Better Because You Spark So Much Light!

Can any of you guess who this bright-eyed beauty might be?? I’d sure love to know what she was thinking when this picture was taken. I adore the gentle glow that ever so delicately glimmers through her upward glance. I can also sense such a sweet and sensitive soul reflected through that precious smile!

I’ll give you a hint of who this blog about. The following describes her absolutely perfectly.

And, she does EXACTLY that. I feel blessed beyond belief to honor and acknowledge this exquisite human with a few words in this blog. I have hesitated to do so because I wasn’t sure if I could aptly depict her exceptional essence with words alone. If you know her … you will understand my reticence. It feels like a challenge to do her justice. Maybe you already have an idea of who it is, but I’ll offer you one more clue!

And, yes … this beautiful soul radiates so much joy as she embraces her truth and pursues her passions! Some of you will recognize her through the incredible ‘movement’ (pun intended) that she has single-handedly inspired in our community over the past couple of years. Her remarkable efforts to increase flexibility, mobility and activity in our community have been incredibly well received!

I bet you know who I am talking about now!! Yes. I am speaking of none other than the warm and wonderful Lindsay Anderson! With her engaging exuberance and enthusiasm … Lindsay has ensured that the body of work founded by Miranda Esmonde-White (a former ballerina with The National Ballet of Canada) is a household word in our small town and far beyond! I am so glad I can include this little video so you can hear Lindsay’s unequivocal passion as she describes, in her own words, how she discovered Essentrics.

You can’t help but detect both the delight and the dedication that Lindsay devotes to building her practice and optimizing her expertise. And when Covid-19 swooped in and disrupted most everything in most everyone’s lives, it could have been the end of Essentrics in our community. Instead, Lindsay chose to offer her classes on Facebook Live! And so, for a mere $3/class up to a maximum of $30/month (regardless of how many classes you attend), she continues to provide at least 7 or 8 classes per week.

She even offered classes on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day during the decidedly different holiday season we experienced in 2020. For many of us who were alone at home instead of with family due to the pandemic restrictions on socializing, it was a wonderful addition to our quiet isolation during the holidays. And, as of the publishing of this blog, she has developed an enthusiastic and loyal following of 700 participants who benefit from her willingness to so generously support all of us.

Yes. Lindsay’s caring commitment to her people is unequivocal and impeccable. Even when she has other obligations and responsibilities and activities in her own life, she consistently finds a way to show up for her Essentrics followers. For example, when she was going to be out of town cross-country skiing in Waterton, Alberta … and even though it was four degrees below zero with a wind chill making it feel like -12 degrees … Lindsay gifted 30 of us with the opportunity to feel like we were stretching our fascia, activating all 650 muscles and mobilizing all 360 joints in the beautiful Rocky Mountain resort.

I know I am not just speaking for myself when I say that in addition to mobilizing our bodies, Lindsay is also uplifting our spirits! In fact, not too long ago, one of her participants shared that his wife had recovered enough from surgery and was finally able to return to class. His comment on Facebook made me smile because I knew exactly what he meant. Lindsay’s exceptional essence is what makes doing Essentrics with her so very exquisite. She is a spark. She is a veritable spark of light and leaves such lovely heart prints in all that she touches.

If you didn’t know Lindsay already or haven’t met her through Essentrics, you might have met her at the beginning of this pandemic when her 88 year old mother-in-law started sewing masks. Lindsay supported the distribution of these handmade gems by using her own Facebook account to ensure the public had liberal access to them. While Grandma Carma was content to simply give the masks away, Lindsay encouraged her to charge a teensy little fee which was donated to a charity. It was remarkable to witness their joint effort to mask us all up and keep us safe from Covid-19.

Lindsay is not only a bountiful bearer of light, but is also a spectacular sharer of light. She heralds the givers and generously acknowledges those who endeavor to make the world a better place. Just recently, she introduced us to a woman whose job in a local restaurant was compromised by the pandemic. So, Lindsay invited us to experience this woman’s culinary skills by ordering a ‘dinner for two’ from her. Lindsay did all the leg work to ensure our community was aware that we could supplement this person’s livelihood by simply ordering and enjoying her homecooked meals. She was sold out in no time. I am hoping to get a taste of it all next time around.

And that is precisely what Lindsay does … with utmost generosity of spirit. As I say that, I am also reminded of when she introduced us to Poppy. And even though she is introducing us to a young girl, I am including this here because it gives you a small sense of the vibrancy and vitality of who Lindsay is herself.

And, now that you have a sense of Linday’s limitless loving-kindness, I must introduce you to Robin. If you don’t already know him, Robin is Lindsay’s brother. And, when he passed away, she started a memorial fund called “Robin’s Nest Egg”. I hope you will take three minutes to allow this inspiring video to touch into your spirit.

I am personally aware of a number of situations where an egg or two from Robin’s Nest have been kindly gifted to others. There is really no end to the compassion and caring that characterizes this remarkable human called Lindsay. She also works with people with special needs and when funding was cut in the schools and many of the assistants in our community lost their jobs, Lindsay decided to create a kindergarten in her own home. Who does that? Who just decides to start a school? Well … Lindsay does. 😊

High Five was birthed by Lindsay’s indelible and innovative spirit. I trust that her skills, abilities and creative gifts were blessings to the children who attended. As you see in the video, there is no end to the unique and interesting opportunities Lindsay provided her students. It is inspiring to see what kindergarten can actually become when imagined and created through the eyes with which Lindsay interprets the world!

Lindsay is one of the most creative souls I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She doesn’t live within the confines of space that generally limit the edges of possibility for most of us. She has this incredible way of ‘seeing’ beyond the ordinary … and then … creating something extraordinary. I marvel at how she brings all her benevolent being-ness to every interaction, every circumstance and every situation … leaving everyone feeling better for being in her presence.

I should clarify that Lindsay and I didn’t grow up together. We don’t get together for coffee or lunch. Our husbands don’t know each other. We don’t see each other at church. We don’t talk on the phone. And yet, I consider her a very dear friend. Somehow … this exceptional woman has a way of forging deep and abiding connections. She is the kind of person you want in your circle.

Lindsay and I first met a few decades ago when I was contributing articles to our local newspaper. The column I submitted was called ‘A Closer Look’ and was intended to highlight and give us a closer look at some of the people living in our community. Lindsay reached out to me to say how much she enjoyed the column and expressed her appreciation for the opportunity to get to know people better through the questions. Our friendship started via these email exchanges and over the years I came to understand that she has always loved people’s stories. I learned that she has an insatiable and altruistic interest in humanity.

One of the things that I deeply appreciate about Lindsay is that when she discovers something good … she shares it! Life is far too short to ensure we find all its treasures on our own. Lindsay ensures we do not have to do so.

Lindsay is always spreading joy … spreading good cheer … spreading good movie titles, excellent books, inspiring videos, beautiful music, great recipes … and even the delicious treats she has scored at Costco! About 20 years ago she led me to a peppery snack she found at Costco. I think it had cranberries in it too! I can’t even remember the name of it now … but my taste buds haven’t forgotten because I notice I am salivating as I write this. One day she introduced her Essentrics class to an exceptional chocolate hummus she discovered. So dang good. She is always sharing something good.

I think that is one of the things that makes Lindsay so unique! She truly touches deeply into the miracle of being alive. She leans into her longings and enthusiastically courts her curiosities … and … generously greets the wonders of life with so much gratitude. She sees the beauty in everyday things and notices the light in the littlest of things. And, she so humbly and gently invites all those in her presence to experience the same. A long time ago she reached out and recommended a Ted Talk that she had seen. It was about internet scammers … and it was so deeply moving … in such a unique way … that I ended up sharing it on my own page.

I am not sure how Lindsay finds so many remarkable things to share, but I have learned to heed to her suggestions. Following up her recommendations adds a depth and a breadth to my existence that I might not get to explore were it not for her. So, when she reached out again via text and recommended a TEDx Talk featuring a phenomenal photographer named Lene Marie Fossen who faced her life with anorexia … I made time to watch it. It was such a haunting portrayal of how pain and struggle shape our humanity.

We all have stories to tell. As I shared, Lindsay is always learning more about people and their stories. I am always inspired to follow where her interest in people takes her. And when she watched a video suggesting that Christmas brings a softness to the cell blocks within penitentiaries … she got curious. And, she invited us to join in the learning what she discovered. As Lindsay posted on Facebook:

Can Christmas happen “anywhere”?

I stumbled on this video shortly after I read a book entitled “Getting Life” by Michael Morton – a true story of a man who served 25 years for murdering his wife – a crime that he did not commit. I have since watched interviews and am amazed that he is not bitter or resentful – but instead a grateful and appreciative soul who is soft spoken yet carries a voice with purpose leaving no one with an excuse for ingratitude. I loved the video – but I’m a skeptic. I wondered how ‘authentic’ it was. It is easy to slow down video footage and add some beautiful music – it plays on your emotions, draws you in. Are those feelings ‘real’? It was a long shot but I sent an email to Michael Morton asking if he would mind watching the video and telling me if it made him roll his eyes – or if Christmas really does bring a softness even within the walls of a prison. Several weeks later I was so surprised and touched to get this reply:

“Lindsay–Watched the video. My wife said she teared up when she watched it. I grunted, then watched it, too. Yeah, I also teared up a little, just like a tough, old ex-con. Every prison and most prison experiences are unique. But this video has some universality that struck a chord with me. The guards are human. Some of them are okay…and some of them aren’t. Most of them, though, are touched by the holiday season, and Christmas in particular. God is bigger than any wall or series of razor-wire-topped fences. He transcends time, space, and all human circumstance. I liked the video. Thanks.-Michael”

Merry, merry Christmas to all. In prison, or amidst a pandemic, nothing can remove or destroy the special spirit of the season. xo

Ha ha. Of course she emailed the author!! She is so earnestly interested in understanding all the layers and complexities of people. This is the magnificence of Lindsay! I am not the least bit surprised that she stretched out onto the road less travelled and connected with an author who had also been an inmate. Not too many of us might ever even think to do so, but Lindsay’s commitment to honoring the stories of others is unrivaled.

And that Lindsay does!

She also recommended that I read a book entitled “The Unwinding of the Miracle.” I have not yet finished it, but I trust that I will gain something special from it. I cannot yet say what it will be … but I trust my friend implicitly. She never leads me astray. She also recommended that I watch “Fisherman’s Friends” on Netflix. I had never heard of it either. If you haven’t seen it yet, look it up. It was so well worth the watch.

It is so clear to me that Lindsay is always listening. I know she hears a song when many of us miss it … both literally and metaphorically. And, I do not take her exceptional essence for granted. She has this remarkable way of nourishing the landscape of people’s souls. She is also such a gifted writer. I haven’t really touched on her exceptional skills in this regard, but I look forward to reading more of the remarkable stories she has to pen through the lens of her empathic eyes and huge heart.

Lindsay is just so sincere and genuine. She is unapologetically herself. You find no airs about her. Her transparency and authenticity is so entirely refreshing. I’m not sure who said it, but someone once stated that “in a world where everyone wears a mask, it is such a privilege to see a soul.” And, that it is.

And so Lindsay, with these few words … I offer my humble observations of your beings and doings with the deepest appreciation to you and for you. Your presence is a true gift in my world. Thank you for being such a spectacular spark of light. Thank you so adding such a glorious glow to the globe. And, thank you again for touching so joyfully into the miracle of our mortal existence and inviting inspiring us all to do the same. One of these days I might even try sprouting some lentils. 😘

With unending appreciation for the bright light of your soul …. 💖 Karen 💖

An Advent of Love … Better Because I’m bringing You Home For Christmas Momma!

Those of you who read my “Better Because you Spared Me …” blog will already be aware that Christmas 2019 marks the 30th Anniversary of my Mom’s passing. You will also know that I didn’t even realize the loss of my Mom had remained so unprocessed … until the words, tears and unspoken grief spilled out of me while I was writing the afore mentioned blog … a blog that I thought was going to be about something else! It is amazing to recognize just how much pain we can hide from ourselves when that unwelcome darkness is pushed way down inside of us and not invited up to see the light of day.

So … that said, and aside from another blog that I dedicated to my Mom, I have come to realize that I have never sufficiently honored my Mom’s death … or … maybe even her life, for that matter.  It just never seemed right to speak aloud about her passing during the Christmas Season because I didn’t want to put a damper on my family’s ‘holiday cheer’ or cause anyone any discomfort by bringing it up.

But given my line of work as a counsellor/therapist … I am also well aware that mourning  is an essential part of processing and healing our grief. Sometimes the words grief and mourning are used interchangeably, but they are actually very different. Grief is the internal  experience of our unprocessed emotional pain, heartache, sadness and loss …. and … mourning is the external expression of our grief.  Mourning is the vehicle that helps us move through our emotions so we can grieve and heal through our losses.

I have always reminded my clients that it’s a gift to themselves to make space for mourning rituals and outward expressions of their grief, lest it gets stuck inside them.  When grief goes unprocessed, it becomes professionally described as ‘unreconciled’. The research shows that ‘unreconciled grief’ can lead to all manner of depression, anxiety and varied other unfavorable emotional, mental and even physical health concerns. And so, the writing of that blog nearly 30 years after my Mom’s death, rendered visible that I still had some of my own work to do. Unarguably, it was long past time to dust up some more of that glitter … to create some space to mourn the unreconciled parts of my own grief.

Upon reading the Better Because You Spared Me blog, my youngest daughter responded on Facebook by saying :

“This was amazing mom. I had no idea gram loved evergreens too!! I’m going to dedicate mine to her this year ❤  … “

Something in my daughter’s words spoke right into my soul!  And so, with deepest reverence for my Momma, I have decided to bring her home for Christmas this year by creating a morning/mourning ritual for the 24 days prior to the 30th anniversary of her death on December 25th. I am going to call this process my ‘Advent of Love.’  And since most Advent Calendars present us with a gift each day leading up to Christmas, I decided to invite my Momma to join me as I enjoy the tranquility of the pre-dawn hours reflecting upon the many gifts I have received in our mother/daughter relationship. 🧡

This is the scene within which this Advent of Love  has unfolded. And, I have decided to outwardly express my reflections in the form of this blog so I can deepen my experience of honoring my Momma in these moments … and then … revisit these precious reflections in the years to come.

An Advent of Love … ❤

Day 1:  Ornaments. Every year since my children were born I have gifted them with an ornament reflecting something meaningful that happened in their year. I would try to inconspicuously write their initials (and the year) onto the ornament somewhere. I wanted them to have a nice selection of ornaments to adorn their own trees when they moved out of our home. And well, the year my Mom passed, I scoured the stores in ruthless pursuit of “Grandmother 1989”  ornaments. It was no easy task … because they were typically sold out by the time I got into the city after the funeral. I couldn’t get three of the same, but … I was relieved that I found one for each of my daughters … and … one for myself.

My daughters have all had their own ornaments for many years now.  But … strangely … it was not until THIS year that I noticed some initials on one of the Grandma ornaments I was using to dress my own tree. It was then that I realized I still had a couple of my daughter’s ornaments. It seems incredibly odd that this was the only ornament I forgot to give them … but maybe it was by divine design that these very significant ornaments stayed with me until this very moment. And so, on this first day of my Advent of Love, I am delivering these precious ornaments to my daughters.

It always stirs my heart as we place our ornaments on the Christmas tree because, as I shared, they are all meaningful in some way. It is a joy to reminisce about places we have been and/or the times and occasions spent with our kids and grandkids reflected by each ornament. One of the ornaments that has no obvious meaning, but that has some special sentiment for me is this one.

I remember getting a box of these long tapered glass ornaments for my very first  Christmas tree after I got married 42 years ago because … they were my Mom’s favorite ornaments when I was a child. They became my favorite too. I just loved that they were so elegant, so unique in shape and so full of glittery goodness! We used to have four of them, but now … this the only one I have left. It may sound corny, but it feels like all my best childhood memories of Christmas are honored when I dangle this sparkling gem on the tree from year to year! 💚

And … speaking of ornaments, I decided to create picture ornaments of all our departed loved ones three years ago … my brother-in-law Don, my mother-in-law, my father-in-law, my stepmom Gerri, my Dad and my Mom.  And, since our tree is dedicated to my Momma this year,  we have placed her at the top this year … right next to the macaroni angel that my dear friend Marion made for me decades ago. Yes … a couple of special angels set atop our tree this year.

Day 2:  Sparkle. My thoughts this morning were still on the ‘glittery goodness’ of Christmas’s past. I might only have a couple of pictures of my mom and I together, and I am tickled that I have this one. It was taken 50 years ago on Dec 25, 1969. My spirit sings just a little as I am reminded of how much I loved to liberally dangle all those sparkly tin foil icicles onto the tree! I just loved the way that tinsel shimmered and shone in the light of the tree! I don’t do it anymore, but it was a custom I carried forward for many, many, many  years … well after my own children were born.As I share this, I am also fondly recalling that our Christmas trees had to be tethered to the ceiling because it never failed that the tree would end up face down on the ground when our cat could no longer resist pouncing upwards to snatch a shiny temptation dangling high enough up in the branches to topple the whole tree. Sadly … those glittering icicles never weathered the tumble very well. 😏

Given that I was an only child, Christmas was typically pretty quiet … and became even more so after my my Mom and Dad split up when I was 12 years old. That said, some of my best memories  were the Christmas celebrations we got to spent at my Aunt Mildred’s house. The succulent aroma of the roasting turkey or goose (occasionally offset by the stench of the traditional Scandinavian lutefisk) … all the fancy fixings (including the mashed turnips) on the sideboard … the tall, elegant tapers dribbling wax down the sterling silver candlesticks that were centered perfectly upon the festive table linens … the indoor Christmas lights tucked perfectly behind the curtain rods cascading colors down the sheers on the windows … the laughter … the love … the lamps. Ha ha, for some reason I am recalling the excessive number of lamps my Aunt Mil had in her house! Yes, there was a whole lotta light in her home … and … in her heart! She always shone so brightly!

My Aunt Mil was an incredibly warm human being, an exceptional cook and an exemplary hostess. Even though she was run off her feet making it merry for everyone else, she had a way of making you feel like your presence in her home … and in her heart … was the only thing that truly  mattered to her. She was one of those angels that walks the earth … ensuring people feel cherished and precious. 💛

My Mom adored her eldest sister. I suspect she just felt so safe in my Aunt’s energetic embrace. You just knew that she loved you with unshakeable intensity and fierce loyalty.  We were at Aunt Mil’s when the following picture was taken … 39 years ago. It captures my Mom’s first  Christmas in her new role as “Gram” holding hands with the best gift she got in 1980! Our eldest daughter  was exactly four months old here.

Day 3: Patience. It’s only the third day of this process, and I’m already surprised by the memories that are stirring within me. Something that I have always held close in heart was the infinite patience that my Mom displayed with me. My baby teeth didn’t develop with adequate enamel on them so they decayed very quickly.  In order to preserve them until my permanent teeth came in, they all had to be capped with silver when I was four or five years old.

My smile here reveals some glimpses of that silver … but my memories of my time in that dentist chair with Dr. Kuzyk are nothing short of traumatic. Seriously. That horrible rubber damn … the whirr of the drill … the smell of my ground enamel … his cold, steely eyes … him threatening to send my Mother home from the waiting room if I didn’t stop crying. He should have been disbarred for the way he terrified me into swallowing my tears and silencing my terror.

I’m guessing my Mom interpreted my stoic silence as bravery rather than oppression. I honestly have no idea how she walked me through my fears time and time again … until all my teeth were done. Perhaps it was the bribery? I fondly recall her promising me to take me for “chips and gravy” at the lunch counter of the Met Department Store after each of my appointments. They were such succulent morsels … even if your mouth was frozen.

