Category Archives: cancer

Be Seeing Nana’s Light While Skiing

We spent the morning x-country skiing. I debated on whether to keep our oldest out of school so that we could stay together as a family.

The debate ended when we crested the hill coming around Sovereign towards the Jungle trail and we saw this sight:

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I had to lie down in the snow when JC exclaimed, “Nana’s light!”

Thank God for children, skiing, nature and Nana’s light.

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Be Sharing your Story – Katie

It is with honour and gratitude that I introduce our guest blogger today, Katie!

Katie’s the beautiful blonde holding the cutie in light pink in this photo.

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We have journeyed through motherhood together as our oldest children are only months apart. Her daughter being a few months older than JC. We have now journeyed through our mom’s having cancer. Her mom being diagnosed two seasons before mine. Her mom is on the right of this photo. They celebrated a wonderful Christmas together as a family!

I feel humble gratitude for Katie going ahead of me on this crazy cancer journey with my mom. I really appreciate all our parking lot conversations and hugs!

Here’s Katie’s story:

I first met Joanna at Baby Talk (a parenting group here in Vernon), over 6 years ago. I think we literally had our babies in our arms when we first met. JC was maybe 3 weeks old, and my daughter was 2 months old.

Then our babies grew into pre-schoolers, and they went to the same pre-school together. Because the pre-school relied heavily on parent (and grandparent!) volunteers, both my mom and Joanna’s mom volunteered often at the pre-school. I know the kids loved it when a grandparent got to volunteer. It seemed to be something extra special. (I think all the kids even called them Nana!)

Before we knew it, pre-school was done and it was time for our oldest “babies” to start Kindergarten. It was September 2012, and my daughter and JC began Kindergarten at the same elementary school. It was an exciting time. Then a week into that school year, my mom was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer. I remember explaining to Joanna this devastating news when I first found out my mom was sick. For some reason I remember telling Joanna in the school parking lot. I could barely say the word “cancer” out loud. It was too new, too raw of a feeling. At the time I didn’t know anything about cancer. I struggled with the thought of losing my mother, and I struggled with the challenge of being present for my own two daughters at the same time.

I remember seeing Gwen volunteer in JC’s kindergarten class that Fall. I loved seeing this energetic, smiling Nana stroll the halls at the school. A couple of months later, Winter 2012, I would see Joanna, Steve and the boys skiing up at Sovereign Lake. And quite often I would see Gwen with them. As I watched this amazing, active Nana walk around the lodge, I remember wishing my mother was healthy enough to take on an activity like cross country skiing. My mother was only an hour away in Kelowna, but while I watched Gwen I remember missing my mother terribly. Even though my mother was only an hour away in Kelowna, at home, I was already grieving.

Flash forward to Spring, 2013. Joanna shared her concerns about her mom, and the change in Gwen’s health. I think Joanna also told me this in the school parking lot. (It’s funny what you remember when you’ve had intense conversations) Over the next few weeks I did my best to share with Joanna some parts of my mother’s cancer journey. I told her what I knew about chemo, blood tests, markers, anxiety, oncologists, social workers, CT scans, etc. It’s steep learning curve if you’ve never encountered all of this terminology before.

I think it is a strange and powerful grief when you learn your mother is terminally ill, and that one day she will not be around to “mother” you anymore, to share things with, to watch her be with your own children. Because we are mothers. And yet we are also daughters who need our own mothers. And although I didn’t know your mom well Joanna, I’m sure she was extremely proud of you as her daughter, and who you’ve become as a person, and as a mother.

Be Riding the Waves of Grief

Wonderful Counsellor.

Beautiful friends.

Inspired women.

Prophetic words.

I have had the privilege to come across a few women with the gift of prophesy or in my words “a way to speak God’s words into their own life and those around them.” I am truly privileged.

My counsellor, whom I started seeing last winter, has this gift.

Every time that I see her she will share a metaphor about my life and this metaphor will be confirmed by two or more people within twenty four hours.

Here is the latest prophetic instalment brought up by my counsellor and confirmed by Emi and Jenny.

My counsellor was speaking about grief. I heard her say that grief is like an ocean. You are going along on your life path when suddenly tragedy strikes and there lies before you an ocean of grief. The only way to get across it is to row. Sometimes the ocean is calm and other times the waves are rough. Waves can also come out of nowhere. But rowing we must do through tears, sun, love, sadness… You get the picture.

Here’s a photo my counsellor gave me. I am looking forward to a ‘calm’ moment while riding the waves of grief.
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As we row this ocean of grief, I am grateful for God’s presence and the prophetic words of those around me.

This is not the end to my wave metaphor, but only the beginning…

After I returned home, I checked my email. My inbox had a message from my University roommate, Emi, who has paved the path of grief by losing her dad last spring.

Here’s Emi and her dad:

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Here’s what she wrote:

I’ve read through this a few times… Good for thought and much rings true for me…

The link is here BUT this is what struck me: The author is talking about fifteen things they wish they knew about grief.

Number 3 is that grief comes in waves.

