I find it fascinating how sometimes things just fall into place. I hate to admit it, but my mother is right - about pretty much everything. :) She really is a brilliant woman. I struggled a lot growing up (and as an adult) and while I didn't always want to listen to what she had to say and the advice she offered, my mother was usually right. What was this brilliant wisdom, you ask? "If it's meant to be, it will be." Seems so simple, doesn't it? Well, eventually it is.
Over the past couple of years the good things in life have fallen into place. I graduated from university and found a job that I love. I work with the most incredible people a person could imagine.
I met the man of my dreams. Actually, we had known each other for about a year, but we started dating in January. He really is everything I could want in a partner and more. I'm a very lucky woman. It's interesting how it just ... happened. One day we would be high-fiving and making friendly conversation at the gym. The next, we're in love. Now, we're living together and planning our future. Life really can be poetic, can't it?
I'm not much of a poetry person. When we were required to study it in school I found it frustrating because, for the most part, I didn't understand it. But every once in a while something will really resonates with me. A couple of days ago, I was watching a show and they referred to this poem by William Wordsworth. It made me think of dad. I thought of the people I've lost. I'm sharing it with you here.
Splendour in the Grass
What though the radiance
which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
- William Wordsworth
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Dreams
I sometimes wonder if dreams are the worst part of grieving. I often have dreams where my dad is still alive. At some point, while still in the dream, I realize that it's a dream and start to cry. I wake up in tears. I had a dream like this the other night. It's heartbreaking.
I was going through some files on my computer recently and moving them from my laptop to a new external hard drive. I found a video. I recorded it on the 6-month anniversary of dad's passing. I find music to be quite therapeutic. And this is one of the last songs him and I played together. We played it at his sisters funeral. I also played it at his funeral. I know it was a favourite of his. I could feel him with me that day.
I'm going to share it with you here. I couldn't figure out how to upload it to my blog, so I've added it to YouTube instead. You can find it here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-DFCCxzWmU
I was going through some files on my computer recently and moving them from my laptop to a new external hard drive. I found a video. I recorded it on the 6-month anniversary of dad's passing. I find music to be quite therapeutic. And this is one of the last songs him and I played together. We played it at his sisters funeral. I also played it at his funeral. I know it was a favourite of his. I could feel him with me that day.
I'm going to share it with you here. I couldn't figure out how to upload it to my blog, so I've added it to YouTube instead. You can find it here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-DFCCxzWmU
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Looking back while moving forward
It's been a while since I've written here. No reason, really. Lack of time? Lack of motivation? Lack of things to talk about? Could be a bit of all of these. I think I write the most when I'm feeling awful. So perhaps it's a good sign that I haven't felt the need to blog? :)
Since November, my last post, there's been a few significant incidents that have occurred. I'll share a few of them here.
My dad really wanted me to be a Petty Officer First Class in the navy. In fact, he was kind of rooting for me to pass my brother in rank. ;) All in good fun, of course. But my dad was also a Petty Officer First Class in the navy. That was the rank at which he retired. I had started working on courses to get me to this point before he died. His death motivated me to work a little bit harder on achieving the goal. I spent three weeks in St-Jean, PQ on my Intermediate Leadership Course. Step 1 in achieving the goal. While this was going on, I was also working on my Qualification Level 4 Distance Learning Course. It was these 2 courses, plus one more, that would make me eligible for promotion to Petty Officer First Class (PO1).
December was a rough month. Particularly around Christmas. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a Grinch. I was. I was miserable. I was not looking forward to the holidays. I didn't want to be around anyone. This is going to sound terrible, and I don't want anyone to get the wrong impression. But for the first time, I understood why people attempt/commit suicide during the holidays. I was not/am not suicidal. But I could understand how people get so low, low enough to feel like there's no other way out.
On December 18th, one of my long time patients succumbed to Cystic Fibrosis. He was 16. It doesn't matter how long and how well you prepare yourself for the inevitable. It's still hard when it happens.
On December 25th, Christmas Day, another patient of mine ... one I had grown very close to ... succumbed to Juvenile Huntington's Disease. She was 17. We had known she was palliative. But none of us thought she would go quite so quickly.
So here it is ... the holidays. Already a tough time of the year for me and my family. Dad was such a fan of Christmas. He loved it! Loved to buy gifts and share time with his family. And he wouldn't be with us. That will never get easier. And December 27th marks the anniversary of Reece's passing. So really ... it was almost too much to bear.
But the New Year would offer some reprieve from my grief ...
A trip to Arizona in January to visit my mum and my aunts was wonderful. Sunshine is good for the soul. So is my mum. :) Here's a picture of my feet by the pool. Heavenly.
