About Me
Monday, July 6, 2015
The Dilemma Of Being A Caregiver
It's been a long time since I'v written in this blog but I thought that maybe it was time to re visit it.
I recently found myself in the role of sole caregiver to someone who had a great need. Congestive heart failure is a scary and difficult thing to deal with, not only for the person who is ill but for the one who is caring for that person as well. This post is about caregivers and the lack of community help available to those people.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that there are many services available to sick and housebound people in need. Many not for profit organizations provide help for the housebound and ill but, no one seems to be there for the caregiver. Being the sole caregiver is tough. Really tough. Especially for those few of us who done't drive. And even more especially so, I discovered, in rural communities. There are programs for caregivers in the major cities here in Nova Scotia but if you're in a small town, as I was, there seems to be far less help. That's beyond unfortunate. Caregivers, and there are many everywhere, need to have an out. Someone, or some place they can go to unwind and relieve some of the stress. I really don't know what that would be for others but I know that for me, it would not have been all that difficult. Or is it? Is it too much trouble to drive me to a park for an hour, go back and sit with the person in need of attention then return to pick me up. Good mental health is a very important part of recovery for a patient in need of a caregiver. Good mental health is almost equally (if not equally) important to the caregiver. I know. I saw the result of my being indoors for almost a month straight, and the toll it took on both me and my patient. So much so that, one day, that stress became too much and I took it out on my patient. That's not good. That's not good at all.
In the city, there are avenues available (to those who have transportation) to support groups for just this sort of thing. The problem here is that even a support group can be difficult when you don't have transportation. Logically, I know that something as simple as going for a walk is beneficial to someone who can't get out otherwise. A support group is probably an even better idea. That being said, it's so much easier said than done. Being the sole caregiver is tiring, stressful work. Sleepless nights and long, stress filled days take their toll on both body and mind. One day in particular, I had a bad day. My patient said something that was unkind. Under normal circumstances, I would probably have been able to let it go. These were not normal circumstances. I blew up. Not my best moment, but there it is. Stress took over and I did something I shouldn't have done. I followed that with something worse. I was so angry that I stormed out of the house. I was smart enough to know that I needed to get out, but too stressed to be alone (apparently). I walked about 4 blocks before realizing where I was and that I had crossed three intersections to get here. I had no recollection of getting from point A to point B. That's just not good. It's most definitely not safe and I realize that I was very lucky to have gotten to where I was in one piece. That's what stress does. That's downright dangerous. It was this incident that made me really question the role of the community toward the caregiver. As I said, there were things available to my patient, (though I had to dig pretty hard to find them) but they were there. I finally decided that I needed to take better care of myself and set about trying to do so. It wasn't to be. At least not in the town of Truro. I discovered support groups in Dartmouth (approximately 100 kms. away) but even those would have required bus rides from where I live. It was terribly frustrating. I knew that even if I were in Dartmouth, I was simply too tired to get on a couple of buses to get myself to a support group. Is that really so hard to understand? I didn't think it should be, but I suppose I am biased.
So, what's the answer? Is there simply not enough money in the province to help caregivers? Why is there money for support in the city but not in rural areas? It's not as if Truro is a tiny, backwater hamlet that no one has ever heard of. It's a fairly large town that, if nothing else is something of a tourist attraction. People know it's there. Why the dearth of help for caregivers? I truly don't know the answer but I do know that the town of Truro could very well have had another causality on their hands had I been struck by a car while trying to de stress. Sometimes it totally defies logic.
I'm interested in comments and thoughts that others may have on this subject. I called just about everyone I could think of (believe me, that meant many phone calls) in an effort to get some help for myself. It doesn't exist. There is some support in the cities, but if you're unfortunate enough to be outside the city, you're on your own. That's not good news for caregivers or the people they are caring for. One full month of getting out once a week for groceries is simply not enough to balance care giving and good mental health. It also takes a toll on the person receiving the care. I can't imagine how difficult it must have been, no matter how hard I tried to hide it, to watch me every day become more and more stressed. That in itself would be stressful for a patient.
I have no answers. I've looked and looked hard, but there just doesn't seem to be anything available for caregivers. I see this as a danger. How many care givers have had breakdowns because they've had no stress relief? How many care givers simply give up and walk away, because there is no relief for them? These are honest questions. Questions to which there is probably no answer but valid questions just the same.
Watching someone you love fade daily is probably the worst thing any human being can go through. I know. I nursed my mother to her death when I was in my thirties. Now, as a much older person, I discovered that it is no easier. In fact, because of my age, I think I tire more easily and that adds stress.
In my oh so very humble opinion, providing care for caregivers is almost as essential as providing care for the person who is ill. After all, if the sole caregiver burns out, where does that leave the patient?
Thoughts to ponder.
.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
11 Years Ago, A Lifetime Ago
September 10, 2000. It was a Sunday. I remember that only because I was getting ready to watch the Emmy Awards on TV when the phone call came. I have absolutely no idea what I did that day. It was my day "off" from taking care of my mother, who was dying.In September of 1999, she had been diagnosed with cancer. It spread rapidly. My older sister and I did the lions share of her daily care. Saturday was my sister's "day off" and Sunday was mine. Today had been Sunday and it was almost over. Having just put on PJ's, I was readying myself for an evening of TV, then bed. Then back to Mum's in the morning. Then the phone rang. That I remember vividly.
My sister's voice told me that Mum was near the end. I remember telling her that I'd be right up, The Emmy Awards totally forgotten. Everything forgotten. Just get there. My sister seemed surprised. She told me that I probably didn't need to be in a hurry as it would probably be a very long night and there was still time. I couldn't stay home. I couldn't take that chance. I had to go. Now. So I took off the PJ's, turned off the TV (I think) and went to Mum's. I don't remember the drive there. I just remember suddenly being there. And the TV being on. There were the Emmy Awards. Volume turned off, but the Emmy Awards just the same. And Mum. Unconscious. Grey. Stint in. Dying. Still.
Most of my brothers and sisters were there though I vaguely recall Michael not yet having arrived. My brother in law and one of my nieces were absent as well I think. They had had to go to the emergency room but were ok and showed up later. (I think) I remember watching my sister and sister in law wipe Mum's mouth out with a sponge type of thing that had been given them by the nurse for that purpose. I was shown how to do it but somehow couldn't manage so left them to it, feeling terribly, terribly inadequate. For the most part, we simply stared at the mute TV. How exactly are you supposed to watch your mother take her final breath? I don't think any of us knew. I know I didn't.
This had been a year coming. A very long year watching my mother be eaten alive by this horrendous disease called cancer. Watching her slip away a little more everyday. And watching her do it with a grace and dignity that defied anything I could ever replicate. My mother dealt with this disease the way she had dealt with life. Courageously, quietly and with grace. That was Mum.
It turned out that my sister had been surprisingly wrong in her prediction that Mum would linger that night. In fact, she died shortly after I arrived. Then the long night began. Again, I'm not sure how one is supposed to react when a loved one dies, but I do know how I felt. Numb. Odd. Bereft. Different in a totally undefinable way.
And so we sat. Brothers. Sisters. In laws. Boyfriend. Nieces. Nephews. And Mum's lifeless body. Yup, she died at home. Blessedly. And equally blessedly, the people from the funeral home were gracious enough to allow us all the time we felt we needed to say our good byes before taking her away. Odd the things you remember. But I remember that, and the gratitude I felt toward those people. There was some kind of odd comfort in Mum still being there, in the room with us. Finally, we had all said good bye and she was taken from the house. Again, a totally odd feeling. My mother was dead. The last of my parents - gone. I remember thinking "I'm an orphan" with some shock. It didn't matter that I was 41 years old. I was now officially an orphan. Like I said, it's odd the things that you think of at such times.
