M.I.F.

To friends (and friends I haven't met) who have been following this blog so far, I'm so very sorry I've been absent as of late! I call this 'Missing in Frenzy', because 'Action' just doesn't quite describe it well enough :)

Every time I finish a blog post, and I hit that 'Publish Post' button I get such a sense of relief from my purge of emotion. And, as soon as one topic has been set free from my mind and soul, another grows in its place almost immediately. So, I move through my way-too-frenzied days with ideas swirling around in this busy body brain of mine until they too can be let out of their cage.

For almost 2 months now I have been made dizzy from life itself, as well as these multiplying ideas I haven't been able to release (before you start to worry, I'm quite alright). I'm hoping to 'get them out' over the next few days, as I see a glimmer at the end of the hectic tunnel approaching. Phew!

'Til then, I recently read a column in the Life section of Chatelaine that dislocated my jaw in wonder. I found a kindred spirit in a complete stranger. No kidding, this wonderful woman has experienced a mirror image of what I have (not just in my Mother's life, but in our experience of our mothers' deaths as well). Our relationships with our Mom's were defined by very similar values and struggles. Our highs and lows emulate one another. Our love for our Mom’s always outweighed our disappointments and confusion (by a lot), and, neither of us seem to have any regrets for any of it! When I read the article, and did the math, it seems our mothers died a similar death, at just about the exact same time  last year (just about a year ago, to be exact). The author’s name is Stacy Morrison.

At Christmas she received a letter ‘from her Mom’ (through a brother) that she had written while still living, knowing she didn’t have a lot of time left. It has given Stacy a lot of peace and clarity, which I sympathize with so much. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that I found a letter my Mom wrote herself, but it was about me? And I didn’t know about it until months after she died. It also unclipped the wings of my heart. I’m willing to bet that Stacy would agree that the way we supported our ‘Mama’s’ through their disintegration (on any number of levels – in life and death) has been rewarding and worth the struggle, and that it has saved us a lot of therapy having never given up on them throughout their struggles.

I genuinely feel the need to try and contact her, just to say thank you. Just to recognize the fact that she validated the choices I’ve made throughout my life that I often asked myself, “is this the right thing to do?” and “Is this worth it?” I mean, I’ve made up my own mind by now that yes, it was, but she has fundamentally become a soul sister without even realizing it. And, likely hearing from me wouldn’t alter her life in any way, but I think she deserves to know that she has opened my eyes, and my heart, and helped me to feel supported (without even having to try).

Why do I so often feel the need to be friends with everyone I come in contact with? Why do I so desperately want to be liked, everywhere I go? It can be such a trap of disappointment and hurt. But, it has also worked 99% of the time and leaves me full of gratitude and appreciation for the wonderful people I now cherish in my very fulfilling life. Unfortunately, sometimes that little meagre 1% that can weigh so heavily...

Hm. Sounds like a good topic for my next blog post?

So, I hope Ms. Stacy Morrison doesn’t get mad at me for doing this, but here is the link to her article. Until I can write, I can assure you’ll enjoy it. And, apart from having 2 parents and a couple of brothers, you can pretty much substitute much of what she says with my life.

‘Til we meet again…

http://www.chatelaine.com/en/article/26487--my-mother-s-parting-words

You might have to catch me, even if I don't ask you to.

I know the main steps of the grieving process. I've heard about them from medical professionals, concerned loved ones, and from my sociology degree. I can rationally and intelligently define the different stages, but I've never lived them as wholly as I am these days.

I try to make the best of even my worst days, but sometimes it’s just too much work and I realize very quickly that I just can’t do it. Unfortunately that often leads to feelings of great guilt and confusion.

I talked to a dear friend today who has a very close family member whose child died years ago. This child had many physical exceptionalities and was very developmentally delayed. Many parents, or people who plan to have children, wish and hope that some day their children are not born with such disadvantages; not only for the child, but for themselves and the life they imagined themselves to have.

Some people are given a situation that to others would seem impossible. Some people face it with grace, dignity, and perseverance. These people often do not see their own goodness and selflessness. If I could give them one thing, it would be to help them see themselves the way others do. This woman is one of these people.

She is a mother of all mothers. She not only works her heart out at her career, but also makes every point of providing wonderful opportunities for her 2 remaining children. To meet her, you’d think she’s grateful and content, and that she gets great joy out of her selflessness. Anyone who meets her wants to be her friend. When you’re around her, your heart can’t help but be happy.

But, hers isn’t. And, I didn’t know that until today. She is desperately sad and despondent. The only reason I know this is that my dear friend opened up to me, after I pried. She is concerned, as she loves this woman beyond imaginable means – and rightfully so. This woman has been a rock, and a responsible example throughout the years. She is such a wonderful mother that she ‘mothers’ people who aren’t even her own! (We all know someone like this)

To hear that she is sad and down trodden makes me feel concerned, but I also feel sympathetic. Here is a woman who dedicated her every waking moment to the needs of her first child. She knew that he couldn’t exist naturally without her constant care and attention, and she never resented it, or hired help. She gave her whole self to his needs, and ended up getting great joy out of this. Some people would be frustrated, she found purpose. This can be strangely fulfilling. So, when other world powers take away that situation that was all consuming, how do we move forward in a new direction, suddenly being forced to give our attention elsewhere? Heck, how do we suddenly turn our love and attention to ourselves, when it’s been so long since we ever thought to love ourselves first (maybe we never knew how to do this in the first place).

I relate, only because my Mom was very alone in her raising of me. She was consumed by her work and being a mother, which isolated her on many levels, and made her very dependant on me. I became the punching bag, that ultimately became the soft place to land. I was a sounding board and was treated as an ‘adult other’, but was also treated as an immature child for much of my time with her. What contradictions to balance! Many people told me to walk away. Many said I didn’t need to ‘take it’. All I thought was that she needed me, and that was enough reason to stay. And, I’ve written about this before; she needed me, but I wanted her (love and approval that is). So, I dedicated my life to making her proud. I aimed for straight As, and just about always got them. I loved her when she deserved it least, and came back even when I swore I wouldn’t because that last time she hurt me she went a little bit too far.

When you commit your life to one thing, and one thing only, and then that thing is taken away – you are left spinning like a broken record top. When we’ve been careening in circles for so long, how do we suddenly walk forward, in a straight line, without feeling dizzy? Too often we fall over, like a small child who spins on a hot summer day. The difference is, the child spun for the pure joy of landing clumsily in the green grass. If only our falling was so joyous.

If I didn’t have my man to love, who loves me back even when I don’t deserve it, I don’t know how far I might dizzily stumble. I am SO lucky to have him. He doesn’t tell me to walk a straight line. He doesn’t tell me to stop until I’m ready to move forward steadily. Instead he stumbles along beside me, ready to catch me if I trip on my own feet. And even more so, ready to fall with me if I don’t catch my balance in time. He doesn’t laugh, or chastise – he just says, “you’re not alone, I’m right here” – sometimes without words.

Pots often call kettles black. Easier said than done, right? How do we so clearly see other people’s realities, and what they should do to find contentment, but we can never take our own advice?

I wish this wonderful lady nothing but peace. I want her to recognize that she served her purpose, for the time she was needed, and she did a damn good job. I want that realization to cause her heart to overflow with pride and confidence, so that she can move forward similarly in raising her other beautiful children, and by continuing to help my dear friend that relies on her love so.

In connection, I have been struggling with my Mom being gone more lately than ever. It’s a lot of life anxieties combining, but, the shock has also worn off. Suddenly I’ve realized that my Mom isn’t just ‘on vacation’. Scary. When she first passed away I took the time to neatly fold all of her clothes in her drawers. Now I look in those drawers, even at the neat rows of her underwear and think, “Shit, she’s never going to wear these again”. That doesn’t make it easier to throw them out!

