To Be Witness

The leaves are gone off the trees today. A hard wind came along and away the last of them went.I don't know what fits a death more - grey skies and bare trees or a sunshiny blue sky.

This is Thanksgiving weekend here. I came home mid morning and put a pie in the oven and made the cranberry sauce. The turkey was slipped in to the oven to roast just a few minutes ago. Dearest one was gone when I came home. I thought maybe he'd gone to have coffee with a friend. Nope. He was at the hospital with his dad, who had been feeling ill enough that dearest one's mom called and asked for help. He is okay, no heart attack as was feared. Dearest one will be home as soon as he can. It's been that kind of a weekend.

I am beyond grateful that I am sober and emotionally healthy. Otherwise I would not be in this place of accepting life on life's terms today. I don't do it perfectly of course. I'm just grateful for those times when it is so clear what the right thing to do is regardless of what my idea of the day was going to look like. Thy will be done is a really brave thing to pray some days. There is a bigger plan than I can see. That sentence doesn't answer all the questions. I don't think faith needs every question answered in order to be real and vibrant. Maybe just the opposite.

Last night my sponsor and I settled into her hot tub after everyone had gone home. She reached both her hands out to me and under an inky black sky with pin pricks of stars trying to shine through, we prayed together. A first for both of us. The first words out of her mouth were ones of gratitude. We then sat and talked and even laughed a bit. It is a privilege to be witness to someone else's journey.


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Think Of Her

I'm just home for a moment.
This morning I phoned my sponsor to see if she wanted a ride to the meeting.
That's when I found out her husband had passed away a few hours earlier.
She'd tried to call me but in her distress dialed the wrong number.
I've been with her all day.
Just came home for stuff so I can spend the night.
Within the next few days her 'other family',
those in recovery will come together and grieve with her.
Please pray for her if you will.
Thanks.

Do I Know You?

He sat across from me, the cannula in his nose snaking its way to the oxygen bottle that rested against his leg. He had puffy patches under his eyes and looked a bit frail. I wondered for a moment if I knew him but dismissed it. I've asked strangers before, "Do I know you?" and only occasionally have I been right.

Instead I picked up a magazine and waited. A few minutes later someone hailed him from across the room and made a beeline in our direction. An old friend. A good, old friend. They gabbed back and forth in the comfortable way that showed they had a lot of history together. Bantered about which golf courses were their favourites. Compared notes on committees they had both served on. Spoke to each other with a gentle air of knowing that life is really just a pouf of time and then it's over. A warmth between two (not even grumpy) old men.

I half listened and half looked at my doctor's office magazine. After a time his friend bid goodbye and then it was just the two of us sitting across from one another, the chairs so close our knees almost touched. When he looked up and smiled my confidence increased. Even at that I had an argument inside myself.

Eventually I won.

"Are you Karen's dad?"

His face broke into her smile, removing all doubt.

"Yes, I am."

Instant tears for both of us at her name. Then we talked. Kindness in his questions. Kindness in his responses. I kept studying his face as if I could pull Karen right out of it. Talking to him made me feel like I could almost reach out and touch her. In his smile I saw her so fully that I just kept wanting to keep him smiling.

"I think about her every day." He welled up as he said it. I did, too. We were quiet then, no segue into a place that knows no sorrow. We just looked at each other with tears and said nothing.

Eventually I asked him about his oxygen use. Sometimes when you are sick it is so nice to have someone understand the ins and outs of what you are dealing with. We talked about how many liters he needed when he sat and when he walked. I knew Karen would have grilled him about this. She would have been worried at the high number he needed to walk.

I'd been thinking of her just a few days ago. Out riding the lawn mower I'd remembered her tale of being so weak that she fell off hers while trying to cut grass in a ditch. She never got on a lawn mower again.

She would be so happy for me that my health took a turn for the better. That I am in a remission of sorts. At least that's what I call it. The geneticist says this is a syndrome of peaks and valleys and I've been mostly on the peaks for several years now. Karen was my main support group while I struggled through many years of debilitating health issues.