We spent that night in my mother's house, my brothers and sisters and I. It was, looking back, so civilized as to be almost uncivilized. But it was what it was. And it seemed to work for us.
I have no recollection of leaving. I know what we did as a family that night. I know it was very early in the morning before anyone left. I know I had a drink of scotch - neat (unusual for me), I know Mum's priest showed up at some point. I know I took her rosary with me when I left. I know the man who would become my husband drove me home. But I have absolutely no recollection of actually leaving. But I did leave. And went home. Home to my own home, where I had spent little time the past year. But home.
The worst part of being home was that it suddenly seemed wrong.....or something. Again, that undefinable something. Weird, off, odd, different. There.
Now the worst began. The moving on process. The learning to live without Mum. The horrible newness of life without her.
So it begins. I must heal. I must go on. Without her. This sucks.
So why, after 11 years, am I finally writing this? I'm really not sure. Possibly because so shortly after she died, my life changed in yet another huge way, in that I moved to Ontario. So soon after my mother's death, I left everything and everyone I loved to move over 1000 kilometers away. It was, it turns out, a mistake. But I didn't know that then. So I left in December. Probably not the smartest thing to have done but hindsight is always a 20/20 thing.
Having been home just over a year now, I find myself seeing my mother in crowds of people where I never did before. After all, I wouldn't expect to see her in Ontario. It's been an odd year for me. This first year home. A year of "firsts" in many ways. Dealing with my mother's death and my brother's death all over again in a different way has been something of a challenge. But it is happening. Slowly. And, I suspect, will continue to "happen", until it has finally hit home that now, both are gone. Mum. Michael. Both gone. And now I'm back. And dealing the best way I know how.
I will always miss her. Just like I will always miss my father and brother. But today especially, I am remembering Mum and her courageous battle in life and her dignified death. I love you Mum.
.
My sister's voice told me that Mum was near the end. I remember telling her that I'd be right up, The Emmy Awards totally forgotten. Everything forgotten. Just get there. My sister seemed surprised. She told me that I probably didn't need to be in a hurry as it would probably be a very long night and there was still time. I couldn't stay home. I couldn't take that chance. I had to go. Now. So I took off the PJ's, turned off the TV (I think) and went to Mum's. I don't remember the drive there. I just remember suddenly being there. And the TV being on. There were the Emmy Awards. Volume turned off, but the Emmy Awards just the same. And Mum. Unconscious. Grey. Stint in. Dying. Still.
Most of my brothers and sisters were there though I vaguely recall Michael not yet having arrived. My brother in law and one of my nieces were absent as well I think. They had had to go to the emergency room but were ok and showed up later. (I think) I remember watching my sister and sister in law wipe Mum's mouth out with a sponge type of thing that had been given them by the nurse for that purpose. I was shown how to do it but somehow couldn't manage so left them to it, feeling terribly, terribly inadequate. For the most part, we simply stared at the mute TV. How exactly are you supposed to watch your mother take her final breath? I don't think any of us knew. I know I didn't.
This had been a year coming. A very long year watching my mother be eaten alive by this horrendous disease called cancer. Watching her slip away a little more everyday. And watching her do it with a grace and dignity that defied anything I could ever replicate. My mother dealt with this disease the way she had dealt with life. Courageously, quietly and with grace. That was Mum.
It turned out that my sister had been surprisingly wrong in her prediction that Mum would linger that night. In fact, she died shortly after I arrived. Then the long night began. Again, I'm not sure how one is supposed to react when a loved one dies, but I do know how I felt. Numb. Odd. Bereft. Different in a totally undefinable way.
And so we sat. Brothers. Sisters. In laws. Boyfriend. Nieces. Nephews. And Mum's lifeless body. Yup, she died at home. Blessedly. And equally blessedly, the people from the funeral home were gracious enough to allow us all the time we felt we needed to say our good byes before taking her away. Odd the things you remember. But I remember that, and the gratitude I felt toward those people. There was some kind of odd comfort in Mum still being there, in the room with us. Finally, we had all said good bye and she was taken from the house. Again, a totally odd feeling. My mother was dead. The last of my parents - gone. I remember thinking "I'm an orphan" with some shock. It didn't matter that I was 41 years old. I was now officially an orphan. Like I said, it's odd the things that you think of at such times.
We spent that night in my mother's house, my brothers and sisters and I. It was, looking back, so civilized as to be almost uncivilized. But it was what it was. And it seemed to work for us.
I have no recollection of leaving. I know what we did as a family that night. I know it was very early in the morning before anyone left. I know I had a drink of scotch - neat (unusual for me), I know Mum's priest showed up at some point. I know I took her rosary with me when I left. I know the man who would become my husband drove me home. But I have absolutely no recollection of actually leaving. But I did leave. And went home. Home to my own home, where I had spent little time the past year. But home.
The worst part of being home was that it suddenly seemed wrong.....or something. Again, that undefinable something. Weird, off, odd, different. There.
Now the worst began. The moving on process. The learning to live without Mum. The horrible newness of life without her.
So it begins. I must heal. I must go on. Without her. This sucks.
So why, after 11 years, am I finally writing this? I'm really not sure. Possibly because so shortly after she died, my life changed in yet another huge way, in that I moved to Ontario. So soon after my mother's death, I left everything and everyone I loved to move over 1000 kilometers away. It was, it turns out, a mistake. But I didn't know that then. So I left in December. Probably not the smartest thing to have done but hindsight is always a 20/20 thing.
Having been home just over a year now, I find myself seeing my mother in crowds of people where I never did before. After all, I wouldn't expect to see her in Ontario. It's been an odd year for me. This first year home. A year of "firsts" in many ways. Dealing with my mother's death and my brother's death all over again in a different way has been something of a challenge. But it is happening. Slowly. And, I suspect, will continue to "happen", until it has finally hit home that now, both are gone. Mum. Michael. Both gone. And now I'm back. And dealing the best way I know how.
I will always miss her. Just like I will always miss my father and brother. But today especially, I am remembering Mum and her courageous battle in life and her dignified death. I love you Mum.
.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Where Love Lives
Love lives in the hearts, minds and souls of those daring enough to step out of their comfort zones. Yup, it's taken me 51 years to figure this out but ultimately, it's what I believe.
Any health scare, no matter how insignificant it may or may not seem to others, creates a time of introspection for me. These last few months have done exactly that. The "breast cancer scare" (that's what I have dubbed it) has made me take a long, hard look at those I love and those who profess to love me. While I realize that everyone has a different definition of the word love, this is mine and I am entitled to it.
Looking back over the past few months, I am still amazed at the way people behaved, or in many cases, did not, when they heard the news of the lump. Many people I had considered close friends were not there for me at all. Others, almost virtual strangers, stepped up in a way that was absolutely mind boggling. All of this, is what made me start to question my own definition of "love". Not romantic love, which is, far too often, fleeting, but the lasting love that comes from a really good relationship with someone who cares. Near or far, good or bad, if you have someone in your life who will "be there" for you, no matter what, then you have love.
Love is a brand new friend driving 50 miles to take me to a doctor's appointment so that I wouldn't have to be alone. Love is a phone call from Winnipeg as soon as they got the news. Love is a hug, because I needed a hug. Love is not being judged because yes, my faith was not as strong as it should have been at times, but real love stepped in and prayed for me, so that I was able to make it through, even while struggling to maintain my beliefs. Love is an email a day from someone I have never met (and will probably never meet), with uplifting scripture verses and poems because this person knows I like poetry. In short, love goes out of its way to do for another human being that which may not necessarily come naturally or easily.
It has taken all this introspection for me to realize that I have, over the years, been forming and living out this definition for myself.
