Tag Archives: life

cancer, Grief

Be Existing, Be Okay Today

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I exist in a world I never knew nor imagined.

20140119-150216.jpgI ponder my mom’s depth of knowing, her presence in all our lives and her amazing Sunday dinners.

I wait for my mom to walk through door and say, “Hi Joanna!”

I wonder how did she die and really what the hell happened.

I think about snowflakes, butterflies and my mom’s final smile.

20140119-150228.jpgI talk to the people that know our story, my dad, my cousins, my close friends.

I walk away from my old ways, my old complaints, the things that no longer serve me.

I hide from sympathy. I hide from shallow words and frivolous complaints.

I sit still and rest. Feeling my body for the first time in many months.

I watch, I look for some sort of sign. A sign from heaven.

I hover, waiting to see what unfolds.

I know I will be okay today and that is enough!

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Christianity, christmas, Grief

Be Asking Me How My Christmas Was

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Ah, dear friends, my heart aches tonight.

My heart aches for my dad who has lost his wife. His retired plans shattered.

My mind hurts for my children who will not be able to experience my mom’s continual thoughtfulness, laughter and excitement for birthdays, back to school and activities.

My body is numb thinking about our future without my mom.

BUT today it also hurts for a lovely woman God has brought into our lives through our children’s schools.

We moved in the summer to KCity, the next day mom was diagnosed with cancer, 5 hospital visits, about 27 days overall in the hospital and mom dying on Boxing Day sums up the last five months. Ah ya, also must add in unpacking a new house, finding activities for the boys, where to get stamps, two weeks of pneumonia for me plus a family bout of stomach flu.

Back to today! S, the lovely lady works at JC’s school. I ran into her today as i went into the main building to drop off a cheque. She was her usual bubbly self and she threw out, “How was your Christmas?”

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My mind stopped. My throat went dry. I thought to myself, am I going to be honest or give the canned answer of “Fine, how was yours?”

I looked at her genuine smile and realized only the truth would do. I answered, “Not great! My mom died!” Her empathy was immediate and caring. She rolled with my answer and didn’t flee (like my neighbours have been doing).

She provided a moment to sit with me in my grief. What a gift from a very lovely woman.

Thank you S! I hope I haven’t instilled a fear in her asking how people’s Christmas’s were.

cancer, Grief, Parenting

Be Saying Thanks

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My dad continues to amaze me.

In each moment, throughout his grief, he has always been thoughtful of who he needs to say thank you to. He has exemplified gratitude through taking the time to express his heartfelt thanks.

With editing help from myself and my sister, my dad managed to get this thank you into this mornings paper. Incredible!

The hardest part of this process was that he was afraid he would forget to thank someone.

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Today, I am feeling sad but filled with gratitude for all my people in PG, Williams Lake, Summerland,Calgary, Edmonton, Vietnam, Kamloops, Kelowna, Spain, Germany, Cowichan Bay, Dawson City, Vancouver Lumby, Coldstream and here in Vernon where I currently row my boat of grief.

💓

cancer, Christianity, Grief, Jesus Christ

Be Doing Nothing Special (More Irony)

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I ain’t doing nothing special, but God is so present.

I can’t seem to pray or even open my bible or count my thousand gifts.

These rituals used to fill me with joy each morning.

I didn’t do it because someone told me to, I just did it because I could.

Now, I can’t.

I sit in a sacred space.

In grief.

In silence.

Within myself.

God pours himself out.

Through people.

Through nature.

Loudly.

All over and around me.

I watch.

I wait.

I remain open.

To see how he will pick up the broken pieces of my heart and my life.

I receive an email then another.

One says you need to see these lyrics.

Another one says you need to listen to this song.

BOTH SONGS ARE EERILY SIMILAR!

One woman lives in Leduc, the other Oyama.

They don’t even know each other.

How could this be?

God loves.

God lives.

God speaks.

These women listened and acted.

I sure didn’t do anything special.