Grief feels like an awkward friend to me. Yes, I know it but I don't know what to do with it. Several few years ago when I was in a grief and loss workshop I stood up to present my collage of losses to the group. Other people got all teary explaining theirs but I pointed out this baby lost, that baby lost, plus that baby lost, this brother, that friend like I was reading statistics from a Mathematics manual. Since then I've read that when you cry over one death you are also crying over every death you haven't fully grieved.

I'm getting better at crying although I still haven't wrapped my head around that Karen really is gone. A few days ago was the second anniversary of her passing.

Postscript: I asked him that day about his wife. Tentavively, unsure of whether it would be okay. She had been going through cancer treatments at the time of Karen's death. Although I tried to keep an eye on the obits I didn't know if she was still alive. I didn't want to add to his pain.

"Oh, she was having a few issues," he said.
Was in seeing the doctor right now as a matter of fact about biopsy results.

She was in there a long, long time.

I wondered at the dynamics of their relationship that he was in the waiting room and she was in the doctor's office. As if reading my mind he told me that one of Karen's siblings was in there with her. In the midst of our warm conversation crept the strain of the unknown.

At one point I debated excusing myself and going to the bathroom because of my rising anxiety at the reality of being there when she came out of the doctor's office. What if it wasn't good news? I didn't want to be there to witness it.

But instead of running away from what might be, I stayed.
The longer we waited the more our conversation dwindled and the tension increased.
But he kept asking me questions, turning the conversation my way. Karen did the exact same thing. She might have had to gasp between words but still she would ask how I was. No matter how many times I tried to turn it her way she never forgot she was in relationship right in this moment. She taught me much.

Forty five minutes after I first sat down across from him my eyes became glued to her face as she came down the hallway. She smiled at him immediately. Not the smile of the triumphant. But nevertheless, a smile. I felt myself relax. Good news then. She called out to him to say the results weren't back yet. Arrangements were made for the nurse to phone her when the results came in.

Karen didn't talk about dying very often. But once, a few months before she died she said, "What will my husband do when my parents and I are all dead in x amount of time?"

I wonder if her mom ever got the phone call about the test results.
Not that it matters in the end.
When I opened up the obits today there she was.
A week and a day after I saw her in the doctor's office.

I am sitting here feeling stunned.
That poor, kind man.
Lord, have mercy.

Feeling Angry And Sad

There are two Pugs who will howl unabashedly when dearest one comes home tonight. One little Pug has had to be carried to bed lest he look out the window all night in hopes of dearest one coming home.

Yesterday morning I watched a doe and her two bambis, complete with spots, walk tentatively across the lawn. Later in the day a bird stopped atop a fence post and serenaded me. That was a nice antidote to the dead mouse I had to deal with earlier in the day.

Today housework and writing will fill my waking hours. Every morning I wake up thinking about the family member who committed suicide last week and how he is missing out on this brand new day. I feel angry and sad both. It's been 30+ years since I've had a suicidal feeling. I've done a lot of reading online the past week about suicide and this post has helped.

I think any time there is a death it brings to the surface all the unhealed grief within me. In all selfishness I hope I don't have to buy any more sympathy cards for a while.


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Close To His Heart

It's been a long day.
I made a three hour round trip
to see my spiritual director.
From the first time I saw him
nearly 5 years ago, he has talked
about putting together the
pieces of my puzzle, my story.

Today another piece slipped into place.
It caught me totally offguard.
Snot nosed tears gushed.
I've worked hard to keep my tears to myself
most of my life although these past 3 years
I have become more willing to honour them.

Sometimes tears catch me unaware with
the force of vomit.
Today was one of those days.

Then this evening came the news
of a suicide of one
of dearest one's relatives.
Caught us offguard.
The fourth suicide affecting
us or people we know in
the past few weeks.
This week is the anniversary
of this friend's suicide.

I am so grateful that even in this there is no need to drink.
The only way I've been able to come to terms with the suicides over the years that have affected me directly, from my granny's at age 90, to my friend Ron, to this latest suicide, is that there is no understanding the why of it. It just is.

As I was in my spiritual director's office today I happened to glance at a paper on the floor beside my chair whose title stated something to the effect that God holds the souls of those who commit suicide close to his heart.

Amen.

Twelve years already.

