Category Archives: Grief

Be Eating Nana Jam

Each day my boys talk about their beloved Nana and share their sadness deeply and quickly. They are wonderful teachers on how to sit in your grief.

We have many reminders about mom.

Yesterday, we saw a bike that looked just like Nana’s.

Tonight, Jackson read the label on his quilt my mom made when he was two.

Today, we rested on our Nana Cabana beside the pool.

At lunch, we ate Nana jam. 20140722-232208-84128304.jpgLovingly handmade last year in July, while mom was in pain but we still had no idea what was coming. Careful labelled and left for us to enjoy.

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Perfect with homemade spelt baking powder biscuits. OC was my helper.

Beautiful memories.

Delicious jam.

Great gifts.

Pure love.

Heartfelt joy.

Pure sadness.

Sweet strawberry jam.

Thanks mom!

I love you!

Be Reading Beth Moore ‘Breaking Free’

I took this book off the shelf this week.

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I put it on the back of the toilet seat to open when I had a quiet moment while I lock myself in the bathroom.

Then I opened the book to this page:

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These last few weeks I have been in a dark tomb of anger, fatigue, sadness and again wondering how to live this new life in the light without my mom. I have many words tumbling in my head, most not rated G. I am thinking thoughts I have never thought and experiencing deep emotions on both ends of the spectrum.

I feel sadness that knocks me over as I watch mothers with their mothers. I cannot move but just stare when I see the grandmas picking up their grandchildren, filled with joy, from preschool. I want my mom by my side on my bike. I desire her steady presence and insight into my life.

I weep.

I don’t know what the next moment will bring, but my heart is full of gratitude for the gift of Beth Moore, books, my ability to read and God weaving everything together.

Holding on.

Tight.

Sitting in my grief.

Damn, it’s hard.

Knowing this will not overcome me.

Trusting.

Being grateful for the life I have.

In Christ alone.

Be in the Perfect Storm

The storm has poured down on me this year, raining on my head, sleet whopping the sides of my face, frozen eyelashes, paralyzing snow. I am in the perfect storm of GRIEF!

Death is disaster.

Devastating.

Debilitating.

Brutal.

I told someone three times in one conversation that I am not going to allow anything bad come from my mom’s life or death. Guess what?

Death is just bad.

Very, very bad.

Sorry, I can’t wrap this one in a pretty pretend ‘good’ package.

Just bad!

Moving sucks.

Lonely.

Agonizing.

Painful.

Trying to find where to get decent produce, gluten free bread and friends that are honest and not too busy flying around like hummingbirds.

Now a teacher’s strike affecting friends, family and dear Sexy Neck.

School ended last Friday for the summer, two weeks early.

The teacher’s strike for class composition, size and wages.

They walk, they wear signs, they do not get paid.

Their journey is honourable.

The negotiations are a schoolyard fight between two people speaking different languages. The teacher’s union and the Government.

The pressure the strike has put on families scrambling for child care and the administration (including Sexy Neck) still left inside the schools is unfathomable.

Most days I don’t ask. Can’t ask.

As I sit deeply in this year of grief layered with mom’s death, moving, watching dad grieve, watching friendships die and now the strike.

20140618-225722.jpg“The Perfect Storm” painted over the last week.
Let a new season come upon our family…

Soon?

Be Living with Memories

Memories have been sliding down my cheeks more often these days. In the quiet moments, when the boys talk of their beloved Nana and when I witness my dad’s own tears. I still cannot make ‘sense’ of this new existence without mom. It is completely unbelievably real. The living with ONLY memories is bringing me to my knees. This is neither good nor bad, it just is.

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I have the privilege of being on the front line of receiving mom’s things as dad is ready to let them go. First it was food in the cupboard then mom’s cosmetics, then shoes, jackets and now her clothes. I readily take these beautiful things with tears in my eyes. The memories of mom wearing the clothes and seeing things she had purchased to wear this spring that I am living RIGHT NOW is very difficult to comprehend. (Two biking shirts in particular brought tears to my eyes.).

Here is batman (aka CC) pointing to the two boxes of spring clothes I have of mom’s:

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Unfolding.

Folding.

Memories.

Laying down.

Sitting in it.

Sitting with.

Memories.

As mom’s clothes sit at one end of our unfinished basement, I have been sorting through our boxes of memories at the other end on my newly painted white shelf. What does one do with old yearbooks, jerseys, trophies… Are my children going to want these things? Do I want my children to be going through them. Perhaps my work now is to make space for them to create their own memories.

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Unpacking.

Packing.

Memories.

Letting go.

Giving freedom to it.

