Tag Archives: Love

The Decision to Move

22 Thursday Jun 2017

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When my Mom phoned to let me know she had called an ambulance to bring my stepdad to the hospital, it was as if the world around me grew still, despite the fact that I was standing in the middle of a bustling Nathan Phillip’s Square in downtown Toronto at the very first Winter Festival being held there.

My husband, child and in-laws kept walking and I could see them pointing towards the ice skaters and, more excitedly, towards the Zamboni. But, my heart had sunk to my shoes and tears were streaming down my cheeks.

I didn’t want to spoil their moment, but I was feeling desperate. I just wanted to get away and be somewhere I could have a good cry. But, I didn’t want to scare my son.

I hung-up with my Mother and eventually rejoined my family. I explained what was going on to my husband while his parents entertained the kid. My gut instinct was to get in a plane and go be with my parents. However, this was very much complicated by the fact that our in-laws had flown all the way from New Zealand to be with us, we didn’t have any other vacation days (so I’d have to take a pay-loss), we were broke so I would have to borrow the money to go as it was, I and I have a 3-year old that I had to consider.

My husband calmed me and told me to just wait to hear some more news about what was going-on before I panicked too much.

It wasn’t until recently, when we moved-back to be with my parents, that I learned just how dire the situation was and just how terrified my parents had been. These are difficult things to convey over text or phone calls, I suppose.

When talking to my Mom in that week and a half, I was trying to discern from what she said and how she sounded whether, or not, they really needed me there.

After getting off the phone with her one evening I broke-down. When my husband came to see what was happening I sobbed “I hate feeling like I am waiting to get that nightmare call that we had better come now or it will be too late…”

My Stepdad had gone through 11 rounds of chemo for colon cancer, and this was the year after he had been flown to Ottawa for a triple bypass. Now, he was in hospital with sepsis and my Mother had said that they were struggling to keep his organs functioning.

I knew it was serious, but did not know how serious or how scared both of my parents were going-through this. I guess that’s a compliment to how well they handled it together. Still, I hate thinking that they had to go through it alone.

Once my Stepdad was out of the hospital, I said to my husband, through more sobbing one night: “I NEVER want to be in that position again. Having to ask my Mom to let me know when it got to the ‘you need to come now because he’s dying’ stage.”

I hated being in that position. I didn’t wan to wait until it was too late. I wanted to spend time with him while there was still time to spend. I wanted my son to be able to build memories of his grandparents of playing games, laughing over dinner, sharing ice cream treats and going for car rides and not just sitting in a hospital saying ‘goodbye’.

So, we made the decision to uproot our lives, and move home.

It was a decision that required a lot of sacrifice, and there are times I still can burst into tears when something I miss about our old home strikes or when my Son asks something like: “Can we go to the tick-tock park?” (A park we used to frequent behind city hall, where the large clock on old city hall, would chime on the hour).

But, the pain and the loss we experience over leaving the city that we all dearly loved pales in comparison to the pain and the loss we would feel if we had decided to stay and, instead, forfeited the time we now get to spend with family.

You just cannot put a price on that.

People say it all the time, but until you are staring it in the face it can be tough to comprehend;

life is short.

You have to look at what really matters to you and be prepared to move heaven and earth to make it happen.

It may be very difficult at times when we are missing our beloved city, but that is grief, not regret. I will never regret choosing time with my family over our life in the city.

We never know how much more time we have together. I’m determined to make the most of it.

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It’s Dad’s Day

19 Sunday Jun 2016

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It’s Father’s Day here in North America and I have been on the verge of tears all day. I feel sad, frustrated, scared, helpless and very far away from my entire family.

I have a father-in-law doing radiation treatments, a Dad who is going for major surgery this upcoming Friday and a Stepdad who is undergoing chemo as he battles colorectal cancer.

And I feel helpless about it all.

