Be Using Words as Weapons

Heat comes over my body by the words said to me.

The slice me.

Dice me.

Cut me up.

For many weeks now I have chosen to be quieter in my life.

Be still.

Use less words.

But this change makes people uncomfortable.

The one who had the words of many, now has words of few?

The change from many to few words was swift, like a swipe of a sword.

It started three and a half weeks ago…

I shared an idea, just a fun, easygoing idea with someone close, but often my ideas are questioned.

I still try to share.

Call me an optimist or perhaps even crazy.

Sometimes my explanations must be Russian due to the confusion. (I don’t even speak Russian!)

Why can’t ideas be encouraged, valued, and built up?

Why do they need to be questioned until nothing is left and all excitement is gone?

Next, I found out that my grandma died by a forwarded emailed from my mom’s sister, that I haven’t heard from since my mom died. This Aunt I spent EVERY Christmas, Easter and summer vacation with growing up! We lived in the same town.

She said my email didn’t work.

The same one that I have had since email was invented.

And then, I heard from a friend going through a very stressful time. Their body was exhausted, they felt their life was a disaster. They were overwhelmed with overwhelming life.

I told them my latest mistake and I shared a funny story but they said they didn’t need that. They told me just to pray.

Lastly, I tried to help someone out. I did something they asked me to do. I did what they were suppose to do. And all I heard were complaints about their health, their money, their stuff.

They didn’t once use the words, “thank you”.

We are thoughtless in our words that cut like a sword.

In our Western comfy world, our words are weapons.

They belittle instead of build up.

They chastise instead of praise.

They truly cut me up.



No words can diffuse this pain.

Off for a run!


Be My Grandma – 95 plus 6 days old

I went to University to play volleyball, accidently received a degree and got to know my Grandma.

My grandpa was the best!  Not the best dad, according to my mom, but the best grandpa.  He always let us play in the barn on the farm, took us for sled rides in the snow and let us help him.  He was patient and funny, but not the easiest man to live with.

If my grandpa was the best, my grandma should be a saint. She was my grandpa’s later-in-life bride, but my Grandma Mary ended up being my closest living grandparent and my favourite.

When I went away to University, I moved to the town where my grandparents lived.  The town where they went to the horse races (my grandpa loved horses), the town where they spend almost every moment together and the town where they created a home for me to go to.   My grandma was my mirror because she was so good at reflecting back my feelings.  She had an inner knowing that couldn’t be explained.  She was selfless in her questions.  She was kind in her answers.   She was forgiving and gentle.  She was a beautiful singer. An awesome bingo player!  A beautiful person.

She gave me a potato pot for our wedding.  Every family needs a big potato pot to cook with for their growing family.

She never met my boys, but she saw lots of pictures.  She was always grateful for anything I did.

She was always excited to hear what they were doing.  She listened well.

She was the first person I talked on the phone to about my mom’s death and she really, really got it.  She knew my mom’s heart because her heart was the same.  The both sure loved curling!

And now my heart is broken again.

Shattered in pieces by loss.

Grandma Mary died six days after her ninety-fifth birthday.

Well-lived Grandma!

You lived an excellent life.

Grandma Mary… I love you more than you know.  Thank you for feeding me like a queen while I lived the University life.  Thank you for getting to know Steve and I and our boys.  Thank you for being a peaceful presence.  Thank you for welcoming me into your ways, your family and for living with my grandpa.  I always wish I could have done more, visited you more up north and just spent more time in your presence.   Love you Grandma!


Missing the women in my life that were guiding lights, kind, thoughtful and now out of my reach, not a phone call away.

This is hard!



Be Reading at School

Last week was Family Literacy Day and our school celebrated by inviting families to come read in their children’s classroom.

We love reading with our children every day and I especially loved reading in my boys’ classrooms.

We were asked to bring our favourite books from home.


2015/02/img_8149.jpgOur neighbours and CC’s kindergarten classmate brought the same book from home.

I love coincidences.

I love these neighbours.

I love reading!

Be In Grief (after one year)

You would think after the milestones of the “magic” one year mark without mom that the raw, ache feeling would float away into the abyss.


But apparently grief doesn’t work that way, at least for me.

I live in a world where I am surrounded by three growing boys, married to a man and trying to re-organize a new relationship with my dad in my brain.

My mom was a force:  A balancing point in my male-dominated world.

Here she is in green and black skiing a few years ago with my sister, in purple.


My mom was the idea person.  The peacemaker.  She was the one who would help me pull the chariot, with the boys in it, when we were out cross country skiing.  Mom was full of gratitude for all the people who surrounded her. Mom was a provider of amazing food and had the best laugh!  Mom was a planner and organizer.  If you asked her to do something, you could count on her ONE HUNDRED percent of the time.

How does one move beyond this loving, vibrant relationship into NOTHINGNESS?

What does “moving on” look and feel like?

How do you just “get over it”?

You cry.

You feel really, really sad and lonely, mad and grateful, full of gratitude and overcome with grief.

And then you receive a wonderful poem from a friend and you know you, at least, aren’t alone.

Thanks Shell for sharing these words: (author unknown)

Do not hurry
as you walk with grief;
it does not help the journey.
Walk slowly, pausing often.
Be gentle with the one
who walks with grief.
And if it is you,
be gentle with yourself.
Swiftly forgive;
walk slowly,
pausing often.
Take time, be gentle
as you walk with grief.
We have come to seek you , O God;
Just as we are we come
We have come to be sought by you
Just as we are we come
We come as we are
With our anguish and pain
We come as we are,
With our anger and disappointment.
We come as we are,
In our loss and confusion
We come as we are,
With our hopes dashed
With our faith shaken
O God, who is close to the broken-hearted
Mend our hearts
Lord have mercy
Christ have mercy