It’s incredible how we cling to the simple things. So, think of how consuming the big ones are!

Tonight I took an online quiz about depression. Turns out I rank as pretty darn depressed. Whoa. But, I read further (as this hasn’t been a common thing for me for the majority of my life so far) and it openly stated that this kind of depression can’t be applied to people who are grieving a significant loss. Phew!

So, I re-acquainted myself with the stages of grief, and was reminded that this is not a linear process that has a light at the end of the tunnel. This is a cyclical and repeating process that keeps recurring throughout our lives. Of course it would be easier to just be done with it, but if we could do that, we would.

What I found, which gave me some much needed peace is as follows:

The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief

By Julie Axelrod

The stages of mourning are universal and are experienced by people from all walks of life. Mourning occurs in response to an individual’s own terminal illness or to the death of a valued being, human or animal. There are five stages of normal grief. They were first proposed by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying.”

In our bereavement, we spend different lengths of time working through each step and express each stage more or less intensely. The five stages do not necessarily occur in order. We often move between stages before achieving a more peaceful acceptance of death. Many of us are not afforded the luxury of time required to achieve this final stage of grief. The death of your loved one might inspire you to evaluate your own feelings of mortality. Throughout each stage, a common thread of hope emerges. As long as there is life, there is hope. As long as there is hope, there is life.

Many people do not experience the stages in the order listed below, which is okay. The key to understanding the stages is not to feel like you must go through every one of them, in precise order. Instead, it’s more helpful to look at them as guides in the grieving process — it helps you understand and put into context where you are.

1. Denial and Isolation
The first reaction to learning of terminal illness or death of a cherished loved one is to deny the reality of the situation. It is a normal reaction to rationalize overwhelming emotions. It is a defense mechanism that buffers the immediate shock. We block out the words and hide from the facts. This is a temporary response that carries us through the first wave of pain.

2. Anger
As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry.

The doctor who diagnosed the illness and was unable to cure the disease might become a convenient target. Health professionals deal with death and dying every day. That does not make them immune to the suffering of their patients or to those who grieve for them.

Do not hesitate to ask your doctor to give you extra time or to explain just once more the details of your loved one’s illness. Arrange a special appointment or ask that he telephone you at the end of his day. Ask for clear answers to your questions regarding medical diagnosis and treatment. Understand the options available to you. Take your time.

3. Bargaining
The normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control–

·         If only we had sought medical attention sooner…

·         If only we got a second opinion from another doctor…

·         If only we had tried to be a better person toward them…

Secretly, we may make a deal with God or our higher power in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. This is a weaker line of defense to protect us from the painful reality.

4. Depression
Two types of depression are associated with mourning. The first one is a reaction to practical implications relating to the loss. Sadness and regret predominate this type of depression. We worry about the costs and burial. We worry that, in our grief, we have spent less time with others that depend on us. This phase may be eased by simple clarification and reassurance. We may need a bit of helpful cooperation and a few kind words. The second type of depression is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separate and to bid our loved one farewell. Sometimes all we really need is a hug.

5. Acceptance
Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be distinguished from depression.

Loved ones that are terminally ill or aging appear to go through a final period of withdrawal. This is by no means a suggestion that they are aware of their own impending death or such, only that physical decline may be sufficient to produce a similar response. Their behaviour implies that it is natural to reach a stage at which social interaction is limited. The dignity and grace shown by our dying loved ones may well be their last gift to us.

Coping with loss is a ultimately a deeply personal and singular experience — nobody can help you go through it more easily or understand all the emotions that you’re going through. But others can be there for you and help comfort you through this process. The best thing you can do is to allow yourself to feel the grief as it comes over you. Resisting it only will prolong the natural process of healing.

Amen.

So, I’m not spinning anymore, but I am stumbling. And, as long as I’m not alone in that (although I wish I was sometimes, so that no one else in the world would be feeling this way) I’ll be ok.

Yes, sometimes I feel depressed. But, one thing I have that I’m grateful for is a willingness to push forward anyway. I don’t close the blinds and climb back into bed, and I don’t put my head in the sand. I cry when I need to, I fall when I need to, and I talk openly about my stumbling so that the people around me aren’t shocked when I grab onto them as gravity wins the arm wrestle.

If you’ve caught me in the past 10 months, and especially if you’ve let me pull you down with me, thank you.

And, thanks in advance, because it will likely happen again.

Shine On

My 2 favourite forms of therapy for coping with my grieving: writing, and music.

Every now and then I hear a song that speaks to me, as if my mom were singing it to me herself. I first heard Leela Gilday while at an outdoor concert with my Mom (Mariposa Folk Festival). I didn't appreciate this particular song back then, as much as I do now.

Enjoy!

[click on this link, and then click on 'Shine On']

http://www.uphere.ca/node/159

The ‘R’ Word

I have this friend who adamantly claimed once that he didn’t have any regrets in life. Granted, that was a few years ago, I somehow believe that he still feels the same way. And, knowing him as well as I do, I think a little bit of ‘regret’ would humble him, and maybe help him treat people better. Look at me imposing my opinion!

To each their own.

I remember how I felt upon hearing him claim this. I felt immediately guilty - I even felt ‘less than’. Because, you see, I have regrets; a lot of them. Back when he and I had our initial conversation I guess I wasn’t strong enough to see the big picture. I actually imagined he was a better person than me, on the sheer fact that he was claiming he hadn’t ever made any errors in his life. I saw me as weak and him as strong. I saw myself as a ‘mistake maker’, and he was ‘wise’. I wondered – can I start fresh from here on out – and not have any more regrets starting today? But then, that afternoon, I found another choice to make, that I would later - you guessed it… regret.

Please don’t think that I wallow or drown in the big bad ‘r’ word. It’s not consuming my being and acting as quicksand attaching itself to the ankles of my sense of self. I see regret as kind of a beautiful life lesson, now at this stage of my life. Yes it sometimes causes my throat to tighten – because of sickness or sadness, depending. But, I genuinely feel that every ounce of regret that I have been panged with has woken a different part of me that needed its eyes opened.

Closely linked with regret, I am willing to argue that disappointment is one of the heaviest emotions one can carry. Whether you are disappointed in someone you believed you could count on, or trusted. Or, someone you love and admire is disappointed in you, it carries an equally thick and heavy burden. The hopeful light at the end of the tunnel of disappointment is that we can learn very valuable lessons from it, if willing. If we are blind to the lesson in our feelings of disappointment (in others, or ourselves), then we careen forward in our lives – not being fully aware of how our actions affect others, and vice versa.

My regrets span from very simple every day happenings; to hair cuts, large purchases, past clothing choices, weekend plans, and some of the men I chose to give my heart to.

For example, the other day I was merrily eating blueberries while driving, and a few were too mushy to be enjoyably consumed. I had a paper bag in my car that I had put a few other ‘green bin’ items in that I planned to dispose of when I got home (did you know that throwing mushy blueberries onto the road can attract wildlife, which are then at risk of being killed in a hit and run? Gum even has this affect. Please be mindful!) Before going home I stopped to check my mail at our local general store, and decided to check my lotto ticket while I was at it. It was a dud, so I ripped it up into tiny pieces and put it in my pocket. When I got back to my car I threw its remains into the paper bag, fully aware that I would have to separate the pieces from the green bin ‘stuff’ and put it in the recycling bin once home. But, I thought that better than leaving it in my pocket to be pulled out and scattered at a later date – knowing I would forget it was there.

