It's been awhile since I've been here -
A strange yet familiar place.
I've wanted to return time and again,
But life has become a hectic pace.
Instead of healing and taking deep breaths
I have been resigned to fleeting rests.
"Find the happy!" says the writing on my wall...
Obviously written through a much better time.
Now I hustle and bustle about
All the the while, just like a mime.
I've lost the momentum, the virver, the drive
That comes with feeling wonderous and alive.
Something inside has become detached
From the very soul of me, my inner self
But it's now or never - life doesn't wait
It's time to retrieve it from the shelf.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Hermit Crab
Ahhh, the hermit crab - a charmed life. When you outgrow your environment, just crawl into a new one and continue on....
This year has been about saying goodbye to those old shells and trying to welcome change as if it was an anticipated guest. Like every year, this one has had its ups and downs, but the jury is out as to whether the downs outweigh the ups. If I look at things in a shallow light, the bad wins hands down, but if I look again with different eyes, the bad has only fostered more good, thus providing good with the win.
It's all in the perspective.
Written on the wipe board to my left are the following statements; "Work Hard Today!" "Trust God!" "Deep Breaths!" and "Find The Happy!" These are all things I both believe and have to remind myself of daily, if not hourly at times.
So, with that vibe in mind, I shall say this; I am not sure what tomorrow may bring, but I am confident with my ability to get through anything life throws at me, 5 minutes at a time.
And there's the answer...the "ups" prevail. What I have faced this year has doubled what I have learned, in both a literal and a figurative way. Nothing can ever be the same as it was, nor should it be. Time to embrace the new shell and leave the old for someone else to trade up to!
This year has been about saying goodbye to those old shells and trying to welcome change as if it was an anticipated guest. Like every year, this one has had its ups and downs, but the jury is out as to whether the downs outweigh the ups. If I look at things in a shallow light, the bad wins hands down, but if I look again with different eyes, the bad has only fostered more good, thus providing good with the win.
It's all in the perspective.
Written on the wipe board to my left are the following statements; "Work Hard Today!" "Trust God!" "Deep Breaths!" and "Find The Happy!" These are all things I both believe and have to remind myself of daily, if not hourly at times.
So, with that vibe in mind, I shall say this; I am not sure what tomorrow may bring, but I am confident with my ability to get through anything life throws at me, 5 minutes at a time.
And there's the answer...the "ups" prevail. What I have faced this year has doubled what I have learned, in both a literal and a figurative way. Nothing can ever be the same as it was, nor should it be. Time to embrace the new shell and leave the old for someone else to trade up to!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
blank page...
blank page
like the ocean
you baffle me
clear and free
of liter(ary) garb
quiet, untouched
almost beckoning
my creative mind
to make waves.
tormenting current
pulling me in
away from shore
past the middle
i continue to swim
strong, short lines
on new land
the ocean behind
i baffle no more
over the ocean
across the page
a bridge of words
like the ocean
you baffle me
clear and free
of liter(ary) garb
quiet, untouched
almost beckoning
my creative mind
to make waves.
tormenting current
pulling me in
away from shore
past the middle
i continue to swim
strong, short lines
on new land
the ocean behind
i baffle no more
over the ocean
across the page
a bridge of words
Simple Words
What do we have to offer but a few words?
A few words of wisdom
A few words of praise
A few words of support
A few words of sympathy
A few words of thanks
A few words of love
What do we have to offer but a few words?
for Jaime...
A beautiful angel flies through the sky
Hears our prayers as we say good-bye,
And carries them home to God above,
A sounding tribute of our love.
A boy so brave did grace our lives;
Brought us joy, such memorable times.
We can't forget his charming smile.
A blessing it was to know this child.
His positive outlook, his mischievous ways,
These beautiful memories will brighten our days.
To know that now he is at peace,
All the pain has now ceased,
Heals up to heal, helps us to see
The free spirit he came to be.
The chains that bound him here on earth
Have been set free in his rebirth.
For he walks now at God's side,
Each beautiful step filled with pride.
And while we here struggle in pain,
We know one day we will see him again.
So we give thanks to the time God gave
With this wonderful soul who was so brave.
Thanksgiving Grace
Today I was reminded of a moment long since silenced, but not forgotten. One moment that existed so long ago now...lives ago....