My Mom also lovingly convinced me to go to camp one year as well. Arghhh … it was entirely horrible! I was such a shy child and so desperately afraid to be sent off on my own in a bus full of strangers, but somehow she motivated me to step onto the Greyhound.  Yes, over the years my Momma inspired that timid little freckle-faced, red-head to forge through many of her most formidable fears.

Most amazingly, though, is the fact that I never remember feeling forced or coerced by her. My only recollection is of her patiently supporting me to do hard things. Yes. She instilled a belief in me that we can get through any adversity that lands upon our paths. Thank you for that Momma … that belief has got me through some tough stuff in my life. xo

Day 4:  Integrity.  My Mom and Dad both smoked. For that matter … I vaguely remember reading somewhere that nearly 70% of people smoked four or five decades ago. ‘Players’ or ‘Players Light’ were the most popular brand, but my Momma opted for ‘Craven A’  cigarettes. Back in those days, it was still acceptable for folks to smoke in vehicles! I still get nauseous when I think of my parents pressing in that cigarette lighter into the dashboard in the car. I detested the sickening stench of it’s red hot coils.

It was so entirely offensive that I’m questioning why I ever got the notion to try smoking myself? Perhaps it was peer pressure? All I can remember is that one evening when I was 13, three of us bought a pack of Craven M (the menthol version of my Mom’s favorite brand).  I got teased by the other two for calling home to get permission before I actually lit one up. Mom wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but confirmed that she’d rather I tell her I was going to try smoking than compromise my integrity by hiding it behind her back.  When she realized I was going to keep smoking, she never chastised me or tried to change my mind. No. She just bought a pack of ‘Craven M’ for me when she purchased a pack of ‘Craven A’ for herself. My Mom said she couldn’t, in good conscience, promote hypocrisy by expecting me to quit doing something that she was doing in her own life.

I revered her intention to stand in integrity in that moment, and yet in retrospect, I can see clearly that there were also times when my Mom really struggled to stay in integrity and resist hypocrisy herself. While I have shared more transparently about this in another blog, I am not going to speak to any of that here. I just don’t want to leave you with the impression that she always walked her talk. She did not. And, I knew it. That said, I am not sure any one of us has successfully maintained our integrity 100% of the time.

But before you judge her too harshly for compromising her integrity and/or for allowing me to smoke, I should share that I did quit smoking of my own volition when I was 21. I had offered to support a friend who needed to quit smoking for health reasons.  And, even though I had no real intention of quitting forever myself, I did keep my word to not take a puff while she was trying to extinguish the habit. When all was said and done, however, I was the only one of us who had successfully quit. As I reflect upon it all now, I don’t like to feel guilty about my choices, so I’m really glad I maintained my integrity in those moments … with both my Mom and my friend.

Day 5: Family. My Mom was the youngest of seven children. I learned on Ancestry.com that my maternal grandmother, Anna Gunhilda Nasenius (Nezenius), gave birth to 8 children in 13 years.  She was 41 when my Mom, “Muriel”  Pauline Star Edlund, joined their family on April 13, 1925. My paternal grandfather, Nels Fridolf Edlund, was already 49 when my Mom arrived.  My Mom’s eldest brother Hjalmar Fridolf “Douglas” was born on August 21, 1914. Then came another son, Thurs “Arthur” Alexander, who was born little more than 14 months later on November 12, 1915. My beloved Auntie … Ruth “Mildred”  Armida arrived on September 23, 1917 and their brother, Werner Wilfred “Woodrow”  was born on the exact same day and month as my Mom … only six years prior in 1919. Uncle Woodrow was followed by the birth of another daughter, Helen “Doris” Elvera was born on March 18, 1921. My Uncle “Paul”  Warren David joined their family on July 25, 1923. My Mom never even told me that she had a little brother!  Joseph “Immanual”  was born on October 27, 1927 but unfortunately, he died eight days later on November 3, 1927.

The legacy of loss in my Mom’s history looms large. My Uncle Douglas passed away suddenly in an airplane accident in 1947 when he was 32.  My Aunt Doris died unexpectedly in her sleep in 1971 when she was 49. My Uncle Woodrow died a year after my Aunt Doris … he was only 53. My Uncle Art sustained a major brain injury in a car accident and was bed-ridden for most of his lifetime. My Aunt Mil compassionately cared for him in her home until he passed away in 1975 … just a month shy of 60. My Mom was the next to depart in 1989, at the age of 64 … followed by my Aunt Mil who passed away very unexpectedly nine months later on October 13, 1990. She was only 72. My Uncle Paul survived them all. He died in 2005 at the age of 82.

Sadly, I don’t recall spending much time with my Mom’s family members. I do have some very fun memories of riding down the stairs in a laundry basket with my Uncle Paul one time when I was young. I was staying at my Aunt Mil’s … and we went out to the farm to visit. It was entirely exuberant and really a very exceptional experience!! Neither my Mom or my Dad would have dared to do something as playful as taking a wild ride in a plastic hamper. Unfortunately, our engagement with Uncle Paul’s lovely family was deeply fractured by a heartbreaking rift over my Grandmother’s Estate. My Mom had been named Executrix. It was tragic to witness the loss of connection that my Mom endured with her brother during the years of conflict.

The precious and yet tenuous nature of family attachment has always underpinned my understanding of family. And yet, as an often lonely only child, I was always so envious of people who had brothers and sisters. I imagined it must be so incredible to be part of something bigger than yourself … to have people in your life that you didn’t have to explain things to because they already knew … because they were there from the beginning.

Its no surprise that I was quick to embrace my husbands four siblings and parents when we got married. I really relished the feeling of being part of their ‘big family’. I inherited three brothers and a little sister in the deal. Their presence in my life was elevated in my heart. And, over the years, I embraced the jubilant joys and weathered the saddening sorrows of being part of a ‘big family.’ There was no shortage of either.

Day 6: Destiny:  I woke up in the night thinking about a blog I wrote many, many years ago called “Mama Knows Best”. In it, I talked about a very vivid memory I had of my Mom. It must bear repeating, because it found it’s way to my awareness during this meaningful morning/mourning process.  As I shared in that blog, one of the most meaningful messages I got from my Mom did not come in words:

“I must have been about 8 years old … and … my mom wanted to take me to the movies in order to get out of the house. After consuming more 5 Star Whiskey than he could handle – my dad had, once again, passed out on the couch. She could see it coming and she had asked him (when he was still coherent) if she could have some money to take me. He had refused. I can’t remember his rationale … but …

Once he was snoring, my mom proceeded to put her hands down the cracks of the sofa around him, searching for coins that had dropped out of his pockets over time. She kept searching … and counting … until she had collected enough pocket change to get us on the #2 trolley bus … which would take us to the theater downtown. I don’t remember the movie we saw that night, but … here is what I heard her saying:
“If there is a will, there is a way.”

I also heard her saying … don’t let anyone else unfavorably or unnecessarily determine your destiny. And, I wish I could say I had been better at heeding that sage wisdom over my lifetime. Unfortunately, it has taken me many, many years to really integrate that lesson into my life. And, it is still hard for the recovering people-pleaser in me to elevate my own needs if it feels like I am abandoning another in the process. But … I am ever grateful that my Momma got a bee in her bonnet every now and again … so I could bear witness to how it looks when you choose to have your own back. The real trick it learning to set strong, compassionate boundaries without needing anger to be the catalyst.  I’m getting there. 

Day 7:  Connection. I remembered a couple of things this morning. One, it’s my Dad’s birthday. Were he still with us here in the flesh, he’d be 91 today. Happy Birthday Dad!  I wish we’d been able to spend more Christmas’ together. And, although this is an Advent of Love in honor of my Mom, in this moment I am remembering my very last Christmas with my Dad.  It was the best one I ever had with him. We’d finally healed our relationship and it was so good to share that unfettered space with him. It’s funny, because in the last five years of his life, I caught some glimpses of the man my Mom had so deeply loved … like the energy captured in this photo. 🧡

My husband and I had travelled to South East Asia and brought home a conical hat. I roared with laughter when my Dad tried it on. It was so out of character for him to act silly. This is one of my very favorite memories with him right here.

For as long as I can remember, we had always had a stack of index cards in the desk. We typically used them for recipes or flash cards for studying when I was in school.  But, in 1987, one of those cue cards became my birthday card! I am suspecting she wasn’t well enough to get out to the store to buy me an official Hallmark card, so … she improvised.

Her handwriting was so very small, it was often very difficult for the untrained eye to read. So, I will translate for you:

“To: Karen a wonderful daughter on your 29th Birthday. This was intended for your 30th Birthday, but like most of us, it will probably be another 10 years until then!!! You are so special to me and always remember – I love you very much and pray this year will be the best one ever. Affectionately, Mom J”

My Momma had a great sense of humor. I think she was 29 for at least 20 years. And then 39 for another 10 years … at least. 🙂 But, she was very quiet and very much an introvert … so one of her favorite ways of communicating was through the written word. Her penned sentiments represent such tangible tokens of her affection. I am really glad I had the foresight to save some of the little notes that my Mom had written to me over the years.

Day 8:  Time. It’s been fascinating to notice the memories that have emerged for me during this Advent of Love. I thought this was going to be a much tidier process. I expected to wake up in the early morning … and then … as I was sitting with my coffee in front of all the lights … I would invite Mom to join me and see what memories would be sparked.  But no. More often than not, I have been awakened in the middle of the night with thoughts flooding through my awareness … washing warmly over the window of my soul … fostering tidal waves of gratitude. So, I jotted the ideas down for the days to come … where I could try to make sense of it all … and … feel my way into the layers of ‘why’ a particular memory was alive in my awareness.  

For example … I was thinking about the twin beds in my Mom’s bedroom. I remember in my teens that I would climb into the extra bed and we would watch “The Merv Griffin Show” together. For those of you who are too young to remember, Merv had a late night talk show from 1962 to 1986. He also created the popular game shows Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune. My Mom loved spending time with Merv. So did I.

I mean … just look at that smile of his!!  You can tell why we were drawn to him. You can just see the bright light of this man’s soul shining through that grin and casting a glow onto everything around him. I can see how he was likely a bright spot in many of my Mom’s long and uncomfortable days. Perhaps just knowing she’d be spending time at the end of the day with Merv gave my Mom some light-hearted energy to anticipate.

Personally, I have come to believe that having something to anticipate is one of the secrets of living a happy life. And, as a result, I make it a habit to put something into my days, weeks and months to look forward to …

Day 9: Treasures of the Heart. These first two pictures capture a snippet of Christmas on the farm in1982. Brittany had not yet arrived into our family. Sherisse was only two months old and Tiana was a lively little 28 month old toddler! My Mom was still well enough to come out for a Christmas Eve ‘sleep over.’  She always loved a nice cozy sweater. In fact, in the final few years of her life I recall her layering up … two or three sweaters at a time. She had become so thin that she got chilled very easily.

Here we are … a couple of years later … Christmas 1984. It is so hard to believe this was 35 years ago. I love seeing the delight in her energy upon receiving these photos of her littlest loves. Oh, how she adored her grand-daughters.

We were poking fun at her here because she would often be up through the nights and then sleep during the daytimes.

I had no way of knowing at the time that we were only going to have three more Christmas mornings together. I find myself wondering if I would have done anything different had I known how limited those shared moments were going to be? Maybe I would have savoured them just a little bit more? Maybe I would have made it more meaningful in a very deliberate way? Maybe I would have snapped more photos with my camera? Maybe I would have taken more pictures with my heart?

Day 10: Decorations. When I got looking through the albums in search of pictures of my Mom, I was over the moon delighted that I came upon the following photo!! I am guessing this was a year or two after Mom died. I have no idea what I was smiling about … but … my heart looks blissfully happy. 💝

I suspect this picture was taken after a gathering of friends had left … because I know those wine glasses were not all mine!! 😊

I’d like to draw your attention to Mr. And Mrs. Claus in the background. My Mom created them for me during one of her stays in hospital. I know their bodies were crafted from carefully folded Readers Digest magazines in one of groups run by the Recreational Therapists in extended care settings. My Mom always contended that she was never crafty … but seriously … look at those precious gems!!! I LOVED them and had them for years until they somehow got squished in storage. It absolutely broke my heart to discard them. I am so darn grateful that, by sheer accident, we captured their joyous little images in this photo. And … as I say that … my heart weeps with such heartfelt gratitude for the short time I had with them … and … with her.

Day 11: Liniment.  For some crazy reason, my thoughts this morning are turning to liniment. The scent of A535 seems to have burned into my neural pathways. I remember rubbing my Mom’s hind quarters liberally with that topical analgesic in the hopes it would soothe her chronic back pain.  And, I am humbled by my recognition that I was not the best Florence Nightingale.  I am ashamed to admit that I often resented having to rub her down with this smelly substance.

And yet, as I say that … I am reminded of just how much compassion and empathy she offered me when I was, as she would phrase it … “feeling punk” or just “not up to snuff.”  Her caring was filled with the most tender and unconditionally loving energy. Makes me tear up as I think about how deeply she nurtured and tended to me when I was under the weather myself.

In this moment, I am specifically recalling coming home one night from seeing the movie “Paper Moon.” I was writhing with horrific menstrual pain. My Mom sat beside my bed while I tried to distract myself through the labour-like cramps by telling her the play by play details of this lovely movie. She never once looked bored, annoyed or wishing she could escape to somewhere else. She always did her very best to help alleviate any discomfort I was experiencing … mental, emotional, physical or spiritual. I will always be grateful to you for that Mom. 💖

I was 17 in this picture. I wish I remember what was going on here … my lips are kind of smiling but my eyes are rather sad … and … my Mom looks a bit tentative, doesn’t she?

Day 12: Altruism. My parents separated when I was 12. And, after that, even though we were on welfare … my Mother would occasionally contribute to Telethons!  Yes. I am serious. She gave from what little we were given. She always had such a heart for people’s suffering. Perhaps some of my penchant for social justice was inspired by witnessing her valiant efforts to do whatever she could, without excuse, to help anyone she perceived to be underestimated, marginalized or oppressed.

In so many ways, I had the childhood that nobody wanted. I have not spoken to the more unfavorable parts of my childhood here, but … there are many. And yet, in so many other ways, I had the childhood that everyone wanted. My Mom was the mom that many of my friends wanted to talk to when they were out of sorts. She was always warm and welcoming of both them and their problems. I will never forget when one of my school chums showed up at our house unexpectedly late one night after downing a full bottle of aspirins. She refused to go home and begged us not to tell her parents what she had done. She spent the night at our house … initially heaving up everything that was heavy on her heart … and then on our bathroom floor … heaving up all the contents of her attempt to end it all.

She was still vomiting in the morning when her Dad picked her up, so I went to the hospital when them. Even though she was in such a fragile state, his anger and outrage filled the car and my awareness. I’m not sure what he thought all his guilting and shaming was going to accomplish, but I felt such a sense of compassion for why she didn’t want to go home the night before. She didn’t need a lecture … she needed a soft place for her fractured spirit to land.  She needed a shoulder … and … I was just so very grateful that my Mom had offered her one the night before.

Most sadly, however, I learned many years later that she had tried numerous additional times to end her own suffering … and … had finally been successful in taking her own life. Breaks my heart to know that she never found her way through the darkness that surrounded her. And, it reminds me just how transformative it can be … if/when … we have someone in our lives who adds kindling to our internal flames when they are flickering far too faintly.

After I shared my “Better Because You Spared Me” blog, I gained a deeper appreciation for how my Mom was also a source of light to one of my oldest and dearest friends. My friend Joan shared in the comments section on my Facebook page regarding my blog  that my Mom’s loving energy was a safe haven for her too.  Joan’s childhood was the envy of no one. Absolutely no one.  And … her tender words touched me deeply:

Oh my dear friend … As I read this I was brought back to many of the times your mom was not feeling well or in pain and would still come out greet us as we came in the house after school. Even as I read this something that came back to me so strongly, maybe it is because I never had it in my own home, was the love. Through all her pain and through all her sickness your mother had a wealth of love for you. To a little girl that had none, the love in your home was palpable. I will be forever grateful that I was able to feel some of that love and I have often wondered if it is that love, that prevented me from taking a very different path in my life. So as I sit here, tears streaming, I am holding you in my arms, as a sister would, willing to share, willing to help and willing to just hold. I love you my friend and I love your mother and always have. To think that through all her challenges she had so much love to give. She was a remarkable woman as are you. You honor her everyday by sharing your loving giving spirit with so many xo🤗💞

It is not lost of me that the light of love from my Mom was perhaps what spared both me and my dear friend from taking very different paths in our lives. Joan and I both found ourselves in the field of Mental Health tending to those who are struggling.  Joan is an exceptional hypnotherapist, counselor and life coach in her own private practice: Inspired Wellness and Hypnotherapy.  As I responded to my precious friend:

Joan …. you are my oldest and dearest friend and I’m trying to type through the stream of tears that have welled up from my heart space and are flowing down my cheeks in streams. Your heartfelt words have triggered my memories of your very unique ‘igloo’ house …that was shaped like an ice cube … and felt even colder and icier on the inside than it looked on the outside. Your white, cinderblock house was a perfect example of that notion that our outer world reflects our inner world. Mrs. Byar [Joan’s mom] scared me with her reserved and steely demeanor. I remember everything in your experience being hard, unwelcoming and militant … everything but you. I’m honestly not sure how you survived all that you endured my cherished friend. And … I am feeling so deeply grateful that the love my mom offered so generously and freely touched into your heart in such a meaningful way. And, I am sobbing to think that somehow you chose to nourish that love and let it grow you into one of the most kind, compassionate, caring and loving souls I have ever met. From where I am looking, your commitment to heal our humanity by adding so much light to the dark parts of this world is unrivaled! You are such a glowing example of how we can refuse to be defined by what happened to us. You are a such a precious gift to me … and so many others. I am so grateful for your sharing here … you have taken this whole experience to a new level for me my friend. I can see so clearly that the gift of love … is everlasting. I knew my mom’s love spared me … and … I am so deeply moved to know that in many ways, it also spared you. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

There is nothing quite so significant as being invited to exist in someone else’s presence. To be front and center in their circle of attention and … to feel their love and affection for you. As Joan so tenderly pointed out … even when my Mom was not well, she did her very best to give me the highest priority she could muster.

Day 13: Philosophy.   It’s Friday the 13th today. Many believe 13 is an unlucky number. I don’t. It’s my favorite number. I got married on the 13th. There were even 13 teensy little diamonds in my engagement ring. My Mom was born on the 13th. I had exactly 13 days to sit with my stepmom before she transitioned. It’s actually 13 degrees below zero this morning as I share this moment with my Momma in my heart space. I’m not sure why I am sharing all of this, except that it is bringing to mind how deeply our beliefs impact our experiences of things.

My mother was raised in a very staunchly religious Seventh Day Adventist Home. Consequently, she was very well-versed in the Bible and clearly understood what she was supposed to believe. After she and my Dad split up, I remember how she lit up whenever the Jehovah Witness proselytizers rapped on the door. She’d invite them in and eagerly and enthusiastically explore their tenets and unpack their doctrine. My Mom was very reclusive, and because she didn’t socialize much, her spirited engagement in these conversations about religion was interesting for me to witness as a young girl.

My father was ever curious – perhaps even skeptical – about the roots of religious affiliation. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in a Higher Power  … he just questioned mankind’s manipulation of the masses through religious rhetoric. My parents never took me to church but, they never objected when I asked if I could  catch a ride with my friend’s families. They never taught me ‘what’ to believe, but invited me to thoroughly explore and question any and all beliefs before I adopted them as my own.

I was taught by them that what speaks to the spirit of one soul may not be what illuminates another. Notwithstanding that, the overarching message in our home regarding religion and spirituality was consistent: God is love.  So, it went without saying that if your theological orientation wasn’t leading you closer to feeling love for each and every member of our collective humanity, then you’d be wise to question your theology.