A few years ago, my ex husband's best friend was in a coma and not expected to live. I remember being in the waiting room with my ex husband, his friend's wife and two of his friend's brothers. His wife was, quite understandably, overwrought. I watched as this poor woman fell apart at the thought of losing her husband. I watched as my ex husband (her friend!) and her two brothers in law, sat and did nothing to comfort her. I realize that comfort is not a "guy thing", but this woman was in very real danger of losing her husband and was an emotional wreck! Someone needed to help her! As I sat and wondered for the umpteenth time why I was there, I became more and more angry. I have to admit here that I didn't then and still don't, particularly care for this woman. And worse, she despised me. Suddenly none of that mattered. My personal feelings for her didn't matter. All I saw was a woman in incredible pain. That woman needed help and none was forthcoming. I got angrier and angrier as I watched her brothers in law and my ex husband do nothing. Finally, unable to handle it any longer, I got up and put my arms around her. She immediately collapsed into them. I don't recall exactly what I said, but I'm sure it wasn't terribly profound. I was totally shocked as she clung to me like someone going down on the Titanic. Then I realized, this was her Titanic and I was her lifeboat. When you're in crisis, it doesn't matter what the lifeboat looks like I guess, just so long as it too is not taking on water! So I held her until she felt strong enough to collect herself a bit. She then looked at me and said " I don't care who you are, right now you're an angel from God". There are no words to describe the shock I felt at hearing those words from this woman. There are also no words to describe the pain I felt at being so utterly helpless in the face of a real crisis. I couldn't help her husband, that was up to God and the doctors. What I could do, was step out, way out, of my own comfort zone, and offer her a literal shoulder to cry on. So I did. When no one else would step up and be there for this woman, I did. And I felt love. Looking back, it was perhaps more God's love telling me I had done the right thing, than her love, but who knows? Maybe, just maybe in that brief encounter, she felt love. If so, then I did something good. Something God would want me to do. That's a good thing.
Too often, it is not part of a person's natural inclination to hug or show outward emotion to others. To those people I say "tough". How can you say that you love someone and not be able to put your own feelings aside and give a hug to someone you know wants, indeed needs, it? How is that loving your neighbour? In Matthew, Jesus asks us "if you love those who love you what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?" (Mat. 5:46) Is this so very different? If someone is hurting and you don't offer comfort because the kind of comfort that person needs is not something you're comfortable with, how is that "loving your neighbour"? I know that this is a personal something, but that means I get to inject my personal feelings. And to me, there is no difference.
Love is tough, no question. Most things in life worth having are. Love however is the toughest. Love doesn't just ask that you step out of your own personal comfort zone once in a while, it requires it! If you can't do that for someone you profess to love, how can you call it love?
Love is a verb. It doesn't sit back and watch. It takes action. Always.
Like I said, over the past few months, I have been thinking about this often and looking at the people I thought would always be there for me. In many instances, the people I thought would be there, were most definitely not. And many I never dreamt would or could care, stepped up for me in such a huge way that it still humbles me. I won't say that I've taken people's love for granted because I don't feel that's true. I do think that I have assumed, incorrectly, that many people I thought would care, perhaps did not. That's an incredibly sobering thought. When I look back over the amount of time I spent alone while dealing with my latest health scare, I am grateful to those who did in fact take the time to help in whatever way they could from wherever they happened to be. And I realize that that list includes, almost exclusively, people who went out of their way and/or stepped out of their own comfort zones, to be there for me. I also recognize the people who were not there for me. I am truly sorry now for the assumptions I made. And terribly, terribly saddened by those who call themselves "friend", but remained distant. That however, is probably the origin of the phrase "live and learn".
I really want to dedicate this post to those of you who stepped up for me. (I truly hope that you know who you are!) You will never know what it meant to me to have you there for me when I needed you. And you continue to be there for me. Always. I love and appreciate you all! There is a seriously good reason that you are part of my life! Thank you.
--The King will reply, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Mat. 25:40
.
Any health scare, no matter how insignificant it may or may not seem to others, creates a time of introspection for me. These last few months have done exactly that. The "breast cancer scare" (that's what I have dubbed it) has made me take a long, hard look at those I love and those who profess to love me. While I realize that everyone has a different definition of the word love, this is mine and I am entitled to it.
Looking back over the past few months, I am still amazed at the way people behaved, or in many cases, did not, when they heard the news of the lump. Many people I had considered close friends were not there for me at all. Others, almost virtual strangers, stepped up in a way that was absolutely mind boggling. All of this, is what made me start to question my own definition of "love". Not romantic love, which is, far too often, fleeting, but the lasting love that comes from a really good relationship with someone who cares. Near or far, good or bad, if you have someone in your life who will "be there" for you, no matter what, then you have love.
Love is a brand new friend driving 50 miles to take me to a doctor's appointment so that I wouldn't have to be alone. Love is a phone call from Winnipeg as soon as they got the news. Love is a hug, because I needed a hug. Love is not being judged because yes, my faith was not as strong as it should have been at times, but real love stepped in and prayed for me, so that I was able to make it through, even while struggling to maintain my beliefs. Love is an email a day from someone I have never met (and will probably never meet), with uplifting scripture verses and poems because this person knows I like poetry. In short, love goes out of its way to do for another human being that which may not necessarily come naturally or easily.
It has taken all this introspection for me to realize that I have, over the years, been forming and living out this definition for myself.
A few years ago, my ex husband's best friend was in a coma and not expected to live. I remember being in the waiting room with my ex husband, his friend's wife and two of his friend's brothers. His wife was, quite understandably, overwrought. I watched as this poor woman fell apart at the thought of losing her husband. I watched as my ex husband (her friend!) and her two brothers in law, sat and did nothing to comfort her. I realize that comfort is not a "guy thing", but this woman was in very real danger of losing her husband and was an emotional wreck! Someone needed to help her! As I sat and wondered for the umpteenth time why I was there, I became more and more angry. I have to admit here that I didn't then and still don't, particularly care for this woman. And worse, she despised me. Suddenly none of that mattered. My personal feelings for her didn't matter. All I saw was a woman in incredible pain. That woman needed help and none was forthcoming. I got angrier and angrier as I watched her brothers in law and my ex husband do nothing. Finally, unable to handle it any longer, I got up and put my arms around her. She immediately collapsed into them. I don't recall exactly what I said, but I'm sure it wasn't terribly profound. I was totally shocked as she clung to me like someone going down on the Titanic. Then I realized, this was her Titanic and I was her lifeboat. When you're in crisis, it doesn't matter what the lifeboat looks like I guess, just so long as it too is not taking on water! So I held her until she felt strong enough to collect herself a bit. She then looked at me and said " I don't care who you are, right now you're an angel from God". There are no words to describe the shock I felt at hearing those words from this woman. There are also no words to describe the pain I felt at being so utterly helpless in the face of a real crisis. I couldn't help her husband, that was up to God and the doctors. What I could do, was step out, way out, of my own comfort zone, and offer her a literal shoulder to cry on. So I did. When no one else would step up and be there for this woman, I did. And I felt love. Looking back, it was perhaps more God's love telling me I had done the right thing, than her love, but who knows? Maybe, just maybe in that brief encounter, she felt love. If so, then I did something good. Something God would want me to do. That's a good thing.
Too often, it is not part of a person's natural inclination to hug or show outward emotion to others. To those people I say "tough". How can you say that you love someone and not be able to put your own feelings aside and give a hug to someone you know wants, indeed needs, it? How is that loving your neighbour? In Matthew, Jesus asks us "if you love those who love you what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that?" (Mat. 5:46) Is this so very different? If someone is hurting and you don't offer comfort because the kind of comfort that person needs is not something you're comfortable with, how is that "loving your neighbour"? I know that this is a personal something, but that means I get to inject my personal feelings. And to me, there is no difference.
Love is tough, no question. Most things in life worth having are. Love however is the toughest. Love doesn't just ask that you step out of your own personal comfort zone once in a while, it requires it! If you can't do that for someone you profess to love, how can you call it love?