It is making this Father’s Day particularly difficult for me. I wish I could do more. This feeling of helplessness is exhausting me and I feel like my reaction to it is to become a deer in headlights-standing there, frozen, unable to do anything.

My Father-in-Law has always treated me like his very own daughter. Maybe the daughter he never had. He has an incredible way of always making me feel loved and welcome. I have never felt like a visitor in his presence, but always like family. From the first time I met him he made me feel special-like he was proud that I was the one his son had chosen. This is an incredible gift that has granted me much encouragement, inspiration and support through the years.

My Dad loves the outdoors. For the first 7 years of my life, I spent a lot of time camping, swimming, hiking, canoeing, fishing and just being outdoors. When I was very young, I used to love getting up early and sitting outside the house with him, watching the sunrise. To this day, the smell of coffee always brings me right back to those warm, red, sun-bathed memories. I learned  how to be quiet, how to let your thoughts and emotions be worked-out through physical activity. I learn from him how to be hardworking and to keep moving, no matter what.

My Stepdad has been my rock, my refuge and my safety. He is a true, ‘salt of the earth’ kind of man. He is a retired farmer. He took-over his Dad’s farm and poured his blood, sweat, and tears into the land and the livestock. I still remember the year he was finally able to purchase his ‘dream’ section of land. For his entire life, a beautiful section of land separated his fields, but the owner never wanted to sell. The year the owner finally sold it, I went out on the 4-wheelers as my Stepdad, puffed with pride, showed me his new land. He pointed-out the gorgeous flowers, the luscious grass, the perfect placement of the trees. On that day, I saw a a man’s dreams come to a meaningful completion.

All three of these men have strengthened my life, supported me, and encouraged me in who I am. And, here I sit-miles away from each of them-aware that they are all going through their own, unique, struggles and circumstances and feeling responsible and guilty for my lack of returned support.

I have enjoyed spending the day with my husband, the Daddy to our own, wonderful, child. But, it has been a really difficult day as well. If I could do anything for my Dad’s this Father’s Day, it would be to remove all their pain, illness, discomfort and fear. 

Everything else just feels so empty. 

But, for what it’s worth, I love you Dads.

The Lost Girl

04 Wednesday May 2016

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The other day I was in the bathroom washing my hands and when I looked-up at myself in the mirror I got a surprise. I looked like myself again.

For years now I have looked in a mirror, searching for me and failing to find the person that once looked back at me. I would see someone with a puffy, tired, drawn face looking back at me like I was a stranger and I would say to her ‘who are you?’

I would stare at this person, intently, gazing into her eyes, trying to find the person I used to know.

Then, all of a sudden, she just showed-up.

The person looking back at me had the mischievous twinkle in her eye that was so familiar. She looked happy, refreshed and full of life.

I didn’t realize how much I had been missing her until she showed up again.

She took my breath away.

There was great relief to find that she still existed. I had been feeling as though she would be lost forever.

This girl and I were close once. We used to explore, create, love, laugh and live a wondrous life full of energy. She was brave and enjoyed exploring and trying new things.

I guess I first started losing touch with her when I was pregnant-the first time. After the miscarriage, she began to distance herself a little bit more. After moving country and finding herself more alone than ever, she would disappear for weeks at a time. She was never really the same after that.

After she gave birth to her little boy she disappeared, almost, entirely. There were brief moments of pure joy when she would show her face, but for the most part, she was lost.

I couldn’t find her. I would call out to her ‘where are you?’ and hear nothing in response. I missed the excitement she brought to the world, I missed the energy, the love for life, the hunger for experience.

I missed the love of art, the desire to create music and write thoughts, the joy that she would have when she watched a breeze rustling the leaves of a tree.

And, all of a sudden, here she was. A cheeky grin on her face, her eyes glowing like an andalusite gem, ready to take on the world.

Like Bastian in “The Neverending Story”, I have traversed through sadness, fear, loss, overcome great obstacles and battled “the Nothing” only to discover that I was the one all along.