Our house during my childhood was filled with books. I was introduced to conversations sparked by some incomparable thought leaders like Herman Hess, Franz Kafka, Siddhartha Gautama, Kahlil Gibran, Napoleon Hill, Dale Carnegie, Rumi, Hafiz, Sigmund Freud, Lao Tzu, Confucius and the like. The conversations in our home certainly played outside the lines of mainstream cultural and religious norms in terms of philosophic resonance.

I fondly remember my Mom assuring me that people are innately good. She contended that even when folks stumble and fall, they are generally doing the best they can in any given moment. Her allegiance to this philosophy was reflected in her explanation of my Dad’s alcoholism, emotional verbal abuse and neglect to pay child support. She never once spoke ill of him. No. She contended that he wasn’t the best expression of himself when he was drinking … but his alcoholism did not define him. He was struggling, but beneath it all, he was still a very, good man. I believed her.

My Mom was ahead of the curve and already seemed to understand the professional wisdom we are finally coming to espouse regarding addiction; as Gabor Maté so compellingly points out in this short video, addiction (in all it’s varied expressions)  is a maladaptive effort to escape the pain (physical, emotional, mental, spiritual)  that folks can’t bear to be with.  I do know that the traumatic legacy of my Dad’s early childhood was deeply wounding for him.

While recognizing that the adversity experienced in people’s childhoods does not excuse their ‘bad behaviour’; it can help us to better understand the roots of it.  We are learning that Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) have a tremendous impact on future violence in our lives – both victimization and perpetration. We are also learning that our lifelong health and opportunities are also influenced by our ACE scores. The data shows that the higher your ACE score, the more likely you are to smoke, to become obese, to be a victim of domestic violence, to experience depression and anxiety and, even, to attempt to take your own life. The ACE study is profoundly interesting! If you would like to learn more, check it out here.  But I digress …

As we evolve in our understanding of human behavior, I remain ever grateful that my Mom taught me to be generous in my assumptions of people. I’m no saint and can still get frustrated with people, but even in those moments, I like to remind myself, as Ram Dass states in a book by the same title, “We are all just walking each other home.”  And, beyond the intimate connection this sage draws between loving and dying, I also interpret this to mean that we are collectively on this human journey to find more love, to experience more love …and … to ‘be’ more love.

What if our collective purpose on this planet is to learn how to personally embody the changes we want to see around us?  I remain inspired by that ‘what if’ … and … although it can be so darn challenging when we are faced with difficult people, if we say we want to live in a loving world, we must require ourselves to embody, embrace and express that energy of love in our exchanges … even when it is trying for us to do so. Maybe, most importantly … when it is difficult to do so.

That said, I still shudder when I remember being emphatically corrected by another woman many years ago in a Christian Women’s Group when I dared utter aloud that I thought most everyone was doing their best given the context of their lives. She fervently countered my suggestion by arguing with unwavering conviction that my statement was “not true” … that some people are just possessed by the Devil. It was clear that she thought I was incredibly naïve to posit such bunkery.

I was effectively hushed because … in that room … in that moment, I suspected she was not alone in that belief. She had a mailbox in that Church. I did not. Even now, I can feel my breathing shallow as I touch back into the felt sense of that contentious moment. And while I concede that we must set boundaries to protect ourselves with some folks, I would like to suggest that the most vicious and perhaps villainous people who inhabit the world are/were vulnerable victims of someone/something else. I align wholeheartedly with the notion that “hurt people, hurt people.” 

And while I cannot prove my perspective any more than someone else can disprove it, I am purposely, deliberately and consciously choosing to believe in the innate and inherent goodness of our Universal humanity … because … I like the way it fuels my spirit when I do.

Day 14: Character.  As I awake this morning, I am continuing to recall the depth of my Mom’s character. After years of enduring the costs of my Dad’s alcoholism, she firmly required him to choose: his family … or … his bottle. Unfortunately, his addiction was more powerful than his freedom to choose otherwise. He couldn’t set the bottle down, so my Mom changed the locks on the door on August 11, 1970. I was 12. Coincidently or not … it was their 19th wedding anniversary. Unbeknownst to him, it was a gift … albeit wrapped in a very ugly package. He moved to Winnipeg to be closer to his sister, my Aunt Audrey. He sobered up. He got his life back. He even found another love … my stepmom Gerri.  Although I never called her ‘Mom’, I came to love Ger too.

It breaks my heart to look back on their separation, though, because I know my Mom secretly hoped that they would reunite once he quit drinking. She never ever wanted to lose him … just his addiction. But, he was either too proud or too wounded to come back. Nonetheless, he remained the absolute love of her life.  Here they are on their wedding day:

August 11, 1951 – my Dad’s sister, Audrey, and her husband Jack stood up for them.

And, I am sure memories of my Mom’s wedding day were what inspired a torrent of tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks at my cousin’s wedding less than a year after they separated. She was seated to my left during the ceremony and I had never seen her so emotional. I recall her scolding me for glancing towards her … I guess she was afraid I would draw attention to her with my gaze. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I recognize now that she was having a gargantuan grief burst in that moment. I get tears in my eyes as I imagine how hard it must have been for her to lose the love of her life. Here’s one of the rare photos that I have of them together … in happier times.

My Mom loved my Dad so unconditionally that she even accepted and welcomed his new partner. The following photo was taken in 1989 … the summer before Mom died … at a dinner out at Sven Ericksens restaurant. Dad and Ger had travelled out from Manitoba to visit. It was such a rare and treasured occasion when I got to spend time in the presence of both my Mom and Dad. I am not sure how my Mom held it together … but she did. Maybe it was just a gift for her to share some space with him again. She was gracious and loving and kind. That is my Dad seated beside her. For some reason, she got to sit beside him and Ger was across the table.

Day 15:  Music.  My thoughts this morning took an interesting turn. Mom loved Harry Belafonte. One doesn’t hear him often any more, but I grew up with my spirit being stirred by the deep sense of humanity I could hear streaming from our nice little turntable through his incredible vocals. We enjoyed this and many other of his songs on the 78 LP vinyl version we owned. Harry Belafonte goes hand and hand with my childhood memories and hearing him always, always, always brings my Mom home to my heart.

We had a whole schwack of LPs. My Mom had a broad palette for music. Another of her favorites was Charlie Pride. Oh … and Perry Como and The Platters  too. She loved good music. So do I. She also thoroughly enjoyed watching upcoming stars performing on Lawrence Welk … and … Ed Sullivan. She reveled in seeing people claim and share their gifts with the world. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that were she still alive today …‘The Voice’  would be one of her favorite shows.  It would be so wonderful to be able to climb into the twin bed beside her again and chuckle together over the light-hearted bantering between the coaches. She’d probably really love John Legend.

You know who else I think she’d be a bit smitten with …?  Keith Urban. Yep.  She’d love his long hair … his heartfelt lyrics … his empathic capacity to speak right into the sorrow within people’s hearts.  He just released a new Christmas song, too, that I expect would touch deeply into her own longings. I can only imagine how deeply she ached for someone to make it all better … for someone to fuss and bother to make things special for her.

Day 16: Quilting. My heart felt really heavy as I snuggled down with my coffee in the darkness before the Christmas tree this morning. The heaviness I was feeling took to me thoughts of the heaviness I experienced when my Mom passed away … and … I didn’t have any inkling as to how I was going to hold her close. I also wasn’t sure what to do with all her belongings. It was too hard to even think about parting with anything right away, but … what to do with it all??  I’ve always had a very creative spirit. It’s making me smile as I think about it, because my capacity for creativity was something that my Momma took great pleasure discussing. She seemed very proud of it.

While my paternal grandmother was an excellent seamstress, my Mom never sewed at all. I had never enjoyed sewing in Home Economics in school, but I was 13 when I sewed up this handsome little number.  It wasn’t until I got married that I really recognized the creative joys of sewing

I made Cabbage Patch Doll clothing (along with matching dresses for my daughters), I sewed Barbie clothes, I whipped up some Care Bears when they were sold out one Christmas.  I got the bug for quilting at ‘Ladies Time Out’ (a group for young mothers) when I learned how to make a Christmas table runner. We still use it.

I discovered that my perfectionistic tendencies and my keen eye for detail were well suited for quilting! And then, one Autumn, my good friend Deb and I took an evening class together and created the most beautiful quilted tree skirts. I enjoyed it so much that I ended up making four of them … that way each of my daughters could have one. It was really such fun choosing the fabrics and piecing together all the colors!!  I am looking forward to resurrecting my passion for quilting in the years to come! I even bought a new machine with some fancy stitches … haven’t had it out of the box yet … but I will!!

Anyway, it somehow occurred to me  to take all my Moms signature fortrel pants along with the brightly-colored house coat that she always, always, always took to the hospital with her … and … create something meaningful by stitching them all together into a quilt. I even used one of the sheets from her linen closet for the backside of it. I imagined that when I wrapped myself up in that quilt … it would be like getting a hug from my Mom.

Were I to write a memory of my Mom onto each of those squares, they’d include her playing rummoli and crokinole with me when I was young. There would be one for playing hangman and other word puzzles with me way past my bedtime on school nights in my tweens … and … another for playing Spades with me and my boyfriend during my teens. One of the squares would be in honor of our bedtime activities. Mom always spent some time with me when I was young … talking, telling stories, singing silly songs. I vividly remember our animated renditions of “Going on a Lion Hunt.” Another square would be for teaching me to play cribbage somewhere along the way … another for teaching me to knit. One would represent her dozing off in the front seat of the car during the dusk to dawn movies at the Drive-In while my friends and I snacked on popcorn in the back seat. Oh … and there would be one dedicated to Scrabble. I still LOVE a good word game.

There would be a square in honor of her taking me to The Boardwalk uptown, in Edmonton, on Christmas Eve one year in my teens so I could pick out a gift for myself for Christmas … and using our grocery money to do it. Yes. Makes me tear up as I remember the red sweater I picked out for myself. Oh my … and one for the “Penuche” she used to make on rare occasions. It’s a brown sugar based fudge that I recall being so incredibly delicious. It wasn’t as sweet as you’d think. I completely forgot about it until just now, but maybe I should make some … for old times sake.

If you are interested, I have attached a recipe here! We never put pecans in it … we used walnuts because they were cheaper… but it was still really good!

I am mindful, as I reflect upon all of this, that many of my fondest memories with my Mom are not the formal celebrations or special events we expect are catalysts for making magical memories for our children. No, it’s not necessarily the birthday parties or Thanksgiving dinners that take up the most space in my heart, but rather, just those normal days. A box spice cake with the chocolate icing so chilled from the refrigerator that it has to melt in your mouth slowly. It’s the tartan skirt that she insisted on buying me in grade school that I loathed at first glance and then grew to be my favorite.

It’s those memories of walking with her to the grocery store during the cold winters when our blue and white Ford Galaxy 500 refused to start. It’s her allowing me to practice my ear piercing on her almost none existent ear lobes for the new job I got at the mall. It’s hot chocolate made with real cocoa powder and evaporated milk with tablespoons full of sugar.  It’s so many small, seemingly insignificant things.

It’s humbling to recognize that many of the moments that make us miss our loved ones the most are those day to day moments that you simply took for granted … the ones you have no idea will be some of the memories you’ll hold most dear in time … those experiences you’d do anything for another opportunity to savor right now. Yep. Very humbling indeed.

Day 17: Cough Drops.  My memories of my Mom would not be complete without speaking about Beech-Nut Menthol Cough Drops. They were an absolute mainstay in her life.  We used to buy them by the carton and wrap them up for her at Christmas. And, then, I’d find them … sticky and half dissolved … all over the house.  Honestly, I used to get so cranky about that.

And those of you who know me might be surprised by the uncanny parallel here!!  I always, always, always have a package of Fisherman’s Friends in my purse. Not because I have a sore throat. No. Just because I love to suck on them. I do not, however, leave them stuck to surfaces all over the house. My favorite are the Citrus or Lemon … but I can make due with the Cherry or Mint quite nicely. 🙂

Do you suppose this kind of similarity could be hereditary?? It is a rather rare and unique idiosyncrasy that my Momma and I share. Neuroscientists are learning that many, many of our attributes (temperament, personality, abilities, fears and preferences) come via our genetic loading … but … may not be manifest until they are activated by the right environmental stimulus. Perhaps my own daughters will be epigenetically predisposed to having an affinity for cough drops too … and … their bodies are just waiting for the right brand of lozenge to render visible this part of their own DNA??  It took many years before I developed such a healthy addiction affection for Fisherman’s Friends. These days, you’d be hard pressed to find me without them. It had not occurred to me until this very moment that my Mom and I had this in common. 😉

Day 18: Miscarriage. No reflection about my Mom would be complete without honoring the fact that she had five miscarriages before I was tucked safely into her arms.  She never really talked about it, but I know that she lost some in early pregnancy and some in later trimesters. After researching the traumatic impact of pregnancy loss during my Graduate studies, I am deeply aware of how gravely these losses likely impacted her. 

While I defined ‘unreconciled grief’ at the onset of this blog, I learned in my studies that the grief of miscarriage/pregnancy loss goes unrecognized and is habitually silenced in our culture. And, often, these losses are quite traumatic … but … no one talks about it. No honoring of the loss through mourning rituals. No casseroles brought to your door. No Hallmark cards. No days off from work. Often … no one even knows you have experienced a loss or what that loss actually means to you. 

I am sobered as I reflect upon how much loss my Mom experienced in her lifetime. Parents, siblings, babies … husband. She lost her health. She lost her career. She lost her dreams for her future. She even lost her mobility when she was relegated to a wheelchair after one of her surgeries. And ultimately, she probably felt like she lost me to some degree when I got married and started a family of my own.  I find myself wondering if she ever had an opportunity to mourn all the losses she endured in her life.  And, if not, I am questioning whether some of her depression, anxiety and physical ill health may have been rooted in her own unreconciled grief? Could some of her suffering have been alleviated through grief work?

I guess I will never know … but … when I look at these pictures of her in her youth … I see such vitality!  I see who she was before all the illness, pain, addiction and loss compromised her capacity to live in the fullest expression of who she could be in the world.

A mother of six … who only got to know and raise one. Although you never got to hold them in your arms Mom, I know you will have held each and every one of them as treasures in your heart. I am aching as I consider all the moments you didn’t get to celebrate with my five brothers and sisters. In this tender recognition, I am joining you in grief … wishing I had got to know them too. I am wondering what our lives would have been like had our house been filled with all of us. I am guessing your life would have been very different Mom … so very, very, very different. ❤

Day 19: Chicken à la King.  Wikipedia states that this regal dish is typically made with diced chicken in a cream sauce, and often with sherry, mushrooms, and vegetables, served over rice, noodles, or fresh bread. Uhmmmm … that is not the way it was prepared at our house. We were on welfare, so my Mom made it with canned mushroom soup and canned green peas and put it on toasted store-bought McGavin’s bread. To her credit … it was absolutely delicious.  I am thinking I should make it some time … in her honor … but without the canned peas.  I am not terribly fussy about canned veggies. I could safely say I am never tempted buy them. Ever.

As I share this, I am reminded that many years ago I had a psychic reading and the Medium asked “What is with the tinned vegetables? Who likes tinned vegetables?”  I wanted to say “No one in their right mind likes tinned veggies” … but instead … I think I teared up, right there and then. My Momma always, always, always bought canned vegetables. I thought it was because she really enjoyed them, but … in retrospect … I am wondering if it was because they were cheaper and easier to store than fresh or frozen. We only got to go grocery shopping once per month when the social assistance cheque arrived and the only freezer space we had was a space on the top of our fridge … which got increasingly smaller as the frost built up within it.

There are lots of recipes on line … if you are inspired to try it!

Nonetheless, the fact that she could not make the ‘King’s Dinner’ the way it was supposed to be done … with dry sherry and pimentos … never stopped my Mom. I learned from her that even if you don’t have  the best of things, but you can always, always, always make  the best of the things you do have.  And, she always did.  At any rate, watching my Mom do so much with the little we had might be one of the reasons the following is one of my favorite quotations.

Some attribute this as a quote from John Wooden

Well … except maybe with parsnips. My Mom loved parsnips!! Blech. I can see no redeeming value in those veggies … despite that they weren’t canned. If you have any suggestions for how to make the ‘best’ out of parsnips, please let me know. 🙂

Day 20: Rules and Rulers. Because I had no siblings … we always had a cat. I think it was so I wouldn’t feel lonely. The first cats I remember being part of our family were Ying  and Yang … the Siamese cats that we had when I was in elementary school. We finally had to foster Yang out because he was the rebellious ring leader and would lead Ying astray. Together, they reeked havoc in our home. Ying, by himself, was amazing. He was so very loving … and … even became my alarm clock. He would lick my eyelids open in the morning when it was time to get up for school. It was devastating to our whole family when Ying was killed in traffic outside our house. It took a while, but with time I welcomed some other fabulous, fluffy, furry feline friends into my heart.

One of them even had kittens!  My Mom allowed me to stay home the morning she went into labor. She said that it was a beautiful learning experience for me to witness a birthing. She was right. It was sublime … except … when she started eating the afterbirth!! Gah.  THAT caught me by complete surprise!! 

Yes, we always had a cat … until we moved into an apartment that didn’t allow pets. And well … as much as my Mom taught me the value of integrity, she also allowed me to sneak a cat into our apartment complex!  I learned from my Mom that there is no virtue in honoring the rules … if a greater good is not being served in some regard. Once again, perhaps my passion for social work, social justice and resistance to power and oppression is rooted in this learning.

I learned from my Mom that we must push back when rules and rulers need to be challenged. My Mom held such respect for rule breakers like Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi, Jesus Christ, the Suffragettes, etc.  Oh … and the Beatles! She loved that those exceptional musicians challenged the establishment with their long hair and that they continued raising mainstream eyebrows with their passionate platform and priceless presence on the planet … inviting us to ‘Come Together’ and “Imagine” and just “Let It Be”  or maybe do “The Hippy Hippy Shake” instead!  Yes. There are times when it is ethical and wise to resist the patriarchal power of the status quo.

Just because it is popular, normative or legal, doesn’t make it right. There are times when it is not only okay to break the rules, but a matter of good moral conscience. Okay … perhaps sneaking a cat into an apartment doesn’t fall into that category! 😉  I still love her for doing that for me.

Day 21: Parenting.  When your children get older and have families of their own, you need to share them with their in-laws. This year was our year to move our Christmas and celebrate together early (from Dec 20-23).  We opted to rent an Airbnb and have a ‘destination’ Christmas. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage my Advent of Love time while were away, but it actually worked out well.

I woke up on our first morning there and while the rest of the family was still asleep, I found myself inviting my Momma to join me in the stillness of a new space in front of a different tree. I got thinking about her and how she might have enjoyed all the fun and festive frolic that was about to unfold with all of us under one roof for three nights. I had visions of us spending time outdoors together … maybe some skating, skiing or snowman making. It didn’t happen as I had anticipated, but we thoroughly enjoyed our time together. We played hours of board games together and ate delicious food and laughed … and … some of us even sang karaoke … and … we even bundled up and went for a beautiful stroll through the captivating light display erected by the lake. 

We were missing Daniel (who unfortunately was unable to join us), Rob (who had not quite yet arrived), Graeme was back at the house with Jack (who was not feeling well) and I was taking the picture!                 From back left to right: Olivia, Papa, Trad, Brittany, Talaya, Tiana, Hailey, Luka … and from left to right in the front row: Sherisse, Neil, Lyla and Frankie.