Love is a verb. It doesn't sit back and watch. It takes action. Always.
Like I said, over the past few months, I have been thinking about this often and looking at the people I thought would always be there for me. In many instances, the people I thought would be there, were most definitely not. And many I never dreamt would or could care, stepped up for me in such a huge way that it still humbles me. I won't say that I've taken people's love for granted because I don't feel that's true. I do think that I have assumed, incorrectly, that many people I thought would care, perhaps did not. That's an incredibly sobering thought. When I look back over the amount of time I spent alone while dealing with my latest health scare, I am grateful to those who did in fact take the time to help in whatever way they could from wherever they happened to be. And I realize that that list includes, almost exclusively, people who went out of their way and/or stepped out of their own comfort zones, to be there for me. I also recognize the people who were not there for me. I am truly sorry now for the assumptions I made. And terribly, terribly saddened by those who call themselves "friend", but remained distant. That however, is probably the origin of the phrase "live and learn".
I really want to dedicate this post to those of you who stepped up for me. (I truly hope that you know who you are!) You will never know what it meant to me to have you there for me when I needed you. And you continue to be there for me. Always. I love and appreciate you all! There is a seriously good reason that you are part of my life! Thank you.
--The King will reply, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Mat. 25:40
.
Friday, January 14, 2011
White Knights and Faded Armour
Friends. Some come into our lives for a season. Some come into our lives forever. But all true friends leave a lasting mark on our hearts. Whether the friendship is 35 days old, 3 years old or, in my case, 35 years old, a real friendship never truly leaves. It may disappear for a time, but a true friend stays in your heart forever. I've been blessed with many friends over the years, but those who have had the most profound affect on me, have left indelible marks, that no amount of years can erase. Recently, I was blessed with a reconnection with a friend I have not seen in over 35 years. It's a story that somehow, bears telling I think.
When I was 14 years old (perhaps 15?), I was dragged, kicking and screaming to PEI on a family vacation with my parents and my little brother. It is of no small consequence to note here that, at 14, I was a messed up teen who had been dealing with a diagnosis of epilepsy for the past year. It was beyond horrible. I was a freak and I knew it. It therefore, made little to no sense to me, to be forced into this family vacation where I would be exposed to even more strangers from whom I had to hide this truly "freaky" disease. But, no matter what argument I came up with for staying home, where I was at least reasonably safe, my parents would have none of it, so PEI it was. God help me. And, He did.
I don't remember a lot about the first days of that vacation other than the very real resentment I felt at having been there at all. Somehow, I must have overcome that, or more likely hidden it. At least well enough to meet Colin. Something else I don't remember actually happening, it just suddenly was. There he was, the cutest boy I'd ever seen, being my friend. And for reasons I don't remember (and to this day cannot fathom), I told him the truth about my epilepsy. It didn't bother or upset him! How that was possible was another one of life's great mysteries to this messed up, freaky teenager. But there it was. A cute boy, who accepted me for who I was and actually liked me! Wow! It would take far more understanding than I will ever have to make sense of that, but there it is. He became my friend. He was there for me. He was even a "protector" of sorts.
I remember a game of volleyball that I somehow I found myself in the midst of with other kids in the campground. Colin being one of the kids. Naturally. If Colin was there, wherever there was, I wanted to be. Somehow, during the game I was accidentally shoved unceremoniously into a thicket by an over zealous player trying to get the ball before it hit the ground. (not an unreasonable thing to do in a volleyball game). Colin didn't see it that way. He saw me go into the thicket and was there in a flash to help me out. Having made sure that I was indeed unhurt, he turned on the other kids and started his tirade. He berated the other kids for having done that to a girl who could very well have had a seizure because of it. And he did it well. Those kids probably didn't know what hit them. Colin ranted on my behalf long enough for the others to get the message and a hero was born. At least for me. Long live white knights in shining armour!
While it never for an instant occurred to me that I might have a seizure as a result of an accidental push, neither did it occur to me to correct him. No way! Someone is actually being kind to me? This is new. And not just anyone, but a boy. And understand this, not just any boy, but the cutest boy in the Maritimes. Isn't it interesting how quickly we can elevate our heroes when the want is strong enough? He started out being the cutest boy on The Island. Now he's the cutest boy in the Maritimes. And he wears armour and rides a horse. Cool. Very cool.
I suppose it is also noteworthy here, that in my short life, my experience with any and all males had been less than kind. My brothers were never nice to me, my father was someone to be feared and the only other boys I knew, were boys at school.They stayed away in droves. (I was the freaky kid with epilepsy remember)? So this new kid, a boy, who not only paid attention to me but was sweet, kind, generous and caring was a total anomaly. Truly. I had never experienced kindness in any real way from any male before. So yup, white knight it is. And white knight he remained.
The vacation ended and I went home with my parents while he went home to another part of Nova Scotia that was far enough away to prohibit phone calls that would have kept us in touch. I really didn't believe that I would ever see Colin again. I was wrong.
Three years later, I actually found myself with a girlfriend in Colin's hometown. With much prodding from my girlfriend, I called him. (I was a very shy kid and this was a white knight! It really took a lot of prodding, trust me!) But I did make the call. And he did remember me. I visited him the next day and was gratified to see that he still had his horse and his armour had not dimmed in three years. Perhaps the only difference was he was just that much better looking. It was a great day, and the best hug I have ever received came from my white knight named Colin. We spent the day at his parents house where I met his family.
Another surprise. These people were totally unlike my own family. They got along very well, and seemed to genuinely care for one another in a way that was totally foreign to me. They seemed like the perfect family. Colin, his brother, sister and parents were all wonderful, kind people and it struck me as making total sense that Colin was the person he was. He was a product of his upbringing, which seemed to me (with my whole day's worth of experience) to be the most perfect family I had ever seen.
But, like all good things, this day too, had to end. So I left Colin, my wonderful white knight, horse and all, to go back to home. But I carried some pretty special memories with me that lasted for many long years. Memories that, as I grew older and at least a little wiser, became more realistic. While Colin always remained special, the armour faded and the horse disappeared to be replaced by what, I suppose, was a more realistic view. A memory of a wonderful boy who, at a crucial time in my life, was there for me. Probably totally unbeknownst to him. But he was, at the time, a hero indeed.
Many years passed before I would ever encounter Colin again. So many in fact, that I doubted I would ever hear tell of him in any way again. But like all good friendships, it was not to be. 35 years after my last meeting with this wonderful boy, I found him again. On Facebook. Yup. That hideous "social network" that we all love to hate so much. After much prodding (again! some things never change I guess) from a wonderful friend, I sent him a "friend request". I truly believed that he would have forgotten me long since, but perhaps should have known better. Some things really don't change. And real friends, it would seem, are one of those things. He did indeed remember me. He remembered that vacation in PEI. He remembered everything. We reconnected via email and renewing an old friendship that began when we were children was a real treat for me! Yes, he's changed. I have most definitely changed. But I think that the inherent goodness that made Colin such a hero at that oh so tender age, still exists in him. Like the rest of us, he's older now, but that goodness that had been so attractive to me as a teenager seems to still be there. It's really nice to know that "the good ones" never go away entirely. They grow up. They change. They mature. But, as is often the case in life, good usually remains. And so it has with Colin. He is today, a good man. Not unlike the good "boy" that he once was. That's nice. That's really nice. The world needs more good people.
I'm really not sure what the purpose of this particular entry was. Perhaps, I simply needed to tell you, and more importantly myself, that there is a lesson here. Never give up on good in the world. When you least expect it, there it is. And that's always a good thing. Isn't it? :)
.