A Form Of Prayer

I light these candles often. I call them my prayer candles. The pretty blue one on the far left is lit for Pam and her family. As I light the candles I say out loud the name of the person I am praying for. Today is a day of praying mostly for people who have had loved ones die. Some I know personally, some are in the news. As I lit the last one I teared up and cried. Being teary is my least favourite vulnerable feeling. Even when I am all alone like I am this morning. Years ago a nun told me that tears are a form of prayer. You can't see it in this picture but the little bowl has the words "let it be" inscribed in it. I have a rock with the word Hope in it, too. I like to think of leaving my cares in that bowl.

Anyway I went looking for something on youtube to cheer myself up. I found this:


It made me tear up too.
Happy tears.
My mom played this soundtrack when I was little.
When I left home I took that piece of vinyl with me.
As part of an ongoing amend I no longer play it at 7 in the morning, full blast, just to piss someone off as part of a payback scheme for pissing me off. Not one of my more brilliant moments. It's been 30 years and I'm betting that long ago neighbour doesn't wince and think of me when he hears this song. Actually I played the Goatherd song full blast that morning. Hurts my ears just thinking about it. I'm grateful I've learned to give voice to my feelings instead of resorting to passive aggressive moves to get my point across.

Marking Time

Yesterday was my dad's birthday.
I have a history of either sending cards waaay too early
or late or sometimes I just save them for the next year
so they have a hope of being somewhat on time.
Sometimes I have to look at the postage stamp
and see how much it cost
to decipher what year I meant to send the card.
Seriously.
I have a card for one of my sisters that is probably a decade old.
I can tell by how cheap the stamp is.

This year I wrote a note in my dad's card that said,
"Finally got one to you on time."
and then I let the card ride around in my car for three days.
Which meant it might get there on time
or I'd have to eat crow for a while.
The card arrived yesterday, right on time!
Wonders never cease.
My dad would have had a great chuckle over
my note had the card arrived late.

In his birthday card I put a photo I'd received of
the gravestone I bought last month
for my brother Rodney's grave.
I've never heard my dad say his name.
Yesterday when I called the first thing my dad said to me was, "That was a very nice idea to put a gravestone on (momentary pause) Rodney's grave."

My dad turned 79 yesterday.
Rodney would've been 49 this year.
Doing the math I realize what a young man
my dad was when Rodney died.
He was the only one in our family
who knew where Rodney was buried
until I asked him 20 years ago.

It's taken 20 years for me to make good on the promise to put a marker on Rodney's grave. I am so glad my parents are still alive to see the promise fulfilled.

My parents go for coffee with a group of cronies twice a week.
Today is one of those days.
I sit here wondering
if my mom slipped the photo in her purse
to show her sister
or if his memory will always be
unspoken.

I Get To...

When I'm doing yoga the pugs think I'm a trampoline.
They take advantage of me lying in a pose and try to clean out my ears for me.
Then they decide my belly would make a great jumping on and off point.
They are persistent.
I decided this morning not to get cross with them,
I was at the tail end of the session anyway.
So I sat up and rough housed with them for a few moments
and then got up and made my breakfast.

I'm off to town today to buy groceries.
Buying groceries is a privilege.
Not too many years ago we were regulars at the food bank.
We went months without tasting a piece of fruit.
I missed it.
The summer we were once again bringing in an income
a fresh peach never tasted so good.

The last time I was in the grocery store
I didn't go very far when I realized
they had changed every single flipping aisle.
I went up and down the aisles grumbling out loud
about how stupid it was, among other things,
to put pickles across from potato chips.
And why would they have kleenex in one aisle
and paper towels and toilet paper in another?
Eventually my whining got old even to myself and I shut up.

I imagine today I will feel no less irritated
when I see in what ridiculous ways
the aisles have been rearranged.
The store proudly announces when you walk in
that it's now a more efficient shopping experience.
Not.

Because I get to choose my attitude
I'm going to keep front and center
that buying groceries is a privilege.
I get to buy groceries.
I get to do a whole lot in life.