Anyway, I am getting ahead of myself here. As I was reflecting upon all the beautiful souls still snuggled up tight in their beds on our first morning together, I got to thinking about myself as a wee child. As the story goes, my parents had recently hired painters to paint the living room. They had chosen a rose shade of red … if memory serves correctly. Very shortly, thereafter, both my Mom and I had laid down for a nap. One of us got up before the other. Apparently that creative spirit that my Momma so admired in me was sparked by what I had witnessed the painters doing. So, I took the pastry brush out of the drawer … not sure where I got the paint … and added a little of my own magic to the wall in the living room.

Now, I can only imagine the tongue lashing I would have given to one of my children had they done the same … but no … not my Momma. She told me later that her first thought was to grab the camera and take a picture of her little Da Vinci. Yes. My Mom had laser clarity about what was important in the parenting arena. She never sweated the small stuff … at all.

And, as I grew, she never lectured or shamed me for my mistakes. We never had alcohol in the house once my Dad was gone. So, although I had sipped on a bit of Lonesome Charlie or Moody Blue in my early teens, I had never even been tipsy until my boyfriend’s sister’s wedding … when I was 17. I got desperately tangled up with too much rum and coke. Gah. It was horrible!! To this day … I still can’t stomach the smell of either. When I arrived home, my Mom asked how the wedding was. I wasn’t the least bit scared to be honest with her, so I candidly replied, “Boy, were we sick!” and headed directly off to bed. She never said another word about it.  Not even one. She didn’t choose to ensure I felt remorse or shame for messing up. She simply let the consequences of my choices do the teaching instead.

She never imposed a curfew on me either. She always said responsibility was earned … and … she afforded me as much responsibility as I proved I could handle. And, I never abused it. I honestly didn’t want to fall beneath her vision of me. She even left me her car when I was attending a French Immersion Program post high school graduation. I was only 17. She was going to be five hours away … without a vehicle of her own … but she entrusted me with it.  And, even though I thought I earned it, her faith in my character was a gift that I am just realizing I didn’t really appreciate or fully understand … until right now.  Sometimes we can’t/don’t/won’t see the blessings that are right in front of us.

Day 22: Entrepreneur. Although my Momma was schooled as a teacher, she was a savvy entrepreneur. She never made any money at it, but she never stopped seeing possibility. When she ended up with a colostomy, she saw a need to create more dignity for the wearer. She visualized a way to dress up a problem!  She invented ‘Classic Comforts’ … ostomy bag covers. I’m not sure what happened … we had all kinds of prototypes … even a racy little red one with black lace on it!  Perhaps she ran out of money? Or maybe she hit a snag with getting a patent?  Or maybe she couldn’t sustain the physical energy needed to build a business? Whatever the reason, this exceptional dream fizzled. It’s too bad, because someone brought her dream to reality! I see now that you can buy ostomy bag covers on Etsy and Amazon … but nothing like that existed back then. Here is a cover letter that she used to promote her product

I always loved seeing the twinkle in her eyes when she was leaning into something that excited her!!  Earlier in my life, when she and my Dad were still together, they created a temporary employment agency called “Man Friday” that was a clever play on the concept of a ‘Girl Friday’. It didn’t last long though. She also started a small business selling awnings after she and my dad divorced called Edlund Aluminum Products. Aside from a good looking letterhead, it never got off the ground.

She also dabbled with writing and submitted an article or two to Redbook Magazine … but it never lasted. She even tried her hand at oil painting … but only for a season or two.  Yes. She was a remarkable soul indeed … but nothing ever really stuck.

And you know what was the most interesting … the most inspiring thing to notice? My Mom’s health was always so much better when she was excited about a project! They say that the body and mind are so deeply connected … and … I believe it.

In addition to the impact our ACE score can have on our health and well-being, there are many neuroscientists, physicians and healers who are confirming that, as Bruce Lipton‘s research has confirmed, “our biography becomes our biology” . The evidence is mounting that painful emotions are held in our bodies and expressed in all manner of somatic symptoms and behavioral responses intended to alleviate our discomfort. As Bessel A. Van Der Kolk confirms in The Body Keeps the Score: 

Of course we experience our most devastating emotions as gut-wrenching feelings and heartbreak. As long as we register emotions primarily in our heads, we can remain pretty much in control, but feeling as if our chest is caving in or we’ve been punched in the gut is unbearable. We’ll do anything to make these awful visceral sensations go away, whether it is clinging desperately to another human being, rendering ourselves insensible with drugs or alcohol, or taking a knife to the skin to replace overwhelming emotions with definable sensations. How many mental health problems, from drug addiction to self-injurious behavior, start as attempts to cope with the unbearable physical pain of our emotions? (p. 76)

Further in this regard, Gabor Maté adds fascinating points to ponder in his book entitled When the Body Says No,.  He, as well as many others, have noted that specific emotional issues and feelings are linked to particular physiological reactions. For example, our faces flush when we are embarrassed. Our tummies ache when we are nervous. Maté goes so far as to suggest that there are particular ‘coping styles’ and/or ‘personality traits’ that are more susceptible to particular ailments and illness. For example:

“Cancer patients, to a statistically significant degree, were more likely to demonstrate the following traits: ‘the elements of denial and repression of anger and of other negative emotions … the external appearance of a ‘nice’ or ‘good’ person, a suppression of reactions which may offend others, and the avoidance of conflict …” (p. 125-126)

Maté discusses the commonalities of folks who have colitis, Crohns, MS, ALS, Rheumatoid Arthritis and a number of other chronic conditions. When I consider all my Mom’s health concerns over the years, I find it entirely fascinating.

Louise Hay has added insights to this conversation in her book called You Can Heal Your Life.  In it, she presents a chart that identifies which emotional issues are correlated to which specific somatic problems. Most interestingly, it suggests that my Mom’s sciatic pain is most likely aggravated by hypocrisy and/or the fear of money and the future. That said, I am wondering if her chronic pain was intensified in those moments when her commitment to being in integrity was compromised … and/or … when she was really feeling the most fearful about our finances and our future.  In the final analysis, I will always remain curious about how all my Mom’s losses, challenges and loneliness may have impacted her health and well-being.  

Day 23: Tears and Apologies.  One day about a year or so before she died, I had popped in to see her. I can’t remember what we were discussing, but we were just standing in the dining room … and … she caught me right off guard. I will never forget the sadness and regret in her query when she asked, “I wonder what we did to you?”

I literally felt the weight of remorse that was anchored to her question … and … I wasn’t sure she was strong enough physically or emotionally to shoulder the truth in that moment. So I lied to her.  I told her I was fine … except for my emetophobia. I told her the only unfavorable legacy of my childhood was my fear of other people vomiting … especially if those other people are drunk. I reassured her that my childhood had sparked strength and resilience and independence and capacity. And, while that was all true, I knew she knew I was leaving some things out.

It was one of those moments where I wasn’t sure telling her the truth would serve the greatest good. She was in absolutely no position to undo what had been done, so I didn’t want to pile more guilt upon her that she’d have to take to her grave.  It was enough for me … that she even asked.  Just in her asking, I heard her insight and her apology. Everything shapes us. She knew it. I knew it. And we didn’t need to discuss it again.

Were I’d been honest, I might have mentioned that the roots of my ‘people-pleasing‘, ‘perfectionism’, ‘performing’ and ever ‘proving’ my worth started early on. Perhaps because I was so sensitive, I was intuitively aware of peoples emotions and could literally feel it in my body when people were upset or unhappy. And, I didn’t want to see my Mom sad, so I became acutely aware of how to stay in her favor.

She was typically so generous with her praise of me … I didn’t want to disappoint her. I wish I had learned earlier in my life that “praise and blame are all the same”. As Richard Carlson contends in his book Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff … and it’s all small stuff; compliments and complaints are entirely subjective evaluations based upon the preferences of another person. As such, they do not actually define the subject of the judgment. They just tell you about the person who offers the evaluation. For example, if I tell you I like your shoes, I am not telling you anything about YOU. I am simply telling you my  preferences regarding my  taste in shoes.

It’s tricky though, because we tend to take these subjective evaluations to heart … as if they are some kind of truth that the teller knows about us. And with that fear, the people-pleaser becomes a chameleon of sorts … just trying to measure up to everyone’s preferences.  It’s entirely futile.

Source unknown but quote is attributed to Dita Von Teese

Yeah, so you are living on a really slippery slope when you are sensitized to people-pleasing … because … it’s absolutely impossible to please everyone. Gawd knows, though, I’ve tried … my highly kindled and overly anxious amygdala rested so much easier if I sensed that people were happy with me.

It was rare, but every now and again … my Momma would say: “I have a bone to pick with you.”  Gah. I trembled to the core whenever I heard her say that. I always knew I had really messed up if she felt it was important enough to take issue with me about something.  Like I said, though … I really didn’t give her much trouble at all.

Notwithstanding that … there are a couple of things that I feel like I still need to apologize to my Mom for.  First, my impatience with her.  I wish I could turn back time and have a do-over. I recall one Christmas Eve … we were driving 80kms (50 miles) on the highway to my husband’s parents house. We should NOT have been on the road. No one should have been. There were completely blinding white outs. It was soooo dangerous. She uttered something and I came unglued upon her … very harshly. There was silence in the back seat. She just let me sit with the discomfort of my own actions. I am not sure if I ever apologized for that or not. I guessing I didn’t, because that moment still haunts me.

And … the other thing that I wish I could change is the amount of time I spent with her once I moved out of the house. I deeply regret being so wrapped up in my own parenting and responsibilities that I did not see her as much as I could have. And yet, as I say that, I realize I’m being a bit unrealistic. My children needed to take priority … and … the truth is, the amount of time we spent together wasn’t all on me. She was just not well enough for us to connect all that often.

But, that is the part that puts a gnarly knot in my gut and a huge lump in my throat right now. She was all alone … almost all of the time.  She lived alone, she went to her surgeries alone, she recovered alone, she spent holidays alone. All alone.

She never complained about it though. Maybe she preferred it that way??

I guess I will never know, but even though I really love my solitude … being alone is not at all the same as being lonely. And, as I sit with all this here and now, I fear that she must have felt so incredibly lonely.

And here’s the thing … I know I don’t even need to ask for her forgiveness. I know she forgives me. I just wish that I could have a little time with her now. She’s been gone for half of my life … and … I have changed and grown. I have curiosities about her that never hit my radar when I was younger. I have questions to ask … and … hugs to give. I have the humility that comes from raising my own daughters. I see things differently. I see her differently now.

I am wondering what it was like for my Mom to be the 7th child born to a 41 year old woman during the depression. I am wondering how it impacted my two year old Mom to be a toddler, in need of attention, growing up in the shadow of her infant brother who had died eight days after his birth? I am wondering about the grief that my Grandma must have endured losing her child while trying to parent seven others? I find myself wondering if my Mom’s childhood was a bit barren of attention … perhaps she felt lost in the shuffle? I would love to have a deeper understanding of the meaning she made of her own lived experiences.

I yearn for the chance to see more deeply into her heart … to hear into her own wounds .. to honor her life experience more fully. I really only knew my Mom the way she presented herself in her role as my mother. And, it that role, our relationship was mostly about me.

At what age do we get interested in knowing our parents as people … as human beings outside the face they put forward in their parenting role??  I mean, for the most part, my daughters only know me as their mom. It’s a role I took very seriously … editing and chiseling and refining my presentation in order to reflect that of a “good mom” … but, there are many parts of me, as a woman, that they have not yet met nor have been offered an opportunity to spend much time getting to know. I guess my daughters will have a deeper sense of who I am as a woman because of my writing, but … I sure wish I could have met those parts of my Mom that went entirely unnoticed in our short time together.

For example, I am only two years younger than she was when she died. I have so many curiosities about what was going on inside of her. For example, I wish I had a chance to ask her what she was thinking about in this photo. She looks so very melancholy, don’t you think?

Day 24: Meaning Making:  I woke up on the last day of my Advent of Love  reflecting upon how much I enjoyed going to the Zoo Lights in Calgary with some of the family the night before! It was absolutely magical!  The weather was perfect … not too cold, fresh fallen snow, no wind, a spectacular sky and the light displays were simply stunning … well beyond glitteringly gorgeous!  

In the quiet of our hotel room the next morning, I was reflecting upon how I would have savored several more hours there … just breathing in all that luminous light against the backdrop of dark stillness. If you ever get a chance to go … I highly recommend it! It was hard to capture the magnitude and magnificence of it all on camera. It was absolutely mesmerizing!

And, on my final day of this morning/mourning ritual, I also wanted to spend some time revisiting a question that I have been pondering for almost the entirety of this Advent of Love. Just before I started this, I was chatting with a very dear friend of mine about my “Better Because You Spared Me”  blog when Kimmy asked:

“What do you make it mean that your Mom died on Christmas Day?”

I told Kimmy that I could remember being a bit annoyed with her initially. I can recall thinking, “Mother … seriously!?! With 365 days of the year … why did you have to pick Christmas to die on??”  Gah. I am embarrassed to say it, but I was grumpy with her for that.

But my friend Kimmy offered another perspective. Her teenage son, Brett, transitioned on her 20th wedding anniversary. She saw it as a gift … she didn’t elaborate in that moment, but said she had received some very meaningful messages that shifted her perceptions around it all. She sparked my interest in pondering it a bit more.

And, in all honesty, I hadn’t gleaned any real insights until I spoke with Kimmy again about a week later. I am so very grateful that my friend heeded her keen instincts in the moment and offered to email a copy of the messages she had received after her son died. I had read them many years ago, but she was sensing that there might be something meaningful in them for me to revisit now … given that I was doing my Advent of Love. 

And so, I read those poignant messages again on Day 7 of my morning/mourning process. I didn’t record my thoughts on that date because I wanted to let myself marinate in the layers of wisdom contained therein … and … see what other insights might be stoked if I dwelled with it all a bit more before I wrote about it here.  And, Kimmy was so right!  There were a number of things that stood out.  I was particularly moved by one of the messages her son had sent her saying:

“I love you. Every spark, flame, glint, glimmer, sparkle, shine and starburst – that’s me. That’s my sign to you. I love you and our love lives on …”

And, although that message came from Brett through Kimmy, perhaps it is a message for each and every one of us. Metaphorically speaking, our loved ones spark the light above  us, around  us and within  us. Perhaps this is the reason my Mom died at Christmas? It is the Season of Light … a celebration of the light of love that was culturally and collectively inspired by the birth of Jesus on December 25th.

All the colorful Christmas lights brighten our surroundings and our hearts.  It is my understanding that these lights are intended to be symbols of hope and reminders of the goodness in the world. I believe that they were also intended to guide us in following the enlightened path of Jesus … by providing light and love to others … most especially for those who are struggling and/or enduring dark times.

And, my Mom had endured so much darkness in her life … perhaps she recognized that part of our salvation is seeking and embracing light – in all it’s various incarnations – despite the sorrows and darkness that inevitably find us.  I was witness to the fact that much of my Mom’s resilience was fostered by her deliberately claiming whatever dots of light she could find in her life.

One time when I was really sad, she introduced me to a book called “The Prophet” that graced the bookshelves in my home growing up. In that book, Kahlil Gibran speaks about joy and sorrow by saying:

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. 

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. (The Prophet, p.29)

And so, as I have pondered it … I like the idea that maybe my Mom left at Christmas because the dots of light … those ‘sparks, flames, glints, glimmers and sparkles‘ that Kimmy’s son spoke about … would shine like starbursts and brightly reflect back to me and my family during the Holiday Season. There is absolutely no time of the year that casts as much light as Christmas.

And so, as we all find our way through the highs and lows of our life, may we take a page out of my Mom’s book. May we consciously notice the dots of light connected to the darkness … and not just at Christmas. May we persistently seek to find a dot of delight … a dot of understanding … a dot of relief … a dot of gratitude … a dot of remembrance … a dot of acceptance … a dot of laughter … a dot of comfort … a dot of hope … a dot of love … a dot of peace.  And, as I say that, it’s comforting to remember that we typically find exactly what we are looking for in life … 💗

And, if we can’t find it … may we deliberately choose to create it. May we be wise enough to light a candle ourselves and illuminate the darkness for ourselves and/or others. Yes. Let there be light to help us find our way.

Gosh, this Advent of Love has come to a close … but … the gifts of doing it will live on in my heart.  It has been such a rich and illuminating experience. I typically wake up much earlier than I need to in the morning so I can enjoy my solitude. During this Advent of Love, there were many mornings that I couldn’t even wait until 6:00am to get up and illuminate the darkness with the candle lights and the Christmas lights. It was such a blessing to intentionally add some nice kindling to all that shimmers and shines within my soul.

Yes, meeting with the dark shards of my grief in these early morning/mourning hours has sparked a sublime sense of reconnection to my Mom. And, one thing I know for sure is that my Momma’s deep, abiding adoration and limitless love for me is one of the greatest treasures tucked tenderly into my heart space.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again … I am much of who I became because of my Mom. I can see that she always inspired me to be the best expression of myself.  I am just so very grateful for all the ways my life has shone brighter because of her.

I am having trouble finding the words to describe how deeply meaningful this process has been for me. It’s been 30 years since you physically left us, but I feel your presence Momma. Thank you for meeting me in these tender moments of recollection as I sat in the pre-dawn darkness of my morning/mourning ritual with you here. I love you … and … am ever so much better because you loved me. 💖💖💖

Yes, through this Advent of Love, I am seeing so very clearly all the ways that my Mom left the light on for me … xo Karen xo

P.S. I am adding this post script on January 5th. I am STILL getting up extra early so I can maximize my opportunity to enjoy my time in front of my Christmas tree!!  Very, very strangely, I have not been the least bit eager to take it down this year. Usually, I can’t wait to get it out the door … get rid of the mess and the falling needles. I’m usually tired of sweeping around it every day … and … they usually lose their lustre quite quickly. Generally speaking,  the limbs of real Christmas trees are drooping so much after three weeks that the ornaments are collecting on the tips of the branches and/or sliding off onto the floor.

However … THIS tree … THIS year … is not dropping needles. It is still supple and soft and smelling good. AND … it has been up in our house for almost six weeks! Yes. SIX weeks!  And, it is still so gorgeous! I did just hear something hit the floor … but … we haven’t even watered it for the last 10 days because I kept thinking I’d be taking it down. But … here I am … still thoroughly enjoying it. THIS tree has bestowed such blessings upon me THIS year. I am ever grateful for all the ‘life’ it has brought to my being … and … all the gifts I have received sitting before it. 💗

January 5th, 2020 … still glowingly gorgeous!  I wonder when I will want to take it down??

Better Because You Spared Me …

Do you suppose this is true?? I am purposely pondering this possibility because … I don’t even know the man.  I do know who he is, though. And because we have lived in the same small, rural community for the past quarter of a century, I have seen him out and about every now and again. That said, I don’t think we have ever spoken to one another.

Well … that is not really true.  I did have some very brief engagements over the telephone with him about 30 years ago, in the form of requests … but certainly not enough connection to confirm any sense of familiarity with the man. I did sense, however, that the last time we spoke on the phone he was somewhat frustrated with me.

Most perplexingly, though … over the summer months in 2019 … our paths seemed to crossing with increased frequency. So much so that it had registered on my radar as ‘odd’.  I even started to consciously question why on earth I was seeing this man so often??  And then … one day when I was out walking with my Bestie … there he was again!  We wandered past him in the large empty parking lot of the Community Centre that we were cutting through on our walk. He was on his phone … not a single car or other person in the vicinity. Huh??

We started chatting about whether or not these chance encounters meant ‘something’  and/or whether the Universe was tossing him onto my path for some reason.  And, because my best friend and I are both INFJ (on the Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator)  we love nothing more than to overthink and overanalyse things. We are quick to explore any and all topics with endless enthusiasm … and … from absolutely every possible angle and/or perspective. And so, this conversation was no exception as we thoroughly scrutinized the various beliefs we were aware of that were publicly posited about the nature of coincidence and synchronicity.