I entered into a relationship. And he's fabulous! His company is also good for the soul. :)
I'm in Quebec City at the moment. This is the last course I need to earn my promotion. Achieving my goals is becoming more of a reality. :) Shortly after I arrived here I received a random email from a man who had done Basic Recruit training with my father in 1968. He hadn't seen him since 1975 but had been thinking of him and was trying to find him on Facebook. It was there that he stumbled upon the memorial page for my father and contacted me. He shared a couple of pictures with me. And I will share one of them here with you. You can find my father in the bottom picture, back row, 5th from the left. Or you can look for his goofy grin and his ears. ;)
Quebec is pretty. I'm not much of a winter person, but I tried to make the best of it. I checked out Bonhomme Carnival. Here's a few pictures that I took.
I'm hoping to go to Montreal next weekend to check out the city and visit my cousins, Ryan and Brendan. The weekend after that I plan on going to Ottawa to visit my good friend, Caroline and Konrad. Then, the weekend after that we all head to Halifax to finish the final two weeks of the course. I'm very much looking forward to this. It'll be great to see some old friends, specifically Brian and Shauna. :) And perhaps some family.
So ... 2011 is off to a pretty good start. Lots of great days so far. And so many wonderful things to look forward to.
Since November, my last post, there's been a few significant incidents that have occurred. I'll share a few of them here.
My dad really wanted me to be a Petty Officer First Class in the navy. In fact, he was kind of rooting for me to pass my brother in rank. ;) All in good fun, of course. But my dad was also a Petty Officer First Class in the navy. That was the rank at which he retired. I had started working on courses to get me to this point before he died. His death motivated me to work a little bit harder on achieving the goal. I spent three weeks in St-Jean, PQ on my Intermediate Leadership Course. Step 1 in achieving the goal. While this was going on, I was also working on my Qualification Level 4 Distance Learning Course. It was these 2 courses, plus one more, that would make me eligible for promotion to Petty Officer First Class (PO1).
December was a rough month. Particularly around Christmas. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a Grinch. I was. I was miserable. I was not looking forward to the holidays. I didn't want to be around anyone. This is going to sound terrible, and I don't want anyone to get the wrong impression. But for the first time, I understood why people attempt/commit suicide during the holidays. I was not/am not suicidal. But I could understand how people get so low, low enough to feel like there's no other way out.
On December 18th, one of my long time patients succumbed to Cystic Fibrosis. He was 16. It doesn't matter how long and how well you prepare yourself for the inevitable. It's still hard when it happens.
On December 25th, Christmas Day, another patient of mine ... one I had grown very close to ... succumbed to Juvenile Huntington's Disease. She was 17. We had known she was palliative. But none of us thought she would go quite so quickly.
So here it is ... the holidays. Already a tough time of the year for me and my family. Dad was such a fan of Christmas. He loved it! Loved to buy gifts and share time with his family. And he wouldn't be with us. That will never get easier. And December 27th marks the anniversary of Reece's passing. So really ... it was almost too much to bear.
But the New Year would offer some reprieve from my grief ...
A trip to Arizona in January to visit my mum and my aunts was wonderful. Sunshine is good for the soul. So is my mum. :) Here's a picture of my feet by the pool. Heavenly.
I entered into a relationship. And he's fabulous! His company is also good for the soul. :)
I'm in Quebec City at the moment. This is the last course I need to earn my promotion. Achieving my goals is becoming more of a reality. :) Shortly after I arrived here I received a random email from a man who had done Basic Recruit training with my father in 1968. He hadn't seen him since 1975 but had been thinking of him and was trying to find him on Facebook. It was there that he stumbled upon the memorial page for my father and contacted me. He shared a couple of pictures with me. And I will share one of them here with you. You can find my father in the bottom picture, back row, 5th from the left. Or you can look for his goofy grin and his ears. ;)
Quebec is pretty. I'm not much of a winter person, but I tried to make the best of it. I checked out Bonhomme Carnival. Here's a few pictures that I took.
I'm hoping to go to Montreal next weekend to check out the city and visit my cousins, Ryan and Brendan. The weekend after that I plan on going to Ottawa to visit my good friend, Caroline and Konrad. Then, the weekend after that we all head to Halifax to finish the final two weeks of the course. I'm very much looking forward to this. It'll be great to see some old friends, specifically Brian and Shauna. :) And perhaps some family.
So ... 2011 is off to a pretty good start. Lots of great days so far. And so many wonderful things to look forward to.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
God?