The only problem? Where the paper bag was placed in my front seat, my purse strap was wrapped around it. So, unbeknownst to me, when I grabbed my purse first, it spun that paper bag around real quick and scattered its contents throughout the front of my car. Oh joy! This is where I had a laugh, and thought ‘just my luck’. Trust me - it gets better! I didn’t realize, but some of the contents fell into a big reusable shopping bag that had pharmacy purchases in it, that was sitting on my car’s floor. When I went to unload its contents in the bathroom, I just dumped everything inside it on the off-white bath mat we have. Well, if you haven’t already guessed, by the time things were nicely put away, I had a few big and beautiful purple splotches on my nice clean bath mat. Woops! If I had only grabbed the paper bag first!

Still, the blueberry stains have come out, and I can now laugh about this now – lesson learned.

Some regrets are bigger. Some leave very important things in your life empty. For example: your gas tank (has never happened to me – but close!), your wallet, your bed, or most importantly - your heart. If we aren’t careful with the hearts of those we come in contact with, karma has a funny way of kicking our hearts in the ass in return.

I think we can be defined by the company we keep. And, I can very proudly say that I have some of the best friends a gal can wish for, from so many neat little pockets in my life. I am willing to give myself some credit for that, because it doesn’t just happen because I’m lucky (I’ve had my share of some bad luck too), but good relationships take work. And, regret is often part of that. There are times that I regret not calling, or not paying a compliment that teetered on the tip of my tongue. There are times that I regret not stopping in, or making an extra trip ‘just because’. There are things I regret doing, in place of other options that would have made my heart happier in the long run (selfish – admittedly). There are people I regret giving so much of my love and energy to, because they didn’t appreciate it the way someone else would have.

I mean, I was ‘best friends’ with the man I am now married to for 2 years before I let him kiss me! I often think, “I wonder what we missed?” But then the regret subsides and I realize that we have many kisses to come, and that there was learning going on in those 2 years that I will never be able to define. When I finally did let him in, the earth shook, and I knew I’d never kiss another boy again – gladly. It may not have been as magnificent if I’d just let it happen as ‘something to do’, and I will forever be grateful for the patience he gave because he felt that I was worth the wait. I doubt I would have ever had that stamina.

How does this connect to my relationship with my Mom? Should I even go there?

I regret being embarrassed when she did the eccentric and unique things she used to do (in public, mostly), that I didn’t think were ‘cool’. I would be 13 forever and in her creative company if I could go back in time and press pause. It’s only now that she’s gone that I truly value her unique approach to life, and her ability to not care what people thought (or she did an awfully good job of pretending!).

I regret arguing with her about going out on a Friday night, or using the car in a horrendous snow storm. Now I know that a) she was lonely, and just really loved my company, and b) that she was genuinely worried about my safety, and wanted to protect me by being proactive.

I regret some of the guys I dated, or ‘chased’ without success (thank goodness). Cancer was what got her in the end, but I’m surprised I didn’t give her a heart attack! Thankfully I have married the only one she ever truly loved. And, did she ever! She even told me once (and I believed her) “If you break his heart, I’ll kill you”.

I regret not helping out more around the house. Now that it has been left to me, and I see what she did for 24 years all by herself (physically and financially) I wonder how she managed. I sometimes find myself cleaning or organizing into the wee hours of the night, ending up in tears. I always end up saying things like, “I don’t know how you did this”, and “I’m just not good at this the way you were”. I did my best to do the little things, but there were so many things that I could have done to make things that much easier for her, but didn’t.

I also regret not showing her enough appreciation when I could have. I’ve said it before; we don’t know what we have until we don’t have it anymore. Talk about regret! The good thing is, and I know she is happy that I learned this – even if it is a bit too late, now I get a lot of joy out of showing people (and life in general) more appreciation. And, I always make a point of being specific about it. What good is appreciation if it isn’t directed. Productivity is rarely born out of aimlessness!

I regret not helping her to do a huge purge in our house/basement while we could (for 2 reasons). Do you want the selfish one or the unselfish one first? For one, I hate that it’s all up to me now, because it takes a lot of time – but even more mental and emotional strength – to do it. But, mostly because I know she felt a lot of guilt at the end of her life knowing the ‘mess’ she was leaving. She even told me it would be ok to fill the basement with cement and forget about it. But – I hope she can see now that a messy basement is a tiny hiccup when you leave someone a beautiful property and house to call home.

I regret saving all of the nasty emails she ever sent when she was mad at me. Scratch that – I regret telling her that I did. She even, admittedly, tried to break into my email account to delete them once, as she didn’t want me to have those to remember her by (this happened when she was much healthier and able, of course). Sly woman she was! I may never read them again, but, she sent me lovely ones that I will forever keep and read repeatedly. Good or bad, she was the best writer I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.

I regret not being more helpful when it came to the big jobs around the house she had hoped to accomplish in the last years of her life. New decks? A French door in her bedroom? A repaired chimney? The fence being taken out? We did it all – last summer – after she was gone. I guess her wishes became my crusade, and I felt like I was honouring her by doing it. Her death lit a fire under me, and we have accomplished a great deal. The regret part comes into play when I know she didn’t get to step back, sigh, and enjoy it. I hope she is, from wherever she is.

I regret letting my school work and then teaching take priority over my quality time spent with her. Somehow, as a teacher, she had a magical way of making it look easy. She was somehow able to balance an incredibly successful teaching career, with a beautiful home, and raised me (I’d like to say well) in the meantime. I don’t juggle ‘life’ as well as she did, and find I have to do one thing at a time, and it takes me longer. I have gained a great deal of perspective about what my career means to me because of her passing. And, luckily not too late. I left a full time teaching position to return to supply work when I knew her health was starting to fail. We were able to spend 5 months of more ‘quality’ time together because of it. That, my friends, I do not regret at all.

I regret not being able to see the ‘big picture’ of my Mom when she was still here. I always saw her as her smaller parts, and never looked at her upbringing, and how that made her who she was. I didn’t realize how hard her job was, or owning a home was, until I did both myself. I didn’t realize how crucial it was to have a friend that you can rely on and love to be your partner in life, until I found one. She didn’t have that, for far too long. If I could have seen all of this, I would have had a much fuller and warmer understanding of her emotions and why our relationship the way it was. I guess if I had known how limited my time with her was going to be, it would have certainly altered my determination when we disagreed.

I regret my frustration, as I listened to her long voicemails that I would get at the end of my work day. I often thought, “wait to tell me in person! I always call you as soon as I’m out of work! Listening to you on my answering machine is just a waste of our time”. Now I wish I had saved every single one, so I could sit and listen to her rambles and tangents whenever I got the urge. I also regret how I felt while sitting in my car in the driveway, when I got home from work and she was still talking away. Sometimes my drive was 45 minutes, but I’d sit in my car for another 15 thinking, “there’s so much inside that apartment that I should be doing instead of sitting out here”. Oh what I would trade to have one more sunny afternoon in my car, listening to my Mom’s beautiful voice talk about nothing, and everything, without pause.

I also regret all of the time we spent disagreeing, arguing, or not talking because of really simple and trivial issues. If I had only known how little time we had on this earth together, I wouldn’t have wasted those precious moments (even if at times that would have been very hard to do).

I’m sure I could go on and on, but the biggy is the one that came in the end. I regret that I believed my Mom was invincible. If you knew her, you know that not much slowed her down – let alone stopped her. I genuinely thought that the cancer would be just another blip on her radar, that she would stomp it down and out, and move on with a new lease on, and appreciation for, life. Even when it came back, and they said it was terminal, I thought my time was limitless. I thought that if I believed strongly enough (even when she couldn’t) that her cancer couldn’t bring her down. Because of this, I didn’t research enough. I should have read more books, and helped her completely change her diet. I should have found more holistic approaches to building her immunity. I’ve since read so much about people who stop cancer in its tracks (it may not be gone, but frozen in time). I would have coached her and persisted so that she could feel as confident and sure as I did. I would have asked for second opinions, demanded better treatment, and stopped at nothing to make sure we tried everything in order to have no – you guessed it – regrets about our approach to her illness. I wouldn’t have missed a chemo treatment, or the days that followed where she was sick and scared. For years my mom had independently and staunchly fought and won against all the other injuries and unwell times in her life – how could this time be different?