As my Bestie and I considered whether these encounters were, in fact, trying to bring my attention to a particular facet of my life, I recalled that this man was the Property Manager of a subsidized housing complex that my ailing mother inhabited three decades ago.  Way back then … and half my lifetime ago … I was 31 years old and lived on a farm in a tiny town about 30 kilometers (20 miles)  from my Mom’s place with my husband and three small daughters. Due to the geographical distance between her and I, it was difficult for me to see her or check-in on her in person as often as I would have preferred.

You should know that my mom’s well-being was always a source of concern for me because for all of my life (and I do mean all of it)  she experienced ill health. She had struggled with debilitating sciatic pain for the bulk of her existence despite numerous unsuccessful medical interventions and invasive surgeries attempted to relieve her pain. I was only nine months old when she underwent her first major surgery. She was returned to me in a hard, cold body cast … but the pain continued. I remember that Darvon and Valium were very critical mainstays in her existence. She even opted to endure an intrusive brain cordotomy in my late twenties that I can’t be sure ever dulled the pain, but … she came home using a wheelchair.

She also had a hereditary disease called Gardner’s Syndrome that caused polyps/tumors to grow in her intestinal tract. They had a risk of being malignant but could also be benign. Nonetheless, these growths would often lead to painful blockages. She vomited often. There was always a plastic bowl tucked under her bed in case her stomach got upset. Ultimately, they had to remove a large part of her colon and she lived with a colostomy bag afterwards. And, if that wasn’t enough, she had also been diagnosed with breast cancer and endured a double mastectomy.

Along the way, she had also been diagnosed with manic-depression (which is now known as Bipolar Disorder). Unfortunately, the various psychotropic medications they used way back in the day were not nearly as effective and led to all manner of side effects for my Mom. It often seemed to me that they did more harm than good. And, although it feels less than flattering to admit … as a result of all her physical and emotional challenges, she was consuming so many pain medications and mood altering pharmaceuticals that her capacity to engage competently and soberly in the world was often compromised.  Through it all, she spent a whole lot of time in hospitals … both medical and psychiatric.

My mom was not one to complain though. I think she down-played how awful she felt in an attempt to spare me and minimize my worry. She isolated herself quite often. She spent many days/weeks/months alone in her bedroom. She said she preferred to be by herself when she was ailing. And as a result, it was really hard to determine just how poorly she was actually feeling. And so … I worried a whole lot about her. Some days were better than others, but my anxious mind rarely set her down. She did her very best to take care of me. She really did. And, all things considered, she did a pretty remarkable job. It’s just that her physical and psychological capacity was so compromised that I had to learn how to take care of me … as well as her … in many ways.

When I got married at 19 and moved out of the house, I tried to stay in regular contact with her by telephone. Unfortunately, sometimes she didn’t answer. Sleep was unpredictable and elusive for her due to chronic and debilitating pain and when she thought she could get some rest, she would turn the ringer off the phone so as not to be disturbed. If I got no answer, I would assume she was catching some much needed shut eye, leave a message and wait to hear back from her. It was an ongoing pattern that had become part of our routine.  And so, if a couple of days had gone by and I had not received a call back from her, I would just try to squelch my concerns until I had the opportunity to check-in on her in person. And, because I was an only child, there was no one else to ask for help in tending to her. It all fell on me.

The truth was that by the time I had three children of my own, I was stretched too far and too thin to be as attentive as I wish I could have been. And so … I vacillated between feeling guilty for my absence and resentful for the unrelenting worry that was ever present during those in-between times.

Source Unknown

And when I would check-in on her,  it was rare for me to find her in any really emergent situation. However, I do remember a time when I arrived to find that she had fallen and was unable to get up.  There was an odd occasion when I discovered her to be so ill that she needed hospitalization. More frequently, there were times when I came upon her in a highly sedated and/or compromised state of mind. Yes. Sometimes she took too much medication. I never knew if it was on purpose or by accident. Suffice to say, there was just never any way to be sure how she would be when I got there.

For a time she had lived in an extended care facility.  This was such a huge relief for me because I knew someone was always watching out for her. But … she absolutely HATED it there! She despised sharing a room with someone else and begged for us to let her move out.  And so, although it against my better judgment for her to be living alone, we reluctantly honored her preference. And then … it was all on me again. Gah.

source unknown

And, since it was a 60km round trip for me to look in on her in person, it occurred to me that I might be able to ask the property manager to stop in, on rare occasion, when my worries escalated and I couldn’t find a way to get there in a timely fashion myself. And so, I found myself calling him on a few occasions. Maybe three?? I can’t really remember, but I know I always apologized profusely for troubling him. I tried to explain that my request was fostered by my heartfelt concern for my Mom. The first couple of times he checked on her, she called me back apologetically. I could hear in her voice that she was embarrassed and expressed sincere regret for causing me such worry. And, although I felt guilty for inconveniencing him unnecessarily, it was such a relief to be reassured that she was okay.

I believe the last time I called him … was a couple of days after Christmas in 1989.  She had phoned our house at about 2:00am on December 25th to tell us that we need not pick her up to celebrate Christmas because she was not well enough to come out to the farm.  It wasn’t at all unusual for her to call and beg off attending functions because she felt ill. It was, however, a bit unusual for her to call in the middle of the night … but my husband had answered the phone … so I hadn’t actually spoken with her myself. I was reasoning to myself that she must have lost track of time or had taken some meds and was hoping she would finally fall asleep.  There were also occasions that she really gave it her best attempt to attend, but then by they time she got to our house she’d need to concede that she wasn’t really up for it after all … and we’d have to turn around take her back home again right away.

My mom was on my mind as I tried to stay present to the squeals of delight and joy in my daughters eyes as they tore at the wrapping on their Christmas gifts. I tried to call her once the sun was up, but got no answer.  I tried to call her a little later during the day. Still … no answer. This wasn’t entirely unusual, so I tried to call her again on Boxing Day.  No answer. And then, as my worries intensified, I dared to call the Property Manager again. I apologized profusely once more … but humbly asked if he might spare me the 60km round trip and check on her for me. I could sense his frustration … and honestly … I completely understood it. He’d been there a couple times before … for no reason. He was probably trying to enjoy the Holiday season with his own family, but … he was kind enough to agree to check on her when he had a chance.

And then … I waited. I was trying to be patient, but my Mom never called me back and neither did the Property Manager. I questioned whether he maybe hadn’t found the opportunity to check on her yet. I really didn’t want to pester him during the Holidays by calling again. I was really looking forward to a commitment I had to go out of town that day … the 27th of December. It was a rare treat for me to go anywhere without my three little girls in tow, and I had plans with a girlfriend and would be leaving my hubby at home with my daughters. We didn’t have cell phones way back then, so I was reassuring myself that my hubby would be getting the call while I was out … confirming that all was well … just like all the other times that Mom had rallied back from some really bad days.

And, while I was out, my husband finally did hear back.  Yes. The RCMP arrived at our door to inform us that she was, in fact, not fine. No. She had really and truly … died. I had braced myself for her passing on prior occasions when things seemed really dire … and … if the truth was to be fully told … I had also wished for an end to her suffering on more than one occasion. So, I am not sure why I felt so blindsided by the news … except that she had always escaped death  … until then.

I swallowed hard. I sat up in the night with tear-filled blurry eyes watching the mini-lights twinkle on the Christmas tree in the darkness … silently trying to figure out how to tell my young daughters that their Gram was gone. They were just nine, seven and almost three at the time.

And then, somewhere in the midst of it all, there was a part of me that was deeply relieved. For both me and her. There was a part of me that sighed a breath of surrender, knowing that she was no longer suffering in a bedroom all by herself … and … that I would no longer be anxiously waiting for call backs. The autopsy suggested she likely died within 24 hours after she called our house. I have always secretly wondered if she had a premonition that night that ‘this was it’. Maybe that is why is she called at 2:00am? Or … maybe she thought she’d rally back again from this bad spell too? It’s one of the many things I will never get to know …

I’ve had to battle the guilt that rears up and says I would have sensed the situation was exceptionally dire if I had spoken to her myself when she called.  There is a part of me that blames myself … maybe I might have cued into the gravity of the situation if I had heard her with my own ears?  It’s not that I am blaming my husband. No, I’m not … but it has been a challenge to manage the self-blame and regret that I didn’t get up and call her back, right then and there at 2:00am on December 25th, 1989.

Because we didn’t find out that Mom was gone until Dec 27th, there was some urgency for me to go through all her things and empty her apartment and clean it all up so that management could rent it out to the next person on the wait-list for January 1990.  It was really rough. There was no time for mourning.  No opportunity to feel into the grief. My head took over and my heart was silenced. You just do what you have to do, don’t you? Fortunately, three of our friends rallied to help us collect all her things and clear her suite. I owe a deep sense of gratitude to one of our friends for thinking to strip the bedding … to clear the space where she actually took her last breath. He spared me. It would have been excruciating to tackle that myself.  And, I am also indebted to another of our friends for offering to go through her purses for me. He spared me the horror of needing to face that unfathomable reality so soon. Yes. They spared me some of the hardest bits and my heart has always been eternally grateful to them.

We laid my Mom to rest on Saturday, December 30th. It was a very small group. Forty three people joined us at 11:00am to honor the life of my Mom. My little girls were so saddened that Gram didn’t get to open our Christmas presents for her that year so, we tucked all her gifts into the casket. I’m not sure why, but it still makes me weep when I think about it. I worried that losing their grandmother during Christmas might taint the joys of the Season in the future for my impressionable daughters … so I asked the Clergy to invite my little girls to see ever-green trees as reminders of their Gram’s ever-present love for them.

I really didn’t want the grievous loss to overshadow the celebrations of the Season for my daughters, so the day after the funeral, a group of our very closest friends offered to help us ring in the New Year.  They committed themselves to help us look towards the future rather than get lost in the recent past. I will be ever grateful to all of them for that. Unfortunately, however, the typical greeting right after Christmas is always: “Happy New Year! How was your Christmas?”  Gah. I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable by speaking directly to the truth … so I quickly learned to sidestep their enthusiastic curiosity by saying something like “It wasn’t what we expected. How about you? ”  I instinctively tried to turn the conversation away from our loss. And, as a result, there seemed to be no appropriate time to sit with my pain.

Much of that time remains a blur. And, as I said, there was little time to mourn. So much had transpired in roughly a week or two, albeit with some really long days. And, ultimately, my grieving continued to be shuttered and stalled and silenced in order to spare my little daughters from worrying about their own momma’s well-being. I knew, too well, what it felt like to be saddled with worry about your mother … so I distracted myself and stuffed my feelings until I could take my grief out for a walk and spill my tears behind some sunglasses.

And then, even as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months and people had heard about what happened … it still wasn’t discussed. I’m not even sure if I ever found the space or gave myself permission to feel all the feels that were really needed to fully honor the loss of my Mom.  I’m recognizing as I write this that I am actually just getting present to some of them now. Yes. As I pen this blog, I notice an emotional ache rising within me that I didn’t even know was there.

And perhaps that is why it never even occurred to me until I was walking with my Bestie that the Property Manager had also spared me from the biggest traumatic experience of them all. I can’t know for sure because I have never spoken to him, but I am guessing that he was the one who discovered my Mom’s lifeless body. And, I hate to admit it, but in the avoidance of all things related to her death, it had never even occurred to me that this could very likely have been a very traumatic experience for him. Gah.

As my Bestie and I logged more kilometers along our path that day, my heart swelled open to this man and the way he had spared me the additional trauma of finding my mom’s corpse. I am not sure how I would have fared in life … if … I had  been the one to discover my mom’s lifeless body. It makes me shudder at the mere thought of it.

Of course, I can’t know what the experience was like for the Property Manager.  At the very least, I expect my call changed the trajectory of his Holiday Season too. And, at the worst, I realize that I obliviously set him up for a potentially traumatic discovery. And, I am praying that he has not carried scars of his own as a result of this. And, as I was awakened to this new perspective, I felt a sense of shame-filled curiosity about how on earth this awareness could have escaped me for almost three decades!?!

As my Bestie and I talked about all of it, I began to think about all the times I had crossed his path and never spoken to him. We wondered aloud about whether or not he knows it was me who made those calls to him so long ago. If so, I find myself questioning whether he thinks it odd, too, that we have never discussed this epic event …

I owe my deepest gratitude to this man … this man who I do not know … this man that I have not spoken to for almost 30 years.  While I have been awakened to how deeply appreciative I feel for his kindness in heeding my call for help, I am also realizing I owe him an apology. I am so deeply sorry for any personal distress or emotional disturbance he may have been forced to endure as a result of honoring my request.

Yes. This awareness lands very uncomfortably in my soul.  Perhaps this is why the Universe was persistent in placing us before each other?  I cannot be sure of that … but I am very clear that I have some unfinished business with the Property Manager. At the risk of repeating myself, he was clearly a gift offered to protect me and spare me significant trauma.  I owe it to him to express my appreciation along with my regret for not doing so earlier … as well as my compassion for what he might have experienced as a result of my request.

This Christmas marks the 30th anniversary of my mom’s passing. Thirty years! I found myself thinking that the next time we cross paths, I should approach him with my new found insight and empathy.  I even found myself questioning whether it might be wiser to simply orchestrate a time to meet him so I might express both my gratitude and my regret. I knew I must not waste any more minutes, days, weeks, years or decades before honoring all of this. Honoring the man who spared me, honoring the friends who supported me … and … honoring the woman that birthed me.

And, this blog has taken me to places in my grief that I never expected to visit. I find myself wondering if I ever really knew my Mom? I wonder what the hardest parts of her life were? Was it her five miscarriages? Was it her lost connection with family due to Estate issues? Was it losing her marriage in an effort to invite my Dad to embrace sobriety? How did the deaths of four of her six siblings impact her? I wonder about where she got her resilience? I wonder what kept her fighting for a life that was so filled with suffering? And because she never complained, I question whether all of her unspoken and internalized suffering simply exacerbated her ill health?  I am left with so many questions about this remarkable soul … my loving Mom.

And so … I started this blog out of my curiosity about whether my chance meetings with the Property Manager were random.  And with each word, I have become acutely aware that were it not for the ‘chance’ meetings of that man that I do not know, I may never have taken this opportunity to honor all the things left unspoken … both with him and with my relationship with my mom.

It appears that those coincidental meetings have sparked some additional healing for me because they inspired these ramblings. Writing always help me get clear about what I am thinking and feeling, but I would never have expected that what started as an exploration about synchronicity would touch tenderly into the ache of a grief/loss that has been largely disregarded for almost thirty years. And so, it appears the Property Manager has spared me once again. As a result of these reflections, I will not be carrying my unspoken and unreconciled grief for another 30 years.

And so, with this blog, the need for me to speak to him landed more and more loudly in my awareness … even though I had no sense of how that would happen. And, coincidentally (or not?), I had no sooner come to what I thought was the completion of this blog, when I unexpectedly crossed paths with the Property Manager again at a community event!

I immediately thought … here’s my chance … the Universe is orchestrating an opportunity for me to speak to him right here and now. I was tempted to ask him if I could have a few minutes of his time after the presentation was complete. But then … it occurred to me that it might not be wise to unexpectedly blindside him with all of this at a public function. It occurred to me that standing before him with my both my apology and my appreciation might put him in an uncomfortable position … and/or … stir up some unwelcome memories. So, I opted not to say anything to him then. I decided, instead, that I would email him this blog instead. And that is exactly what I am going to do once I publish this.

It is my hope that my sentiments will be welcomed and received by the Property Manager with the benevolent energy within which they are offered. And, it is also my hope that by honoring and acknowledging all of this, I will be able to honor the 30th anniversary of my Mom’s death in just a few weeks with some additional peace and resolution in my own heart.

I would like nothing more than to think that perhaps these synchronicities and the heartfelt reflections I have offered in this blog could be a gift that was divinely inspired for both of us. Perhaps a welcome exchange for both of us. Fingers crossed …

With gratitude for the gifts in all this awareness … with gratitude for the space created to honor all that has not yet been spoken … and … with deepest gratitude for all the many ways I have been spared … Karen

 

 

 

The World is a Better Place Because of You … Fatemeh!

Source Unknown but deeply appreciated!

I was inspired to become a social worker given my passionate commitment to help people ‘live a great life anyway’ … despite all the people, circumstances and situations that often compromise our best efforts to do so.  As such, I attempt do so in a variety of ways. I am a counsellor working with people in my private practice to help people find ways to savor the moments in their lives rather than merely enduring them.  I am also an EMDR therapist (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing)  and an ART therapist (Accelerated Resolution Therapy)  invested in helping people process and heal from the traumatic events that often prevent them from living their best lives.  And, in my role as a Certified Integrative Coaching Professional with The Ford Institute, I have been trained to help people transform any areas in their lives where they are feeling ‘stuck’ in some way, shape or form.

I have been a life coach for about 17 years now.  One of the blessings of coaching is that it is done over the telephone, and so over the years, I have had the good fortune of working with oodles of wonderful individuals from all different parts of the globe! Notwithstanding that, I could never have known the gift that I was about to unwrap when I received this coaching inquiry almost four years ago  from the Coaches Listing Page on The Ford Institute website. .

March-22-15 11:53 AM
Subject: Coach Page Inquiry
Message
hi my name is fatemeh from iran. spring is start of our new year. i am studing the book “the best year of my life” in persian. can u send to me some schaduale?

I was delighted to discover that a woman from Iran was reaching out to me for coaching!  Unfortunately, I did not have any space available at the time.  And so, I responded by saying:

Hi Fatemeh …

How nice to find your coaching inquiry in my email expressing an interest in being coached! I trust you are enjoying “The Best year of Your Life”. It is such a powerful piece of the work offered by Debbie Ford and the coaching experience is one way of truly bringing the concepts into your life in powerful and transformative ways!

Unfortunately, at the present time, I do not have any space for new coaching clients. I expect that it will be about 4 months before I am able to take on another client. I realize that this is a long time to wait. You may prefer to seek out another coach … or … if you like, I can keep your email and contact you when I have some space available.

Please let me know what would suit you best. Either way, I wish you all the very best as you move into the best year of your life!

With warmest regards,
Karen

Generally speaking, when people decide they are ready to hire a coach, they do not want to wait.  So, I was entirely surprised when I received her response:

hi karen

thank you for u answer and your kindness. I will wait. I have started my new year and I will send to u my progress. spring is really a good time to start …. 
with love and respect
fatemeh noroozi

It turned out to be even longer than four months before Fatemeh and I reconnected in December of 2015.  In my coaching practice, I annually offer to provide my coaching services ‘pro-bono’ for one client and because we were just turning the corner into a new year, I was able to offer the pro-bono space for 2016 to Fatemah! I was eager to work with her and meet her via Skype because there was something about the energy of this magnificent being that touched me so deeply. And so, the most remarkable journey began … on January 15th, 2016.

And, what began as a coach/client relationship has grown into the meeting of two hearts … who are clearly very old friends (as Hafiz would suggest!). I  am not sure either one of us had any idea we would feel so connected and that, three years later, we would still be meeting, on occasion, to reconnect and catch up with one another.  And, I am holding hope that one of these days we will get to meet each other in person!

Fatemeh … or … Fatima (as I have affectionately come to refer to her)  has done some of the most remarkable work.  Not only internally  (through her personal growth) … but … also externally (in her professional capacity as an educator).  Fatima defines herself as a “teacher/explorer” and when we started our coaching relationship, she was about to make her first venture abroad by traveling solo to Europe. Our coaching agreement was centered around helping her overcome some of the fears she was experiencing in anticipation of her upcoming travels.

I learned very quickly that Fatima is whole-heartedly committed to making the world a better place. It didn’t take very long before I was sensing the genuine goodness of her being … her heart … her loving spirit. And, I knew that she was making a significant difference for all those touched by her kind and altruistic nature.

