful I am to be a Canadian and live in Canada. As we grumble about our cold winters, our politicians, our taxes, and our scandals, we fail to take in the positives of residing in a country that has much to offer. Sure, we can do a better job on poverty, health care, public transportation, and crime. Nevertheless, a Country, similar to any human being, is not perfect. We can strive to make changes but we have much to celebrate already.

1. I live in a Country that has a national average daily income of $172.53 CDN, not $2.00 US like Egypt does. Although I accept many people are below the poverty line in Canada, the majority of us would think nothing of buying a $2.00 cup of coffee at our favourite coffee shop and not worrying whether that “luxury” means our children will go hungry yet another day.

2. I live in a Country where the unemployment rate is between 7% and 8%, not 95% like Zimbabwe or 35% like Afghanistan. My Country has government programs and benefits, shelters, and foodbanks that allow us to maintain at least a minimum standard of living. I live in a Country where no-one dies of starvation because they couldn’t get a meal.

3. I live in a Country that values and promotes freedom of speech. I can’t fathom a world where the media is all state-run and messages are sanitized to fit the political will of an autocracy.

4. I live in a Country that values diversity and that does not sanction exclusion merely because you choose to associate with people outside of your race, your religion, or your sexual orientation.

5. I live in a Country where there is no-fault divorce. Should I happen to fall in love with a married man, he is not at risk of being stoned (that is killed by stones, not drugged – see we can’t easily grasp the concept) for eschewing his arranged marriage in favour of his voluntary love for me.

6. I live in a Country where disasters rarely strike and, when they do, the communities surrounding us band together to help us through. I can’t comprehend living in a country like Pakistan where they are allowing their flood victims to live ten to a tent, in mud, despite all of the foreign aid that has poured into the country.

7. I live in a Country where the Army is rarely called in to restore peace because the police are so vilified that the public don’t trust them. (Okay, the army is sometimes called in for snowstorms in Toronto by panic-stricken politicians!) G20 protests aside, in our Country people cry collectively for a police officer killed in the line of duty because we know he died protecting us.

8. I live in a Country that has free medical care. Not even the United States, our cousin to the south, can lay claim to that.

9. I live in a Country that is not hated by the rest of the world. I can attest to that from my travels; if you wear a Canadian flag you are greeted warmly. When I visited NATO, it was clear the Canadian personnel are acknowledged as the peacekeepers, not the aggressors.

10. I live in a Country where I don’t go to sleep at night wondering whether there can be a better life for my children and my grandchildren. I know that they will have many opportunities to do even better in their lives that I did in mine.

Every Saturday at the seniors’ residence, we end the show with the singing of O Canada. Residents struggle from their wheelchairs to stand for the song and for our Country. Those who physically can’t stand place a hand over their heart. With my fellow Canadians every Saturday I am reminded of how thankful I am to live in Canada – glorious, strong, and free.

With Gratitude,

Brenda

Silent Gratitude isn't much use to anyone

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 wonderful husband, Jim:

When I was young I know I dreamed of a Prince Charming that would be at my side to the end of my days; one who would set me up in a castle of dreams and surround me with love the colour of a rainbow. You were an unlikely prince charming. You came with baggage, debt, and a disease that almost ate away at our love for each other. And, yet, here we are so many years later. I feel like I have found the Rainbow I dreamed about so long ago.

There is absolutely no doubt that we have struggled with our love affair. There were many times when we grew apart. There were menacing moments when I left you to follow a different version of what my life could be like. You always stayed by my side. No matter how angry or disappointed you were that I was leaving the castle of dreams that you were building, you always welcomed me back. You gave me the freedom to figure out that the home I had always been looking for would be found within the circle of your arms.

I am most grateful that you allow me to follow my dreams and to write my own biography. You know how very much it means to me to be exactly who I want to be, even if that means giving up a big salary, or other meaningless trappings, in favour of pursuing unspent dreams.