It was a time of happiness, expectation and naivety. Just like any other family, we were excited at giving our first-born a sibling. When the time came, we both wept momentarily as we realized that our family of three would soon become a family of four. Then we saw the doctor and everything began to change. I began to have issues with the pregnancy immediately. Even the doctor tried to prepare me with what only now sounds logical to my ears; "I'm not going to kid you - this could very likely be the beginnings of a miscarriage."
I don't remember ever being so frightened. I must have cried a river. I went to church to pray for strength and the health of our unborn child, already struggling to survive. I tried not to cry, to bring attention to myself, but my heart pounded with fear. My instincts were kicking in, but my heart wouldn't listen. I couldn't..wouldn't connect to this baby just yet.
It became difficult struggling with saving one baby at the expense of not being able to be a mother to my first child. He didn't understand and it upset me more. Being pregnant was supposed to be a happy time, a time to yell from the rooftops that our family was growing. Yet, here I was, afraid that people would see the fear in my eyes if I told them - it was easier not to let anyone know.
Days continued and nothing changed. I was no worse off, but no better either...which I made myself believe was a positive thing. Everything was so different from my first pregnancy that it masked the truths about what was happening - all of the signs were just chalked up to it being a different baby. All of the instincts I was having about this unborn child were underscored by some logical comparison.
Days ran into weeks, and things went up and down. When the symptoms returned so did the fear but I carried on, no idea what was on the horizon. That was Thanksgiving. Two weeks following that, the nightmare began.
The doctor didn't say much that morning, he just turned and picked up the phone to book an emergency ultrasound for me. My heart sank and the fear clutched at my throat as my stomach tied in knots. They took me right through at the clinic - an old little place that didn't emit comfort in the least, but as least there would be answers. The technician was quiet about her work and scowled at the monitor over and over. I knew something was wrong.... I tried to ask questions, but my fear grew as she explained she wasn't allowed to say anything. I begged her to show me the baby...so she relented. What I saw next was my own confirmation and the only glimpse I would ever have of our child. It was small, but it was etched into my mind forever. The technician turned the monitor away quickly and there was nothing to say. That was noon.
I waited for the reality of the doctor's phone call and hours went by. The phone didn't ring at 6, or 7 or 8 either. I called the doctor's office from our bedroom phone and left a message. there were splashing sounds of a happy toddler taking a bubble bath coming from the bathroom when the call finally came. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened...only the first few words were crystal clear; "It isn't good...." The rest trailed away as the shock took over and rawness of pain began sweeping through each vein in my body. I managed to finish the conversation, then say something quickly after hanging up before the sobs overwhelmed my voice. I ran to the sofa and threw myself into a ball in the corner of it. I had to make calls to family...they were also waiting to hear the news.... I managed to dial and spoke to my mom...but I could already barely speak. It hurt more to say it out loud. A short time elapsed before I felt mom's comforting arms around me. All I could muster by now was "My heart hurts" over and over and over again. I stayed there for hours, my heart hurting and breaking with every sob. I can't think now how it must have felt to grieve the loss of your grandchild, yet watch your daughter's world fall apart, but everyone took care of us first, without reservation or question.
I can't describe the feeling of carrying a non-living baby, however small, inside of you. The statement alone is raw and ugly. It's a bizarre and unjust thing to have to find emotions for. It was the loss of our dreams for this child - I was mourning the idea of who this child would become and how he or she would fit into our family. I was sad for our family - my husband, our son and myself - that this new child we had planned and wanted would not be.
I was strangely brave at the hospital for the procedure that morning - October 30th, 2002. I held up my chin and told myself it would all be over soon. Then when my husband had to leave and I was left alone to wait those final moments before surgery, the wall I had built around myself all morning began to tumble, brick by painful brick. I could hear the nursing station - the banter about something meaningless and I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for them to shut up. How could anyone 'just be' when I was going through this hell?
Finally I went into the operating room. I remember clearly lying there, both arms strapped down, involuntary tears streaming down either side of my face. I said to the nurses, "I had thought the next time I would be in a hospital would be to deliver the baby, not for this...." The nurse dabbed the tears from my face as I felt myself finally drifting away....