Whew, time to lie down, but this ain’t the end.

This morning, we woke up and I dragged myself to cross country ski lessons with the boys. My new motto is fake it til I make it! I shed an ocean of tears behind my sunglasses as I met many friends who had just heard about beautiful mom not joining us up on the ski hill. I was honest and then exhausted.

But God continues to help me walk one step at a time as I ran into Jenny from Elle Mikal. She made the toques for our family. Take a look here and here!

The first thing Jenny said to me is that grief is like a wave. She always thinks about being on a surf board. She told me to grab my bikini to ride the waves.

Riding the waves.

My boys at my side.

Tears falling down.

God is my guide

——-/———/——–/——–/—-/—-

Beautiful photos from Jenny, each with a story I will keep close to my heart.

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Be Talking About Death

To go along with my post yesterday about no bad questions, the boys have started to concentrate their discussions about Nana on death.

The day before Nana died they boys wrote these wonderful letters to Nana, said goodbye and I love you through the window and gave kisses and hugs.

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Note: KT was our dog that died in June 2012.

Today, I was singing in the car, “The name of The Lord is a strong tower, the righteous run into it and they are safe…”
JC stops me and says, “That’s the song you were singing when we went to Vancouver and that woman died. Audrey, I think!”

Whew, a song reminding him of two Christmases ago when we went to say goodbye to Sexy Neck’s aunt Audrey. She died a couple of hours after we said goodbye.

I hope that the boys will only feel the richness of this time before and after Nana’s death. It has brought us down to ground zero in terms of what is important.

Our grief is raw but our relationships richer and our love stronger!

Be Asking Questions

There is never a bad question.

We have instilled this concept in our boys. I am not sure how this would work if you have a wee one with the gift of the gab, but for us it has worked. Almost 100% of the time we take time to answer their questions. We try to answer as honestly as we can. Sometimes we simply answer, “I don’t know!”

Friday, December 20th, sitting on Nana and Papa’s couch, we sat as a group. I shared that Nana is going to die. We said we didn’t know when, but that Hospice House is a place where people go to die peacefully.

JC (6 yrs old) wept and curled in our arms. CC (4 yrs old)started asking questions. OC (2 yrs old) stared at us with his wondrous eyes.

Daddy will Nana die?
Does she know if she’s going to die?
Will she get better?
What is cancer anyways?
Why didn’t the 4th chemotherapy work?
How do the little cells do that?
Why can’t the doctors find a cure?
Do they need more money?
Why did they cut off Terry Fox’s leg?
How do you get cancer?
What will happen to Nana’s shoes?
How will we say I love you to Nana when she dies?
Where is heaven?
What is going to happen to Nana’s shoes?

No bad questions.

No good answers.

Sitting in sadness.

Be Remembering Mom(New Year Goals)

This journey through cancer with my mom has been a rich and horrific time. Watching my mom deal with pain on a daily basis, seeing her fortitude to choke back elephant size pills (we both hate taking pills!) and all of us trying to figure out what to do to help when there is really nothing you can do stretched me beyond my limits most days.

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Today, my journey has been to look through old photos to try to remember what my beautiful mom looked like pre-cancer.

The light in my mom’s eyes never faded. They were strong and clear and loving until the last morning when she said, “Hi” to me. Her muscles atrophied and her weight faded, but her determination did not. Every day she set a goal for herself, some days it was just to eat more protein, others it was to put one foot on the floor beside her bed and lastly it was to have that one drink of thirst-quenching water.

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What goals do you have for this New Year?

My goals are simple:

– Live one day at a time.

– Look into the eyes around me.

– Live my life with determination, just like my mom.

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I love you Mama. I miss you dearly and I can’t imagine my life without you. BUT I have learned a lot from you and I take these things into my new year. I love you Mama. I miss you so much.

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Be Leaving a Rose from My Rose

My husband, Sexy Neck, has always been a rock to me. His tower of strength and stability have always grounded me and sometimes annoyed me.

In the last five months since mom’s diagnosis and now her death, Sexy Neck has not only been a rock, but a sweet, sweet rose.

His words have been velvety rose petal smooth to my soul.

He has been sweet to my mom and has always displayed a deep connection to her that goes beyond my understanding.

Sexy Neck has stood by with class as many things unfolded in and around our family.

Today, he saw the rose from hospice sitting in our van. He said, “Why don’t we take the rose and put it on a x-country ski trail for your mom?” This is exactly what dad, our boys and I needed to hear on this first ski without mom.

We carried the rose on the side of the chariot out to Woodland Bell.

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We skied into a sunny meadow, wrote mom’s name in the snow and placed the rose beside a little spruce tree.

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Happy New Year to my sweet rose, Sexy Neck, my beautiful boys, my dad, my family, friends and blog readers.

May you have many roses in your life even when you are in the desert and may you stop to smell the roses this year.

35 The wilderness and the wasteland shall be glad for them,
And the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose;
2 It shall blossom abundantly and rejoice,
Even with joy and singing. Isaiah 35:1 & 2