Today is the fifth anniversary
of dearest one's brother's death.
Five years ago today it was snowing.
He laid on the ground all day covered with a white hospital blanket
until the police were done their investigation.
Dearest one and I and all his family walked past his body
on the way to the house where we gathered in disbelief.
It still seems surreal this many years later.
Not sure why the police lifted the yellow tape
and let us walk past his body.
It was his death and the life circumstances we were facing at the time
that cemented in me that God is with us in our pain.
Because of his death I know that whatever life throws my way
I am not left alone to deal with it.
I believe Jesus hunkers down beside me
and is with me in it,
weeping as I weep,
whether I can feel his presence or not.
If you could lift up dearest one and his family in prayer today
that would be greatly appreciated.
This day doesn't seem to get any less painful
no matter how much time has passed.
Thank you.

Reaching Out

Settled.
That's how I feel tonight.
It's been a day of good connections.
Someone in AA reaching out a hand towards me
and me reaching out to another.
My friend Ron used to tell me
help is only a hand away.
If you read those three links
you'll see how our paths crossed.
How his suicide still haunts me.
I'll wait.

Dearest one mentioned Ron the other day
and grief rose up without warning,
tears pricking my eyes.
It's been 10 years since the cops tossed the ziploc bag
that held his pack of smokes, a bloody thumb swipe
marring its outside, onto the counter.
I think of Ron when the phone feels too heavy
and I don't want to reach out a hand.
I didn't plan on writing about him tonight.

Ron never took me too seriously.
That used to piss me off royally.
The madder I got at him for that
the louder he laughed.
It's harder to take oneself seriously
when someone is laughing at you.
But I sure did try.

Whatcha Lookin' For?

There is much to be grateful for this morning.
Every mornning really.
You get what you look for.
Don't tell me that when I'm bitchy though,
'cause I might throw something at you.

Even though I know that if you look for the negative
that's all you'll see.
Look for the positive
and it appears like magic.
When I accept life as it is,
it suddenly seems much less overwhelming.

When I start listing things I'm grateful for
it always boils down to being glad I'm alive.
I read this last night before bedtime
and felt sick for Amy and her children.
Whenever I hear of someone dying suddenly I think to myself
"Their nightmare is just beginning" because that's what
a sudden death feels like.
Wish I didn't know that, but I do.

Go hug someone.
Phone someone and tell them you love them.
Be kind for no reason at all.
Breathe deeply.
Smile.

It Wasn't Always That Way

Forty eight years ago today my brother Rodney died. He was born premature and lived for 2 days. I've told his story before on these pages. I think of him every year on this day.

It wasn't always that way.

My mom was in a drunken, teary state when she told me she had no idea when he was born or when he died. She knew the month and the year but that's all. At that time he would have been 28 years old. What a long time for her to carry that alone. She didn't know where he was buried either. I had to go to my dad to find that out and then later I called the cemetery to find out his date of birth and death. And where exactly his grave was.

I promised my Mom a long time ago that I would buy a tombstone for his grave. This coming Spring I will be doing just that. I mentioned this to my mom when I saw her last month. A lone tear coursed down her cheek at the mention of his name.

The doctors told my mom the best thing she could do to cope with his death was to get pregnant. She did and then miscarried. Then she got pregnant with me. I was born at the same gestation as Rodney. We were 3 ounces different in birth weight. My mom said the nurses used to massage my chest with their thumbs to get my heart going again.

Especially because of Rodney's death I try not to take life for granted. On my birthday I thank God for another year, another breath, another step forward on the journey. Sometimes I feel guilty that I lived and he died. I know that's irrational thought but it still crops up from time to time. Other times I wonder if he would have been a protective older brother or another perpetrator.

There were many little silver numbered discs surrounding the area in the graveyard where Rodney is buried. Other little babies who only have a number to mark their life and death. Sometimes I wonder what their collective stories are and who remembers them still.

The Feet To Do It

A pink streaked sky greets me this morning.
I really dislike being alone at night so I'm glad it's morning.
This feels like a put-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other kind of day.
That's not a bad thing, just reality.
I'm glad I have the feet to do it.

The weather man said there was no snow in the 5 day forecast.
That's the time of year it is here when it comes to weather.
Which should tell you I am a true Canadian because weather is often the first thing we talk about. Every week when I call my mom she asks about the weather first, about my week, second.

Yesterday I was listening to the request hour on the radio when someone phoned in who sounded so much like my friend Karen. Not sure how long it will be before remembering that she's gone will stop sending a zing of pain right through me. As I was thinking of her I realized the song this woman requested was one that they played at Karen's funeral. Well, wasn't that enough to make me cry and cry?