When it was over and we went home, there was a long and devastating climb back to being myself again. The pain of the loss stung at every turn, made worse by the taunting of post-partum, which I had to endure without a baby to distract me.... Eventually I turned to friends and family to drag me up to my feet again. It was a call to my aunt - a priest - that helped me to finally let go. She knew I needed closure and suggested I name the baby in order to release it's spirit.
Grace. My Grace-angel. Never has a name come to me so easily.
I began to heal after that defining moment. I don't know at what point my Grace stopped being, but I do know that I gave her that name and let God take her home finally. And for that, God blessed me the following Thanksgiving with twins and my year had quite literally gone the full circle of life. My Thanksgiving babies...all three of them, share a piece of my heart and always will, along with my oldest baby. Grace is remembered most at Christmas now, with an ornament thoughtfully and lovingly placed on our tree every year....
Today I was reminded of my sweet Grace-angel. Now she lives here too, forever.
I love you my Grace.
Love, Mommy xo
It was a time of happiness, expectation and naivety. Just like any other family, we were excited at giving our first-born a sibling. When the time came, we both wept momentarily as we realized that our family of three would soon become a family of four. Then we saw the doctor and everything began to change. I began to have issues with the pregnancy immediately. Even the doctor tried to prepare me with what only now sounds logical to my ears; "I'm not going to kid you - this could very likely be the beginnings of a miscarriage."
I don't remember ever being so frightened. I must have cried a river. I went to church to pray for strength and the health of our unborn child, already struggling to survive. I tried not to cry, to bring attention to myself, but my heart pounded with fear. My instincts were kicking in, but my heart wouldn't listen. I couldn't..wouldn't connect to this baby just yet.
It became difficult struggling with saving one baby at the expense of not being able to be a mother to my first child. He didn't understand and it upset me more. Being pregnant was supposed to be a happy time, a time to yell from the rooftops that our family was growing. Yet, here I was, afraid that people would see the fear in my eyes if I told them - it was easier not to let anyone know.
Days continued and nothing changed. I was no worse off, but no better either...which I made myself believe was a positive thing. Everything was so different from my first pregnancy that it masked the truths about what was happening - all of the signs were just chalked up to it being a different baby. All of the instincts I was having about this unborn child were underscored by some logical comparison.
Days ran into weeks, and things went up and down. When the symptoms returned so did the fear but I carried on, no idea what was on the horizon. That was Thanksgiving. Two weeks following that, the nightmare began.
The doctor didn't say much that morning, he just turned and picked up the phone to book an emergency ultrasound for me. My heart sank and the fear clutched at my throat as my stomach tied in knots. They took me right through at the clinic - an old little place that didn't emit comfort in the least, but as least there would be answers. The technician was quiet about her work and scowled at the monitor over and over. I knew something was wrong.... I tried to ask questions, but my fear grew as she explained she wasn't allowed to say anything. I begged her to show me the baby...so she relented. What I saw next was my own confirmation and the only glimpse I would ever have of our child. It was small, but it was etched into my mind forever. The technician turned the monitor away quickly and there was nothing to say. That was noon.
I waited for the reality of the doctor's phone call and hours went by. The phone didn't ring at 6, or 7 or 8 either. I called the doctor's office from our bedroom phone and left a message. there were splashing sounds of a happy toddler taking a bubble bath coming from the bathroom when the call finally came. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened...only the first few words were crystal clear; "It isn't good...." The rest trailed away as the shock took over and rawness of pain began sweeping through each vein in my body. I managed to finish the conversation, then say something quickly after hanging up before the sobs overwhelmed my voice. I ran to the sofa and threw myself into a ball in the corner of it. I had to make calls to family...they were also waiting to hear the news.... I managed to dial and spoke to my mom...but I could already barely speak. It hurt more to say it out loud. A short time elapsed before I felt mom's comforting arms around me. All I could muster by now was "My heart hurts" over and over and over again. I stayed there for hours, my heart hurting and breaking with every sob. I can't think now how it must have felt to grieve the loss of your grandchild, yet watch your daughter's world fall apart, but everyone took care of us first, without reservation or question.
I can't describe the feeling of carrying a non-living baby, however small, inside of you. The statement alone is raw and ugly. It's a bizarre and unjust thing to have to find emotions for. It was the loss of our dreams for this child - I was mourning the idea of who this child would become and how he or she would fit into our family. I was sad for our family - my husband, our son and myself - that this new child we had planned and wanted would not be.
