Category Archives: hope

Long weekends are only long when you have to work them

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There is a slight buzz across the Canadian provinces and it has nothing to do with Black Flies.  The Victoria Day Long Weekend is upon us and, for those who are fortunate enough to have Monday off, that means a three-day weekend.  The multi-lane highways that allow travelers to reach our vacation destinations in Muskoka are already becoming congested and the stress levels of those trapped in their cars in slow-moving traffic is escalating exponentially.

They’re coming.  The locals feel the change in atmosphere like a phantom pain in a missing appendage.  We sometimes wake in the early hours of Friday morning in a cold sweat, knowing what is in store but never fully prepared.  Although we survive this phenomenon every year we are never able to control the urge to flee and hibernate until November.

When faced with the promise of a three-day weekend, historically, I would be overjoyed.  Now the long weekends have the reverse effect on me.  I work in hospitality so those three precious days are a thing of the past.  What began as joyous memories of lounging in the sun without a care in the world slowly evolved into feeling like I am in a constantly moving rocking chair – it gives me something to do for three days, but it gets me nowhere.

Long weekends, for those of us on the job, become extremely long.  We awake on Friday morning to the guarantee that our work day has just been multiplied by 1 1/2 times its normal duration and will continue as such until the small reprieve we get with a regular work day on Tuesday.

Long weekends, for those who have clawed their way through traffic to arrive in the sanctity of Muskoka feel the time slipping away as soon as they step out of their cars.  What they had anticipated would be three days of recharging their batteries becomes a blur of time and, before they even realize what happened, they are getting back into that vehicular jungle to fight for their place in the highway hierarchy on the way back to the city.

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(image credit: citynews.ca)

Whichever side you are on this weekend – take some time to enjoy it.  At least it’s not snowing!!

 

 

A little music was all it took

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I have been purposely not posting over the last few days because, as I look back, my last few posts encompass the overwhelming, undulating emotions one goes through after a loss.  Although it has been slightly cathartic, it also made me realize I need to snap out of this feeling of wallowing and focus on all of the positive feelings I experience when thinking about my mom.

Last  night was a very healing night for me.  While working on the scrapbook and decorations for  her celebration I began to make a playlist of many of her favorite songs to listen to during the reception after the service.  That music took me on a journey I never anticipated and I got to experience my relationship with my mom all over again.

The road trip of memories lay stretched before me and I hit the gas, negotiating the turns and rolling into my early youth.  Music was always playing in our house and, as I recalled the many nights of games and puzzles as a family, the sounds of the 70’s classics drifted back into my mind.  I could see and smell the old family cottage in my memory as if I had just walked through the door.  The strains of music lifted my spirits and helped me float back to a place I hold so dear.

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This song is just one of many.

I made a brief stop in my young adult life, remembering how I used to sing the songs from Annie ad nauseam and my mom never tired of listening.  I secretly wished I had red, curly hair and freckles and I’m sure my mom knew that about me but the songs, to her, sounded just as sweet coming from a child with brown hair and green eyes.

We grew together through music and, although my mom admittedly had trouble carrying a tune, we shared a love of old musicals.  The clock raced forward and those old musicals would come back, time and time again, to play an important part in our relationship.  After my dad passed, my Christmas Eve was spent with my mom watching The Sound of Music, every year.

Those songs last night, those happy memories hidden within those soundtrack scores, were all I needed to be lifted above the fog that has been weighing so heavily on my heart.  A few well placed notes on a page and suddenly I feel like it’s okay to be happy when I think about her.  I don’t have to be sad all the time, nor would she want me to be, and that is the message she sent to me through song.

I’ll never stop being sad, but those precious moments of being able to smile again are worth every tear I’ve shed.

 (image credit)

 

 

 

Waging a war with words

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I charge into battle,

head held high,

armed with neither knives nor guns.

My ammunition carries no physical weight.

The only weapon I use to defend myself will not extinguish a life.

My battles are fought with words.

The only dagger I possess is my sharp tongue.

My army is my vocabulary,

my stealth is the thesaurus in my brain.

My mind is the only weapon that doesn’t need a holster.

(image credit)

The last selfless act

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family

I have been thinking about my mom a lot over the last week.  Every time something happens or I hear something I think she would enjoy, I reach for the phone forgetting she won’t be there to answer.  She was a big part of my day-to-day life.  We were very close and talked on the phone at least once a day.  Having that routine so abruptly altered is taking a great deal of adjustment and an overwhelming amount of tears.

During our lifetime, my mother had done many things for my brother and I without ever second guessing her motivation.  She was a mother first and everything else came second.  She would constantly put our needs ahead of her own.  She consoled us, cried for us and cried with us, she gave us every tool possible to become the strong, independent people we are today.