Providing space for.

New memories.

Be Painting the Door Blue

Last week, I had white paint on my arm and a family friend that I don’t see very often asked, “Are you still painting?” Yes, last week it was a white shelf for our basement. This week it was our front door.

I paint when the boys nap or in the evening when they are asleep. I find these ‘down times’ are the hardest times to negotiate without my mom’s presence. The memories and sense of loss come often and quickly these last weeks.

I am still in the boat on the ocean of grief. The waves have been still and the sun on my face, but on the horizon I sense a storm brewing. One year ago was when I first started noticing mom wasn’t well. Last June, we were living with mom and dad as we renovated our house. They went to VCity to help my sister. They had a night away at The Hill spa, but all was not well with mom. She thought she had a bladder infection, but how could we know the path that we were heading down…

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So I paint.

I ponder.

I remember.

I keep moving.

Living.

Trying to make sense of a senseless time.

Holding tight to my faith.

My brush.

My day.

One step at a time.

When we lived in Vtown, we had a great intentional friend and neighbour who was very present in our daily lives. Here she is:

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Lizzie in her backyard with the boys.

She has the most beautiful blue door. It is stunning with a handmade stained glass window:

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I decided our front door needed a pick me up colour. Blue it is!

Before I painted the door I drew hearts for our family and every visitor that comes through the ‘threshold’ wishing us all the fruit of God’s spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and self-control.

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Love.

Joy.

Peace.

Patience.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Faithfulness.

Self-control.

I pray that all these qualities roll over and through each of us this day no matter the colour of our door.

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Be Golfing with Papa

My dad loves golf. Two eighteen holes of golf LOVES golfing.

Since his hockey playing days, golf has been a part of his “off-season” life.

In all of our grief, we are trying to meet our dear Papa right where he is at without nana at his side.

This afternoon we met him at the driving range.

Papa loves to teach!

20140526-220416.jpgCC (age 4) has been asking every day when he can go golfing with papa.

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20140526-220506.jpgJC (age 7) loves to swing away.

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20140526-220614.jpg OC (age 2) tried golf for the very first time. We think he might be a lefty like CC.

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Ahhh, that feels better….

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Golf.

Time.

Being where you are.

Quiet.

Focus.

One ball at a time.

Be Writing Thank You Notes to New Neighbours

As, Jimmy Fallon from The Tonight Show, sits down to write his own thank you notes, I decided to write thank you notes to our new neighbourhood.

Thank you to Jimmy for the inspiration. Here are this evening’s thank you notes by Jimmy. This is my personal twist of sarcasm at its best! Some points are exaggerated for comedic effect, unfortunately most points are not.

🌀Thank you neighbour for leaving your garbage can, recycling can and compost bin at the curb ALL WEEK LONG. We love watching you put your garbage out in your housecoat as well as watch your kids friend’s play bumper cars with the bins as they try to park their cars beside them.

🌀Thank you neighbour for parking your semi-truck on our street every Thursday to Saturday and driving away without any lights on like we don’t see you.

🌀Thank you neighbour for bringing your son over to play then leaving him at our house for two hours fifteen minutes after we met you. We can see why you needed the break.

🌀Thank you neighbour for calling me by the wrong name every morning at exactly 8:15 when you come out to walk your dog. My name is hard to remember, as it is the same as yours.

🌀Thank you neighbour for not smoking inside your house. We appreciate the stench in our yard and throughout our house, especially when you decide to pull out the ‘pot’.

🌀Thank you neighbour for asking my son if he’s “skipping school” when you saw him at home on a school day. Uhhhh, he was sick and he’s six. He had no idea what you were talking about.

🌀Thank you neighbour for standing on your porch in your white undershirt just staring into our yard.

🌀Thank you other neighbour for walking very slowly down our back fence, like you are doing the wedding march with the groom standing in the middle of our backyard. Next time just pop over for a look so that you don’t hurt your neck.

🌀Thank you neighbour for taking off your dog’s leash as you approach our houses so that it can urinate on our lawn then bark at our dog at our gate. Thank you for finally not allowing your dog to come into our house anymore.

🌀Thank you neighbour for telling me that my mom just gave up and wanted to die. I guess the millions of cancer cells multiplying had nothing to do with it.

🌀Thank you neighbour for using pesticides to kill the weeds on the edge of our lawn bordering your property. My boys sperm count thank you.

🌀Speaking of boys, thank you neighbour for exclaiming in front of my family of four boys the very first time we met you, “Oh, I was hoping you were going to have little girls!” Welcome to my family of big boys. (Now perhaps stunted due to your pesticide use).