I was strangely brave at the hospital for the procedure that morning - October 30th, 2002. I held up my chin and told myself it would all be over soon. Then when my husband had to leave and I was left alone to wait those final moments before surgery, the wall I had built around myself all morning began to tumble, brick by painful brick. I could hear the nursing station - the banter about something meaningless and I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for them to shut up. How could anyone 'just be' when I was going through this hell?
Finally I went into the operating room. I remember clearly lying there, both arms strapped down, involuntary tears streaming down either side of my face. I said to the nurses, "I had thought the next time I would be in a hospital would be to deliver the baby, not for this...." The nurse dabbed the tears from my face as I felt myself finally drifting away....
When it was over and we went home, there was a long and devastating climb back to being myself again. The pain of the loss stung at every turn, made worse by the taunting of post-partum, which I had to endure without a baby to distract me.... Eventually I turned to friends and family to drag me up to my feet again. It was a call to my aunt - a priest - that helped me to finally let go. She knew I needed closure and suggested I name the baby in order to release it's spirit.
Grace. My Grace-angel. Never has a name come to me so easily.
I began to heal after that defining moment. I don't know at what point my Grace stopped being, but I do know that I gave her that name and let God take her home finally. And for that, God blessed me the following Thanksgiving with twins and my year had quite literally gone the full circle of life. My Thanksgiving babies...all three of them, share a piece of my heart and always will, along with my oldest baby. Grace is remembered most at Christmas now, with an ornament thoughtfully and lovingly placed on our tree every year....
Today I was reminded of my sweet Grace-angel. Now she lives here too, forever.
I love you my Grace.
Love, Mommy xo
Friday, September 24, 2010
the cause continues...
In 1984 I was in grade 9. I remember learning about this Terry Fox guy who tried to run across Canada to raise money and awareness for cancer. We saw photos and heard his story and our high school, T.L. Kennedy, raised A LOT of money for the cause that year and every year that I was a student there.
As I watched my three young sons leave the house today with their "I'm walking for Grandma" hearts proudly pinned on their shirts, ready for their Terry Fox walk at school, I felt a surge of emotion. I am so proud to still be a part of that spirited run Terry started. I am thankful for his passion and courage that has inspired millions and millions of us around the globe. I am proud that my sons share the "do what we can, give what we can" attitude and I feel more connected to Terry's cause than ever, having struggled with my mother's diagnosis this past March and her fight ever since.
Cancer infects families, not just people...but today is about hope and love and remembrance. Terry has lived on in so many hearts and today we celebrate his life, his victories, his compassion. He has reminded us that the human spirit will always prevail and that one day, one beautiful day, cancer will only exist in history books.
As I watched my three young sons leave the house today with their "I'm walking for Grandma" hearts proudly pinned on their shirts, ready for their Terry Fox walk at school, I felt a surge of emotion. I am so proud to still be a part of that spirited run Terry started. I am thankful for his passion and courage that has inspired millions and millions of us around the globe. I am proud that my sons share the "do what we can, give what we can" attitude and I feel more connected to Terry's cause than ever, having struggled with my mother's diagnosis this past March and her fight ever since.
Cancer infects families, not just people...but today is about hope and love and remembrance. Terry has lived on in so many hearts and today we celebrate his life, his victories, his compassion. He has reminded us that the human spirit will always prevail and that one day, one beautiful day, cancer will only exist in history books.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Judgement Day
Lord, if this is my judgement day, then let it be known that I have trudged throught the trenches of your battleground. I have believed in You and mankind and it was not You that let me down.
Many things I have seen, many things I have felt...the beauty of nature, the content of love, the miracles of life, tragedies of death, disunity, poverty, hatred...war.
What has mankind done to his precious gift of life?
He has transformed it into shreds of disarray...replaced love with hate and peace with war. There are threads of hope, but they are not unified. Solitary. Fragments of a piece of mind that should be shared throughout creation> it can be rectified, renewed. There can be found an equilibrium that will bring with it peace and goodwill for all humanity. But it cannot be achieved by individualism.
Lord, You gave us life, You gave us the beautiful earth which we alone have tarnished. But I have hope. I am a diligent soldier on the war-torn fields of life. I accept my presence and search for a purpose in life that will fulfill me and bring new light into this darkened world. I pledge for peace, unity and happiness. I do not represent perfection, only the determination to attain it, to some degree, in sync with all mankind.