I have been so inspired by all that she is and all that she is doing, that I recently asked her if she would be willing to share her remarkable story with me, so that I could share it with all of you here on this “Better Because of You” blog. She expressed some reticence because she was self-conscious about her command of the English language.  She requested that I edit her story to ensure that it reflected proper English.  I responded by saying that I was reluctant to do so because I could feel so much of her joyous soul and benevolent spirit and compassionate heart in the way she strung her words together that I didn’t want to risk losing that energetic resonance in exchange for optimizing her spelling, grammar and/or vocabulary.  And so, I didn’t. And, I trust that you will understand what I mean!

Fatemeh / Fatima

It is my absolute honor to share Fatemeh’s story with you here. And, although I feel a bit self conscious about publishing it because, within it, she has so very graciously elevated my presence in her world … I would most humbly suggest that we are seeing her own bright light projected in my direction. While her generous description of me warms my heart with fond appreciation, I trust you will hear the brightness of her spirit as you are touched by how her own sparkling soul is rendered visible in this impassioned story of a woman with a love filled desire to make a difference in the world. Here is Fatemeh’s story, in her own words:

 

 

 

And … my relationship with this exceptional soul is a genuine example of the humanity that loudly exists despite our differences in culture or geography or religious beliefs.  Fatemah and I are in a relationship that sees well beyond the obvious … we know each other at the heart level.  And our relationship is an example of what can happen whenever any one of us seeks to suspend our beliefs and our biases … when we decide to look beyond the superficial stereotypes and into the treasures of each human spirit.

And, to see the world through the eyes of this amazing soul … to feel her efforts to unify our global population is beyond extraordinary!  And then … out of the blue … I received this parcel in the mail from her just this past December, 2018.

There were so many beautiful offerings reflecting her country and expressions of the cultural spirit of Iran. I truly appreciated her efforts to bridge the geographical gap between us because we live in a world where misperceptions of other cultures are publicly perpetuated and ‘others’ are misunderstood and marginalized with criticism and judgement. I am excited to share the contents because they reflect the heart and soul of our shared humanity.

One of the things Fatima sent to me was a parchment with my name written on it …  in Persian. It serves as a reminder to me that regardless of the culture we inhabit or the language that use we use to name things … the essence of someone/something cannot be fully captured  in the finite flow of ink, but rather … to be fully known … must be experienced at an energetic level.

Fatima also sent a most beautiful weaving called a “Termah”.  My dining room table is now adorned with the beautiful tapestry. It serves to remind me of the threads of love that have been woven into the tapestry of all of our lives. For me, it reflects the exquisite beauty that can be created when we are wise enough to honor and blend differing colors and textures together.  It is exceptional in it’s refinement and spectacular detail. Wikipedia states:

“Termeh (Persian: ترمه‎) as a type of Iranian handwoven cloth, produced primarily in the Yazd province. Weaving termeh requires a good wool with long fibers. Termeh is woven by an expert with the assistance of a worker called a Goushvareh-kesh. Weaving termeh is a sensitive, careful, and time-consuming process; a good weaver can produce only 25 to 30 centimetres (10 to 12 in) in a day. The background colors used in termeh are jujube red, light red, green, orange and black. Termeh has been admired throughout history … “

Fatima also included a little box filled with small gold figurines called “farvehar.” As she shared, they are intended to be symbol of “good thoughts, good words, good deeds” and are intrinsically related to the history of Iran from 1500 years ago.

As per Wikipedia, “The Faravahar (Persian: فروهر‬‎)… is one of the best-known symbols of Iran” and “is the most worn pendant among Iranians and has become a secular national symbol, rather than a religious symbol. It symbolizes good thoughts (پندار نیک‬ pendār-e nik), good words (گفتار نیک‬ goftār-e nik) and good deeds (کردار نیک‬ kerdār-e nik).”

Also included in this package was a glorious painted plate which is called “Minakari”. It is absolutely exquisite in its beauty! I love the richness of the colors and the intricacy of the pattern is gorgeous. I found the perfect place in my new office to hang it so that all my clients can also enjoy it’s beauty … and should they inquire about it’s origin … learn about the abiding connection between Fatima and I.

“Minakari or Enamelling is the art of painting, colouring and ornamenting the surface of metals by fusing over it brilliant colours that are decorated in an intricate design. Mina is the feminine form of Minoo in Persian, meaning heaven. Mina refers to the Azure colour of heaven.” (https://surfiran.com/iranian-minakari-art-heaven/)

Fatima also sent me a beautiful scarf. It is so soft and, as I shared with her, “whenever I wear the scarf, it will be as though I am wrapped in a hug from you”.

There were also a number of other things that she thoughtfully included in her gifts to me. As I shared with her …

“The rosary beads. They feel so beautiful to the fingers. I shall count amongst my blessings … the heartfelt union of our souls. And, I shall display it in my new office, as a fond reminder of the deep connections we have with each other and the spirit of the divine that bridges any geographical distance between our souls.

And … the rose blossoms! They are so delicate and fragile and remind me that we must pay attention to the little blessings and blossoms of tender love and natural beauty that surround us. And, I shall sprinkle them on my shelf in my office as well.

And, the tiny figurine of mother and child … is such a beautiful depiction of how each and every one of us needs to feel the warm embrace of someone who cares deeply about us. “

Although there were a number of other things, I offer up this smattering of the gifts she sent so you might get a sense of her culture and herself. She has gifted me with so much and not just in the package that arrived via Canada Post.  As I shared in an email to Fatima:

“I can so very much feel your loving presence in these gifts Fatima. And, I don’t know how to thank you enough for the blessings of your loving spirit that speaks to me in such meaningful ways. Your thoughtfulness is so very deeply appreciated. My life is so much better because of your presence in it!

And so … as I sit surrounded by the gifts of your spirit … I am basking in the joy of connection and love and all the divine energy that moves between us. You are treasured. Thank you again. I am so honored to have you in my life.”

And, as much as our relationship is unique and special … it is but an example of what can happen all over the world … if/when we accept an opportunity to connect at the heart level with each other.  As you can see … Fatemeh/Fatima is a very exceptional soul. And … her message of love and unity is deeply needed as we collectively attempt to bridge the gap that often exists between our souls based on cultural or religious differences.  If we dare to look beneath these perceived differences, we will find as Hafiz as contended … that all our hearts are, indeed, very old friends.

And … that said … I am honored to use this “Better Because of You” blog space to introduce you all to this exceptional woman.  Please join me in celebrating this wonderful soul and all the loving energy that she brings to our world! And, please, may we heed her wise words:

“Love is a global language and its alphabet comes from all diversities and cultures and acting beyond ourselves.”

Fatima … I remain blessed to have come to know you and remain humbled by your loving presence.  You do, in fact, make the whole world a better place!

With deepest reverence for your heartfelt being, ❤ Karen ❤

 

 

 

Better Because … at 60 … I FELT it!!

February 5th, 2018 made it official. 60! Yes. Six decades. 6-0.   I wanted this milestone to be something that really tickled my heart and kindled my spirit … and … I am delighted to report that this birthday exceeded all my expectations and fondest hopes!!  And, in all honesty, I’ve been struggling to make sense of exactly what has made it so meaningful. It’s taken me a while to put a finger on it.  One thing for sure is that it ‘felt’ so very different to me. It actually ‘filled’ every inch of my soul in so many touching and unexpected ways. And, it was exactly what I needed to make it the ‘best birthday ever’.

I’d like to say it wasn’t about the gifts … but actually … it some ways it was. But please, before you judge me as entirely shallow and materialistic … let me explain!  🙂

One of the gifts I received was a delicate little silver bangle with the word beautiful carved into it.

It was packaged up in a handmade wrapping created by an exceptionally artistic and talented friend of mine.  Thank you Cyndy!  And another friend and colleague had jotted some words on the bag that helped me identify the root of my nourishment. Thank you for that Tanie!

It was those words “You are loved”  that caught me up short.  They stirred something deeply introspective in my soul.  You see, I have always KNOWN that I am loved (at the head level) … but the truth of the matter is this: I have not always FELT it (at the heart level).

And knowing  something and feeling  it are two entirely different things. Neuroscience is teaching us that the things we ‘know’ are stored in a different part of the brain than the things that we ‘feel’. Stephen Porges (one of the most revered neurobiologists of our time) offers an important distinction with his Polyvagal Theory.  He states that ‘perception’ is when we make meaning of the world cognitively through the pre-frontal cortex of our brain. He has coined the term “neuroception” for the way our body employs our vagus nerve system to sense  and interpret the world around us … through what we are seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting and touching. It’s a fascinating conversation … one that explains a lot of the complexities and contradictions we encounter as we attempt to interpret the world  … both around us and within us.

For example, we can ‘know’ airplanes are safe modes of transportation, but we still can ‘feel’ scared to board one, no matter how hard we try to reassure ourselves.  We can ‘know’ we have had enough to eat, but for some reason, we don’t ‘feel’ full.  We can ‘know’ our boss appreciates our efforts, but at some point beyond the words we are hearing … we still don’t ‘feel’ like we are valued.  We can ‘know’ our family loves us, but sometimes it is hard to ‘feel’ like that is true when we are alone, again, in the kitchen cleaning up … or … nagging, again, about undone homework, and/or struggling, again, to get through the bedtime routine.  We can ‘know’ that we are kind, but we actually ‘feel’ it in our ‘beingness’ on a neurological level when pay it forward by actually performing an act of kindness.  Experiencing something reaches us in a whole different way.

Yes, to cognitively comprehend something is very different than having an experiential felt sense of something.  To be fair and honest …  I can easily list a number of things that I not only ‘know’ but … I have also enjoyed a ‘felt sense’ of over my six decades:

• Respected.  Yes. I can say that I have a felt sense of being respected. I typically give 150% to everything I do and, more often than not, I do feel my efforts are recognized.
• Needed.  Yes. I am always ready to lend a hand (or a heart) and I feel like people feel safe to reach out to me.
• Envied. Yes. Even envied. The smile on my face often belies the challenges people don’t always see circling in my orbit.
• Appreciated.  Yes. Most especially by my clients in my work.

But … loved?  Hmmm. Not so much.  And, not necessarily because people have not offered me their love. I do know  that they have.  But, mostly because I cannot always feel  it.  When I think about what it means for me to wholeheartedly feel  that I am loved, I am guessing I would need to feel:

heard …. cherished , nurtured, treasured … included … precious and protected … connected … safe … and, perhaps most importantly … understood. 

All I know for sure, for the most part, is that I have often felt more expendable than loved.  I’m not saying that my perceptions/interoceptions/neuroceptions are true … I’m just saying it’s been my default way of ‘feeling’.  We all have stories we tell ourselves.  And, our stories and perceptions of the world around us are shaped by our prior lived experiences. As Ellen so aptly shared in this little clip … the power of suggestion is, indeed, powerful!

Did you see a gold and white dress … or a blue and white one?  Did hear Yanny or Laurel? Neuroscience confirms that our brains actually ‘predict’ our experiences and, therefore, our inner world actually informs our perceptions of our outer world. That is, we tend to see what we EXPECT to see.  And this reality informs and actually shapes our experiences in our relationships in a very profound way.

If you are inspired to learn more and/or want a more detailed and fascinating explanation of this uncanny phenomenon … you might want to check out this TED Talk by neuroscientist Anil Seth. 

And, so as Anil Seth points out in this presentation …  our interpretations of our outer world are depend entirely upon what our brain is primed to hear. 

“The remarkable thing is the sensory information coming into the brain hasn’t changed at all. All that’s changed is your brain’s best guess of the causes of that sensory information. And that changes what you consciously hear. All this puts the brain basis of perception in a bit of a different light. Instead of perception depending largely on signals coming into the brain from the outside world, it depends as much, if not more, on perceptual predictions flowing in the opposite direction. We don’t just passively perceive the world, we actively generate it. The world we experience comes as much, if not more, from the inside out as from the outside in.”

And so … all of this begs the question for me as to whether my brain was adequately primed to ‘hear’ the love that is, in fact, infused into my relationships.   Attachment theorists contend and neuroscientists confirm that the template etched into our grey matter for what we expect to see in our ‘loving relationships’ is informed by our earliest neuro-biological relationships. And so, those of us that did not get the most favorable wiring in our early years about how ‘loved’ or ‘significant’ or ‘smart’ or ‘capable’ we are … may subconsciously be primed to ‘expect’ to interpret our present day moments in the same way!  It is not what is coming at us … it is what we are primed to ‘sense’ that defines our experiences.  As the Yanny and Laurel experiment obviates … we can experience different things with exactly the same stimulus!

I didn’t get the very best start from my family of origin. My roots are planted in considerable dysfunction.  My earlier life experience left me feeling like I was not the priority … which has led me to a life long interpretation/perception/story which ‘predicts’ that “I do not matter.”  I speak more about this in another blog called ” A Tragic Misunderstanding.”

I did feel very treasured by my mom … but because of her illnesses and disabilities, she was simply not able to offer as much nurturing as I needed to feel  nourished and protected. Sometimes our roles got reversed. I was looking after her, instead of her looking after me.  She died when I was only 31… so I have been without her almost as long as I had her.  My dad was an alcoholic. He was never much for sharing his emotions (unless he was angry!), and he and my mom divorced when I was twelve. Perhaps my fears of abandonment and neglect are rooted in those early experiences.

Not withstanding that … my mom’s oldest sister, my Aunt Mil always, always, always made me feel cherished and nurtured and precious. But, for the most formative years of my life she lived six hours away.  I didn’t get to see her much, but … I never felt more safe and loved than when I was in her presence. She passed in 1990 … and … I think I grieved the most when I lost her.

And, unarguably, my life is splattered with many love filled relationships …  my children and husband …. and …. many, many of my most precious friends. In fact, this “Better Because of You” blog also contains my heartfelt tributes in honor of the love I feel for many of those special souls … including Marie and Jody and Jackie and Kimmy and Kim and Joan and Sari and Robin and Deb and Lisa and Debora and Penny and Maria Beautiful and Teresa  and Trudy and our friends Dwayne and Cheryl and Bill and Linda and Hutch and, of course, my daughters and my step-mom and my in-laws and so many more that I have yet to formally acknowledge.

And sadly, despite all of these deep and abiding relationships with these extra-ordinary people … the internally wired ‘story’ that can get triggered and flare up far too often is that “I don’t matter”.  Gah.  Yanny or Laurel?? The external stimulus can be exactly the same but, because of our internal wiring, we can hear different things.

I’m not sure why, but as I was typing this, I was reminded of watching Romper Room as a young child. Any of you remember that show? At the end of the program, the hostess would look through a “magic mirror” and name all the children she could “see” in “television land”.

Source Unknown

“I see Margaret and Diane and Hannah and Susan and Janice and Georgie ……………”

I always waited … literally aching to hear her call my name. I never, ever heard her say it. Gah. Why on earth would that come to my mind right now??  Perhaps more proof of the power of that early brain wiring that, by default, can invite me to question my significance?

Anyway, I would go so far as to say that I have invested much of my life trying to earn people’s love … through approval and recognition.  And so … sadly … if/when I have ‘felt’ loved, I have often reduced it to a result of my own efforts.  I’m more likely to think you love me because of what I am doing to improve your life, rather than simply because of my being.  In fact, I would venture to say that I have been telling myself a story … just for most of my life … that people will not stay connected to me if I am not pleasant and helpful and supportive. Yes. It makes me uncomfortable to admit to this out loud, but it is true. In the shadows of my subconscious, I’m not truly convinced that people would bother to keep me in their world if I didn’t work hard to make myself valuable to them. And, I can painfully round up proof of many who failed to make the effort … once I quit investing in them more then they were investing in me.  But … that’s a story for a different time.  Let’s get back to my birthday …

And so … when I saw those words ‘you are loved’ on that bag … all of this understanding flooded into my awareness.  And, in the context of all the wonderful moments packed into my 60th birthday celebration … I had a deeply ‘felt sense’ of being loved.  Yes. I wholeheartedly FELT it … on  so many levels. People had done so much … entirely unsolicited by me … to make sure my 60th was nothing short of amazing. And, my heart was exploding with gratitude and appreciation for how ‘loved’ I actually felt  in the midst of all of it.

And so … I wanted to blog about it here … for two reasons.  First and foremost, so that I can try to adequately express my appreciation to each and every individual for their kind and loving contributions. You cannot even begin to know how each thought, word and deed that you offered has been etched into the felt sense of my heart space. And secondly, I wanted to chronical the whole occasion so that I can revisit the magic of the moments – not if but when – I need to challenge and dispute my ‘story’ of not feeling loved. Yes. I needed to document each and every delight so that none of them get forgotten over time.

And so, for those of you who are still inclined to read on, here is my best recollection of how it all unfolded. The “60”celebration started with an overnight trip to the big city with JUST my daughters. It is very rare for me to have them all to myself anymore!  And so, my heart smiled with unspeakable gratitude as I sipped my coffee in the mornings and listened to them chatting and giggling and sister-ing with each other in our nice hotel suite while they were getting ready for the day.  And, the first night, we unexpectedly landed in a fancy schmancy bistro and enjoyed a 5 star dinner (with complimentary appetizers from the chef that he was entering into a competition) before our heavenly 90 minute massages and hot-tubbing at the Stillwater Spa!

And, the next evening, after a full day of shopping (@9 hours worth)  with a couple of stops for food and drink – (we lucked out at lunch and found ourselves enjoying $5 wine and mimosas) we decided to try the new Maybelline Super Stay Matte Ink Lip Color that my youngest daughter had discovered.  With Brittany and I rocking the red … and … Sherisse and Tiana sporting the dark maroon, we looked more like we should be heading out on the town (maybe in 5″ stilettos and black leather mini-skirts)!  But instead, we cozied up in our jammies, pulled out the hide-a-way bed in the living room of our hotel suite and snuggled in side-by-each as we spilled some tears watching the touching movie “Wonder”.

The next morning we got semi-dressed (scrubbed off the lipstick so as not to draw too much more attention to our questionable restaurant attire) … and … entirely unpretentiously headed downstairs to enjoy our complimentary breakfast. Our footwear was nothing short of fabulous. 🙂

We followed that up by using the “Downward Dog” Yoga App on our bath towels.

And, over the weekend  … no one was focused upon their phones.  It ‘felt’ entirely sublime to me to have all my little cherubs under one roof with me … and … lots of time for nurturing our innermost desires. Did I mention all the fitting room fun and fashion shows we also enjoyed?  I will never forget how much love I could feel in the space during those moments.

And then … a few weeks later … I was completely bamboozled.  Yep. Entirely horn-swaggled … in the most meaningful and marvelous way!!  I thought we were heading to the restaurant to celebrate my son-in-laws birthday … because it really was HIS birthday.  But … I was in for the SURPRISE of my life!  They got me … good.  And the presence of the people were the very best presents of all!  In addition to every single member of my immediate family, my sister-in-law flew in from Vancouver. Our dearest friends from prenatal class (37 years prior!)  were there. My Bestie and her hubby and my forever friends and my soul sister were too. Some of my treasured colleagues were also able to join us. My husband, daughters and sons-in-law had planned the perfect party!  And although my grandchildren knew … they kept it all a secret!!  I was surrounded by people who take up the most space in my heart … and … I truly ‘felt’ the love in that space.

And the French wine flowed … and … the food was fabulous. In fact, my meal stands out as one of the top five in my 60 years! And they had two homemade cakes (made from Lucy’s special recipe – iced with the 7 minute frosting I always put on my daughter’s cakes when they were little.)  It was extra special because the cakes were in the shapes of a flower and a butterfly!  They resurrected the exact cake patterns I had always used for them. I could feel so much love in all the little details!