When I was 14 years old (perhaps 15?), I was dragged, kicking and screaming to PEI on a family vacation with my parents and my little brother. It is of no small consequence to note here that, at 14, I was a messed up teen who had been dealing with a diagnosis of epilepsy for the past year. It was beyond horrible. I was a freak and I knew it. It therefore, made little to no sense to me, to be forced into this family vacation where I would be exposed to even more strangers from whom I had to hide this truly "freaky" disease. But, no matter what argument I came up with for staying home, where I was at least reasonably safe, my parents would have none of it, so PEI it was. God help me. And, He did.
I don't remember a lot about the first days of that vacation other than the very real resentment I felt at having been there at all. Somehow, I must have overcome that, or more likely hidden it. At least well enough to meet Colin. Something else I don't remember actually happening, it just suddenly was. There he was, the cutest boy I'd ever seen, being my friend. And for reasons I don't remember (and to this day cannot fathom), I told him the truth about my epilepsy. It didn't bother or upset him! How that was possible was another one of life's great mysteries to this messed up, freaky teenager. But there it was. A cute boy, who accepted me for who I was and actually liked me! Wow! It would take far more understanding than I will ever have to make sense of that, but there it is. He became my friend. He was there for me. He was even a "protector" of sorts.
I remember a game of volleyball that I somehow I found myself in the midst of with other kids in the campground. Colin being one of the kids. Naturally. If Colin was there, wherever there was, I wanted to be. Somehow, during the game I was accidentally shoved unceremoniously into a thicket by an over zealous player trying to get the ball before it hit the ground. (not an unreasonable thing to do in a volleyball game). Colin didn't see it that way. He saw me go into the thicket and was there in a flash to help me out. Having made sure that I was indeed unhurt, he turned on the other kids and started his tirade. He berated the other kids for having done that to a girl who could very well have had a seizure because of it. And he did it well. Those kids probably didn't know what hit them. Colin ranted on my behalf long enough for the others to get the message and a hero was born. At least for me. Long live white knights in shining armour!
While it never for an instant occurred to me that I might have a seizure as a result of an accidental push, neither did it occur to me to correct him. No way! Someone is actually being kind to me? This is new. And not just anyone, but a boy. And understand this, not just any boy, but the cutest boy in the Maritimes. Isn't it interesting how quickly we can elevate our heroes when the want is strong enough? He started out being the cutest boy on The Island. Now he's the cutest boy in the Maritimes. And he wears armour and rides a horse. Cool. Very cool.
I suppose it is also noteworthy here, that in my short life, my experience with any and all males had been less than kind. My brothers were never nice to me, my father was someone to be feared and the only other boys I knew, were boys at school.They stayed away in droves. (I was the freaky kid with epilepsy remember)? So this new kid, a boy, who not only paid attention to me but was sweet, kind, generous and caring was a total anomaly. Truly. I had never experienced kindness in any real way from any male before. So yup, white knight it is. And white knight he remained.
The vacation ended and I went home with my parents while he went home to another part of Nova Scotia that was far enough away to prohibit phone calls that would have kept us in touch. I really didn't believe that I would ever see Colin again. I was wrong.
Three years later, I actually found myself with a girlfriend in Colin's hometown. With much prodding from my girlfriend, I called him. (I was a very shy kid and this was a white knight! It really took a lot of prodding, trust me!) But I did make the call. And he did remember me. I visited him the next day and was gratified to see that he still had his horse and his armour had not dimmed in three years. Perhaps the only difference was he was just that much better looking. It was a great day, and the best hug I have ever received came from my white knight named Colin. We spent the day at his parents house where I met his family.
Another surprise. These people were totally unlike my own family. They got along very well, and seemed to genuinely care for one another in a way that was totally foreign to me. They seemed like the perfect family. Colin, his brother, sister and parents were all wonderful, kind people and it struck me as making total sense that Colin was the person he was. He was a product of his upbringing, which seemed to me (with my whole day's worth of experience) to be the most perfect family I had ever seen.
But, like all good things, this day too, had to end. So I left Colin, my wonderful white knight, horse and all, to go back to home. But I carried some pretty special memories with me that lasted for many long years. Memories that, as I grew older and at least a little wiser, became more realistic. While Colin always remained special, the armour faded and the horse disappeared to be replaced by what, I suppose, was a more realistic view. A memory of a wonderful boy who, at a crucial time in my life, was there for me. Probably totally unbeknownst to him. But he was, at the time, a hero indeed.
Many years passed before I would ever encounter Colin again. So many in fact, that I doubted I would ever hear tell of him in any way again. But like all good friendships, it was not to be. 35 years after my last meeting with this wonderful boy, I found him again. On Facebook. Yup. That hideous "social network" that we all love to hate so much. After much prodding (again! some things never change I guess) from a wonderful friend, I sent him a "friend request". I truly believed that he would have forgotten me long since, but perhaps should have known better. Some things really don't change. And real friends, it would seem, are one of those things. He did indeed remember me. He remembered that vacation in PEI. He remembered everything. We reconnected via email and renewing an old friendship that began when we were children was a real treat for me! Yes, he's changed. I have most definitely changed. But I think that the inherent goodness that made Colin such a hero at that oh so tender age, still exists in him. Like the rest of us, he's older now, but that goodness that had been so attractive to me as a teenager seems to still be there. It's really nice to know that "the good ones" never go away entirely. They grow up. They change. They mature. But, as is often the case in life, good usually remains. And so it has with Colin. He is today, a good man. Not unlike the good "boy" that he once was. That's nice. That's really nice. The world needs more good people.
I'm really not sure what the purpose of this particular entry was. Perhaps, I simply needed to tell you, and more importantly myself, that there is a lesson here. Never give up on good in the world. When you least expect it, there it is. And that's always a good thing. Isn't it? :)
.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Greatest Gifts......
This entry most certainly has to be prefaced with this words "I am exhausted"! I am wondering even now about the wisdom of writing while under the influence of sleep deprivation, but I really, really want to get this out (and apparently it wants out) so, again I beg your indulgence as I set out, with very little sleep under my belt, to try and say something meaningful. Because that is rather the point of this particular entry. This, is my "thank you" to all of you who have gifted me in so many different ways over the years with your very own brands of love. Gifts, come in all kinds of different packages, and I want to take this opportunity to thank as many of you as possible for the gifts that are uniquely yours and that you have, at one time or another, chosen to share with me. To that end, I will be using names. None of the names are the "right" ones, (and are pretty horrid names at that!) but it is my hope, that in the description, you will each recognize yourself and accept my profound and heartfelt thanks. You have all enriched my life in a myriad of ways and for that, I will be forever in your debt.
It would seem that the majority of the gifts that have come my way, have done so predominantly over the past ten years. It started in Guelph, Ontario, with a small writing group facilitated by one of the most extraordinary men it has ever been my privilege to know. He was a great leader, and is a wonderful friend. His gifts to me knew no bounds but possibly the most outstanding gift was his gift for taking his marvelous photography and mixing it with his equally wonderful poetry and creating works of art that I can still admire thanks to that wonderful invention called the Internet. What an amazing gift to have and to share. I still look in wonder at the piece of artwork he gave me and think "this is one talented man. How did I ever get lucky enough to meet him and call him friend"? But the fact is, I did and for that, Gerald, I thank you.
Then there's the writing group as a whole. And you all know who you are! What an incredible bunch of talented people. Good to great writers one and all and you shared that writing with me! Writing. So individual. So personal. So incredibly well done. And you shared your gifts with me. You're wonderful! I owe you all so much!
It would seem that I know more and more truly great writers as time passes and Carl is yet another such person. His gift of story telling combined with his flair for putting it on paper in such a way as to cause laughter, tears, smiles, frowns and all range of emotion in between is nothing short of miraculous to me right now. I have been craving something that would touch me, and you my friend have done that. You shared your amazing gift of self unsparingly. For that I will be forever grateful.