What I fear is not death, for it is not the end of being, but merely a passover into a new life where I can sit beside my Father and be free from pain. I fear the anguish of those who are left behind to struggle onward and experience great pain in the absence of loved ones.
Life is a grave challenge at times, but the battle is worth the outcome when I know that I can be with You and loved ones who You have called upon before me.
So, Lord, if this is my judgement day, then let it be known.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Pixie
Do you see her? She's there, in the garden - dancing in the rain; a perfectly beautiful pixie. Strangely familiar in my mind's eye...have I seen her before?
She is smiling and turning her gentle face skyward, opening her soul to the earth. The rain cascades over her welcoming face and outstretched arms as she spins in the grass - almost in slow motion - her white flowing dress chasing her as she turns.
She makes me sigh....
She is childhood - freedom; nakedness; purity. She is here to remind me; to sooth my aching soul; to turn my mouth upward in a crooked, thoughtful smile.
She dances there, drinking in the monment, like life's first breath.
As I watch her, she stops - her eyes smiling at me, beckoning me out to play. I am fixed on her, intrigued with her face. Like a photograph of my mother as a child I know her, yet know nothing about her.
She glistens in the rain, her bronzed hair strangely untouched and dry. Her smile widens as she sees me taking her in. I am frozen in the moment...I don't want it to end.
She turns her head skyward again and then laughs silently as she runs out of site, her bare feet gently skimming the wet grass.
I am alone again, but the rain doesn't seem so dreary now. I sip my coffee and smile.
She is smiling and turning her gentle face skyward, opening her soul to the earth. The rain cascades over her welcoming face and outstretched arms as she spins in the grass - almost in slow motion - her white flowing dress chasing her as she turns.
She makes me sigh....
She is childhood - freedom; nakedness; purity. She is here to remind me; to sooth my aching soul; to turn my mouth upward in a crooked, thoughtful smile.
She dances there, drinking in the monment, like life's first breath.
As I watch her, she stops - her eyes smiling at me, beckoning me out to play. I am fixed on her, intrigued with her face. Like a photograph of my mother as a child I know her, yet know nothing about her.
She glistens in the rain, her bronzed hair strangely untouched and dry. Her smile widens as she sees me taking her in. I am frozen in the moment...I don't want it to end.
She turns her head skyward again and then laughs silently as she runs out of site, her bare feet gently skimming the wet grass.
I am alone again, but the rain doesn't seem so dreary now. I sip my coffee and smile.
Melancholy day...
Rain dripping off the remaining fall flowers like the rain that dampens my soul.
Those flowers are quenched and flourish with the dreariness of the day, as I must do too...survival, through good and bad.
You can see only the rain, or you can choose to see how beautiful the yellow of the marigolds and the burnt red of the sedum look against the soaked and darkened wooden fence; the delicate white Rose of Sharon standing tall and almost glowing with white blooms; purple pansies planted in honour of Mother's Day gone by still basking with a vibrant pastel violet, resisting the cold nights that taunt the delicate petals; the shocking red wildflower blooms still popping up like intermittent bursts of love and hope; deep purple and white petunias still healthy and strong; and even the calming lavender finding purple rebirth against all odds.
Flowers grow, bloom and fight against the elements for their survival and their place of beauty for however long they can remain. Each one is different; unique in colour, shape and size...each one with its own special moments of perfection.
Life is a garden...which flower will you be?
Those flowers are quenched and flourish with the dreariness of the day, as I must do too...survival, through good and bad.
You can see only the rain, or you can choose to see how beautiful the yellow of the marigolds and the burnt red of the sedum look against the soaked and darkened wooden fence; the delicate white Rose of Sharon standing tall and almost glowing with white blooms; purple pansies planted in honour of Mother's Day gone by still basking with a vibrant pastel violet, resisting the cold nights that taunt the delicate petals; the shocking red wildflower blooms still popping up like intermittent bursts of love and hope; deep purple and white petunias still healthy and strong; and even the calming lavender finding purple rebirth against all odds.
Flowers grow, bloom and fight against the elements for their survival and their place of beauty for however long they can remain. Each one is different; unique in colour, shape and size...each one with its own special moments of perfection.
Life is a garden...which flower will you be?
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