The rediscovery of this girl has been a huge part of this journey that I call “seeking life now”. It hasn’t happened by accident. I have had to work at it. My lost self didn’t just appear of her own volition, I have been working on creating a safe space for her so that she felt confident in returning.

And, although she’s not 100%, fully back, the glimpse I have seen of her has given me new hope and renewed energy to keep working on the things I have been doing so that she has space to thrive once again.

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Sarah – 1

25 Monday Apr 2016

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“Please join us for the fireworks, Sarah. It’ll be a lot of fun.” Chris was being persistent in his attempts to encourage Sarah to join a small group of friends who had been hanging at her house and decided to go to check-out the Canada Day firework display.

“Alex will be disappointed if you aren’t there. He’s really hoping you come.”

Sarah and Alex had been spending a lot of time together and had had started texting regularly. This might seem like no big deal but this was back in the day when every text message cost you and there was no such thing as unlimited. If you were texting, it meant that someone meant enough to you to pay per flirt.

But, Sarah just wasn’t feeling it. She didn’t want to be out and around a bunch of people. She liked Alex well enough, but the truth was, she was in love with someone else.

Tonight she was feeling particularly melancholy after having a great evening with Alex and their friends, because she spent the entire time wishing Ben had been there, not him.

Alex was great. He was funny, intelligent, artistic, athletic and kind. He was slight of build which was not really her taste, but had a smile that could light up an entire city. They would talk about movies and art and he would share with her his dreams about becoming a famous photographer. There was something exciting about him and she liked being around him. She wanted to have his energy and thirst for life.

Alex had taken a summer off school and biked across Canada, a thought that would keep her up at night. She wanted to have the guts to try something like that, but felt overwhelmed that she wouldn’t know where to start.

A night of fireworks could have been the perfect setting to take their relationship up a level. This is what was in Sarah’s mind as Chris continued to beg her to join them. And this is why she said no.

She was in love with Ben and didn’t want to have a romantic evening with anyone but him. Chris saw that he was fighting a losing battle and finally left her to join the crew. She clung to her tea cup and listened as the sound of the group of revelers grew further away from her.

She sat in the kitchen for, nearly fifteen more minutes, in the silence, staring at the mustard coloured wall and then towards the entrance to the kitchen, hoping that, at any moment, Ben would walk through the door.

He never did.

271.1 – A Weighty Issue

18 Monday Apr 2016

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Throughout my life, I have found it very frustrating and discouraging how much my weight can fluctuate. My last post saw me at 268.7 and I was feeling very positive. I had given myself a goal of reaching 265 by April 30th and when I saw that # I thought, ‘maybe I can actually reach that goal’. And then, getting on the scale this morning I think ‘there’s no way I’m reaching that goal’.

This is not a new struggle. There have been many times before when I was doing great at this ‘being healthy’ thing and would step on the scale and be up a few, and as much as 5, pounds. And, historically, I would come crashing down and I would give up. ‘If I’m going to gain weight anyway, I may as well eat whatever I like.’

This see-saw of weight and emotions is one of the reasons I have decided to post my weight. It’s important for me to see that it is not the most reliable measurement of the hard work I am putting in. It’s a number. Ultimately, we want to see it trending downwards, but I’m no longer going to allow myself to be discouraged when I step on the scale and the number is up from last time.

Posting my weight (a thought that terrified me a few months ago) has been really positive for me. I used to think that someone other than me knowing what I weighed would be the most humiliating, horrible, dreadful thing.

But, posting the # has, actually, diminished its power and its hold over me. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed like I thought I would be. In fact, I’m proud. I’m proud of myself for being honest about who I am and having the guts to tell the world. I’m also proud of how I don’t feel ashamed about it. It’s good to know that I have that much respect for myself.