I maybe wouldn’t have gone to Ireland, last May, when her health took its ultimate dive for the worst. I thought I had covered my bases by reaching out to neighbours and friends to check in on her while I was away (they did – and I love them for it). You see, she had a bit of a stomach problem in the 2 weeks leading up to our departure, which had been planned since January. We thought she had a flu bug that she was having trouble shaking, due to her limited immune system from the chemo. Turns out she had brain cancer, and bad. While I was away, and she was at the house alone, she very quickly lost complete control of her self. She was very unwell, and injured because of it. I came home to a Mom in the hospital, who was never going to come home, and a house that the police and ambulance drivers treated as a ‘crime scene’. If I had only stayed in Ontario!

But then, a wonderful friend of mine who has a funny way of making me see the bright side of things said, “If you had known how sick your Mom was, you never would have gone to Ireland”. She was right. She also pointed out that I had a purpose in Ireland, too. I had gone to see the beauty the country has to offer, but mostly to meet my husband’s extended family – namely his Nana. When I met her, she was 90 years old. Her age was slowing her down, but she was still living independently. And, if the purpose provided itself, she could stay up until the wee hours singing old Irish tunes and drinking Jameson straight, on ice, while being nothing but a proper lady. In November, Nana passed away. And, if I had known how sick my Mom was back in May, I never would have gone, and I never would have met her. This friend of mine made me see it this way. She also said, “try and wish as hard as you could, you couldn’t make your Mom well”. So true. And, on our last night in Ireland, Nana turned to my then boyfriend (her grandson) and said quite loudly, “So when are you getting’ married?” [insert thick Irish accent here]

At least now I know we have her blessing!

If we genuinely think that we are perfect and incapable of any kind of error that might be regrettable, then we may just be leaving a trail of destruction in our wake. If we let ourselves regret a little bit, but we learn from it, the empty space where the regret was born will quickly fill up with the good we can do in place of the thing that started that very cycle.

So, you see, regret doesn’t have to be a dirty word, as long as we learn from them and try not to make the same mistakes again. And, as long as we have one person in our lives that is going to love us no matter what, then we can continue in the process of learning from regret our whole lives. If that person (who loves you no matter what) is your Mom – thank her for that, would ya?

And, since you can see that there are a lot of regrets that I have with respect to my relationship with my Mom, and I can’t make changes here and now about that to better my relationship with her, maybe you can learn from mine. That, my friends, would make my regrets feel all the more worthwhile.

But, even with a long list of regrets, I don’t regret the way I loved my Mom no matter what. In the end, I know she knew I did, and she deserved every bit of it.

Needs vs. Wants

I’m sorry I haven’t written in awhile. There are a number of reasons for this; mostly that I’ve been busy, partly because sometimes I have so many ideas floating around in my head that I don’t know where to start, but also because I was sick.

No, I wasn’t sick in a way that one should be concerned about. I’m quite well now, although a residual cough (that sounds worse than it actually is at times) often leaves me short of breath, and turning heads in public places. If the poor strangers who look at me in disgust could have only heard me a few weeks ago! What am I supposed to do, hibernate? I’m coughing into my elbow for goodness sake!

I’d never been beaten up by a “flu bug” before this. To be honest, when I had heard mumblings about those ‘knock you on your butt (or back) in full body pain’ kinds of colds, I thought that I’d probably also had ‘one of those’ at some point, but I was just tougher than that, or, had persisted dumbly and numbly through the pain. Well, I’ve had my rude awakening, and I will always be humble for it. I am so sorry if I ever doubted you (or thought you were a flu-excuse wuss).

It started as a tickle in my throat, which led to a swollen tightening, which ultimately became a hoarse voice that I chuckled about with a grade 2/3 class I was supply teaching in. We all thought it so funny that my voice would come in and out like the slide on a trombone, as I pleaded with them to be quiet so that I wouldn’t have to over-strain my voice. On the way home that day I not only decided to cancel yoga that night, but also my next day of work. This bytheway is not something I take lightly, considering we own a house that needs way too much ‘fixing up’, and we are getting re-married in less than 6 months. I take all the relaxation (yoga) and financial opportunities (supply job) I can get!

Within a 24 hour period my whole system seemed to shut down. I was actually scared. I attempted to self-diagnose, and take it easy in hopes of mending myself in time for a wedding I was supposed to attend that weekend (that - of course - I was whole-heartedly looking forward to attending). But, when I was awoken in the middle of the night prior to it with pain in my throat so sever that it felt like I had swallowed burning gasoline, along with a couple of tap dancing cleaver knives, I thought I should hit up a walk-in clinic nearby. Oh the joys of having the yellow pages app. on my blackberry! There was one within 1 kilometre of our apartment, that would be open bright and early at 9am. I was sure the Doc would find that I had something that needed antibiotics, and that I’d be on my way with relief and hope to be better soon. Not so. Yes, I saw a Doc. But, after examining me and discussing my symptoms, he stated I’d picked up a virus and that my body would have to fight this one off on its own. He prescribed a numbing gargle to help ease my throat, and sent me on my way. Plenty of fluids didn’t seem quite like the medicine I had been hoping for.

* Please note that I had stopped by a natural remedy and wellness store at the early onset of persistent symptoms – due to the confident suggestion of a dear friend - and had been using a natural throat spray, was taking 5 drops of oregano oil 2-3 times a day (blek!), and was also drinking a natural plant juice a few times a day. None of this was a) working, or b) in any way enjoyable!

So, I took my throat numbing gargle and my defeated spirit home. I knew that I wasn’t going to comfortably and happily make it to (or through) the wedding, so I waved my white flag of sickness, and cried like a baby. By the time my body hit the couch that day, my whole neck was swollen from throbbing glands and lymph nodes (well, I’m assuming that was the reason) and even my eye lids hurt. If I turned my eyes from side to side or up and down without my head moving with them, I moaned in pain. I took a Tylenol, gargled, poured myself a chamomile tea, closed the curtains to stop my throbbing headache, and passed the time watching Erin Brockovich.

Many a time I felt truly sorry for myself, even given the emotional weight of what I was watching. And, as it hit me how incredible a Mom Erin Brockovich was/is, it hit me that this was the very first time I was sick and didn’t have my Mom to look after my sorry ass. This may seem simple to you, but, it was like an avalanche of reality. All the debris from this landed in my chest; right between my ravaged ‘cough-created abs’ and my seemingly blistered and festering throat. That’s right – it made my heart ache – right in the middle right there.

So, I was overcome with the realization that my Mom had always - no matter her level of stress or responsibilities – dropped everything to either make me better, or at least distract me or trick me into thinking I was well on my way to recovery. Here was another slap in the face reminder that I am now a grown-up, and I would have to find my own way through the mess. If I could have even called her for advice, or just to hear her voice and cry to her, it would have made the situation all the more bearable.

As an educator, my Mom always said that children - these days especially - are often controlled by an “Ineeda Monster”. She always marvelled at my initial desire to teach primary grades, as she said that she wouldn’t be able to handle how dependent and needy those age levels could be. She had faced many an “Ineeda Monster” in her years of teaching grade 4. This, by the way, was ultimately her favourite grade to teach. My biggest “Ineeda Monster” was swiftly crawling out from under the bed. I needed my Mom, even if I didn’t really. I felt like I needed her more just because I knew I couldn’t have her (oh how we experience that throughout our lives)!

My posts often have a ‘you see’ moment, and here comes this ones’.