Up to her last breath she followed that mantra.  Although my mom had been sick for quite a while, the week leading up to her passing was one of her best in a long time.  She was feeling “fine”, physically better than she had in months and her spirit was completely lifted.  I have heard from many who have had a similar experience with their loved one – they seemed to rally back before their passing and it gave those around them that comfort of remembering their departed loved ones with more joy than sadness.

Her last selfless act as a mother was to leave us with memories of her being happy and not being sick.  The last day I spent with her was just like hanging out with her 20 years ago.  Her sense of humor was quick and twisted, and she had that spark in her eye that I remember so well.

I dream of her often and see her in little signs that she leaves in random things.  We miss you, mom, and hope you are enjoying those Angel wings.  You certainly deserve them.  xo

 

 

Why are you fighting?

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Every day I wake,

the inner dialogue begins.

A taunt here, a few bad words there,

the cycle continues.

You asked me,

why are you fighting?

For me it is simple,

I continue to fight

until I feel like I’m good enough.

~~

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Written for the Gargleblaster – this week was an interesting task and, sadly, it took me back to my teenage years.

This week we’re paying tribute to Gabriel García Márquez, who was (in our humble opinion) one of the greatest writers of the last century. This week’s ultimate question comes to us from One Hundred Years of Solitude:

“Tell me something, old friend: why are you fighting?”

A few lines of latitude

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I consider myself to be an extremely lucky person.  I am fortunate enough to call many people friends and have them reciprocate that sentiment.  There was a saying I remember hearing as a teenager that really stuck with me –  “Friends are the family you choose for yourself”.

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(image credit: planet–earth.ca)

My friends are scattered far and wide.  Some I get to spend many hours with and share philosophies and laughter and others are located in other cities, provinces and countries, even continents.  Some I have never met face to face.  We also share the same ideals and sense of camaraderie but we do it through cyber space and across the blogosphere.

There are no lines of latitude or longitude that can divide a friendship.  Those relationships can span time and distance and there is great comfort knowing that the strength in those friendships gives us the ability to pick up where we left off even after months of being apart.

I have received an overwhelming amount of support from all of my friends, near and far.  Whether they are known in my physical reality or in my cyber reality, the strength and encouragement I have been given has been monumental to getting me through a very trying time.

I wanted to say thank you to all of my friends for really being there for me and sending your words of love and optimism.  Although by kilometers and miles we may seem worlds apart, your words bring you close and keep you in my heart.

The Miracle of Life

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Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold

as the Earth yearned to welcome Spring.

The sun’s rays massaged the ground and the trees.

A warm breeze whispered,

playfully tickling the branches on its journey.

The smell of wet soil rose to greet the morning

as the familiar songs of new life began to play

their symphony of rebirth.

For just a moment, I was an instrument in that orchestra.

The sun kissed my cheek,

as happy to see me as I was to feel its warm embrace.

I was comforted by its nurturing essence.

But Mother Nature’s heart is frozen,

her resolve, stoic.

Her icy talons hold Spring hostage in their death grip,

encasing it in a cold and lifeless womb.

The new blanket of snow

wrapped so tightly, ceasing the flow of life,

suffocating the season.

But at the core of her being, she is a mother.

Her heart will fill with a need

to birth this new life,

to nurture it and watch it grow.

She will proudly watch Spring take those first steps

and her heart will warm once again.

~~

Written for the Speakeasy at Yeah Write.  I was more inspired by this prompt this morning after waking up to 8 cm of fresh snow!!  We were SO close to it all being gone.

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hang on — there’s rules:

  • Your post must be dated April 13, 2013, or later.
  • Submissions must be 750 words or fewer.
  • Submissions must be fiction or poetry.
  • You must include the following sentence as the FIRST line in your submission: “Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold.”
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There’s a moose loose in the hoose

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‘In the wee small hours of morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep’ ~ David Mann

I, among many of the population on earth, need a solid night’s sleep – uninterrupted, pleasant, dream-filled, cozy under the covers sleep.  Until recently I had absolutely no trouble achieving this state of bliss, however an unsettling combination of extended winter weather and unwanted house guests has altered my sleep patterns.  No longer do I crawl under my duvet and let the weariness of the day pull down the blankets of my eyelids.  Gone are the nights that the vivid colors of my dreams paint my continually sleep filled nights.

