That glue really is Krazy stuff

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Posted on November 17, 2014

My mom and dad both battled their share of medical problems. There were many trips to local hospitals and many chats with our family doctor to make difficult decisions.

In early 2003, my dad became so ill that those decisions were unable to be made by us or by our local ER doctors. He had been flown by air ambulance to Toronto with an upper G.I. bleed and his stomach was sprayed with super glue to stop the bleeding. According to the specialists, it was the only thing they could do to save his life. By some miracle, it worked.

My mom and I basically moved in with my aunt and uncle in Burlington and drove into the hospital in Toronto each day. I became an amateur resident doctor in a span of a few weeks. I would check his chart each morning and even yelled at a nurse when I read that he had been given Aspirin, a blood thinner, during the night to control his fever.

When he finally regained consciousness, he had been in a medically induced coma for two and a half weeks and suspended in his own state of consciousness for another four days after that. He had been on a respirator that had since been removed and he was initially unaware that he had to cover the hole in his throat to be able to speak.

It took him a while to acclimate and, once we showed him that he had to put his finger on the opening to have a voice, the first question he asked me was “what day is it?”

“It’s Wednesday, Dad.”

Without missing a beat, he put his finger back on the opening to his throat and croaked, “I’m not happy about that.”

I looked sideways at my mother and we both had to look away. After three weeks of sitting vigil at his bedside, wondering if he would even recover from all of the things going wrong in his body, we started to giggle. I was dumbfounded. He was mad because it was Wednesday! He wasn’t angry that he was attached to a plethora of medical equipment. He wasn’t concerned that my mom and I were covered from head to toe in gowns and masks to prevent contamination in the ICU. He wasn’t upset that he had to put a finger over the gaping hole in his throat to utter any words. He was mad because it was Wednesday. The stress-releasing laughter continued and my mom and I were quickly ushered out of the ICU.

That moment in time left an imprint on my brain. I regaled my co-workers with the story and, since my dad was home and on the mend, it became our go-to phrase in the office. Every time something went wrong, one of us would cover a phantom hole in our throat and squawk, “I’m not happy about that”.

My dad passed away in March of 2006. That memory had sadly disappeared until one of those friends typed the line “I’m not happy about that” into one of her emails today. After all of the things we had gone through with my mom recently that moment in my life had become buried in the recesses of my brain, but I’m glad it’s back. I forgot a big part of the journey with my dad and “I’m not happy about that”. At least the memory is back and I will hold onto it this time.

How a funeral home typo helped us get through our grieving

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Posted on November 14, 2014

Dark red carpet and stained wood encased the visitation rooms in the funeral home. The atmosphere was quiet, somber. The air had an icy quality to it. But beneath that chilled facade was a team of people full of emotion and empathy – a staff that was ready and willing to guide us through a tumultuous but necessary experience and to find the right way to help us get through a difficult time.

There is no one way to grieve. Each person will find their own way to overcome the loss of a loved one and each experience will be different based on the circumstance of loss. When my brother and I lost our mother in March, we had been mentally preparing ourselves for the day that we would have to face the news that our mom was no longer going to be a part of our daily lives. The phone call with the news was a still a shock, but we were grateful she went peacefully and no longer had to suffer the effects of her illness. What we had not prepared ourselves for was the way that we would be able to celebrate her only 36 hours after we were told she was gone.

We received the news on a Friday morning. The rest of that day was a blur. Phone call after phone call was made to tell family and friends that she was gone and then Saturday morning was upon us. My brother and I made our way to the funeral home to make the necessary arrangements and have the notice printed for the paper. Upon proof-reading the notice, I realized that the funeral director had mistakenly typed my mom’s name as “June” and not “Jane”. It was a simple fix and seemingly a forgotten mistake……until we went to my Uncle’s cottage for dinner that night.