So even though this feels like a put-one-foot-in-front-of-another kind of day, I'm going to choose to walk it with a smile on my face and a good attitude. My friend Karen knew she was dying and she wanted nothing more than to keep on living. This day's for her.

Taking The Edge Off

We had a lovely water fight last night.
Dearest one was chasing the cat out of the garden with playful squirts
of the water hose.
I told youngest son to just wait and see
that his dad would try and get as close to me as possible with the water spray without actually hitting me.
Eventually he did just that and then miscalculated and got me wet.
And we laughed.
I went and got an ice cube and had youngest son put it down his dad's shirt.
At one point younest son took the watering can and started watering my flowers.
He suddenly turned and poured it right over my head.
Then over his dad's head.
Then over his own.
We all ended up wet and laughing.
Laughter takes the edge off the grief.

Rose Scented Comfort

Friday night I returned a call to another AA member telling him I wasn't coming into town the next day so no, I wouldn't be able to chair the meeting for him. We chatted about other things for a bit and then he asked if I would be willing to be a speaker at the treatment center this coming week. Every week AA does a speaker meeting at the center where two people share what it was like (when they were drinking), what happened (how they found recovery) and what it's like now (how working the 12 steps has changed their lives). I would have loved to be one of those speakers, this week's meeting being nearly a year since I finished the program there. However, I had to decline due to family obligations that particular evening. I trust another opportunity to share at the center will come my way if it's meant to be.

This phone conversation took place before I found out that my friend Karen had passed away. When that phone call came my first thought was that I needed a meeting. I talked with my sponsor and left it open for us to go together to the meeting the next morning. I went to bed pretty sure I was going to stay home. I slept poorly that night. The next morning I was watching the energizer bunny be her cute self when I remembered Karen's small dog and how it had been her constant companion these past few years. How much joy it had brought her and how much that dog was going to miss her. Tears welled up as I thought all this and I thought to myself yet again that I needed a meeting. I had just looked at the clock to guage how much time I had before I had to decided whether I was going to go when the phone rang. It was my sponsor asking me if I was going to the meeting.

Just over an hour later we were both warming chairs at the meeting. That the doors were open, that someone stepped up to chair the meeting....I was so grateful. I told the chairperson that I'd no idea that between the time I talked to our friend to decline chairing the meeting and this morning that I would be the one who would need a meeting the most.

Yesterday I realized how safe I feel in the rooms of AA, especially my home group. I can cry in front of these friends and feel no shame or embarrassment about it. I could simply be myself without pretense, which included sharing how I glared at someone this past week with a fuck off times ten glare. How strange that recovery depends on letting go of pretense when often letting go of pretense in a faith community will get one ostracized. We have things a bit screwed up there I think. No wonder Philip Yancey talks in his book, Church,Why Bother? about how church should be more like an AA meeting. [Okay - I'm off my soapbox,now.] I looked at the guy who chaired the meeting and thanked him for opening up early, for chairing the meeting when he had other plans for the day.

My sponsor and I spent a few hours together after the meeting, having a leisurely lunch, and getting a few errands done. We sat in her car at the end of our time together and dabbed rose scented cuticle moisturizer on our fingers. That scent always reminds me of our Blessed Mother. Who better knows what grief is all about?

Last night in the dusky moonlight dearest one and I went for a walk.
That is my favourite way to spend time.
It was a comforting day all around.
Thank you for your prayers.

Walking The Walk

It's been a day. A good day. I went to the funeral of my friend who passed away last week. He was a cradle Catholic and was really good friends with a group of men from the Mennonite Church close by. My friend's funeral, held at the Catholic Church, was a wonderful celebration. The music ministry from the Mennonite church really blessed us with meaningful music. The priest led the service and turned it over to the Pastor of the Mennonite Church after the Gospel reading. This Pastor acknowledged what an honour it was to preach in the Catholic Church and was grace filled, loving and gentle spirited. He is a man my husband grew up with, his father a man my husband had the greatest respect for. He said nothing that was contrary to Catholic belief. I am convinced there is more that unites than divides us and I am grateful this pastor focused on that.