You see, my Mom and I often had a backwards needs vs. wants relationship, considering most mother/daughter duos I know. Even as a small child, when I certainly needed the basic necessities from her (food, water, shelter), I also desperately wanted her to openly want me in her life. Yes, I’ve mentioned it before, and please don’t hold any anger or disappointment towards her due to this truth (I don’t, so why should you, right?). I don’t know if it was the single parent + stressful job that led her to her opinion of me, or the fact that she hadn’t planned on having a child with my Dad but got stuck with me (and him) anyway. But, either way, I was always very aware of the fact that she often regretted having had me. She didn’t always say it outright, although she did at times, but even so I always knew it deep down.

So, when I should have (justifiably) been a big “Ineeda Monster”, I was an “Iwanta Monster”. My heart just always yearned to be told it was worth it, and to hear that I was loved and wanted. So, I decided very young to lead a life where I would always try to make choices in hopes that I would sometime gain that acceptance and pride. On my Mom’s side of the coin, due to the stress in her life and her argument style, she alienated and isolated herself quite often. So, I became a substitute spouse and friend figure. I heard about the tough days at work, disagreements with colleagues and friends, and how overwhelmed she was with taking care of the house on her own. She needed a confidant and someone that would love her no matter what – especially when she least deserved it. That’s where I came in.

Close friends (who know more of the grim details about my childhood) will often say, “Why didn’t someone do something to have you taken away?”. My response is a matter-of-fact, “I don’t know”. But, I can assure you – even when things were at their worst - I wouldn’t have wanted to be taken away. I knew my Mom needed me, and I wanted her love and affection. If I’d been taken away I never would have had a chance to know if I could have found success in my mission (you’ll be happy to hear that I did).

Don’t get me wrong; yes, sometimes my childhood/household experiences were messy. When I told my Mom I loved her, for the longest time she responded with a smile and said, “Ok”. Ha! “You too” has the same number of syllables, for goodness-sake! I used to wish she would fake it, even if she didn’t mean it. But, there were a lot of happy and beautiful memories, too. Luckily, as I’ve mentioned before, those are the ones that hang out in my mind like locals at the general store. And, when she was very sick, and she needed me even more, she told me (like it was going out of style) how much she loved me, was proud of me, and how beautiful she thought I was. Years and years of confusion and desperation vanished into thin air, and I know that has saved me a lot of therapy (you can laugh, but, I actually mean that).

So, only now that she’s gone do I feel like I ‘need’ her. “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone?”. I always believed that, but never so much as I do now.

Luckily I have a genuinely incredible partner in life. He completes me – but not in a way that is dependent and needy. He is my best friend. He makes me laugh, even when I think it’s impossible. He challenges me to see myself honestly. He loves me, even when I might not deserve it. He appreciates me and the things I do (even the small things that I mostly do without thinking). People who know this man, and know him well, have nothing but good things to say about him. I would be willing to bet that a lot of women that he has dated or has been friends with secretly love him for the remarkable person he is. They might even hate me a bit for being ‘the one’, and I hope that I win them over once they get to know me. For some odd reason he picked me; little old me, who wasn’t even really meant to be born. Imagine that! Talk about a confidence booster. He makes me feel ‘worth it’, and that’s one of the best gifts I have ever been given.

You may have noticed, but I really enjoy using similes to describe things, and I recently remarked to a friend that I feel like I’m like Swiss cheese, or a Tetris game. And, I am so lucky to have wonderful people in my life that fit into the gaps so that I am not alone, and I feel complete. I think I would be ok without them, but, it certainly wouldn’t be as lovely and ‘whole’.

I recently had an emotional heart to heart with a very close friend of mine who is a mother. She knows many of the truths about my upbringing, and life in general. She still finds it incredible that I have so much love for my Mom in my heart, considering. She openly asked me what she should do in order to ensure her daughter loves her similarly. And, I didn’t have an answer for her.

I think that no matter what, we all want love and appreciation from our parents. Most children get it, no strings attached. Some kids get too much. Some children have it worse than others, and some even get ‘taken away’ completely. But, based on research I did in University, a very big percentage of those kids (who get taken away) wish that they hadn’t been. So, is it the maternal connection that never goes away that causes that? Or, is it just like wanting curly hair if your hair is straight, and vice versa? If our Moms play hard to get, does it make us want to fight for them more? I don’t know. All I know is that this friend of mine has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever encountered, and now that she’s a Momma, the love inside of that big ol’ heart of hers spills out all over the place for her beautiful little girl. There’s no way, even as a small child, that her daughter isn’t fully aware of the oodles and loads of love her Mom has for her. So, ultimately, I’d have to say she doesn’t have a thing to worry about.

Again, I’m not (yet) a mother. And, the thought of having kids is scary for a lot of reasons. But, I think one of the things parents often do is doubt themselves. No matter how good or bad you are at it, you’re always going to feel like you’re making mistakes, or you could be doing it better. I see this as being like the boss that tells you to stop being so hard on yourself, “It’s always the people that worry about their performance on the job that are doing the best at it”. I’d have to say the same about parenting.

I’m also really good at seeing and openly recognizing the gifts other people have, but often don’t give myself any (or enough) credit.

So, as much as it’s surreal and even a bit sad to realize, I really don’t ‘need’ my Mom anymore. I was really sick, but I’m doing just fine now.

When my time comes, and it’s my turn to be a mother, I can already predict 2 things. 1, I’ll always feel like I’m not doing quite well enough, and 2, I’ll say “I love you” way too much.

At least there are worse things I could say…

The best gift of all.

On January 31^st, I turned 27; another hugely conflicting day in this indefinable process. It was a PA day, and because I’m a supply teacher, I had the day off. I had a wonderfully full day planned, but that didn’t eliminate the hollow space in my heart that lingered all day long, ever on the verge of caving in. I luckily happened to have (surprise!) great company. And, it just so happens that this particular person just always seems to know when the walls in my heart are teetering. He just reaches on up and holds up all those walls, all at once, keeping me together.

You see, 27 years and 9 months before this day, my Mom gave me the biggest gift of all. Maybe my Dad played some part in that, yes, but he didn’t carry me around inside his body for nine long months nurturing me. He didn’t monitor carefully what he ate and drank; suffer from nausea, back pain, a compressed bladder, swollen ankles, or sleepless nights (among the many other inconveniences of pregnancy that I’ve never experienced). He doesn’t have stretch marks or less-than-perky boobs because of me, either. I’m sure he helped some in the 2 years following my birth (when my parents were still married), as many fathers try. But, for 27 years (9 months + 26 years + 5 months) my Mom gave up many of the things that she at one time spontaneously and selfishly did (just because) so that she could commit all of her energies to me.

When my Mom first found out she was pregnant, she wasn’t exactly “ready” for that news. It took her awhile to digest that truth, and decide to swallow that reality pill for good. I’m sure that she questioned her choice of commitment to motherhood a few times (a day) once she was past the point of no return. And, I know she did here and there in the years after my birth, too. I don’t blame her! Motherhood is one of my biggest fears at this stage in my life. I get that having children creates a full family. And, I luckily have a partner in life who is committed to me, and all of the things we share. But, when I think about how having children changes your personal life, your relationship, and the world – I get a bit dizzy. Rewind – a lot dizzy – and scared. Spend one day in an elementary or high school classroom these days and you’ll quickly see every kind of child you could end up with. Some you would take home in a heartbeat and keep forever, knowing they were born ‘good’ and/or have been made ‘good’ because of their raising. Or, others you would take home because you see their potential for ‘good’, and know that you could help them realize how wonderful they are. Others, well, for whatever in sundry reason, just aren’t all that ‘good’. Most times, that stems from the parenting that surrounds them, and I often find myself thinking, “might that be my child someday?”