I have people in my life who love me just the way I am but up until now, they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know how fat I really am, because only I knew the “real number”. Now they do. And, guess what? Nothing has changed. They still love me just as much. And now that the ‘dirty little secret’ is out and I’m still loved and accepted and there was no cataclysmic event that followed, I realize just how meaningless the # really is.

This is who I am and, I love myself for who I am. Would I like to see changes? Yes. Does that mean I don’t like myself now? No. Would I like the # to go down and be smaller? Yes. Am I going to get hung-up on it and discouraged if it doesn’t? No.

I am loved. I love myself. I’m doing my best and I am enjoying my life.

You can’t put a weight on that.

Why Can’t We all just Get along?

14 Thursday Apr 2016

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I don’t understand hatred. I can’t wrap my head around the things that humans do to one another.

This world really baffles me some times. I recently read a post on Facebook about someone who had been treated poorly because of the colour of their skin. In the comments below this person’s friends, rightfully, expressed outrage at what was happening to people of their colour. Then, as I continued to read the comments one person said something along the lines of ‘stupid (insert racial slur against people of a different culture), they think they can come here and take over our country’.

What?!

You’re raging about how your people are being treated in one sentence and turning around and treating people of a different ethnicity than yours with the same lack of respect.

I just don’t get it.

I’ve never understood racism or bigotry or even just plain rudeness, for that matter.

I don’t even like it when my husband is terse with telemarketers. I used to let them go through their entire spiel until I realized that doing that wasn’t the nicest thing I could do for them, because they have a certain amount of calls and a certain amount of deals they have to make to reach targets and get paid, etc. So, now I try to interrupt them early on in a polite way by saying “Not right now, thank you” or “I’m not interested, thank you”. But, I don’t feel like I can hang up until they have said “bye”. And I always say “but thank you, anyways” one more time for good measure. My husband teases me because I feel too badly to just hang up.

Recently, I heard about a teenage boy with down syndrome who always wanted to be part of the “group” of guys at school and one day he thought he had got his wish. It was a cold day in February, with the temperature well in the minus digits, when he received a text from a boy in the group saying “we’re all hanging at the mall. You should come join us. Wear shorts, it’s kinda our thing’. Meet outside the front doors.” The boy arrived, in shorts, and stood outside in the cold waiting for the group of boys. They were inside, warmly wearing pants, laughing at him and filming him standing outside in shorts, waiting for them.

I

Don’t

Get

It.

I just don’t.

My brain goes into convulsions anytime I hear things like this and almost completely shuts down because it cannot seem to process such things. I feel like it’s a bit of a problem, because I live in a state of suspended disbelief and denial all the time.

So, I try to understand it on a smaller, personal, level. I know that when I am feeling hurt, I can get mean. When I am hurt, a monster rages inside of me like you could not believe (well, my husband could, he sees this monster frequently enough). And, I could see myself doing all kinds of things that seem out of the ordinary for me because of it.

Is that what is happening here? Are people just hurt all the time and being mean because of it?

Could this be why someone, rudely, pushes you on a streetcar without so much as an “I’m sorry”? Is this why the boys in the story above thought it was funny to pick on someone, embarrass and endanger him?

Whatever the reasons, I don’t really understand it. I don’t understand gay-bashing, fat-shaming, racism, sexism, or people being mean or rude or even unhelpful.

Why don’t people want to be nicer to one another? I guess that’s what I’m saying I don’t get.

I live every day with a desire to be as nice as I can to everyone around me. And not just that. I don’t want to just be nice to those around me, I feel a deep drive to go beyond myself and help to make things a bit better or easier for people with whom I come in contact. Regardless of race, colour, sex, station in life, and so forth. I want to make the world a better place and if that means something as easy as saying “Thank you” to our streetcar driver, buying milk for someone who asks for it at Tim Horton’s or even something as simple as giving a smile to someone to acknowledge their existence, I like doing it.

I always assumed that this is the way people were. But, I’m learning otherwise.