A few weeks ago at a different funeral, a Protestant Pastor got up to say his piece towards the end of a Catholic funeral, time courteously given him by the priest and at the request of a few family members. Time with which he then ran roughshod over the message that had been preached. Correcting people's faulty perspective. There's a certain rudeness about doing something like that that irks the daylights out of me. I don't know about you but words don't speak to me near as much as actions do. What's that saying? Your actions speak so loudly I can't hear what you're saying. Advice I need to take to heart as well. Sigh. Excuse me while I take the log out of my eye.

Today, the priest went out of his way to explain the order of the Mass without apologizing for it, nor making people uncomfortable if they were unfamiliar with what came next. Here's how we do as Catholics and here's the meaning behind this symbol or that one. I've rarely seen such inclusivity without apologizing for the differences. No watered down Catholicism, no dissing one another's faith communities. The mutual respect was beautiful to see.

My friend's life touched many people. He let the Holy Spirit guide him and more than half the people attending raised their hands when asked if they had prayed one on one with my friend. He not only talked the talk, he walked the walk.

At the luncheon afterwards I was able to connect with a friend whose husband is undergoing chemotherapy, his second round tomorrow. It was good to talk and honour her tears as they overflowed. Tears of all that is unsettled within her. In the circles we know each other in there have been several deaths and diagnoses of cancer lately. She knows firsthand that no one is immune to suffering. It's a painful road of transformation for her right now. I don't know how her story will end. She is still raising young children and is also a grandmother. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.

Hard Fought

My friend with the 30 year medallion passed away last night.
I can't get our last conversation out of my head.
He knew he had a lesion but no biopsy results yet.
He said he hoped his time wasn't up,
he wanted to be around for a while yet.
That was less than two months ago.

A week ago his wife asked for prayers
that he wouldn't linger long.
That they both wished for his time to come quickly.
I imagine this past week has felt
both exceedingly long
and exceedingly short.

I rarely pray farther than
"Thy will be done" anymore.
To some that probably sounds lame,
as if I don't expect anything from God.
To me that prayer is simply
acknowledging that God's God and I'm not.
I don't know what God's will is.
For me. For you. For anyone.
I can so quickly get my will
and God's screwed right up.
As if I know what's best
for me. For you. For anyone.
I don't.

I do believe that God is with me
in whatever my life's circumstances may be.
I don't have to like those circumstances.
Sometimes I sit here, look at what is and
think, "Oh, for fuck's sake."
As if I'm on a merry go round
for which there is no stop button.

But whatever is happening today
is not permanent.
It just is.
I take comfort in believing
that Jesus hunkers down with me
in both the worst
and the best of days.

It's easy to type that right now
because this is not the worst of days.
I've had a few of them though.
I'm thinking of this day in particular.
That day will always be a defining moment in my life.
Where the rubber met the road when it came to my faith.
Where I had to decide whether God was with me in the midst of such anguish
or I was left on my own to blindly make my way through.
I don't know what the future holds for me
any more than my friend knew his two months ago.
Hope is a hard fought word for me.
It would not be my favourite word
without the worst of days.

Rest in peace my friend.

Of Snotty Watershed Moments

Blessed relief came last night
in a most unexpected way.
Yesterday I'd told my hairdresser I just needed a good cry.
You know the kind that's full of snot and gulps and
so many, many tears.
Except those kind take something to set them off.
I can't just will them to happen.
They bring a relief which
tears welling up and spilling over just can't match.

In my email last night was a long letter from a dear reader.
I've often struggled to write something here
that isn't so inward looking.

Yet there was her letter, telling me how my navel gazing
has affected her journey.
Profoundly.
I leaned my head against the wall, looked out the window
and sobbed my heart out as I read her words.

Snot, gulps and many tissues later
I felt more whole, less hurting.
My own hope restored by her
gift of words.
What earlier had seemed so difficult
was once again manageable.

Today was my turn to chair my home group 12 step meeting.
I went feeling tender,
tears being my barely-under-the-surface side kick.
We started with a few members and within
half an hour the number around the table had doubled.
I had prayed earlier to simply get out of God's way
in the meeting. To open myself to breathe space
in between what was being shared.
To hold each person up to the light.