My wonderful, beloved step-sons! I can never thank you enough guys! Not only are each of you talented in your own right but you both managed to find wonderful women to love, who have wonderful talent of their own. And all of you have been awesome enough to share your gifts with me through the years. Dan, (sorry, no name change on these guys!), you can create the most exotic and delicious dishes I've ever had, in even my tiny kitchen, and have done so just for me, on occasion. That's a true gift Hon! Thank you for sharing with me. And for being smart enough to forge such a wonderful relationship with that girl who is Katie, writer and painter extraordinaire and all 'round lovely woman...kudos Hon! You're both wonderful!
Don. You never cease to amaze. You can write the most incredible words on mere scraps, then pick up a guitar and make them come alive in a whole new way! You are yet another shining example of one who has enriched my life on so many levels. But your gift of writing and playing music is truly one to cherish and admire. I love that you've been kind enough over the years to share that with me. And that wonderful woman you love, who is yet another Kate. (Two Katies,thanks for that guys!) The woman who can pick up a paint brush, put it to canvas and suddenly where there was once nothing, there is now beauty. Live long and prosper guys! You both deserve the best!
In keeping with the music theme, there's now Peter, who once said, "To hear music. To make music. What an incredible gift". (with thanks to "Peter" for allowing me to use the quote). How right you are Peter! You, who are able to pick up a bass and make it do what you tell it to do and have that come out as something that I so love to listen to, is nothing short of astounding to someone like me, who has absolutely no talent in that area. You share that with me and I love you for it. More importantly perhaps, I appreciate you for it.
From music, the natural flow of "simply sound" springs forth. Wow Stuart! You can take "this" noise, combine it with "that" sound" and somehow create "the other" feast for the ears! Astonishing! Truly remarkable. And again, something you've shared with me on a very personal level when you took one of my poems and combined it with just the right sounds to make it a totally new, different and amazing piece of work. You're wonderful. Truly wonderful my dear, dear friend.
Out of a poetry group sprang yet another wonderfully gifted set of people willing to share their gifts with me. Among them a woman whose photography was and still is, breathtaking. Photography she had experience with before the poetry group. Poetry she did not. I cannot even conceive of what she might have turned out had she had even a working knowledge of poetry before the group. The truly great (there really is no other word here) poetry that Karen turned out astonishes and delights me even today. And again, she willingly shared this gift with me. A serious debt of gratitude!
Then there are those rare and special people like Darlene, Amanda and Kasey, who, simply by being nothing other than who they are, is gift enough. But of course it doesn't stop there. Not at all. Darlene, who has a lovely and (to me anyway) rather large home. Usually that seems to translate to "cold". Not so with this wonderful woman. She has the gift of creating a warm and inviting home where you always feel comfortable and most of the "goings on" happen in her kitchen. And here she truly struts her stuff! Darlene can do anything, I am convinced, in a kitchen. And the result is always the best food (and usually the most fattening!) you'll find this side of Scotland! What an incredible lady with an incredible gift that she seems to share with so very many others. I will love her forever, no matter how much distance separates us.
Amanda! What a truly delightful young woman! And that is absolutely the right word. Delightful. Full of delight! She is probably the most bounce backable person I have ever known! (yes, I know, resilient, or a host of other words would have been far more grammatically correct, but believe me, with Amanda, bounce backable works the best)! Though separated by distance, it is at least a shorter distance than Ontario so I get to see her once in a while. And she carries a smile, a laugh and a hug with her wherever she goes! Gifts that are always appreciated and often arriving just in the nick of time! Thank you Amanda-girl for being you and sharing that wonderful you with me!
And last, but by no means least, my wonderful Kasey. You never, ever cease to astonish and inspire me. You have more talent in your little finger than most people have in their entire beings. But this, I don't think, is your greatest gift. Your greatest gift my friend is that of grace. A gift you seem to have in abundance. I admire you. I aspire to be just a little more like you. I love you more than words can say. It almost seems that I am doing a disservice here by not saying more about this incredible woman. But really, sometimes even I recognize overkill. She is, quite simply, amazing. Period. No words can add to that.
And so, during this holiday season of giving and receiving gifts, it is my wish, for all of you, that you continue to share and nurture these gifts that you have so graciously shared with me. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you all for being a part of my life and for sharing all of these truly great gifts.
Gifts. They're everywhere. Look around you. At the person next to you on the bus. At the driver of the car that just cut you off. At the minister in your church. At the girl who bussed your table in the restaurant last night. They all have gifts to offer. Trust me on this one.
..........But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. (Gal. 5:22,23)
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Shalom everyone.
.
It would seem that the majority of the gifts that have come my way, have done so predominantly over the past ten years. It started in Guelph, Ontario, with a small writing group facilitated by one of the most extraordinary men it has ever been my privilege to know. He was a great leader, and is a wonderful friend. His gifts to me knew no bounds but possibly the most outstanding gift was his gift for taking his marvelous photography and mixing it with his equally wonderful poetry and creating works of art that I can still admire thanks to that wonderful invention called the Internet. What an amazing gift to have and to share. I still look in wonder at the piece of artwork he gave me and think "this is one talented man. How did I ever get lucky enough to meet him and call him friend"? But the fact is, I did and for that, Gerald, I thank you.
Then there's the writing group as a whole. And you all know who you are! What an incredible bunch of talented people. Good to great writers one and all and you shared that writing with me! Writing. So individual. So personal. So incredibly well done. And you shared your gifts with me. You're wonderful! I owe you all so much!
It would seem that I know more and more truly great writers as time passes and Carl is yet another such person. His gift of story telling combined with his flair for putting it on paper in such a way as to cause laughter, tears, smiles, frowns and all range of emotion in between is nothing short of miraculous to me right now. I have been craving something that would touch me, and you my friend have done that. You shared your amazing gift of self unsparingly. For that I will be forever grateful.
My wonderful, beloved step-sons! I can never thank you enough guys! Not only are each of you talented in your own right but you both managed to find wonderful women to love, who have wonderful talent of their own. And all of you have been awesome enough to share your gifts with me through the years. Dan, (sorry, no name change on these guys!), you can create the most exotic and delicious dishes I've ever had, in even my tiny kitchen, and have done so just for me, on occasion. That's a true gift Hon! Thank you for sharing with me. And for being smart enough to forge such a wonderful relationship with that girl who is Katie, writer and painter extraordinaire and all 'round lovely woman...kudos Hon! You're both wonderful!
Don. You never cease to amaze. You can write the most incredible words on mere scraps, then pick up a guitar and make them come alive in a whole new way! You are yet another shining example of one who has enriched my life on so many levels. But your gift of writing and playing music is truly one to cherish and admire. I love that you've been kind enough over the years to share that with me. And that wonderful woman you love, who is yet another Kate. (Two Katies,thanks for that guys!) The woman who can pick up a paint brush, put it to canvas and suddenly where there was once nothing, there is now beauty. Live long and prosper guys! You both deserve the best!
In keeping with the music theme, there's now Peter, who once said, "To hear music. To make music. What an incredible gift". (with thanks to "Peter" for allowing me to use the quote). How right you are Peter! You, who are able to pick up a bass and make it do what you tell it to do and have that come out as something that I so love to listen to, is nothing short of astounding to someone like me, who has absolutely no talent in that area. You share that with me and I love you for it. More importantly perhaps, I appreciate you for it.
From music, the natural flow of "simply sound" springs forth. Wow Stuart! You can take "this" noise, combine it with "that" sound" and somehow create "the other" feast for the ears! Astonishing! Truly remarkable. And again, something you've shared with me on a very personal level when you took one of my poems and combined it with just the right sounds to make it a totally new, different and amazing piece of work. You're wonderful. Truly wonderful my dear, dear friend.