There were six of us. My brother and I, my mom’s two siblings and their spouses. When I regaled my aunts and uncles with the story of the misprint it was, not offensive but, really amusing. We raised our glasses and had a toast to “June”. Thankfully we all knew my mother would have seen the humor in the mistake and toasted right along with us. For the rest of the memory-filled evening, through tears and laughter, we continued to raise our glasses and make the heart-felt toasts to “June”. If I listened really hard I could hear my mom laughing along with us.

We had mom’s celebration of life two months later. I had gone into the funeral home to have the notice done for the paper and the same funeral director asked if I wanted it to say “June” or “Jane”. We both had a good laugh and I felt comfortable telling him how his simply typo had made our evening so much better than the sorrow-filled night it could have been. During the course of the evening, we changed my mom’s siblings names as well. (Eight months later I still refer to my Aunt Carol as “Cheryl” and my Uncle Peter as “Proctor”)

The simple change of one vowel that day gave us permission to laugh that night. It allowed us to hold the grief close to our heart but let our minds remember all the good in the world when my mom was still in it.

Another gone too soon

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Posted on November 3, 2014

It is difficult to write an upbeat post when tragedy has pulled its dark blanket over our small town once again and taken another young life long before it was time for his soul to leave the Earth.

When you live in a small town, nobody is really a stranger. Those familiar faces you see on the street every day become more than strangers. They become extended members of our friendship circles and unwittingly become like a member of our family.

Those faces, those smiles that become etched in our memories leave a lingering impression. If we are lucky enough to have created a relationship with those who were once strangers, the sound of their laughter will remain in our hearts. This young man was one of those who created a lasting impression on his first encounter. He had a gregarious spirit and made many people smile. His bonds of friendship ran deep and his absence will leave a big hole in many hearts.

clouds 008

My sincerest condolences go out to his family and friends. Our town will seem darker but Heaven has gained such a bright light. May you rest in peace and may the many souls that have gone before you find comfort in your warmth and kind spirit.

Dia De Los Muertos

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Posted on October 24, 2014

She reaches out to me from beyond the stars,

her energy refracts in the light.

A prism of colors dances in the air

and her presence warms the still night.

I enter the evening, void of emotion,

a hollow shell of what I had been.

But the bond that was created when she gave birth to me

seems to linger like it does in a dream.

A single flower I carry in my hand,

asking her spirit to Forget-Me-Not.

Feeling her embrace as the wind churns the leaves,

I feel transported from my steadfast spot.

She is happy now in her place of rest,

free to exist as she wants.

No longer burdened by the shackles of illness,

it is only peace and happiness she flaunts.

My soul is warmed by her visit,

the binds on my heart are released.

She leaves me now but I know she will return,

her promise gives me a great sense of peace.

Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge #4:

to use the Word prompt:

Void (adjective):
Completely empty.

And to tie it in with this animated short video.

As I watched the video, I knew this poem would be about my mom.

Until we meet again

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Posted on August 20, 2014

(image credit)

When I am overcome by sorrow and surrounded by an outpouring of emotion, the writer in me takes over and helps process the overwhelming feelings by using words. I cannot express enough gratitude for those words at times when tears and despair are not adequate enough to describe the sadness of attending a funeral for a 30-year-old man who had been experiencing the best year of his life.

In the aftermath of a tragic event, two parents lost a son, a younger brother became an only son and my best friend lost her brother. The news of his passing was felt in our small town like the shock waves recorded during an earthquake. Everyone who knew Cam was rattled to their core. The emotion was raw, the grief was all-encompassing and the anguish could have been described as physical pain.

We gathered in Toronto today to celebrate Cam’s life. We shared tears, we shared many hugs and we all knew we had lost something special in our lives that we can never get back. Cam was that guy that everyone loved to be around. His smile will be forever etched in the memories of those who were fortunate enough to see it and his absence will never go unnoticed.

His funeral service today was a touching blend of spirituality and prayer, accented by a heaping dose of Cam’s sense of humor. As the family left the service, the well-recognized Monty Python song “Always look on the bright side of life” played while we stood, waiting to join the family outside.

“Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones.” —Phillip Brooks

Cam truly was a man of character. May you rest in peace, Cam.

