Happy Birthday, Ferne (2014)

She 'sprinkles glitter wherever she goes', brings sunshine to those she loves, is high on barbie shoes and low on drama. She lights up my brother's life and welcomes us all with open arms. She is beautiful. Inside and out. Happy Birthday, Ferne!

Love, C

Look at you

powerful coach passionate mother gregarious party-planner determined
sociable supporter resourceful daughter fun author intuitive artist helper
persistent wife quick-witted mentor courageous friend kind sister witty
compassionate teacher dynamic nurse emotional chauffeur truth-teller
cook adventurous pro-active baker honest reader hard-worker organizer
strong gentle straight-forward spiritual renovator sympathetic gardener
self-disciplined tough housekeeper lover understanding sensitive athlete

Happy Birth Day Heather
You are my sunshine
I love you,
Mom
June 24, 2014

The heart remembers

The heart remembers what the mind forgets.
Your voice, your love, your advice, your help, your hard work,
providing for all of us, the best you could,
your swearing (where do you think I learned),
your tickling,, your humour (all of my friends remember you being fun).
Driving so fast we took the corner on two wheels,
stopping behind a car at the lights, getting as close to it as possible,
bumping into it and sitting there looking angelic, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead,
....me in the passenger seat, delighted and embarrased.
The image of you running down the stairs, rounding the corner into the kitchen,
forgetting the child gate was in the doorway, you hanging in a V shape on the childs gate, naked.
Laughing about it for years to come.
You, getting the child's head out from being stuck in the stair spokes, some too young to remember, only aware
because of family stories and history.
You and me, long drives, low on conversation but aware of the love shared.
You, angry, hot-headed, pulling out the belt, apologizing after.
You, in the garage, working, grandaughter in tow, learning.
You, sharing oversized cookies for your birthday, kisses and hugs.
You, helping where ever you could, rescuing us often.
You and me, sharing a scotch at the neighbourhood bar.
You and me, drag racing down 16th Avenue at Christmas time.
You, struggling to do your best with what you had and what you had been dealt in your own life.
You, in your hospital bed saying no one gets out of here alive, you with your head on Mom's shoulder,
taking your last breath.
Leaving me filled with pain, confusion, emptiness, and a broken heart.
Thank you for loving us and for being who you were.
My heart remembers.
I love you, Dad.
Happy Father's Day.
2014

C

It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance

I spend so much of my life second guessing myself in everything I do. I don't know what I am so afraid of. Actually, that's not true. I'm afraid of rejection. Of being abandoned.

My post about drinking is a perfect example. I want to be honest. I want to acknowledge my faults and choices and mistakes and stop the endless cycle of guilt and self doubt that is my life. I recognize there is a distance in my family and I want to make it better. I can't fix what I don't acknowledge. 

To write about any part of my life is risky. I risk being judged. Because to be judged is to risk abandonment and rejection. But I do it and then I think about it and go back and read it and start to think (code for second guessing myself). Did I start drinking exactly the first night I moved out? Probably not but it certainly was around that time. Did I drink every night? Well, no. But probably most nights. Maybe four out of seven. Did I drink for nine years? Why not seven or ten, where did I come up with nine? Did I drive drunk a lot with my kids in the car. No, probably a handful of times but then once is too often.

And then I realize I am having this conversation with myself and it's all semantics. It doesn't matter if it was seven years or nine. It doesn't matter if it was every night or every other night. What matters is that my behaviour and choices caused pain. Period. 

To my children, 

I am sorry that I made poor choices and put you in harms way and that I was not 'plugged in' at a time when you needed me to be. 

It was wrong.

In the future I will do better. I will do more listening and be less defensive. I will be open and honest with you. I will endeavour to 'get over myself' and move on and be a better person. I will love you.

Will you forgive me?

coming down off the pedestal

I'm going to look after you the way you looked after Gramma. Hearing those words (reading the text, actually) reminded me again of the perception that everyone has. What an awesome daughter I was, how lucky my Mom was, how fortunate she was to have me. I'm being portrayed as a saint, someone who put herself last and gave so much of herself.

The truth is that as much as I loved my Mom, and love her I did, I was impatient and short with her, often irritated with her shortcomings, and frustrated with being her caretaker. In the last five years of her life I was on a short fuse that cost me my marriage, my relationship with my siblings, and my own self respect. I was angry and felt sorry for myself. I felt as though everyone else was living their life and I had no control over mine. It was like one day my life is in front of me and the next I couldn't see any life. I couldn't leave and I didn't want to stay. I wanted everyone else to do their share but I was compelled to do more than mine. I was angry with her for having smoked and the first to defend her for smoking at a time when no one knew any better. As she aged she seemed to get more insecure and cry about her childhood and I admonished her for reliving the past, asked her why couldn't she just be happy. If she could be happy then I wouldn't have to be responsible for her happiness. I didn't realize the digression to her past and her sadness was the dementia creeping in. I can't imagine what it would be like to have lost eleven siblings, their spouses, your parents, your husband, and one child. And I remember thinking, I want my Mom back. As though it was all about me.

They say the hardest part of being put on a pedestal is falling off. For me, the hardest part is being there at all. The right thing to do is to climb down and to forgive myself for being the imperfect daughter that I was. I know she had. I loved her so much and every day I told her that. But I wish that I had been more patient, loving, and kind. I lost track of what life should be about not the least of which is the joy of giving back and who better to give back to. Doing my part in looking after Mom was part of the journey, not the obstacle I sometimes felt it was. If I could turn back time I would ask her questions and then I would sit back and listen. And even now if I listen hard enough, I can hear her say, it's going to be okay.

Happy Birthday, Shelly

Shelly, I hope that you experience everything you hope for in the next year and more. You are bright, considerate, thoughtful, warm-hearted, creative, sensible, humorous, sincere, and just plain wonderful.
Happy Birthday, Shelly. I love you.
2014

To My Girl and My Boy

The first time I thought of you
My heart filled with wonder
The first time I felt you
My heart filled with joy
The first time I saw you
My heart was lost to you forever