Out of a poetry group sprang yet another wonderfully gifted set of people willing to share their gifts with me. Among them a woman whose photography was and still is, breathtaking. Photography she had experience with before the poetry group. Poetry she did not. I cannot even conceive of what she might have turned out had she had even a working knowledge of poetry before the group. The truly great (there really is no other word here) poetry that Karen turned out astonishes and delights me even today. And again, she willingly shared this gift with me. A serious debt of gratitude!
Then there are those rare and special people like Darlene, Amanda and Kasey, who, simply by being nothing other than who they are, is gift enough. But of course it doesn't stop there. Not at all. Darlene, who has a lovely and (to me anyway) rather large home. Usually that seems to translate to "cold". Not so with this wonderful woman. She has the gift of creating a warm and inviting home where you always feel comfortable and most of the "goings on" happen in her kitchen. And here she truly struts her stuff! Darlene can do anything, I am convinced, in a kitchen. And the result is always the best food (and usually the most fattening!) you'll find this side of Scotland! What an incredible lady with an incredible gift that she seems to share with so very many others. I will love her forever, no matter how much distance separates us.
Amanda! What a truly delightful young woman! And that is absolutely the right word. Delightful. Full of delight! She is probably the most bounce backable person I have ever known! (yes, I know, resilient, or a host of other words would have been far more grammatically correct, but believe me, with Amanda, bounce backable works the best)! Though separated by distance, it is at least a shorter distance than Ontario so I get to see her once in a while. And she carries a smile, a laugh and a hug with her wherever she goes! Gifts that are always appreciated and often arriving just in the nick of time! Thank you Amanda-girl for being you and sharing that wonderful you with me!
And last, but by no means least, my wonderful Kasey. You never, ever cease to astonish and inspire me. You have more talent in your little finger than most people have in their entire beings. But this, I don't think, is your greatest gift. Your greatest gift my friend is that of grace. A gift you seem to have in abundance. I admire you. I aspire to be just a little more like you. I love you more than words can say. It almost seems that I am doing a disservice here by not saying more about this incredible woman. But really, sometimes even I recognize overkill. She is, quite simply, amazing. Period. No words can add to that.
And so, during this holiday season of giving and receiving gifts, it is my wish, for all of you, that you continue to share and nurture these gifts that you have so graciously shared with me. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you all for being a part of my life and for sharing all of these truly great gifts.
Gifts. They're everywhere. Look around you. At the person next to you on the bus. At the driver of the car that just cut you off. At the minister in your church. At the girl who bussed your table in the restaurant last night. They all have gifts to offer. Trust me on this one.
..........But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. (Gal. 5:22,23)
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Shalom everyone.
.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I Remember.............
She was a young girl I met only once. He was a teenage boy on whom I had a mad crush. But they were 2 of 5 people I never forgot. The entire family were unforgettable to a 17-year-old Rachel. I lost contact with the “mad crush” but never forgot him. Through that wonderful invention that is the Internet, I re connected with him 34 years later. It was wonderful. A few emails and even a Christmas card brought memories of my crush and this wonderful boy into my present and he seems not to have changed a lot. He’s grown and older now, as are we all, but still a wonderful person. Wonderful enough to go to Afghanistan because he believed it was the right thing to do. Reconnecting, even on that small a scale was marvellous. November 10, the eve of Remembrance Day, for the first time in 35 years, I spoke to this man on the telephone. It was amazing for me. For a multitude of reasons. And sad, unutterably sad. The young, vibrant girl I remember as his sister, had, unbeknownst to me, passed away. Another victim of cancer, the merciless killer of so many. Including my own mother. This news hit me in a way that was totally unexpected. And it brought a flood of memories to the surface. I remembered his sister albeit as a young teenager but still as one who died too young. I remembered my brother, who committed suicide at age 54. I remembered my father who died at age 67. And my mother, who at 70 years, succumbed to the same dreaded cancer that had taken my friend’s sister. All people who were taken from us far too soon. The way they died, and even the age at which they died was suddenly not important at all. What mattered was only that they were gone. Gone far too soon one and all. I thought of all of my friends who have lost loved ones and realized that at 51, I no longer know anyone who has NOT lost a loved one.
The conversation I had with my friend of over 35 years was truly wonderful. It felt as though I had finally re connected on a much more tangible basis and that was great. I hung up the phone and wept just the same. I wept for my friend and the pain he’d had to endure when he lost his sister. I wept for myself and the pain I’ve endured with the loss of my parents and brother. I wept for those of my friends who I know have lost loved ones. I wept for my brother’s family who lost their husband and father far too soon. And I wept for all those still in war torn countries who may or may not make it home to their loved ones. I wept unashamedly.
Too often tears are regarded as a sign of weakness. My tears were most definitely not a sign of weakness in any way. They were my expression of love for myself, a young girl I once met briefly but was impressed by, a friend who is a remarkable human being and love for so very many close friends who have lost loved ones. I cry because I love. This can’t be a bad thing. Or a sign of weakness. This is love, Rachel style.
November 11 is traditionally a day for remembering those who have died serving our country. While I am most certainly grateful to those men and women, it still somehow seemed appropriate to also find a small way of honouring those closest to me. Those I love. So should you find this inappropriate in this special day of Remembrance, I beg your indulgence. This is my way of showing my love to all who have gone before. It is also a salute to the people I love who have had to endure the pain of suffering through those deaths. And perhaps, equally as important, it is a profound outpouring of gratitude for the safe return of someone very special to me, who got into and out of Afghanistan, alive.
I grieve with all of you. I love all of you.
KR,DM,DM,DG,SD.......this one's for you especially.
.
The conversation I had with my friend of over 35 years was truly wonderful. It felt as though I had finally re connected on a much more tangible basis and that was great. I hung up the phone and wept just the same. I wept for my friend and the pain he’d had to endure when he lost his sister. I wept for myself and the pain I’ve endured with the loss of my parents and brother. I wept for those of my friends who I know have lost loved ones. I wept for my brother’s family who lost their husband and father far too soon. And I wept for all those still in war torn countries who may or may not make it home to their loved ones. I wept unashamedly.
Too often tears are regarded as a sign of weakness. My tears were most definitely not a sign of weakness in any way. They were my expression of love for myself, a young girl I once met briefly but was impressed by, a friend who is a remarkable human being and love for so very many close friends who have lost loved ones. I cry because I love. This can’t be a bad thing. Or a sign of weakness. This is love, Rachel style.
November 11 is traditionally a day for remembering those who have died serving our country. While I am most certainly grateful to those men and women, it still somehow seemed appropriate to also find a small way of honouring those closest to me. Those I love. So should you find this inappropriate in this special day of Remembrance, I beg your indulgence. This is my way of showing my love to all who have gone before. It is also a salute to the people I love who have had to endure the pain of suffering through those deaths. And perhaps, equally as important, it is a profound outpouring of gratitude for the safe return of someone very special to me, who got into and out of Afghanistan, alive.
I grieve with all of you. I love all of you.
KR,DM,DM,DG,SD.......this one's for you especially.
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Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The Wisdom of Paying It Forward
It's been a strange morning. It's possible, I suppose, that it could get stranger, but I believe that what I did, in an effort to "pay it forward" will not turn out to be a bad thing at best. Who knows, it may even turn out to be a blessing. One I may never know about but that's why you leave things up to God right? And, as is my wont, I've not started at the beginning of my story.
I live in a rough part of town. It's a given. I learned long ago that the wise way to deal with this is simply mind my own business, smile and nod at strangers and carry on my way. Which is what I've been doing since I moved in here in August. Until this morning. Sometimes, minding my own business gets really tough for me and lines of "smart" and "possibly really dumb", get blurred. Which is when I rely on gut instinct and God. (God being the far more reliable of the two!) That's what I did this morning. Went with my gut and left the rest up to God. Which seems to have worked. At least so far. It's possible that repercussions could happen I suppose but that's all part of it I guess.