I spent time before the meeting
litsening to a young man
a stranger to our town
share his story with me.
Blessed before the meeting even started.

During the meeting I was able to share
that my feelings were not a permanent sentence
yet it was a necessary place
for me to be today.
I told them of our mutual friend
who is in palliative care.
Last night he was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.
His days numbering less than a handful.
Some there know him as well.

After the meeting ended
there were many hugs
offers of coffee or lunch.
They sensed I needed companionship
in order to gain strength to go to the hospital.

10 minutes later we were breaking bread together
and a while after that one of them came with me
to the hospital to visit our friend.

He was barely coherent
not recognizing all who know him.
I sat for a while just watching him breathe
I went to his bedside and spoke to him
his eyes fluttering open
unable to form words with his mouth
though he tried.
I told him of the medallion
yet sensed he had not the strength to hold it.

I met his wife
on the elevator
and pressed his 30 year medallion
into her palm.
She said it had come just in time
as she closed her fingers over it.
She said his 25 year medallion was always in his pocket
and he'd hoped years ago, when he first fell ill with
another serious illness, to make it that far.
Now here was 30.

As I left the hospital and walked to my van
I suddenly realized
what a privilege it was
just to be able to walk.
Despite my weariness I had a flutter of
wanting to jump up and down a bit
because I can move my legs at will.
Just a few days ago my friend still had that ability.
Last night that ability ended for him.
He is bed bound now until his angels carry him home.

Some days all I need is perspective.
Let me rephrase that.
Every day all I need is perspective.
It doesn't make life's problems any less painful
they still need to be addressed
and embraced
but it reminds me that whatever
is happening
it's temporary.
Temporary can feel permanent
especially in the moment
but it isn't.
It just is what it is.
Today I can accept that
with a little more hope
than I had yesterday.

The Journey Just Is

Today I embraced the sadness that's been
my companion all week.
Risen from the depths
it's been begging for release.

The tears came amidst a therapy session.
Grief rolled down my cheeks
its outlet found.
Decisions to be made.
Needs voiced
without apology
yet without expectation.

I wanted an easier, softer way.
My body has been letting me know lately
that easier and softer instead of
honest and direct
is too high a price to pay.

Yesterday the doctor recognized
the grief etched within me.
I saw it in his startled eyes
as he opened the door and
looked at me.
When he asked if I was there
only for injections
I sidestepped his question.
Kept it to lighter, safer stuff.
This kind of pain
needs to be felt,
not numbed
in order to heal.

So now the needs have been voiced
the easier softer way
has been put to bed
honest and direct
has taken its necessary place.

Part of me wants to jump up and down
protest that this journey
is too fucking hard.
But really the journey just is what it is.

Awareness feels like a double edged sword.
It cuts one free
and inflicts pain.

This too shall pass.
Not around
but through.
Always through.

Thinking Out Loud

Today would've been my brother Rodney's 47th birthday. I wrote about him here last year. He died two days after his birth. I wrote about him in my journal this morning...always wondering what life would have been like had he lived. That maybe he would have grown into a brother I could be friends with as an adult. My other two brothers don't communicate with me other than my older brother calling me once a year on my birthday. I realize Rodney could very likely have chosen to do the same but still I wonder.

Waiting At The Eastern Gate Still

Today is the third anniversary of my brother-in-law's death. Somehow as the years pass it gets harder, not easier to grasp that he really is gone. If you could hold up dearest one gently in prayer today I thank you. Dearest one has 10 siblings and this one, whose life and death we remember today, was the one closest to his heart. Below is a post which I wrote one year ago.

"It was only fitting this morning to see the odd snow flake intermingled with the rain. Two years ago today my brother-in-law was killed in a freakish accident. It was the day before Mother's Day and I answered the phone to hear my husband's great aunt say, "Dearest one better get over here because his brother is laying dead on my driveway." By the time we got there snow was beginning to cover his body. It still makes no sense that the police let every family member cross the yellow ribbon barrier to make their way to the house and in doing so, walk right past his covered up body. There were several days before we knew his death was most likely accidental, not murder. The man responsible for his death is still awaiting trial. I want to shake him and tell him that all I really want is for him to sober up and not make brother-in-law's death a waste. I know this man, a friend of my brother-in-law, carries much pain within him every day of his life. I cannot fathom the depth of grace he must understand before he can reconcile himself with what happened.