Is it that people are not being raised to try and see things from others’ perspectives? Whenever I encounter a new person, issue, problem, etc. my initial thoughts are always ones of ‘how do I best understand this situation/person?’ and I automatically shift to ‘seeing it from that perspective’.
Maybe this is because I love complexities and have trained myself from a young age to always look at ‘the other side of the coin’ before making any snap judgements.

My Mom always used to tell us to be nice to waitresses/cashiers and anyone who was serving us in any way, because you never know what kind of day they might be having. You never know what sorrows, frustrations and pain someone is carrying around with them at any time.

And so, I assume everyone has something that is tough in their lives and I try to ensure I don’t add to that-or, if possible, maybe even bring some relief. Even if just for a moment.

Is it really that difficult?

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Being a Mom

22 Tuesday Mar 2016

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It has been said that being a parent is like watching your heart running-around outside of your body.

This has, absolutely, been my experience.

I have always been an emotional, caring, deep and sensitive person. But, being a mother has quadrupled these things and shone a light on them that burns me up like an ant in a magnifying glass.

Everything is so much more extreme now.

I have rage that even terrifies me sometimes. I can only imagine what my husband must be thinking when this beast comes out in place of his wife. He must think I’m a total Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And, believe me, he wants to hide, when that monster is on the loose.

There is something that was unleashed deep inside of me that is so primal and utterly overpowering the day my son was born. I swear that this juice would allow me to lift an airplane if I had to, or rip a mountain out of its socket. I often picture myself grabbing an intruders rifle in my bare hands and bending it in half as I protect my family. I feel fairly certain that there is nothing I couldn’t do if my child’s well-being depended on it.

The rage I feel towards his safety sometimes reminds me of a cartoon character. I become Yosemite Sam and the smoke starts bellowing from my ears, my face flushes red and my nose starts to screech loudly like a kettle ready to boil over.

But, it’s not just the rage that has intensified, it’s the love as well.

I have always considered myself someone who tends to love too much. And now I find that  I love my child so intensely that it physically hurts at times. Do you remember what it was like when you were a young, early, teen or preteen and you had those first crushes on people? Remember how it would make you feel physically ill and achy at times?

Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way about a peer, but I feel that way about my son every single moment of every single day. The poor kid. When I’m with him, I can’t stop kissing him. I’m a serial kisser. And, now that he’s growing a bit more independent, every time he says something like “I sit in my own chair”, my heart crumbles just a little bit.

I love him more with every day and I’m terrified that one day my heart will just give-out under the immensity of love it has been expected to manage.

I will never be the same person that I was before I became a Mom. This little life has totally transformed me. I could never be the same. He has unleashed so many things inside of me that are completely beyond my grasp.

I am a wild-eyed, steam-whistling, heart-pounding, serial-kissing, intense, dangerous and endless-lovin’, mama.

And I couldn’t be happier.

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In Such a Little Hand

21 Monday Mar 2016

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I sat down to write a couple posts, was listening to some good music, cuppa tea by my side and I got inspired. I pulled-out my guitar and wrote a little number. Here are the lyrics.

In Such a Little Hand

In such a little hand
There was so much love to find
The universe exposed
All brokenness made whole
In such a little hand

In such a little face
So much to explore
The day you formed the world
Beauty did restore
In such a little face

There were days we were soaring
There were days when we began to drown
Falling tears all felt more heavy
And laughter weightless as a cloud

Sunlight touched the skin more warmly
And the clouds were darker grey
The whole world opened up
In such a little hand.

In such a little foot
All the places it will go
To follow all your dreams
A million paths to take
In such a little foot

In such a little heart
A world where life is made
Where purest love exists
And no one is afraid
In such a little heart

I’ve finally found my place
In such a little hand

Life is Magical

19 Saturday Mar 2016

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I don’t know if it’s just me, but my mind is full of memories that seem to be filled to the brim with magic.