I often find myself talking to my dad. About the big things. About the little things. Random, general chit-chat I may have talked to him about while he was still alive. I ask him for guidance, strength, answers.
I ran the Victoria Half Marathon on October 10. For a large majority of this 21.1km run, I thought of my dad. I pictured him in heaven running with me. I imagined him healthy, smiling and carefree, encouraging me to run faster and farther. I believe this to be true. I believe that he is healthy, smiling and carefree. I believe he was running next to me the day of the marathon, that he crossed that finish line with me. That he shed a tear just as I did when I looked at the time and saw that it was a personal best.
One day, about 6 or 7 months ago, I was struggling with a boy. I was so smitten with this particular guy and he was just ... so troubled. In all fairness, he was dealing with some awful things and just trying to find his footing in life. But I felt so confused. I didn't know what to do. I asked dad. And then all of a sudden ... it was just so clear. I knew the right answer.
The day of dad's funeral, I was sitting in the front pew of the church and I felt this overwhelming, all encompassing warmth. Not heat, exactly. Just, like I was being held from the outside in.
Every time I hear a song, or see something, or read something; every time dad comes to my mind (regularly throughout each and every day) I feel him with me. Perhaps him coming to my mind is his way of letting me know that he's still with me, that he misses me, loves me.
Oh! The title of this post is "God?" ... perhaps I should explain why.
Faith has always been a very personal thing for me. Very intimate and something I don't always speak openly about. I find it easier to talk about relationships and other personal, intimate details about my life than to talk about my relationship with God.
I have struggled for a number of years with my faith. After Reece died I was so angry! But who could I be angry with? Her death wasn't anyone's fault. So I was mad at God. I didn't understand why God would do something like this. So then I questioned my faith. I know this was difficult for dad (and for mum) as they wanted me to able to turn to a strong faith during such a struggle. But I couldn't do it. I asked questions like, "Can there be a heaven if there is no God?"
Who ever would have thought that my father dying would be the trigger necessary to help me start rebuilding my faith? Well ... God, I suppose. And maybe my dad.
I ran the Victoria Half Marathon on October 10. For a large majority of this 21.1km run, I thought of my dad. I pictured him in heaven running with me. I imagined him healthy, smiling and carefree, encouraging me to run faster and farther. I believe this to be true. I believe that he is healthy, smiling and carefree. I believe he was running next to me the day of the marathon, that he crossed that finish line with me. That he shed a tear just as I did when I looked at the time and saw that it was a personal best.
One day, about 6 or 7 months ago, I was struggling with a boy. I was so smitten with this particular guy and he was just ... so troubled. In all fairness, he was dealing with some awful things and just trying to find his footing in life. But I felt so confused. I didn't know what to do. I asked dad. And then all of a sudden ... it was just so clear. I knew the right answer.
The day of dad's funeral, I was sitting in the front pew of the church and I felt this overwhelming, all encompassing warmth. Not heat, exactly. Just, like I was being held from the outside in.
Every time I hear a song, or see something, or read something; every time dad comes to my mind (regularly throughout each and every day) I feel him with me. Perhaps him coming to my mind is his way of letting me know that he's still with me, that he misses me, loves me.
Oh! The title of this post is "God?" ... perhaps I should explain why.
Faith has always been a very personal thing for me. Very intimate and something I don't always speak openly about. I find it easier to talk about relationships and other personal, intimate details about my life than to talk about my relationship with God.
I have struggled for a number of years with my faith. After Reece died I was so angry! But who could I be angry with? Her death wasn't anyone's fault. So I was mad at God. I didn't understand why God would do something like this. So then I questioned my faith. I know this was difficult for dad (and for mum) as they wanted me to able to turn to a strong faith during such a struggle. But I couldn't do it. I asked questions like, "Can there be a heaven if there is no God?"
Who ever would have thought that my father dying would be the trigger necessary to help me start rebuilding my faith? Well ... God, I suppose. And maybe my dad.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
The Dance
Yesterday I attended my friend, Laura's, wedding. She married her long-time love, Clayton. It was really beautiful. Spectacular ceremony. Charming reception. Lovely speeches. It was so obvious how much love was there between both families. I felt honoured to share in such a special occasion.
Laura & Clayton danced their first dance to Tim McGraw's "My Best Friend". About half way through the song, the father of the bride and mother of the groom stepped in to finish the dance. It was lovely. And I had to excuse myself.
I am so thrilled for Clayton and Laura. Laura has been a wonderful friend to me. She was a huge support through nursing school and continues to stand by my side through good times and bad. She's an inspirational, beautiful person who deserves nothing but happiness.