You also understood that I want my life journey to be all about “she made a difference to me”, so that every reader of my epitaph might reflect and remember a time when I said or did the very thing that made a difference in their life. Though it frustrated you at times that I offered too much in generosity to others, you gave me space to travel the path that I set out for myself. Even though you chastised me for my giving too much, you found so many other ways to tell me you were proud that I am who I am.

I am honoured to love someone who has faced their own demons, who has conquered an unbelievable insidious and terrifying dis-ease. I marvel at how you deliver your personal message of hope to others who are trying to overcome their demons.

I watch how you make a difference to each and every person you encounter. I secretly smile inside as I witness the many smiles that you leave in your path through life. The day is always brighter for people who have the fortune of your attention.

I am unbelievably thankful to have you as the father of our three children. I know that you are a living example to them; a testament to the belief that one can overcome the worst of obstacles and can be a better person who rises from the ashes of life. I am witness to the love that you have for them. I wish they only knew how very fortunate to have been borne your child.

I am grateful to be your partner in life. Thank you for the castle that you have built, that you have fortified, and that you have preserved for me brick by loving brick. Thank you for making my childhood dreams a reality.

I love you more today than yesterday. But I will love you more tomorrow. I will always love you.

With Gratitude,

Brenda

Life as a Game

I have often wondered if I would have made different choices had I known what I know now and could live my life over again. The most poignant question would involve the decisions that I have made as a mother. Being a mother is the most important, the most affirming, and yet the most daunting "job" that I have ever had.

I was reading a book this week by Jodi Picoult called Handle With Care. A mother is having to decide whether to launch a lawsuit for wrongful death. Her little girl, perhaps because of the negligence of the pediatrician, has a rare bone disease that renders her bones as brittle as fallen autumn leaves under your feet. Quite conceivably, the pediatrician should have identified the problem in vitro and other choices might have been made. The first problem is not the lawsuit; the problem is that the pediatrician is the mother's best and dearest friend. The worst problem is that the mother has to call her own beloved daughter's death "wrongful".

The following quote from the book shook me hard. The lawyer who is handling the case (who had been adopted and was pining to know more about her birth mother) is pondering on the cost of decisions that a mother has to make.

I figured there was one seminal moment when a woman realized what it meant to be a mother. For my birth mom, maybe it was when she passed me to a nurse and said good-bye. For the mother who’d raised me, it was when she sat me down at the kitchen table and told me that I had been adopted. For your mother, it was making the decision to file this lawsuit in spite of the public and private backlash. Being a good mother, it seemed to me, meant you ran the risk of losing your child.

I have done things, even as late as this year, where I ran the risk of losing a "child" (the child is now an adult but is nevertheless my child). I hope the risk has been a loving one because it came from my best judgment and my most fervent hopes. Things have worked out well; the risk was worth the rewards. The rewards are not designed for me, but for those for whom I took the risk.

I bought myself an IPad this year. As part of my downtime, I play Solitaire. This particular version will warn you after a chosen move that the game is "not winnable". I love that. I'm thinking that it would be great if we knew that, just after we made an unwise move, the game of life was not winnable. Solitaire also allows you to undo your latest move -- that is, the one that made the game unwinnable -- and try a different technique. How amazing would that be! The game of life is at this point not winnable, but you can undo something you did and try again to reach the mantle of success. It would be like the "control, alt, delete" combination on your computer. You can reset life so you can try again.

We can't do that. Life is definitely not a game. As Charlie Brown said "In the book of life, the answers are not in the back".

Maybe the lesson learned in all of this is that there is no "undo" magic about being a mother. You make the choices that you feel are best and then you try to live with the consequences. You hold tight, all the while trying to figure out how to let go. Yet, hpw do you let go so that they, the children of your best hopes, land safety?

I hope, for my children, that everytime they fall they do so on a pillow of my love for them. After all, being able to say that you were were loved with a mother's devotion might be one of the only answers at the conclusion of the game of life.