I’m not talking saw the girl in half or house of Gryffindor magic. But, I guess what I will call, movie magic.

These are moments and memories upon which I look back on and see them as if watching a beautiful film. Everything is perfect- the lighting, the mood, the script, the cinematography, the soundtrack- it’s all there.

My movie reel is beautiful. I love tapping into that part of my mind and just reliving these moments.

Most of them are bittersweet. Unrequited love, happier days long forgotten, a time when life was less complicated. But, it is so sweet to relive the moments and experience the thrill of the emotions that accompany each one.

I love reliving life in my mind. But, I am constantly questioning if I am living too much in the past. I have, until recently, spent a great deal of time simply wanting to go back.

The positive impact this life movie reel has had on me is that I have started to realize how beautiful, how magical, life really is.

I seek to be fully aware of each moment because, one day, these will be the magical times I think back on with nostalgia and wish I could relive.

I try to live the moment to its fullest the first time, so when I see it again years from now, I don’t feel sad that I hadn’t known how wonderful it was at the time.

I find myself yearning a little bit less for memories of the past and embracing the present moments, looking for every morsel of joy, love, wonder, imagination, beauty, emotion and magic that they have to offer.

This is life.

And, it’s not that bad.

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I’m Sorry. So Sorry.

26 Friday Feb 2016

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Back during one of my previous attempts at blogging, I talked about being a “highly sensitive person”.

I had found this blog on Huffington Post and it resonated with me:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/26/highly-sensitive-people-signs-habits_n_4810794.html

I’ve been thinking about #6 quite a bit lately: An HSP (Highly Sensitive Person) is “more upset if they make a ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ decision.”

My husband will be able to attest to the fact that I do not say “I’m sorry” very easily. This can often be misunderstood as me not being sorry. But, the truth is exactly the opposite.

The problem, and I try to explain this to him (though, I don’t think he ever believes me), is that I feel so sorry and horrible for what I have done that it’s difficult for me to talk about it.

The Huff Po article says “You know that uncomfortable feeling you get after you realize you’ve made a bad decision? For highly sensitive people, ‘that emotion is amplified because the emotional reactivity is higher’”.

Here’s an example of how this works for us HSP’s from an experience I had just this morning.

When I was changing my son’s diaper I found that he had pooped at some point, most likely, during the night and it had started to squish out of his diaper. When I removed the diaper, I noticed that, because he had been sitting in it for so long, his skin was beat red. Here is what happened in my brain:

He probably did it right after we put him down last night when he was fussing.
Why did I ignore him?
If I had gone in and checked on him this wouldn’t have happened.
It’s my fault his bum is all red and sore.
I tortured my child all night long because I’m lazy.
I’m a horrible person.
I don’t deserve forgiveness.
I don’t deserve to be loved.
With all of that going on in our brains, can you really blame us for struggling to say “I’m sorry”?

The ability to move through these thoughts and say “I’m sorry” is further stymied if the person we have hurt has a strong reaction to what we have done.

For example: I drop a can of peaches on my husband’s foot and he instantly screams in pain and shoots me a dirty look. Here is what happens in my brain:

What’s wrong with me?
I’m a stupid klutz.
Now he hates you (judging by the look he just gave you).
Why are you so dumb?
You can’t do anything right.
I’m a horrible person.
I don’t deserve forgiveness.
I don’t deserve to be loved.

What’s the solution? Should we just be ‘off the hook’ and not have to say “I’m sorry” ever again?

I don’t think so.

I’ve been working on being able to apologize by first of all, trying to explain what is happening in my head at the time so there is an understanding of what I’m facing. I also practice self-talk in my head and try to formulate something to say that, may not be the words “I’m sorry” but mean the same thing, with the hopes that, one day, I will be able to actually just say the words.

Until then, if I’ve hurt you in any way, please accept my apology and know that I’m working on being able to say I’m sorry for the next time I (inevitably) hurt you.