But watching Laura dance with her father was heart breaking. I'll never have this dance. I'll never have my father daughter dance at my wedding. I'll never hear my father welcome my husband to our family. He'll never sing at my wedding. I miss him.
Laura & Clayton danced their first dance to Tim McGraw's "My Best Friend". About half way through the song, the father of the bride and mother of the groom stepped in to finish the dance. It was lovely. And I had to excuse myself.
I am so thrilled for Clayton and Laura. Laura has been a wonderful friend to me. She was a huge support through nursing school and continues to stand by my side through good times and bad. She's an inspirational, beautiful person who deserves nothing but happiness.
But watching Laura dance with her father was heart breaking. I'll never have this dance. I'll never have my father daughter dance at my wedding. I'll never hear my father welcome my husband to our family. He'll never sing at my wedding. I miss him.
Monday, August 30, 2010
One year later ...
So ... here we are ... one year later.
Strangely, I thought I would have a lot to say about this. But I feel at a loss for words. I've actually been thinking a lot about how to blog about this over the past few weeks. What would I say? How would I express myself?
Has anything changed? Well, we've been through all the firsts. His first birthday. Our first Christmas without him. Our first St. Patricks day without him. My first Father's Day without a father. Mum and Dad's anniversary. The one year anniversary of his passing. The one year anniversary of his funeral.
On August 25th I went for pizza with my good friend Leesa. As we were chatting, she asked me how I was doing with everything. I was telling her how I was ok, that things were going well. And then I started to explain how only now am I started to remember some things that happened last year. Mostly in relation to my aunts death (she had a heart attack 6 days after my dad died, while she was with us for his funeral). I had forgotten a lot of things about it. But as I was thinking about her on the anniversary of her death (August 24th), I started to recall some things - conversations I had, people I had to call, the whole experience itself from start to finish. I recelled things I had previously forgotten as I told Leesa this story. It caused the hair on the back of my neck and my arms to stand up. I felt chilled. Then we spoke more about my dad. I told Leesa that I thought I was ok, that I didn't think I would have anymore random breakdowns. You know, the kind where you hear a song on the radio that causes you to burst in to tears. Or how a certain smell, or memory that just bring back all the pain from those first days. I thought this wouldn't happen anymore. That now that the first year was over, I wouldn't go through this anymore.
I was wrong.
The next day, I was at Chapters. As I stood in line to pay for my purchases, I noticed a middle aged man in front of me holding two DVD's. "The Vicar of Dibley". Dad loved this show. So did Mum. I tried to shake off the feeling this gave me. I went upstairs to the bookstore coffee shop to read and enjoy a cup of java. Then the grief grabbed me. It was so overwhelming I had to leave. I raced to my car as quickly as I could and then the pain took over. I was in tears. Sobbing in my car in the parkade of a shopping mall.
So maybe I'm not ok. But this I know for sure. I will be.
Strangely, I thought I would have a lot to say about this. But I feel at a loss for words. I've actually been thinking a lot about how to blog about this over the past few weeks. What would I say? How would I express myself?
Has anything changed? Well, we've been through all the firsts. His first birthday. Our first Christmas without him. Our first St. Patricks day without him. My first Father's Day without a father. Mum and Dad's anniversary. The one year anniversary of his passing. The one year anniversary of his funeral.
On August 25th I went for pizza with my good friend Leesa. As we were chatting, she asked me how I was doing with everything. I was telling her how I was ok, that things were going well. And then I started to explain how only now am I started to remember some things that happened last year. Mostly in relation to my aunts death (she had a heart attack 6 days after my dad died, while she was with us for his funeral). I had forgotten a lot of things about it. But as I was thinking about her on the anniversary of her death (August 24th), I started to recall some things - conversations I had, people I had to call, the whole experience itself from start to finish. I recelled things I had previously forgotten as I told Leesa this story. It caused the hair on the back of my neck and my arms to stand up. I felt chilled. Then we spoke more about my dad. I told Leesa that I thought I was ok, that I didn't think I would have anymore random breakdowns. You know, the kind where you hear a song on the radio that causes you to burst in to tears. Or how a certain smell, or memory that just bring back all the pain from those first days. I thought this wouldn't happen anymore. That now that the first year was over, I wouldn't go through this anymore.
I was wrong.
The next day, I was at Chapters. As I stood in line to pay for my purchases, I noticed a middle aged man in front of me holding two DVD's. "The Vicar of Dibley". Dad loved this show. So did Mum. I tried to shake off the feeling this gave me. I went upstairs to the bookstore coffee shop to read and enjoy a cup of java. Then the grief grabbed me. It was so overwhelming I had to leave. I raced to my car as quickly as I could and then the pain took over. I was in tears. Sobbing in my car in the parkade of a shopping mall.