Motherhood is the Mother of all responsibilities. We take a clean slate and throw all kinds of paints and mixed media at it. In the end, we get either a masterpiece, or something that only a mother could love. And, sometimes it takes years before that ‘piece of work’ is appreciated (uh, Van Gogh?). Most of the possible outcomes rest in the power of a mother.

Speaking of powerful mothers – I had one. Good and bad, she was a force to be reckoned with. She stood firm and strong to support what she believed in, and created quite a path along the way. I still find myself walking up and down that path, stopping to linger for awhile, getting to know her more and more even now that she’s gone. I still have people (usually strangers, apart from having some familial or ‘family friend’ connection) getting in touch, or introducing themselves in public, who knew and appreciated my Mom. I can’t tell you how much I love to hear other people talk about the things they loved about her. I would say that a quarter of their memories or thoughts are completely in line with what I knew and loved. But, I find I keep getting new insight into the person my Mom was, especially in the days before I came along and muddled things up. She was a pretty incredible and beautiful person. She has left her mark on so many more people than just me, and in that way, she’ll never ‘die’.

In connection to how wonderful she was, please note that I didn’t always recognize her greatness. She was my Mom, so we had the typical mother-daughter issues that most struggle with; curfews, taking the car out in snowstorms, agreeing about the guys I dated, what I could and couldn’t wear, faith, music, the way I spent my money, the list goes on… But, as a single child to an only parent (who had an overflowing plate full of stress and responsibility), we dealt with bigger, more difficult issues too. If you knew us well, you know what I mean.

Hindsight is 20/20, and I honestly believe that I will forever feel that I would re-live our tough times over and over again, if it meant 1 out of every 10 interactions could be good ones.

You don’t know - as a baby, child, adolescent, teenager, or young adult – what your parent(s) sacrifice(d) for you. I would even be willing to argue that we don’t see what they did for us until we can’t thank them in person for it anymore.

So, if willing, accept this challenge:

Think long and hard about what your Mother’s do, and have done, for you. I’m not saying you should write them a cheque, or a letter, to recognize it openly. Some Mother-daughter relationships are hard to piece back together if things got too tough. But, if you can, and are willing, hug your Mom more often. Tell her you love her. Heck, go past that! Tell her why. Thank her, regularly, and genuinely. And, be specific. Tell her why you are grateful, too! Apologize, or confess things you’ve never told her. Most of the time your Mom will be more than willing to laugh off your wrong-doings and choices of the past, knowing that you turned out alright considering. We shouldn’t assume our Mother’s weren’t aware in the first place. Or, that they were innocent all through their days and will be disappointed. Agree to disagree. Compromise about the things you’ve never seen eye to eye about. And don’t just act like that difference between you doesn’t exist. Recognize it – own it. Don’t sweep it under that rug I’ve mentioned before. When you disagree (because you will) do so respectfully. Don’t say things you can’t take back. Especially don’t write mean letters – my Mom did that a lot – and there’s something eerily haunting about unkind words that you can re-read much after the fact (how do they still punch you in the heart like they did the first time you read them?) Ask for her advice, even if you don’t plan on fully using it. Call, and when she keeps you on the phone too long, try not to get exaggerated. Do simple things together, and do the big things too. Ask her questions you never thought you would, to get to know her better. Love her even if you don’t think she deserves it, because I promise you, at some point she likely loved you when you didn’t deserve it, too.

Time is way too precious. I am a 27 year old without her mother. When I have children some day, she can’t hold them, answer a frantic call at 3am when the baby won’t sleep, or babysit. Even though my Mom and I struggled with our relationship over the years, I never doubted that she would make an incredible, magical Gram. I actually looked so forward to it, as I knew our relationship would morph into something brand new and beautiful because of that.

A few years ago, when she retired from teaching and had temporarily beat cancer the first time, she had a stand-up shower installed in a brand new downstairs bathroom. You see, we have a walkout bungalow that walks out to a river where I loved to splash and play as a child. She used to say that after a full day of getting muddy with Gram, that she would stick ‘my boys’ in that shower and just hose ‘em off.

Some day, when I’m hosing ‘em off, you can bet we’ll be talking about her as if she were there.

Thanks, Mom. I’ll never be able to repay you, but I’m certainly going to continue to do my best to make you proud.

If I can do half the job you did as a mother, my kids will be just fine.

(I can't take credit for this, I found it on post secret. Whoever made it is clearly a kindred spirit)

Ya, about that...

This posting is about forgiveness.

I like to think of myself as a forgiving person. And, I don’t just forgive to benefit the person needing forgiveness. I actually do it more for me.

In my life so far, I’ve found that carrying around resentment and anger is a really crappy thing. I have found it kind of digs a hole in my heart that eternally aches and burns. That doesn’t better my life, or the person who caused the pain in the first place.

And, another upside to forgiveness is that it can indirectly teach the person you have forgiven a valuable lesson. I mean, if someone feels badly enough about a choice or behaviour they were the cause of that gave you emotional, mental, or physical harm, then their guilt is enough to punish them. Often if you – and this is the important part – genuinely forgive them, they will be grateful enough to not only never hurt you similarly again, but it will likely overflow into other areas of their life as well. Then, your little batch of forgiveness has multiplied the lesson into other people’s lives too.

Heck, sometimes I forgive someone even if they haven’t asked for it. Again, for my sake. But sometimes that can cause the person who did the hurting so much guilt that it’s a really sly way of paying them back, without being nasty at all! Kind of like the old adage, “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer”. Or, “kill ‘em with kindness”. It’s about being ‘the better person’, and it feels damn good.

Forgiveness has been an integral part of my life for a number of reasons. I don’t need to get into the grim details, because most of them are so much a part of my past that they are now pebbles in the foundation that holds me up and defines me. But, my life hasn’t been easy. Don’t think I’m crying myself a river. Nah – I’ve got one right in my own backyard! But, I am intelligent enough to know that parts of my past could have really messed me up, and it’s not that I’m strong that got me past and above it. It’s the fact that I was able to forgive, and in turn recognize behaviours and choices I will never choose, so as to never hurt anyone the way I have been in the past.

Some of the people closest to me, who should have been holding me above the mess that life sometimes throws at you, or wiping me clean of it, were throwing the worst of the mess of all. But, (and I’m much better at this now than I was as a child), I could somehow always see through that mess to the cause or the root of the choices that were hurting me so. And then, you see, you aren’t as likely to place a tremendously heavy load of blame in any particular direction. Every action has a reaction, but every action also has a starting point. And these, my friends, are rarely spontaneous. They are often the offspring of a reaction to pain someone has felt because of someone in their own life, and so on, and so on. If you really tried to get to the bottom of it, you’d be dizzy, and you wouldn’t succeed. So, instead, you should attempt to learn a lesson or see some good in the situation, forgive, and move on.

I don’t mean to make it sound easy, because it’s far from it, but trust me – it’s worth it. Kind of like only seeing the good in past relationships; it’s all a protection mechanism to try to keep our hearts and heads in check.

How does this relate to my Mom, you ask? Well, in a couple of ways.

One: my Mom wasn’t perfect. I mean, some other time I will tell you more about some of her incredible gifts and talents that many people try to attain their whole lives and never quite can. She had a multitude of beautiful qualities that I recognized, or people tell me about now, that just came naturally and easy to her. Like, breathing almost. But one thing that she just wasn’t very good at at all was forgiving. I used to tell people that I worried that the grudges and resentment she held onto - like a 2 year olds hand at an amusement park – would give her cancer some day. Oh goodness, how I’ve pondered the weight of THOSE comments now after the fact. Nevertheless, I witnessed friendships, family ties, and working relationships crumble because she wasn’t quite able to forgive someone for their wrong-doing.