Like an imperceptible alarm clock, disease-infested rodents descend into my walls at approximately 2:30 every morning.   As I lay in what should be my haven, I am disturbed by sounds that are amplified enough to make me think I have underestimated the size of these cute, furry little creatures.  With an imagination as over-active as mine I picture a sentinel of unearthly mutations methodically surrounding their acquired target. Their tyrannical approach into my home has left me reaching into my arsenal for a full on war.

Akin to a good soldier, I have adapted to my situation with weapons that I have on hand.  There is no delay when you are under attack from a known enemy who can wreak absolute havoc in an otherwise stable environment.  My walls are my fortress.  My house is my oasis.  The gnawing sounds coming from inside my home in those wee hours are my motivation.  These adorable looking vermin have threatened to devastate the structure and integrity of my humble abode and I am a woman scorned.

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(image credit: en.wikipedia.org)

Human nature dictates that we all yearn most for what we cannot have.  I  retain my defensive stance in this fight and vow to achieve what I yearn for – that unadulterated, all-encompassing feeling of being swallowed into a vast sea of dreams.  As I imagine just a small rind of an orange sun on the horizon of my sleep, I will be awaiting the moment that the canvas of my night will be splashed in a new landscape of color. Au revoir, rodents!!

Night breezes seem to whisper

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Dreams

(image credit: panktimehta.blogspot.com)

I have always been fortunate when it comes to dreaming. Not only do I have very vivid dreams splashed with a vast array of colors but I also retain most of my dreams in my waking moments.  Last night was no exception to those rules.

Last night I dreamed of my mom.  It is not the first time she has been in my dreams since she passed a couple of weeks ago but this dream was the first time that she was the main character in the night-time production of my subconscious.  During the wee hours of my REM sleep we were able to have a conversation.

In the bizarre circumstances of my dream she had already passed away but when I was the only other person in the room she would become magically reanimated and we would talk at great length.  When others entered the room she remained still, not a word escaped from her lips.  When I awoke this morning, rather than feeling perplexed I felt deeply comforted and peaceful.  I don’t recall many of the words she uttered to me in my sleep but I do feel a great sense of warmth and a feeling of relief that she is content on the other side.  She no longer carries the chains of the physical limitations she endured with her illness and, finally, she truly feels fine.

Have you ever received messages in your dreams?

 

 

Owls and butterflies and long-winded sighs

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There are signs everywhere.  I’m not talking about the three-dimensional signs that guide us to our destination or give us information, but the signs that are sent from spirits to let us know they are still with us to help us on our journey of healing.

My friend Sandra passed away in May of 2003, very suddenly and far too young.  Her knowledge of my likes and dislikes was astounding and each time she would learn a nugget of information about me it was stored in her ever-expanding cranium.  She knew when I needed comfort and when it was okay to push my buttons.  Since the day I received the horrible news of her untimely passing, every so often I hear a strain or two of a particular song, faintly at first but I know the tune and where it came from as the notes are processed in my brain.  I have been in the grocery store or at a restaurant when the unmistakable bars of “The Girl From Ipanema” hover around my head and pillage my ears.  She knew how much I loathed that song and that is her way of letting me know she is still with me.  I release a loud sigh when I hear it to let her know she got me again and I can vaguely hear the sound of her infectious laugh.

My father passed away in 2006.  He and I both loved owls.  My Grade 10 art project was oil on canvas and I chose to paint an owl for him as his Christmas present.  I now have that painting hanging in my kitchen.  Over last few years I have had a Barred Owl perch itself in the tree that hovers over my deck.  It will sit on the same branch for hours at a time and seems quite content to be there and do nothing else.  I have had some lengthy conversations with my dad while that owl holds its spot and it seems to listen to every word I say.

Last summer my mother and my sister-in-law released butterflies in my dad’s memory.  It was something my mom had always wanted to do.  Since my mom’s passing on March 7th of this year the butterfly seems to be emerging from its cocoon in many aspects of my life.  Almost every sympathy card I have received is adorned with a butterfly.  The card attached to an arrangement of flowers I received has a butterfly in the top left corner.  The song “Dog and Butterfly” by Heart came to mind today and I haven’t heard that song in decades.  And today, while typing the phrase “there are signs everywhere” into Google, one website grabbed my attention over every other one listed and I clicked on the link.  The picture below was the one featured on the site.

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Now,  more than ever, I know the spirits of our loved ones stay with us.  It gives me great comfort to know my mom is sending me the message that she is okay on the other side.  It doesn’t diminish the pain of losing her presence from my every day but it does help to know that she is able to talk to me in a way we both understand.  And when summer finally arrives, clawing its way to the surface through the snow and frost-laden ground, I will be waiting for those butterflies to emerge from their cocoons and remind me that life, even after a beautiful creature disappears, does morph into something just as beautiful and ethereal.