So maybe I'm not ok. But this I know for sure. I will be.
Friday, August 6, 2010
What he wants ...
I feel stuck ... again ... as though I have been living this previous year on one single day. August 18, 2009. Groundhog Day. Sure, I've had some pretty incredible experiences since my dad died. I because Auntie Erin to Atticus. I went to the Philippines. I've met some great new friends. I finished my first year as a nurse and got a Permanent Full-Time job. In many peoples' lives they would find this to be enough. And while I have enjoyed and appreciated these things, I often find myself stuck in a moment that occurred nearly one year ago. When I hear those words in my head again ... when I hear my mother say "Dad died this morning" ... it takes me back to the pain I felt at that instant. I miss him desperately.
I know it sounds weird, but sometimes I can actually kind of hear him talking to me. Maybe because I think about him so often. Maybe it's when I listen to his music. Whatever the reason, I feel it. On the weekend, I was on Salt Spring Island and I was thinking about him, journalling, and I feel like he told me he was sorry. That's the first time I ever felt that - that he would be sorry. Sorry for leaving us. Sorry that he never met Atticus (although I like to believe dad met Atticus before the rest of us did - that he came to us from heaven ... our angel on earth). I think he's sorry he'll never get to walk me down the aise, or Christen my children, or to be a grandfather. He wants me to know it's better for him this way. He's not suffering. There's no grief in heaven. Just music and laughter and cheese-whiz and Barney. He wants me to be happy. He knows I miss him. He knows it hurts, that I suffer every day without him. But he's here. He wants me to know that he checks on us every day. And he's so proud of us and he loves us more than he could ever describe.
I love you too, Dad. So very very much.
Dad, maybe the next time you stop by to talk to me you could help me figure out what to do next? Where to go? How to get through this? How to move forward? Because feeling as though this last year was a blur is a bit disconcerting. ONE YEAR! One year and I feel like I'm emotionally stunted, as though I haven't grown at all as a person. Sure I can say and do the right things to make others believe I'm coping just fine. And maybe I am. Maybe it's normal to feel this way?
While I'm chatting with you ... if you don't mind ... could you give Reecey a big hug and kiss and bonks for me? Read her the "Belly Button Book"? Sing her the Barney song? I can just imagine the ruckus you're all causing up there!!! After kids-hour, I know you'll be having a big party with Laura and Mavis, your brothers, your parents, Diane, Basil, Donnie, Herman. Probably having a few pints and singing all sorts of Stan Rogers tunes. Sounds like a blast, Dad! Enjoy. You've earned it. :)
I know it sounds weird, but sometimes I can actually kind of hear him talking to me. Maybe because I think about him so often. Maybe it's when I listen to his music. Whatever the reason, I feel it. On the weekend, I was on Salt Spring Island and I was thinking about him, journalling, and I feel like he told me he was sorry. That's the first time I ever felt that - that he would be sorry. Sorry for leaving us. Sorry that he never met Atticus (although I like to believe dad met Atticus before the rest of us did - that he came to us from heaven ... our angel on earth). I think he's sorry he'll never get to walk me down the aise, or Christen my children, or to be a grandfather. He wants me to know it's better for him this way. He's not suffering. There's no grief in heaven. Just music and laughter and cheese-whiz and Barney. He wants me to be happy. He knows I miss him. He knows it hurts, that I suffer every day without him. But he's here. He wants me to know that he checks on us every day. And he's so proud of us and he loves us more than he could ever describe.
I love you too, Dad. So very very much.
Dad, maybe the next time you stop by to talk to me you could help me figure out what to do next? Where to go? How to get through this? How to move forward? Because feeling as though this last year was a blur is a bit disconcerting. ONE YEAR! One year and I feel like I'm emotionally stunted, as though I haven't grown at all as a person. Sure I can say and do the right things to make others believe I'm coping just fine. And maybe I am. Maybe it's normal to feel this way?
While I'm chatting with you ... if you don't mind ... could you give Reecey a big hug and kiss and bonks for me? Read her the "Belly Button Book"? Sing her the Barney song? I can just imagine the ruckus you're all causing up there!!! After kids-hour, I know you'll be having a big party with Laura and Mavis, your brothers, your parents, Diane, Basil, Donnie, Herman. Probably having a few pints and singing all sorts of Stan Rogers tunes. Sounds like a blast, Dad! Enjoy. You've earned it. :)
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