Every morning I get out of bed and go for a walk. This morning, on my way out, I almost tripped over three teenagers, more asleep than awake in the hallway. (Which is what happens when landlords don't care about their rental units and "security doors" aren't locked!) In any event, here they were, just feet away from my apartment door. Two teenage boys and a younger teenage girl. They didn't seem at all threatening so I simply said "morning guys", smiled and went for my walk. They were still there when I got back. Now that I was awake, I could see that these kids were in rough shape. One of the boys seemed to have been crying and the other two are just plain wiped out. So I stopped. I asked them why they were there and how long they had been there. They had spent the night in the hallway because every other apartment building they had been to was too cold. "So why are you camping out in hallways?" Rachel asks because she's honestly concerned. (others would call it seriously stupid I know!) I got their story. The short version is, their car broke down about 60 kms. away and they hitchhiked to the city then had nowhere to go. While I'm still not clear on why the hitched to the city instead of going back home, I have some pretty good guesses. These kids were pretty much a mess. So, in true Rachel fashion, I invited them in. (yes, I hear the intakes of breath coming from those of you who subscribe to the "stupid" theory) but it's who I am. It's what I do. And any of you that know me at all, know this to be true. So at 8 am, I had three teenagers asleep in my very tiny apartment. Three teenagers I'd never seen before in my life. And I remembered. I remembered a teenage Rachel who had run away from home. I actually knew where I was going! Or so I thought. I knew that there was someone in this world I could count on for help and that someone lived at the far end of the province. Problem is, I lived pretty much in the middle of the province. Which end was I going to? I finally made a decision that I knew had to be the right one. And I put my thumb out. After two short rides, I got a ride from a man who was going all the way to Yarmouth! Wonderful! I told him I was going to visit a friend and was far too dumb to be concerned about what or who this man might be. And I got lucky. Very lucky. At this point, you've all guessed I'm sure, that I picked the wrong end of the province. I was going in exactly the opposite direction of where I wanted to be. This wonderful stranger (and that is most definitely what he was) caught on quickly that I was a runaway and when I told him the name of the person I was looking for, he told me that he didn't recognize the name at all as being one from his hometown of Yarmouth. Still, when we got there, he did everything in his power to try to find that person for me. I finally confessed that it was possible that I'd gone the wrong way and he told me that I had to call my parents and tell them I was in fact alright. I couldn't do that from his place as his wife was out of town and it wouldn't look good for him to have a young girl in his home alone. He found me a place to stay with friends and made that dreadful phone call to my folks for me. How lucky was I? This man could have been a rapist, murderer or both! He wasn't. He was one of the most decent people I've ever come across in my life and I have always remembered him and his extreme kindness to a sixteen year old, messed up, me. I spent the night with strangers, and my guardian angel showed up the next morning and put me on a train home. Amazing! Simply amazing! I will always owe this stranger. And probably never be able to repay him. As a result, pay it forward, means a lot to me.
Yes, these kids could have turned out to be axe murderers. Yes, I could have been making a huge mistake. But I really didn't think so. I brought them in, fed them, gave them a place to nap for an hour or so and made them make the requisite telephone calls to the people who might be concerned about them. They were grateful, respectful, scared kids. And from the parts of the story I got, they probably had reason to be. Home life didn't sound good for these kids or their respective parents. I really have no idea what will happen to any of them. But that's where faith comes in. I did what I believe God would have wanted me to do. I helped a few of his sheep to the best of my ability. Then, I essentially released them back to him.
I feel good about what I did. So while others are now questioning my sanity for sure, maybe, just maybe, I have finally paid my own debt forward.
Oh, and just for the record, after many years, I actually did find my friend at the opposite end of the province. :+)
.
I live in a rough part of town. It's a given. I learned long ago that the wise way to deal with this is simply mind my own business, smile and nod at strangers and carry on my way. Which is what I've been doing since I moved in here in August. Until this morning. Sometimes, minding my own business gets really tough for me and lines of "smart" and "possibly really dumb", get blurred. Which is when I rely on gut instinct and God. (God being the far more reliable of the two!) That's what I did this morning. Went with my gut and left the rest up to God. Which seems to have worked. At least so far. It's possible that repercussions could happen I suppose but that's all part of it I guess.
Every morning I get out of bed and go for a walk. This morning, on my way out, I almost tripped over three teenagers, more asleep than awake in the hallway. (Which is what happens when landlords don't care about their rental units and "security doors" aren't locked!) In any event, here they were, just feet away from my apartment door. Two teenage boys and a younger teenage girl. They didn't seem at all threatening so I simply said "morning guys", smiled and went for my walk. They were still there when I got back. Now that I was awake, I could see that these kids were in rough shape. One of the boys seemed to have been crying and the other two are just plain wiped out. So I stopped. I asked them why they were there and how long they had been there. They had spent the night in the hallway because every other apartment building they had been to was too cold. "So why are you camping out in hallways?" Rachel asks because she's honestly concerned. (others would call it seriously stupid I know!) I got their story. The short version is, their car broke down about 60 kms. away and they hitchhiked to the city then had nowhere to go. While I'm still not clear on why the hitched to the city instead of going back home, I have some pretty good guesses. These kids were pretty much a mess. So, in true Rachel fashion, I invited them in. (yes, I hear the intakes of breath coming from those of you who subscribe to the "stupid" theory) but it's who I am. It's what I do. And any of you that know me at all, know this to be true. So at 8 am, I had three teenagers asleep in my very tiny apartment. Three teenagers I'd never seen before in my life. And I remembered. I remembered a teenage Rachel who had run away from home. I actually knew where I was going! Or so I thought. I knew that there was someone in this world I could count on for help and that someone lived at the far end of the province. Problem is, I lived pretty much in the middle of the province. Which end was I going to? I finally made a decision that I knew had to be the right one. And I put my thumb out. After two short rides, I got a ride from a man who was going all the way to Yarmouth! Wonderful! I told him I was going to visit a friend and was far too dumb to be concerned about what or who this man might be. And I got lucky. Very lucky. At this point, you've all guessed I'm sure, that I picked the wrong end of the province. I was going in exactly the opposite direction of where I wanted to be. This wonderful stranger (and that is most definitely what he was) caught on quickly that I was a runaway and when I told him the name of the person I was looking for, he told me that he didn't recognize the name at all as being one from his hometown of Yarmouth. Still, when we got there, he did everything in his power to try to find that person for me. I finally confessed that it was possible that I'd gone the wrong way and he told me that I had to call my parents and tell them I was in fact alright. I couldn't do that from his place as his wife was out of town and it wouldn't look good for him to have a young girl in his home alone. He found me a place to stay with friends and made that dreadful phone call to my folks for me. How lucky was I? This man could have been a rapist, murderer or both! He wasn't. He was one of the most decent people I've ever come across in my life and I have always remembered him and his extreme kindness to a sixteen year old, messed up, me. I spent the night with strangers, and my guardian angel showed up the next morning and put me on a train home. Amazing! Simply amazing! I will always owe this stranger. And probably never be able to repay him. As a result, pay it forward, means a lot to me.
Yes, these kids could have turned out to be axe murderers. Yes, I could have been making a huge mistake. But I really didn't think so. I brought them in, fed them, gave them a place to nap for an hour or so and made them make the requisite telephone calls to the people who might be concerned about them. They were grateful, respectful, scared kids. And from the parts of the story I got, they probably had reason to be. Home life didn't sound good for these kids or their respective parents. I really have no idea what will happen to any of them. But that's where faith comes in. I did what I believe God would have wanted me to do. I helped a few of his sheep to the best of my ability. Then, I essentially released them back to him.
I feel good about what I did. So while others are now questioning my sanity for sure, maybe, just maybe, I have finally paid my own debt forward.
Oh, and just for the record, after many years, I actually did find my friend at the opposite end of the province. :+)
.
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