And then they dragged me into the ladies washroom … to present me with a a leather bound book of treasured ‘sharing’ from so many loving hearts … personal stories and acknowledgments and memories that brought me to tears.

And there may or may not have been some ‘helium high chatter’ before we headed home … as we were collecting all the balloons. I can neither deny nor confirm the collapse of any high flying balloons and/or and other such shenanigans transpired. All I can say is that … I felt it … all night long. The love … not the helium. ❤

And, even though it was quite late when we landed at home, I stayed up until 1:30am … filling my spirit with all the love tucked into that treasure book. Fortunately, my eldest grand-daughter had tucked a tissue into the envelope that held her meaningful message for me.  ❤

And, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better … the next morning … when I decided to clean up all the bags we had just dropped into the entry way when we arrived home, I discovered there were more ‘gifts’ to unwrap. And more tears flowed.  And I felt  my way through it all … savoring each and every moment.

When I naively inquired about why my book would have been in with the gifts  … and with a ribbon wrapped around it … my hubby said my Bestie borrowed it. Oh. Okay.  How sweet of her to decorate it before she returned it. I was placing it back on the bookshelf … when my hubby suggested “there might be something in it”.

Huh??  And yes … there certainly was!  There was all kinds of LOVE in it!  I know it … because, once again, I could actually feel  it.  And, to think, I almost missed this precious offering from my kindred spirits (aka: the gorgeous gals in my ‘book club’). These precious souls had snuck off with MY copy of the book that originally inspired our gatherings and had highlighted their favorite passages and written messages on the cover and inside the margins and then wrapped it with a ribbon and tucked it in with my other gifts.

It is such a treasure … because one of my favorite things to do is have juicy, meaty, honest and authentic conversations.  And … that is what we do. And, now, I have their  thoughts and reflections highlighted both in my book and my heart.

And, as I continued to tidy up, I noticed a beautiful scroll tied up with some jute and a red metal heart!  Within, were some heartfelt words from Jody, a prior practicum student of mine.  This earth Angel has become a very dear and cherished friend … my soul sister.  Her words were deeply moving … and … so are my morning emails from her. Our Gmail correspondence has become a beautiful addition and treasured tradition in our friendship.

And then … I noticed THIS very, very simple but oh so sheik and exceptionally elegant  box tucked into one of the bags.  And it confirmed, for certain, that the old adage is true:

“Less is More”

My fabulous forever friends … Robin and Deb … and myself have been celebrating our friendship and our ‘DRK’ birthdays together for many, many, many years.  Although our lives and times have generated some geographic space over the years, we have always enjoyed some special traditions and joyful reminders of our abiding connections. And, this year was no exception.  These beautiful souls arranged a number of photographs into a soft, black, handmade Italian leather bound journal  … with inspiring quotes (because they know I love quotes) AND a story book length Roses are Red poem AND Deb added a whole NEW picture of the three of us.  I’ll let you try to guess who is who! 🙂

And, just so you can appreciate the fullest extent of their brilliance … may I offer you just a wee little snippet of my 60th “Roses are Red”  story/poem … in all its glorious grace:

And … that is just one of the pages!  Yes. I ‘felt’ their love in such a big way.   Just look at those gloriously gifted poets!! I am so grateful to call them my fabulous forever friends!

And then … there was MORE!  I got to enjoy a trip away for the weekend with my Bestie!  We had so much fun the last time we did it … so we thought we’d do it again!  When I had gone to Calgary with my daughters, we had tried to get a reservation at “Ten Foot Henry” only to discover that they are usually booked up two to three weeks in advance.  And so … Marie and I booked ahead and enjoyed a sublime dinner … in which vegetables are the star!  We could certainly see why they are booked up in advance!  If you ever get the chance, I would highly recommend it.

And … although it was in the midst of a freak snow storm, we enlisted the services of several Uber drivers to take us around and about to all the places we wanted to go.  We even snuck in an Angel Card reading with Michelle at the Crossroads Market!  And, in retrospect, it is entirely uncanny how ‘spot on’ her reading was for both of us.

And then … to top it all off … we arrived home to a beautiful prime rib dinner which had been prepared by our husbands.  We enjoyed a lovely soup, prime rib, fancy scalloped potatoes, asparagus AND a homemade chocolate cake … made and iced by my husband!!

And, as you can see, we were also playing cards!  It’s become a tradition for us to play ‘Hearts’ together.  I am posting the results of our two rounds of hearts … not to gloat … but because my winning score was 60 in the first game!!  Did you notice how badly I beat them the second game … 33? Okay, maybe now I’m gloating just a little … not that I am competitive when it comes to cards with these gems … 🙂

And then, on the actual day of my birthday, I got to enjoy a scrumptious lunch with my fabulous forever friends!  I’ve already introduced you to them … those gifted “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue” poets!  Well, we spent 6 hours enjoying lunch and laughs and conversation on my 60th … officially.  Greek salad, chicken and cupcakes … and … wine.  Oh, and I learned something important!  Apparently, wine should be poured only to the fattest part of the wine glass.  How have I lived and loved wine this long and not known that??

One would think it might have been mentioned in the fabulous “Scratch and Sniff” wine book my daughter gifted me. Such fun to read it … and … smell it!  🙂

And then in May … I received an exceptional birthday surprise!  My student and soul sister, Jody, whom I introduced to you earlier had mentioned that her birthday gift would be late.  She was having something made for me … and … was it ever worth the wait!!  Her gift had so much heart and meaning …and came with this beautiful message.

And then in June … I had another birthday blessing.  I got to enjoy the getaway that my forever friends gifted me for my birthday.  And so, we set off to enjoy a day of time together. Time, after all, is always one of the best gifts we can give one another.  We enjoyed a lovely, lovely lunch at one of the best restaurants in our area.  And, we followed it up with loud raucous laughter when we went to see the movie “The Book Club”.  It was a remarkable day!

And, to top it all off, it was nothing less than serendipitous that I should receive this card from my Bestie … on the eve of my official birthday … during the lovely dinner her husband and my husband made.  How incredibly intuitive was she … ?

Yes.  As a matter of fact … I am. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I remain forever shifted and transformed by all the love I felt during this exceptional birthday. It feels like my internal world has been rewired in some way … and in all honesty … as I round the corner now toward my 61st birthday … I can honestly say that I have found it so much easier to ‘feel’ the love in my presence.  And THAT is the best gift I ever could have received.  ❤ ❤

And, I am sending all of that love right back to each and every one of you  … at least 10,000 fold, xo Karen

Better Because of Our Mornings Together …

And my heart SUNK … as the reality of the situation landed in my awareness.  Something must have happened, out of obvious sight, in the dark of the process. I clearly underestimated the potential hazards inherent within the ‘normal wash’ cycle of my built-in Whirlpool.

Well okay … that’s not entirely true.  I must admit to losing the odd wine glass, but I’ve always known full well that I was taking a calculated risk when placing my stemware into that unsupervised environment!  However, I had absolutely no ‘fragility’ concerns in this particular case. Not. Even. One.

I’m scratching my head to comprehend how it even happened. Was it a relentless barrage … or … was it simply one nasty, defining moment? I’ll never know, but what is done is done. And most unfortunately, our mornings together are now reduced to memories.

That said, I don’t even specifically recall the last occasion we greeted the day together.  I might have lingered over it just a little longer if I knew it would be our last.  But, then again, our early A.M. trysts were always good. Yes. Over the years, we’ve shared countless hours of quiet, reflective, nourishing mornings together … sip to sip to sip to sip.

I know. I know. I know ….

It does not escape me that it was “just a mug.”  BUT… that mug was one of my favorites.  Not only because of the heartwarming messages handwritten upon it, but because I am a very pragmatic individual and that mug was so darn functional.  It eliminated any confusion about whose mug was whose on the mornings when Papa was home.  In addition to that, it was also the perfect size. There was no fiddle farting around to get the ratio just right: one good slosh of 18% cream + two packets of Splenda = the perfect proportions to please my palate!  Yes. Pure deliciousness! Every. Single. Time. My anxiously oriented mind just loves that kind of certainty … 🙂

As well, I always appreciated how that mug’s smooth, white, glossy handle slid so comfortably into my grip. I have quite a small hand and many mugs tend to tip over when I try to hold them with one hand.  But, not this one! It was a perfect fit. Good job that“Santa” tucked this gem into my Christmas stocking in 2011 …

And, this unfortunate occurrence means that Papa’s mug will now be relegated to the ranks of mismatched and alone in our cupboard. And, I am left to warily wonder whether his mug should now be handled with more care … i.e. washed by hand.

Well, all I tell you in that regard is this: Papa’s mug remained at risk for quite some time because although some extra TLC was entirely possible, it was not particularly probable in our house.  May I remind you of my lack of effort with the wine glasses … 

I expect, however, that as I attempt to temper my regret by stealing moments using Papa’s mug instead … my heart will be re-filled with fondest recollections of it’s mate. No doubt about it: Our sorrows are so inextricably entwined with our joys. As Kahlil Gibran so sagely suggests:

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

Absolutely.  And so, of course, I seriously considered glue. My hubby assured me it would do the trick.  And I was briefly enthused by his solid conviction, but then my highly kindled amygdala promptly derailed those hopes by emphatically declaring that it would be far too precarious. When comes to scalding hot coffee … it’s better to err on the side of caution !!  And so, there would be no gluing.

And with that decision, my rational mind reminded me that there is no point arguing with reality.  There comes a time when there is nothing left to do but accept an unfavorable and ugly outcome … just as graciously as humanly possible. Yes. One of life’s hardest lessons is learning how to make peace with our losses.  And so, in my effort to do that, I just needed to jot down these words  … to overtly honor that many of my mornings were made better because I got to greet them with that mug.  And for that I am grateful.

With both a smile and tear for that which has been my delight …  ❤ Karen ❤

P.S. Papa’s mug is much less at risk now. We got a new dishwasher.  It even has slots for wine glasses. Life is good.

 

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Better Because You Moseyed on Over …

Its YOUR Birthday Hutch! Welcome to the sixties!  It’s tempting to poke fun at your age, but considering that you just caught up with me, I shall refrain. In fact, to the contrary, your buddy and I would like to dedicate this day to celebrating YOU … and … all the ways our lives have been richer because you moseyed on over to our place almost 20 years ago!  You might want to get comfortable, because I’m about to get long-winded. Hey! I can hear your thought wheels turning! No wise cracks from the birthday boy!  In all seriousness, your buddy and I have so very much to thank you for Hutch that I’m not even sure where to begin!

First, and foremost, because of you  Hutch … we found life long friends!  Not just the kind of friends that you visit with because you are neighbors. But rather, the kind of friends that hold a very special place in our hearts.  The kind of friends that you can count on … to be there … through thick and thin. The kind of friends who take an interest in your children and your grandchildren … and … your cat.  The kind of friends that you look forward to seeing because it’s always so nourishing and comfortable to be in their presence. The kind of friends that accept you fully … so that there is no need to edit oneself! The kind of friends who you can kibitz around with … and … enjoy some really big belly laughs!  The kind of friends who you can share smiles with as you clink glasses to celebrate the joys in life … and … who extend both hand and heart through the inevitable challenges. The kind of friends that you rap on the door once and then just walk in because you know you are always welcome.  The kind of friends that are incredibly rare and very precious! Yes … because of you Hutch, we have THOSE kind of friends! Yep. You guys are a rare gift to us … and … because you wandered our way, we have enjoyed so many magical, meaningful moments together!

Yes. THAT is what you started  Hutch … when you moved into 46A Street and moseyed across the cul-de-sac with a couple of brewskies to see what my hubby was up to in the garage.  And since that time, you boys have spent considerable time in our garage.

Yep … your buddy (aka my hubby) has been refurbishing and restoring his ‘other’ love for the past 20+ years. So … he spends a fair bit of time in the garage with his 1968 Firebird … which he affectionately calls his ’68 chick’.  I, on the other hand, being 10 years older than his flashy red muscle car … hold the respected position of being his ’58 chick’.  I know … I know … I know what you are thinking Hutch … but this is no time to discuss the fact that I, too, could benefit from a little refurbishing! THIS blog is about YOU! Yes. So, let’s just leave it at that, okay?  I hope you are nodding your head. 🙂

Because of you Hutch … we have enjoyed more succulent, scrumptious Sunday suppers than we ever could have imagined!  It’s been no less than a dietary blessing that you’ve kept renewing your subscription to Canadian Living!  We have certainly reaped the rewards of you thumbing through the pages of that palate pleasing publication. Yep. Your culinary skills are hard to beat Hutch! Right now my memory banks are flooded with recollections of barbeques and fondues and salads and prawns the size of my fist and appy buffets and crab cakes and chicken and ribs and tacos and kabobs … and oh … even breakfast!  I’ll never forget the year that John was away and you even cooked up a birthday breakfast buffet for me!  I think my beautiful bestie was your talented and terrific sous chef that day!  Thank you again for doing that!

And, because of you … we have also enjoyed exploring some incredibly delicious drinks and creative cocktails! As you know … I’m not much of a drinker … well … unless of course, there happens to be a nice Malbec or Cabernet Sauvignon or Chianti or Merlot or Syrah or Tempranillo or Grenache or even a nice red blend … like Bodacious. Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm. Aside from that … I’ve always had a pretty picky palate when it comes to alcoholic beverages!

But … you sir … invited my taste buds to some unexpected places!! How about the Halloween when you spooked up your house with fuzzy spiders and other ghostly décor and invited us over for ghoulish drinks and some ghastly looking appys … !

EEEEEGADS … look how YOUNG you look Hutch!!!

And while those eyeball martinis were not a flavour favorite for me … sometime later … you did win me over with your seafood Ceasars!  I wasn’t sure I’d like the texture of the scallops – but you sautéed them to perfection. Yep. Nothing short of extraordinary! Just look at all that delectable and spicy goodness!! Deelish! And so exquisitely presented too!!!

Just looking at them makes my mouth water with fond recollection!

Cheers to good friends … and … the artistic aptitude of the bartender/chef!

Yes, and I owe you big for nudging me even further out of my fermented grapes comfort zone while we were in San Antonio. It was so unbearably hot … and let’s face it … red wine is just not compatible with that kind of heat. No. Just not satisfying at all.  BUT those margaritas that you introduced me to were SO refreshing!  Especially when we got them ‘to go’ on the water taxi!  And, it was soooo darn thoughtful mischievous of you to ‘cool’ me off between the shoulder blades with your icy cold cup!  But, then again, I should have known better! I’ve learned it’s always wise to keep an eye on you! 🙂

Yep, were it not for you, I never would have developed an appreciation for the divine deliciousness of Tequila!  But not just any tequila. No, no, no! Remember the one we were sipping on at one of the local pubs while the four of us were playing Hangman on my tablet. Although I believe the Lanser duo won the game that time, the tequila was sure no winner on that occasion. I think I left my margarita on the table. Or maybe someone else drank it. I can’t quite remember … but … because of you, I have learned I’m a top shelf girl. And no worms. I make no apologies for being a bit uppity like that.

And, I’m not sure if we have sufficiently thanked you and my bestie (aka the “Margarita Queen”) for subsequently purchasing one of those Margaritaville Machines! Because of that wise investment, we need only make the long arduous trek across the cul-de-sac to savor an icy, frosted and salted margarita on the hottest days in our neighborhood!

Cheers!!

OR … we now have the option to just take the makings for marvelous margaritas with us when we travel. Of course we’d only do so as a purely preventative measure. In case it gets hot. For example … it was a darn good thing we had it when we spent the night in the roaring metropolis of Pincher Creek! Nothing like a little slushy goodness to pick up the pace and perk up the spirits at a Ramada Inn located in the middle of nowhere!  A much better option than watersliding! Clearly … 🙂

We ended up staying in that remote rural locale because your wife and I were running in the Buffalo Runners 10km race … across the scorching hot prairies. And, lucky for us, you fine fellas came along to support us. It made it even more fun. Although, in this picture … your buddy looks like he was up to something sneaky, doesn’t he??

That said, this seems the perfect time to acknowledge you Hutch for all the ways you have supported your wife over the years.  You’ve been there to clap and cheer her on … whether she is running a race, or getting an academic degree or hiking a mountain or making her own makeshift Camino by walking 100km along the side of the highway right here in Alberta! Yes. We honor and admire you so much for being that kind of guy!

And, because of you Hutch … we have enjoyed some great trips together! In fact, were it not for you, John and I would never have ventured to San Antonio, Texas!  And were it not for you … I’m not sure how long we would have loitered in the airport trying to locate our luggage.  Remember the shocked looks on our faces when we discovered our connecting flight in Denver had been cancelled!! Gah!  And so,  in order to get us to San Antonio … our luggage had to take a different plane … arriving at a different time! We’d never before heard of Frontier Airlines … but somehow you figured out where to look … and the lost was found!  And remember our fun evening at the Howl at the Moon Saloon!  Those dueling pianos were fabulous!

In addition to San Antonio, we’ve shared some great times in Waterton Lakes National Park!  I’ll never forget getting drenched in an unexpected downpour while kayaking on the previously peaceful and placid Cameron Lake.

And then there was the Opera in Calgary! If memory serves me correctly, we had to turn back in the middle of a snow storm on our first attempt to experience such a fancy and cultured night of entertainment. And, when we eventually claimed our rain check, it seemed like John and Marie enjoyed the arias, but alas … didn’t you and I prefer a little less polish?  I think we preferred listening to the live band at the Irish Pub afterwards.

And we had a great time in Kimberley … we even took a tour of the …. uhm … I don’t remember what it was called.  Something about mining and trains, right??  There is no shortage of adventures to behold when we are travelling together!  It was really very fascinating!  And … it’s important to do what interests you boys too … at least on rare occasion … right?

Speaking of more ‘manly’ adventures … John just reminded me of the time you guys took the ’68 chick for it’s maiden voyage … after the main body work was completed … only to have the lug nuts come off of the rims … while you were cruising down the highway!  I think you should know he’s blaming you for that whole debacle … saying that somehow you must have “jinxed” it. Uhm … okay.  And, I bet it was ‘your’ fault, too, when you boys barely limped home after golfing in Cardston and the old girl was only running on seven cylinders. Gah. Yeah … I’ve had plenty of wild rides in that ’68 chick myself! I remember running out of gas … ‘cuz apparently the fuel tank was not connected properly and it only appeared that we had a full tank. Yep.  She’s always full of surprises. Nonetheless, your buddy sure loves her! 🙂

Where to next, Hutch?  Nashville maybe??  How good do you think we would be at karaoke?  Or … maybe we can just listen to the famous country crooners?  And, if its hot, we could probably find some top shelf margaritas?  If not, I bet they have a lovely red wine. Or beer?  Not that beer appeals to me … but the three of you could enjoy a nice tall cool one while we soak up some sad, ‘she stole my heart and wrecked my car’ country ballads.  It might not be Roy Orbison or Jerry Lee Lewis … but  … I bet they’d get our toes tapping!  Or maybe, in the midst of all that talent, we’d cut a rug and do some two stepping! You just never know.  I’m up for another adventure somewhere… but, let’s not take the firechicken.

Speaking of great talent … well … because of you Hutch, I have been humbled at cards. I must publicly concede that you are very savvy and skilled when it comes to playing Hearts.  It’s true.  In fact, more often than not, you are entirely heartless! Pun intended!!  And, because you are so dang good at the game, it’s no wonder I have to gloat … incessantly and most obnoxiously … whenever I beat you.

Scores like those just never get old for me.  Look … even way back in 2015 … I took you down … a few times. I sure had fun!!  And … you’re always a good sport about it! Yep. You take it so well.