Sometimes someone may hurt you so badly that you can’t imagine having any form of relationship with them ever again. I’m not telling you to allow that person back into your life. Some people are so full of sadness, anger, and confusion that it seems as though it really is their lot in life to hurt anyone who truly cares for them. Please don’t become a perpetual victim to their selfishness. My Mom lit matches to bridges throughout her life, because she very legitimately had had enough of peoples’ bullshit. But sometimes when she burnt those bridges, the burning of the bridge wasn’t enough to clear her mind. It was almost as if she had burnt something inside of herself, too. And that burning inside didn’t ever get put out. So, my Mom was full of fires that raged on and consumed her. Grudges held onto forever don’t punish the person who did the hurting, but they hide like gecko grenades inside the holder. When the pin gets pulled, and the explosion causes destruction, another pin just grows in the old one’s place – ready to wreak havoc again.

I used to say regularly to my Mom, “it’s just not worth it” when she was angry at someone and it was consuming her. Nothing pissed her off more! But in my mind, I really felt that. I wasn’t just trying to sweep the pain under the carpet. I know better than that. One of my favourite metaphors is about that; if we sweep too much shit under our carpet, someone is bound to trip on it, and then all the shit is going to be everywhere all at once. Nobody wants to clean that up! So, I am the kind of person who cleans things up as I go (yep, back to that ‘organization’ thing). And, a part of cleaning the puddles, dust, stains and cobwebs in my brain is the forgiveness I constantly give.

Still, sometimes old pains surface repeatedly, and I find myself talking myself through rationalizing my forgiveness again. But every time it gets a bit easier.

Another reason why forgiveness relates to my Mom is that she did the odd thing throughout my childhood, teen years, and young adult life that hurt – a lot. Things Mom’s wouldn’t normally do to, or even think about, their children. She had a unique circumstance in the sense that she was a single parent with a very difficult job, no true ‘partner’ in life, very little/no support from my Dad through the majority of my existence, and the kicker? She’d never really planned on having kids. Woops!

So, that left me with the great goal of proving that I was ‘worth it’, and I think I’ve turned out ok given ‘all of that’.

What good would it do me to keep mental tabs of all the things my Mom ever did to hurt me though? I mean, if I really sat down to think about it I could probably list off some doozies. This is why the forgiving part is possible, but the forgetting? Not so much. But, the beauty of them is that they don’t hurt me anymore. I always took the time to look to the core and root of her choices. And if I couldn’t quite then, I certainly have in the past 7 months since she got really sick and passed away. My Mom was hurting, and I was the only person there to take it out on. Makes sense. And, what didn’t kill me (I’m still here) has made me stronger.

A couple of people have had the audacity to say, “you probably aren’t that sad about losing your Mom because of the way she treated you sometimes”. First of all, I didn’t lose my Mom. Second of all, shut up. The sheer fact that I knew that I was an unplanned pregnancy made me love my Mom even more. She gave me life, even when she had to give away what she knew of her own in order to raise me. I think she deserves a big thank you for that. And in loving her so, I yearned always to be loved back – even a little – in the tender and open way so many mothers do. I now see that she always loved me, a lot, she just had a funny way of showing it.

The lovely part is that in the last 5 weeks of my Mom’s life, she loved me that way, day in and day out. And you can certainly make a bet that it has saved me a load of therapy!

My husband’s Nana told me an interesting story when she and I were talking about my Mom being terminally ill. She said that she had been close with her mother, but unlike my Mom, she had lived well into her 80s. When she passed away, many people (for lack of a better thing to say) said, “at least she lived a good, long life”. Nana’s answer? *please insert thick Irish accent here – it just sounds better* “She was still my mother”. How true. No one can take that incredibly important truth away.

I digress. If you carry grudges, anger, resentment, sadness, confusion, or despair around, try not to. Try to take the time to imagine what happened to the person who hurt you, which lead them to hurting you. It might give you even an ounce of clarity or understanding that will free you of the weight that has become your burden.

Trust me; it’s done me a lot of good.

And on a final note, I want to share a little story about my Dad. He may not have been an integral part of my childhood years, but in my 16^th year I got him back, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Again, some people say, “isn’t it hard to have a good relationship with your Dad, considering he didn’t support your Mom financially, and he wasn’t always ‘there’ for you?” And my answer is always a clear and definite, “No”. Why focus on all the things he didn’t do that he should have, or did do that he shouldn’t? He’s here now, and especially now that my Mom’s gone, when I need him most.

Recently my half brother (who is 16 going on know-it-all) did some dastardly deeds. So dastardly in fact that I don’t even want to share them here. It was a spiral of events that just got worse and worse, as he is unwilling to own up to what he did in the first place, and has shown nothing but disrespect to our father in the process of Dad trying to fix it all. I struggle with this mostly because our Dad has been such a crucial and unflinching part of my brother’s entire existence. He has fought for him, supported him (financially, academically, emotionally, etc.), and has been consistent with him in all the areas that count. That’s a lot more than I can say for my birth to 16 year old days. I don’t hold that against my Dad because he admits that deep down he knew that my Mom was a responsible and intelligent person who would raise me well, with or without him. My brother’s situation isn’t quite the same. He needs our Dad more.

Still, I forgive my brother for what he has done recently. Partly because I know his childhood has been messy, and he hasn’t had positive influences in his immediate raising. None of that is his fault. I also forgive him because he has a heart of gold, and is capable of doing such great things – he just needs to realize his capabilities. And, if you look at my Dad’s situation, it sometimes takes awhile. I joke that I also forgive him because he’s my brother, and no matter how much he messes up, no one can change that. Sometimes when people are awful – or do awful things, what they really need is someone to forgive them and love them anyway.

I didn’t know what it was going to take to have my brother and Dad on good terms again. It caused me stress, because it’s a situation I can’t fix, I’m just a bystander. But this week my Dad called my brother and simply said, “Do you like what’s going on here? Because I don’t”. They hadn’t talked in a couple of weeks, which is a record for a father-son relationship that has been as strong as a cement ox. Our Dad simply decided that it wasn’t worth it to play hard to get, or not communicate for who-knows-how-long. That doesn’t accomplish anything. He also has a partner that has 3 children. She knows that kids mess up, and she has so much love inside her that it kind of spills out everywhere, always. She’s insanely wonderful, and just what my Dad (and my brother and I) need.

So, the olive branch was extended – and to my great relief – it was accepted.

In closing, going back to the size of my brother’s heart, I’m sure he was feeling rotten about his choices and the way he was subsequently treating our father. I hope he was, and that it was eating a wee hole in his soul. Because, now that they are again on speaking terms, and he knows that our Dad missed him and loves him anyway, that wee hole will mend up in a jiffy. And hopefully he has learned a valuable lesson.

After my Mom passed away I found a letter she had written herself years ago, before she got sick (it may sound like a strange idea, but if you knew my Mom, you’ll understand). 2 whole paragraph’s of the letter were about me and the person I am. She mentions that she is proud of the woman I was becoming, that she knew that I would make a great life for myself, and that she was so relieved that I had turned out so well – considering.

I would say the forgiveness was worth it before I even read that letter.

But, it certainly didn’t hurt to hear.

Like a break up (that wasn’t your idea)

This past Monday, January the tenth, was/would have been my Mom’s 60^th Birthday. What a strange day it was! I wafted in and out of sadness and celebration. As usual, the best way to work through the ups and downs (for me) was to keep busy. I worked the morning at a nice school. As a supply teacher, I sometimes wonder if I should commit to a half day, when I could wait and hope for a full day. But, for this past Monday I jumped at the opportunity.