Mother's Day was spent at the funeral home. All the siblings and their spouses who lived in the community gathered with dearest one's parents to plan. That 8 children, their spouses, my brother-in-law's partner, his ex wife and his sons could all gather and plan without fighting, no disputing, just calmly and kindly plan is really a miracle. I wonder why we can grasp what is important at the time of death but are often unable to do it in life.

People were so kind. We had been on welfare and were using the foodbank for about 7 months when he died. Stretched to the limit emotionally, spiritually and every which way we had already seen that when people give of themselves they were sacrificing. Whether it was an encouraging word, a bag of groceries, paying our rent or simply making sure we could find the strength to face another day we knew they were sacrificing. They could have been doing something else with their time, their resources, their very being. They could have walked the other way until our life's circumstances changed.

I stood before the picture of Jesus on my wall that day and with tears streaming down my face said, "God is good." It felt like the words were being pulled out of me one by one. I thought of all the times I sat in church and heard the congregation respond to the statement, "God is good" with "all the time". I don't think there was once that I ever believed it. I thought to say it meant I had to like everything that happened in my life and I knew I didn't. God is with us in our circumstances but is not the author of them.

I've been sitting here for ten minutes trying to decide what to write about my brother-in-law so that you can get a glimpse of who he was to me. Writing him a letter seems to be the only way I can gather my thoughts.



Dear brother who loved and knew my dearest one like no one else ever will,

What I would give to look you in the eyes one more time. To hear your gravelly voice. To see your smile. To even have you say for the umpteenth time that I was pissed off at you because you were drinking again. To hang up on you because you woke me up at 5 am. I wish for the chance to be graced with being able to say I believed in you and that I loved you when all I wanted to do was beat your chest because you were numbing the pain.

I know you got grace. I wish I could have honoured that in you instead of being threatened by it. Accepted you as is. There were times, especially when you were drinking, that you spoke the truth so clearly that I flinched.

When people drink they become unpredictable. I hated how my heart speeded up when you showed up drunk. Maybe the problem was that every ounce of pharisee within me came to the surface when I saw you. Maybe I couldn't stand to see myself so clearly so I projected it all onto you. You were always a no bullshit kind of guy. When what came out of my mouth and what was in my spirit didn't match you called me on it every time, sometimes without saying a word. There was an authenticity within you that's rare to find in people. The thing I was most uncomfortable about around you was that being in your presence showed me at a gut level that I was wearing so many masks and you knew it.

I sit here and think about the time we went to court with you. The look on your face as they led you away to jail. How scared and trapped your eyes looked. The tears of the young boy behind us who had a glimpse into his future if he didn't make different choices. When sentencing you the judge was speaking to the hearts of all those young people there that day too.

I think of you every time I get up and the first thing out of my mouth is not "good morning." I remember how I came out of the bedroom one morning and started in on oldest son, telling him this and that. You looked at me and said, "You could at least say good morning first."

I think about the time you came over and we spent the evening around the campfire reading the bible. My big headedness because you were so impressed I knew so many verses and where to find them. I could spell grace real well but living it was another thing. You saw God in places where I didn't even know to look. You got grace. It was all those messages in your head from childhood that said God could only be found in one religion that fucked you up again and again.

I had fuzzy boundaries when it came to you. I'm not sure I would be any better at it today. It's one thing to have fuzzy boundaries, it's another to be able to love the one who continually shows you that you do simply by being themselves. I tend to avoid people who make me aware of those places in my life where I stumble and fall. Being loving to you was awful hard. Funny, I never felt like loving me was hard for you.

I wanted to see your sobriety stick. I know now that you wanted it too, more than any of us. I'm sorry I judged you so harshly for numbing your pain in the only way you knew how. You remind me to hold the pain of others to the Light, not beat it with my fists and stomp on it as if it doesn't matter, as if it doesn't enter into the equation of their actions.

The last time you talked to dearest one before you died you told him to remember your agreement that whoever got to the Eastern gate first would wait for the other one. I know you wait in anticipation.

love,
Hope"