I guess its a good thing you have other fingers to fall back on when you are in a card slump.  Your thumb, for example.  There is no denying that you have the greenest of green thumbs!  Your yard and garden are always so impeccably tended. And … because of you … we get to enjoy the finest fruits of your labor!  I’ll never forget the first time you wandered over in your bare feet … toting a beautiful bouquet of handpicked flowers. My hubby razzed you … speculating “what will the neighbors think?” about you bringing your buddy’s bride some flowers!  But, it never concerned you … it’s just your nature to generously gift the goodness and grace of your gorgeous garden! Thank you so much for my annual bouquets!

And, speaking of annual joys … there is nothing quite like transforming some of your vegetable harvest into our annual borscht making extravaganza!  We started off making one mega pot full.  Now we do four at a time … yielding oodles of containers for our freezers!

The chopping and cutting is always more fun when we do it together … and then while its cooking … we get to play some cards. Oooops. Sorry Hutch. Didn’t mean to bring up that sore spot again!  I know it’s been a bit of dry spell, but I bet you’ll win again …………… sometime. Really. Don’t let yourself lose at hearts heart. LOL. Oh dear … I sense I’m getting obnoxious again, aren’t I??

Okay. Maybe we best get back to discussing your skills in the garden!  I mean … how does your garden grow? Prolifically!  Sheesh … just look at those gargantuan carrots!!

And, this picture so fondly reminds me of times when our kids and grandkids have been home during the summer months.  And, you will wander over with handfuls of fresh dug carrots for our grandchildren. And sometimes you’ll take the kids back over to your house so they can dig them up themselves.  And wasn’t it  because of a trip to your garden that Trad discovered carrots grew in the ground before they ended up on the grocery store shelves?

Yes, your generous love for children has always been so apparent … even long before you became a grandpa yourself!  You’d thoughtfully deliver your enormous metal Tonka “diggers” and/or simply play with our grandkids and/or have merciless water fights with them and/or tease them in the most affectionate way! It was so cute how you and Luka developed such a special bond when he was a toddler. He’d often arrive at our house and the first thing he’d say was “Where’s John?”  Yep. You stole his heart. And so, because of you Hutch … my grandchildren have always had way more fun when they come to visit!

Our grandkids have always felt so welcomed to exist in your presence.  You have such a meaningful way of making them feel significant and special. In fact, they have been known to arrive at your door to visit … without us knowing … and with no invitation from you … and with no sense that they might have been overstaying their welcome! Thank you for sending them back to tell us when they are going to be playing at your house!  🙂

In fact, you have cultivated such a wonderful relationship with all of our family members. Even with my in-laws … when they were still alive. I found this great picture of you and Opa sharing a chuckle … during one of our pig roasts, I think. Thank you Hutch for holding such a caring and compassionate and supportive place for all of our family.  It means the world to us … and … we know how much they always enjoy time shared with you. 

And most certainly, this tribute to  you and for  you would not be complete without acknowledging and honoring the precious relationship you also embraced with my beautiful Skruffi!  There was no doubting how much she adored you.  You’d barely get in the door and she’d insist upon getting up onto your lap.  Yes.  And, because of you … we were able to enjoy some extensive travels, secure in the knowledge that you’d be making sure my beloved kitty never got too lonely. Thank you for leaving the comforts of your own home and coming over to watch TV with our kitty … not just once … but every time we went on vacation!! Yes. Skruffi always had a soft spot for you too Hutch!  Well … actually, I think the feelings were mutual … ❤

Skruffi – 2000 to 2015

And … I’m not even going to hold it against you that you also stole our other cat’s heart – so much so that she left us and literally moved in with you. Yes, its true. Because of you … Dharma (aka Dharmee)  had a better life at your house than she ever would have had at mine.  May both their precious spirits rest in the sweet peace of knowing how much they were loved.

Dharma — 2000 to 2017.

And, I have yet to mention what an exceptional father and grandfather (aka: “Papa”) you are. It is nothing short of sublime to bear witness to the joy in your eyes and the full swell of your heart as you interact with your sweet little grand-daughter. I’m guessing their aren’t too many “papas” who are as tight with their grandbaby as you are Hutch. It is completely unarguable … your sweet little Miss Aubree adores YOU!  Once again, its obvious that the feelings are mutual.

And look at you breaking out those moves Hutch!!  🙂  Yes … there is no denying you are such a gift to your entire family. You’ve created a family of deep value Hutch … which … you clearly value so deeply.  It is a joy to spend time with all of you!

Okay … I’m not done yet!  This tribute would not be complete without acknowledging that, because of you … New Years Eve is always such a great time … with a bevy of appetizers and some cards and, of course, the five questions.  And … although the five questions are not your favorite part … we’ve been known to surprise ourselves, year after year, by staying up way too late … with frost in our hair from hot-tubbing in sub-zero temperatures – ringing in the New Year with loads of laughs and countless chuckles …  and …  a wee bit of bubbly. Oh … and angel making!  Well … one of us remains without halo … but I won’t mention any names!

Oh … and that reminds me … thank you for choosing your wife.  I love her too!  Yes. Good thinking Hutch!  I think we are both so much better because you chose her!   ❤ ❤

We are so grateful for the happy hours we get to spend with you two … relaxing around the fire pit in the summer … and … cozied up in front of your fireplace in the winter.  Yes. Those times always make us happy!  And, for some reason as I say that, I am reminded of the time we ended up making paper airplanes … complete with a small competition for whose would fly the furthest!  I remember you had a special plan … for a bomber … that bombed.  BUT … when it was all said and done, I think your aircraft emerged victorious! Yes. There were a lot of noses bent out of shape during those shenanigans … but only the paper planes!

And so … I have only highlighted a smattering of all the ways in which our lives are better because of you Hutch. And, we eagerly anticipate many more moments to come that will be infinitely better because of you. And … as you join John and I in the sixth decade of your life … we hope that your days are filled with multitudes of moments that are magical and meaningful and magnificent and memorable!  We want to wish you all the very best that an old guy can manage … and … I, for one, might even be happy for you to win a game or two of Hearts.

But maybe not tonight …  😉

We look forward to seeing you later Hutch!  Your buddy is cooking  … and … Marie and I will be there to supervise his efforts!  May the quantity of our celebration and the quality of the cuisine be fit for a queen!  Maybe the queen of spades!?!  Sheesh … I just can’t stop myself! 🙂

What I meant to say is this:

May this day and all the days hereafter be fitting for a birthday boy of your calm .. caring .. considerate .. compassionate .. capable .. clever .. candid .. confident .. creative .. conscientious .. comical .. captivating and charismatic calibre!! 

Happy, happy, happy SIX ZERO … from your buddy and his ’58 chick!  We raise our glasses to you … with the utmost appreciation and reverent regard for all the ways our lives are better because of you!

With 60 Cheers and much love … ❤ John and Karen ❤

P.S.  A post birthday celebration UPDATE:  We enjoyed a fabulous paella … Hutch’s favorite cheesecake … and … two rounds of hearts!  And low and behold … it went both ways!  And, I shall say no more about it! 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

Better Because of You … and … my 20 plus 2 years with FCSS!

Source Unknown but deeply appreciated.

I was scheduled to receive my 20 year long service recognition award at an agency function on Saturday, January 12 … but … because I won’t be at the gathering, I had arranged for my colleagues to accept it on my behalf.  They agreed to record the moment, so that I too, could listen to my “acceptance speech”. The whole idea made my heart smile.  Unbeknownst to me, however, I learned plans had changed, and it was supposed to be presented to me during our monthly staff meeting instead. And so, being one who can typically fly by the seat of my pants, I agreed to accept the award, at the meeting, with about 10 minutes advance notice.

Well … it had been quite an unusual staff meeting – leading to all kinds of unexpected moments.  I was still feeling a bit rattled, and so, when it came time for me to offer a few words, I kept it really short and simple. I remember briefly acknowledging my heartfelt appreciation and gratitude to my colleagues – with some slightly gushing but entirely genuine generalities.  In retrospect, I regret that I hurried my words … and … I recognize that I didn’t do justice to the fullest expression that actually fills my heart space when I looks back over my time with Barons-Eureka-Warner Family and Community Support Services [FCSS].

Now that I’ve had more time to gather myself and collect my thoughts, I would like to use this “Better Because of You” space to more deeply honor the folks that have framed my remarkable two decades as an employee of FCSS.  Because, after all, it is not the walls that define one’s experience in a workplace, but the people within them. Each and every one of them. And, believe it or not, our agency has not seen much staff turnover over the past 20 years. I wish I had more photos right now … so I could picture everyone, but unfortunately, I do not.

Staff Retreat January 2017

 

Christmas Party …. 2014

I remember my interview, way back in 1993, for one of the six “Parent Programmer” contract positions that were being filled. We would be allotted 20 hours/month to support families in our communities … with the most noble job on the planet … parenting. I was up against one other applicant … a woman who had some shiny credentials and fancy letters behind her name.  I had neither of those.  And then, during the interview, when they asked something about my own childhood, my ‘got-it-all together‘ demeanor was unbecomingly betrayed by some tender tears trickling down down my cheeks.  Argh. There I was, trying to be my best professional self … trying to put my best face forward … and … my cheeks were wet with tears. Who cries in a job interview?? Double argh!  I am usually really good at managing, hiding my emotions.

No one was more surprised than me when I got the call to say I got the job!  They did suggest … however … that I might also want to get some counseling to help me work through my own family of origin stuff.  Fair enough. And, that framed my beginning with an agency that clearly looked beyond academic credentials.  I must humbly concede, however, that I never hastily heeded their sage suggestion that I seek some support.  Instead, I eagerly and enthusiastically immersed myself in my brand new responsibilities as a ‘parent programmer’!

I loved, loved, loved my work for a couple of years.  But then … as my unhealed wounds from the past caught up with me, I ran into some significant challenges with raising my own three daughters. It got to the point where I no longer felt credible enough to presume I had any business trying to help others with their parenting concerns. And so … I quit my job.  And, I recognized that I best seek out that counseling that my employers had so earnestly recommended when they hired me.  And so, I did.

The irony of it all was that my childhood dream was to become a counselor . But … there I was, calling a counselor instead of being one. It turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.  And so … a couple of years of healing later, when an opening emerged in the Parenting Program  I initially resisted applying for it.  But then, I received an unexpected call from my prior supervisor … asking me if I was going to apply.  I was convinced that my own personal failings  experiences in the parenting trenches would prevent other parents from respecting anything I had to offer in that professional role … but she indicated that management was hoping to see my application in the pile.

Encouraged by their faith in me, I submitted my resume and started back with FCSS in September of 1997. And … guess what?  It turns out that parents find you even MORE credible when you can relate to their stumbles and struggles. It turns out, you are even more approachable and believable when you have endured some humbling parenting moments yourself.  Yes, it turns out that parents who are looking for support don’t feel as comfortable with professionals whose parenting journey sparkles with too much perfection.

And so … was the second beginning of my employment with FCSS … and … the 20 consecutive years that preceded the presentation of my long service award. There have been both blessings to behold and challenges to be championed over my time with FCSS.  In the early years, I was so timid and shy that I blushed every time I spoke up in a meeting … which was rare (the speaking – not the blushing!).  I am such an introvert and really need time to process things before I speak. And so, by the time I had integrated the conversation and knew what I wanted to say … the discussion had already moved on.  So I often said nothing.  These days, I am more likely to interrupt and ask if we can circle back to the prior conversation … so I can add my two cents.  I think my colleagues are getting used to that  … :-).

I can honestly say that I am so much better, both personally and professionally, because of my time with FCSS.  It really grew me as a person.  I found a deeper sense of faith in myself. I have discovered that my heart can be trusted and my instincts are reliable. I have learned to claim my voice and to stand behind my convictions.  I’ve always had a compassionate heart … but as Joan Halifax has so eloquently stated … in order to ultimately serve the greatest good …. we need to approach our experiences with a “soft front” and a “strong back”.  Yes. I’ve learned that well.

I don’t talk about it much, but I experienced some of the most critically challenging times in my life while working with FCSS.  At the worst point, about 15 years ago, I was being shunned in my multi-disciplinary workplace … by the bulk of my colleagues … who believed some misinformation circulating about me.  I opted to take the high road.  I thought it best to not get into the muck with the perpetrator (another colleague) by defending myself against such twisted ‘truths’.  I hoped my actions would outweigh her words.  But … as the gossip increasingly fueled my ostracization, it got to the point where I could barely force myself through the doors to face the hostility I felt in their scathing but silent condemnation.

And , I just kept turning the other cheek … thinking that  response was the most noble thing to do. I told myself that she was wounded … and … reminded myself that “hurt people hurt people”.  And while I still believe that to be true, I was fooling myself to think it was more spiritually enlightened to simply let it continue to happen. I didn’t realize, at the time, that despite one’s understanding of why people might be behaving badly … it is not kind nor altruistic to continue to allow them to do so.

I needed to find my back bone. I was being bullied and no one was coming to save me.  Not even me. No. With my silent stoicism, I was actually enabling someone to hurt me.

When I received a disdainful email from said ‘hurt person’ in another blatant effort to further diminish me … I couldn’t take the seemingly ‘high road’ anymore.  I found my back bone.  And … as I learned to stand strong in my own integrity, things eventually corrected themselves.  And my colleague finally found herself being held accountable for her words, actions and deeds.  And then, one day, she was gone.

I vowed to myself, at that time, that I would never let that happen again … to me or anyone else. I vowed that when I saw injustice or harm being perpetrated upon another … I would not step over it.  I would speak up and stand up … not with any intention to cause harm to them, but with the intention to help the situation.

 

And for the better part of my years with FCSS, we were blessed with an Executive Director who was an exceptional visionary.  He stretched us to places we never would have gone without his leadership. We became a cutting edge agency … partnering with the highly-esteemed leaders of the Neuroscience department of the University of Lethbridge.  Bryan Kolb and Robbin Gibb became part of our FCSS family. Under Greg’s initiative, we were also gleaning new direction by rubbing shoulders with incomparable thinkers like Bruce Perry. Collectively, their bodies of work and expertise informed and underpinned our practices as we sought to support individuals and families in our communities. Greg was also inspired by the renowned Mary Gordon and her foundational work with Roots of Empathy and Parent Link Centres.  Mary came to Alberta and helped FCSS introduce these remarkable supports so that children could to get off to the very best start in their lives. Oh my … I can’t begin to list it all … but Greg’s legacy is long and lives on in the hearts and souls of so many who were lucky enough to be touched by his vision.

And, his staff rose to the occasion.  He told me once, he hired people based upon their attitudes not their credentials.  Some might scoff at that … but … he indicated that you can teach people skills, but you can’t transform their hearts as easily. I agree with him.  And … the people he chose to fill positions within FCSS … aka my colleagues … are people of incredible heart and unparalleled zeal and exceptional passion. Together we braved all the unknown territory our Director invited us to venture towards. And we formed an incredibly tight family that was often the expressed envy of other agencies and organizations.  Staff morale was high and so was staff retention.  We felt valued and acknowledged and appreciated … not simply seen as a means to an end … but rather he regarded his staff as exemplary catalysts creating a better and brighter future for those we sought to serve. And, we didn’t want to let him down. And, we never left a meeting without him sincerely acknowledging our efforts with a “thank you for all that you do”.

Thank you Greg Pratt, for your insight and intention.  Thank you for creating a work space that no one wanted to leave.  May you rest in peace.

Almost 15 years ago, Greg allowed me to reduce my hours so I could resurrect my dreams and go back to school.  He certainly had no obligation to grant my request. I will never forget him compassionately responding, “Karen, I would never want to stand in the way of anyone’s dreams”. People first.

And ultimately, I got the credentials that allowed me to land my dream job.  And … as it happened, I was even able to remain employed at FCSS while doing it. I surrendered my duties and responsibilities within the Parenting Program and claimed a space that opened up within the Counselling Program.  It has been the most rewarding time of my life.  So much so … that … I am in violation of the number of  vacation days I am allowed to accrue.  True story.  I was informed that I need to use up my vacation time in order to be in compliance with policy.

But, even the dreamiest part of my job has not been without challenges … and/or … opportunities to keep a soft heart and exercise a strong back.  Once again, about five years ago, FCSS was the backdrop to another of the most challenging times in my life. And, even when I was threatened with a law suit … a potential end my dream career … I was committed to standing strong.  I had taken heartfelt exception to what I was seeing and simply could not stand idly by and watch vulnerable people get harmed … however unwittingly by their well-intended but oblivious and cavalier perpetrator. I had to take the risk. Strong back, soft front. Fortunately … the individual opted to retire.

And, I know I could not have made it through those challenging times, were it not for the support and encouragement I received from my management team and my cherished counseling colleagues at FCSS. Yes. Management stood behind my decision and that helped fortify my resolve. I owe tremendous thanks to them for having my back … on that occasion and many others.  I also applaud them for gently helping me to shift my gaze, if and when, I needed correction.  The blessings of solid, predictable management over the past 20 years cannot be understated.

And, my counseling colleagues at FCSS have become my safe haven. They are among the few people in the world who I invite into the most tender parts of my heart space. And, they have handled the most fragile parts of my soul with such impeccably compassionate understanding.  I have grown immeasurably because of the support of these folks.

And, because we work in different departments and different communities at FCSS, I don’t see everyone all the time … but I hold the deepest regard for each of the staff at our agency.  And that doesn’t mean we always see eye-to-eye on things. We don’t. And we’ve had some prickly times as a result. But, as I shared with someone recently, “From where I am looking, its not the bumps that ultimately define us, but rather, it’s how we decide to move through them.”  And, it cannot be argued that despite any differences we may hold, we share an unfailing commitment to serve the constituents of our communities … to the very best of our capacities. People first.

I must also take this moment to pay due respect to our administrative staff.  Your impeccable skills and unfailing expertise provide such a secure foundation upon which the rest of us have come to depend.  Your energy, effort, enthusiasm, encouragement and support are second to none.  Thank you for holding us together with such dignity and grace … despite our messed up time sheets (among other things!)

And, I would be remiss to not acknowledge the Boards of Directors we have seen over the years.  Their dedication to keeping FCSS funded and recognized in our communities has been essential.  We have been led by some incredibly inspiring individuals. Thank you for spearheading our services and gifting us with the best supports you could provide.

And, as I write this, I am leaving for the weekend to celebrate my 60th birthday … which is officially in a few weeks.  And … as I am honored for my 20 years of commitment within FCSS, it strikes me that I have spent a full ONE THIRD of my life working within this agency. And, I am so proud of who we have been and who we have been invited to become.  Strong back … soft front … people first.

At our last staff meeting, we were invited to reflect upon our journeys as employees of FCSS.  I, once again, found unexpected tears trickling down my cheeks. I am not prone to such emotional expressions during meetings … but … in that moment, my heart was flooded with all the amazing moments and memories that I have collected over the last couple of decades. And, it is difficult to put into words … just how transformational it can be when people have believed in you and invited you to soar.  It is rare to work in a space where people have honored your presence and valued your being. My time at FCSS has been such a gift …

And … so … it is from the most humble place in my heart, I thank all of the bright and beautiful spirits that make FCSS a workplace where priority is given to the souls that we serve … not just the statistics we are required to collect. I honor you all for keeping your eyes on our mandate’s most precious commodity … it’s humanity. I applaud each of you for the tireless hours you invest into the care and support of those who might have minimal resources and/or may be struggling in isolation to find their way.  I admire your capacity to keep your own hearts soft … despite many invitations for them to get tough.  I respect your courage to stand in the truth or your own beings. I adore your authenticity and sincerity and genuineness of spirit.  I love being a part of this impeccable group. I am proud of who we represent and what we are capable of creating when we put our hearts and spirits together in the name of FCSS.

Thank you … truly … deeply … immeasurably … for shaping my days with this agency.  I am so much better because of you … and my twenty plus two years with FCSS.

Yes … this is what I wished I would have said at our staff meeting  … Karen

 

 

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