After work I went to Wendy’s for lunch. I have yet to go to a movie solo, but I find eating solo at a restaurant (even those of the ‘fast’ variety) to be quite liberating. This is something my Mom did often, and I’m sure it didn’t phase her. I still go into a cold sweat sometimes, thinking that people are looking at me, or judging. That cold sweat didn’t last long this time. The food was so-so, but it was the atmosphere that captured my heart. There is a gentleman that clears the tables, greets you as you enter, and offers you ‘perks’ as you eat. I guess he noticed that I didn’t have a refreshment with my meal, and offered a complimentary tea, coffee, or cold drink. I gratefully declined, knowing I had a water bottle waiting for me in the car. Shortly after, he stopped to chat with a group of what seemed to be 17-18 year olds. I made an unfair assumption about this group, as they seemed aloof. But, I was overcome with appreciation when a young lady in the group took the time to say to the man – quite loudly I might add – that she really loved his great personality. My favourite part of it? She meant it. She genuinely meant it, and had taken a selfless moment to reach out and make someone feel good about the kindness they so openly share. If you know me, you know that this is when I cry subtle happy tears at the beauty of the moment, and as I crumpled up my waste and got ready to hit the road, I turned to the girl to tell her that I felt the same way about her personality. Suddenly one of the emotional boulders that I’ve learned to balance (that are somehow heavier on this day) fell away.

I then stopped to drop off dry-cleaning, where a very kind lady inquired about my wedding dress (one of the many articles of clothing that had been piling up). I gave her the Coles Notes version of my husband and I getting married at the hospital so that my Mom could attend, and she was teary-eyed at the thought. How incredible that within a 10 minute span I had encountered 2 people that I’d never met before (and may never meet again) who took time out of their day to feel deeply for others. After a quick stop at Good Will to drop off donations, I headed to the mall for a good 3 hours of retail therapy. I never do this – really. But, I thought since I hadn’t been to a mall in months that I should be able to treat myself. Oh boy – did I ever!

One of my very best friends met me near the end of my spree, and we headed for books and coffee to transition our evening towards our dinner plans. We were disappointed to get a call from my husband letting us know that the restaurant we were going to go to, to celebrate my Mom’s birthday, was closed. It’s a restaurant that my Mom heard about from a lady who was going through chemo last year when she was. My Mom had this innate ability to befriend anybody, and spontaneously asked the whole chemo ward if anyone knew of a restaurant where she should celebrate her 59^th birthday. A lady offered up her favourite as an option, without hesitation. We went, and had a glorious time. So glorious in fact that those who attended our wedding ceremony went there after as well. It seemed fitting to go again this year. But, it turns out we will have to find another good reason to go again soon.

Up to this point, I had been too busy to notice the emotional weight of the day. I would settle briefly, like a hummingbird on a hollyhock, on the fact that for the first time in 26 years I couldn’t wish my Mom a happy birthday. Then I would flit onto the next superficial distraction to protect myself from the heavy truth.

But, my husband and I had taken separate cars to get to the restaurant, which left me alone in mine for approximately 45 minutes on the way home. And, you see, I do my best crying in my car (especially when it’s dark out and I can be fairly sure a stranger won’t bust me snotty-nose crying at some red light or stop sign.)

So, I finally cried.

When I cry about my Mom being gone I typically don’t shed a tear or two, and then brush them off. Oh no, I make it worth it. This is where the break-up analogy comes in…

Heart break takes on many forms, and happens for any number of reasons. I’m not here to judge or determine what heart breaks are justified or hurt most. We are all individuals who suffer differently, for unique reasons. Our experiences are so rich and diverse that you can’t really fit each ‘hurt’ on the same scale of 1 to 10. I’ve had my heart broken by a boy, and although I can rationalize now why our relationship was never, ever a healthy or lasting one, I will never forget the infliction of dread and confusion he caused.

Dealing with the death of a loved one is similar for me…

The grieving process isn’t linear, and I highly doubt it has an end point. You kind of work through the process in stages; some days I’m sad, others I’m angry. Sometimes I am in complete denial, and sometimes (I think this is where I am most of the time) I fully accept the truth of this ordeal and tread the deep water through it.

In my moments of deep sadness and anger, I feel just about the same as I did when I was once told, “this isn’t working. We can’t be together any more”. I honestly heard it out of the blue, when I expected it least, and it punched me in the gut so hard that I didn’t just lose my breath (there’s another figurative use of ‘loss’ for ya!), I forgot how to - momentarily.

This is when suddenly the earth shifts out from under you and you start to fall straight down (really fast) on the inside. Of course you aren’t literally falling, but you know the feeling I’m describing- when your stomach goes to your throat unexpectedly and you don’t know whether you should puke, or scream. My happy balance between the two is to cry. And goodness, do I ever! I cry like a small child. It’s not just tears flowing; it’s sobs and wails, and “why me’s?”, too. It’s stopping to catch my breath just so that I don’t gag on the purge of emotion that is so happy to soon be free.

And then that falling down fast feeling goes away. Crying is the only thing that helps that, and I’m so glad that I know that now so that I can just let it happen and free myself from that teetering place (I’m just not always so lucky to be in a place where I can purge so freely.)

On the night of my Mom’s birthday, when the feeling took me over, I just so happened to be in my car – alone – allowing me to let go.

I even get to the point (and this is my raw honesty coming out) where I say “I just want you back”… repeatedly… with a few “Momma’s” mixed in. I don’t think I ever really called my Mom ‘Momma’ when she was living!

Here I am: a 3 year old who isn’t getting her way, mixed with a dash of a 22 year old who doesn’t think she’ll ever love again, with a healthy does of 26 year old whose Mom died not that long ago – letting go. 

And, just like I felt when I woke up one morning and realized that the boy who broke my heart wasn’t really worth it (oh, it was wondrous), I pull into our driveway feeling exhausted, but refreshed.

Another strange connection that I can draw between break-ups and death is that after it’s ‘over’ you somehow tend to only remember the good that you shared with the person no longer in your life. Just like any romantic relationship I’ve had that didn’t work out, after it was over (by my choice or not) I would somehow only focus on the happy times, or the strengths in the bond. This makes it more difficult to deal with, makes you miss the person more, and often tricks you into thinking you should still be together. Our rational selves go on a hiatus, and we ponder whether we’ve made the right decision, or are absolutely sure the person who cruelly dumped us had it all wrong – and will ultimately come to their senses.

Well, I didn’t dump my Mom, and she didn’t dump me. Throughout my life as her only child, and with her being a single parent with little support and a stressful job, things were rarely easy. As a child, a teenager, and even an adult I didn’t always ‘get it’. It has taken her being gone for me to properly recognize the beauty and gifts in our relationship, as well as what she endured and sacrificed to support and love me – even if it wasn’t very often the way a ‘typical’ Mom would. Unlike a breakup, this ‘missing the good’ brings me a great deal of comfort and peace, and I am so grateful that the memories that flood me regularly are the happy, beautiful ones.

Sometimes I go huge lengths of time without crying at all, and a part of me feels guilty about that. Or, sometimes I will suddenly say out loud (often in the car - hoping she’ll hear it wherever she is) that I’m sorry I don’t talk to her more. I divulge that I have a constant conversation with her in my head, but that I doubt she can read my mind. Then I tell her that I’m sorry if she thinks I’m not thinking of her, because I am – always.

The difference between this and a ‘post break-up’ wave of emotion is that the refreshed feeling I have after it all is temporary. I’m never sure how long it will last these days, but I know that the feeling of confusion, sadness, anger, and frustration will eventually return again; often when I least expect it. I will cry again, loudly, with a snotty nose. I will likely groan out the words, “I just want you back” over and over again, too.

And yet, I have so many wonderful things to remember my Mom by, to satisfy me in the vast times in between my crying jags. The best thing I can say about the boy who broke my heart is that he introduced me to zucchini, and now it’s one of my favourite vegetables. And no, it wasn’t me at all, it was him.

The end of my old relationship with my Mom was technically because of her, not me. And, now I have to trudge forward, carried by the wonderful memories, lessons and gifts she gave me when she could.

And thankfully, just like a love for zucchini, those never die.