It is called a ‘senseless tragedy’ for a reason

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Posted on August 13, 2014

There are several phrases in the English language that we utter fairly frequently without truly recognizing their meaning. They are used commonly in conversation without true regard for the depth that these phrases can impart. Today I felt the incredible intensity of one of those over-used expressions.

My best friend lost her brother in what can aptly be described as a senseless tragedy. Nothing about his passing makes any sense whatsoever. He was young. He was paving his path to success and happiness. He had faced his demons and won. So why now? Why would he be taken in such a random accident so long before what should have been his time? Why are there no acceptable answers to these questions?

These accidents, these random moments in time that can alter the reality of so many, seem so absurd, so unfair. I cannot write with the perspective I usually have because I am so broken by this senseless tragedy. So many lives have been forever changed by the loss of his gregarious spirit. So many futures will be altered by the lack of his presence. There was absolutely no reason for this catastrophe.

The only thing I have to help me through this is my words. My heavy heart aches for my best friend and her family. I have suffered losses in my life, and one very recently, but none compare to the one that they are now faced with. I can only hope that the embrace of loved ones and the sharing of memories can help alleviate some of their sorrow. Rest in peace, Cameron. You will be missed.

Two kisses

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Posted on August 8, 2014

In the wee hours of the morning,

her visits often happen then,

the charge in the air is palpable

and sleep is still in my head.

Her message hangs heavily in the air,

the words are always the same.

“Two kisses I will give you,

to help get you through your day.

One kiss is to give you courage,

to help you save the world.

The other kiss is to help protect you

from the curve balls that life will hurl”.

Her words soothe me and give me peace

in the last moments of my sleep.

And on my cheeks, as I face the world,

two kisses I shall keep.

This was the poem in my head at 4:00 am. I will be forever grateful for those kisses. I miss you mom.

(image credit: santabanta.com)

Helicopter parenting and stating the obvious

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Posted on July 28, 2014

(image credit: teenlife.com)

I had a remarkable interaction with a parent of a teenager who will be ready to face the working world next summer. This particular parent just happened upon our resort to scope out potential lodging to stay at next spring while his son pounded the pavement to find himself a job. The most important part of that previous sentence are the words “to find himself a job“.

Too often over the last few years I have had conversations with parents gushing about the talents of their children and why said child would be perfect for a job at our resort. Never in those golden moments of being told how great “Johnny” was did I ever speak to “Johnny” himself. It has become the norm for parents to act on behalf of their offspring in hopes of finding them gainful employment. One of the most unfortunate parts of this new trend is that the child will never gain that self-confidence that you can only achieve by creating a resume, making that first phone call to ask about a job and securing a job with a face-to-face interview.

While it is regrettable, I am among many in the position of hiring students who inevitably put “Johnny’s” resume at the bottom of the pile. What kind of employee will “Johnny” be if he is not eager and hungry enough to seek out and secure his own job? These kids learn nothing about achieving goals if somebody else does the work. They will never understand the concept that the world owes us nothing – that you have to work for what you get. The blades of their helicopter parents are slicing away at their chance of being successful on their own merit.

Life is about disappointment, but still having that drive to succeed. Life is about making mistakes but learning lessons from those mistakes. If our future generations are to succeed, they need to learn how to try and, potentially, learn how to fail. They need to fly on their own and crash a couple of times before they have clear skies.

Thank you to that incredible dad who was allowing his son to leave the nest and fly on his own. Please send him our way. I’d be happy to have a look at his resume and chat with “Johnny” for a while about a job for next summer.

Peace in pieces

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Posted on July 25, 2014

Patiently I await a peace in my heart,

wanting to no longer feel bereft.

But sadly there is a piece of my heart,

you took with you when you left.

Stories I want to share with you

now fall on invisible ears.

The longing to hear your reaction

only reduces me to tears.

I know somehow you hear me,

you know exactly what I have to say.

And I know you well enough to know

you’re with me every step of the way.

My heart continues to beat as it should

but an echo can be heard from within.

Only the healing of time can restore my peace

and put back that piece that fits in.