The irony continues…

Here’s the lyrics and song if you are interested:

The song about oceans…and the lyrics to another song:
In your ocean, I’m ankle deep
I feel the waves crashin’ on my feet
It’s like I know where I need to be
But I can’t figure out, yeah I can’t figure out

Just how much air I will need to breathe
When your tide rushes over me
There’s only one way to figure out
Will ya let me drown, will ya let me drown

Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me like a fire, ’cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I’m in reach
‘Cause I am down on my knees, I’m waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful

And the water is risin’ quick
And for years I was scared of it
We can’t be sure when it will subside
So I won’t leave your side, no I can’t leave your side

Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me like a fire, ’cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I’m in reach
‘Cause I am down on my knees, I’m waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful

In a daydream, I couldn’t live like this
I wouldn’t stop until I found something beautiful
When I wake up, I know I will have
No, I still won’t have what I need

Hey now, this is my desire
Consume me like a fire, ’cause I just want something beautiful
To touch me, I know that I’m in reach
‘Cause I am down on my knees, I’m waiting for something beautiful
Oh, something beautiful

cancer, Family, Goals

Be Living 25 Days

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Note: Click on the blue links to see the whole twenty-five day story…

Twenty-five days ago, I left my home.

My mom was in an ambulance with excruciating pain.

Twenty- five days ago my mom was in the ER, in pain. I never saw my mom read or watch TV again.

Excruciating pain.

In the next seven days, I watched mom be in FIVE different rooms of the hospital. Not one nurse offered to wash her or change her gown. Mom never did get that bath she was looking forward to for six weeks.

Still in pain.

I encountered a surgeon who told mom she would die, a doctor who empathized, an anaestesologist who overruled our oncologist who wanted mom to have more pain meds, nurses who laughed and were afraid, nurses who advocated and hid. A social worker who stood strong and stole chairs and a palliative care coordinator who finally helped mom be pain-free.

Mom was continually trying to ‘conquer’ her pain (mom’s words).

I watched mom lovingly hold dad’s hand, I watched her hug my boys. I heard her never complain nor whine about her situation.

Not once. Not ever.

Twenty days ago, Wendy and I had a sleepover with mom. Sleeping in chairs. Mom still in pain. Chasing nurses for meds. Laughing. Crying. Massaging. Comforting.

I watched mom try to put one foot in front of the other. I saw her desperately want a drink of water. I put lip chap on her lips, got her ice and massaged her sore hips.

One moment at a time.

Nineteen days ago, I went by ambulance with my mom to hospice. . Dad and my boys greeted us there. You should have seen mom’s face light up. Finally pain free with a grin on her face.

I savoured watching snowflakes flutter onto her face as she entered this holy place.

I watched my cousins, my uncles, my sister, her family and our wonderful friends arrive to comfort us. And we saw food, wine and more food come through those doors.

All with my dad steadfast at her side and my Sexy Neck a pillar of strength.

I saw my boys playing peek-a-boo outside mom’s window, I saw JC kiss her hand one last time, CC give her a big hug and OC a high five.

Sixteen days ago, I heard mom say hi to me for the last time as I walked into her room in the morning. Room number eight.

Always kind, always thoughtful, always just mom.

Fourteen days ago, I watched the family from my childhood (dad, sister, cousins) eat Christmas dinner together, listen to Christmas carols and drink wine. I heard stories and quite a ruckus being made in room number eight. I watched tears flow, mom’s hand being held and felt her body next to me as I lied with her.

I watched my family grieve, my cousins step up, my boys soak in the love of everyone and my dad continue to walk forward with his love.

I looked at mom’s beautiful skin, incredible blue eyes and felt her warmth and kindness flowing out of her, as it always has.

Thirteen Days ago, mom took her last breath. Dad sitting at her side.

I was awed by love, snow, hugs and fluttering butterflies.

Thirteen days ago we started planning, writing, savouring, cherishing.

Eleven Days ago, we celebrated mom’s life at her favourite beach, held the people who love her and cried tears of love over and over again.

Ten days ago we said goodbye to many departing for home and then it was just us and dad. Staying at mom and dad’s house. Puzzling, talking, organizing, crying, drinking wine, skiing, leaving roses, smelling the flowers, taking down Christmas decorations and talking about stuff.

Today, I return to our home in KCity .

Today, this is how my husband found me as I wrote this blog:

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Disclaimer: For my Prayerwalking friends, my lying down is a regular occurrence. For my new grieving self, it is a daily occurrence. Just rowing my boat… in my quiet laundry room.

Don’t worry, I am not alone. God is with me, my friends close, boys sleeping and Sexy Neck woowing me with warm muffins.

Can you leave me a wee comment? It will give me something to read while I lie on the floor.