As December Fades

As December fades around me and I sit surrounded by snow, in a new city, a new house and ultimately - a new life, I feel pangs of disbelief still. My life on the West Coast seems like a distant memory. My life as somebody’s wife and partner in life hardly seems like it was less than a year ago. But here I sit, 10 months after losing Mark finding it hard to believe that we endured those hardships together.

Maybe it’s because I’m so far removed from everything that was my everyday back then. All the daily trips to VGH, hours on the road, hours in the clinic. Watching the IV pump drip with packed red blood cells had a way of making time stand still. In retrospect, each transfusion he received probably gave him an extra day or two of energy he may not have had.

Christmas Eve last year was one of our longest days in the clinic at VGH. Mark was determined to be home for Christmas with me and the kids. His plan was to get all the fluids, antibiotics and red blood cells he needed to tide him over Christmas Day and Boxing Day then return on the 27th for anything else. Little did he know that day that his numbers were at rock bottom and we were there from early morning to past supper time. Probably over 8 hours. I remember distinctly the impatience and frustration we both were feeling as we felt the day slip away from us. Just when we thought he was done, the lab called and announced that his platelets were dangerously low and he needed to stay for another transfusion. Two hours later we were still there. Mark was the last patient to walk out of the clinic that evening. It was tough to watch everyone else finish up then go be with their families.

As long as that day was, we did have Christmas together. It was joyful but sombre as we all knew it would be our last together. Now a year later, having trudged through a lot of ‘firsts’ I wonder how to get through this one.

Stepping

It’s the first night it’s been cold enough to use the fireplace and I suspect that we will wake up to frost covered roof tops again tomorrow. As I sit here at my desk as I do most every night, the heat gently wafts at my back and keeps me company while I ponder my options. For once, they are decisions that can wait. They are decisions that aren’t life altering like so many of the ones that have come before this. There is a certain lightness that comes with deciding what bedspread to buy and which boxes to unpack first. It does however, feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to be where I am tonight.

It feels almost impossible to believe that I am here in the house that will be my home for years to come. Maybe it’s because it’s been months since I was in a place that was truly my own, or because my life in Vancouver feels like a distant memory, but the hard to believe feeling is difficult to shake.

I don’t know what I pictured for myself when Mark and I talked about me relocating here with the kids. It was only a year ago that we first discussed it and now, looking back I can’t even believe we had those conversations. The further away I get from those moments, the more amazing and courageous Mark becomes to me. His concern for us was always his first priority and it outweighed any fears he had about his own future. Reflecting back, it seems unbelievable how he could have been so strong in the face of such adversity. There are moments in each of my days that I wish I could be as strong as he was.

The excitement of a new place to call home is (at times) enough of a distraction for the kids. They are loving the new neighbourhood with the forest just steps away and a new friend on the street already. I’m starting to feel like this is the beginning of something. Almost like, there’s been a line drawn in the sand and I’ve just stepped over it. It’s taken me months to get here and over 4000kms but this is where I’m supposed to be.

Patiently waiting

As I sit here at my desk I am very aware of how different my life has become. Last year on Thanksgiving I was cooking a turkey for Mark and his brother Chris while they got a game of golf in. It was unseasonably warm and the guys went in t-shirts. It was the kind of fall day that makes you love living on the West Coast. I am often teased for the phrase "It's always sunny in Langley" but it really is the truth. No matter how miserable the rain was, it always seemed to clear around four in the afternoon and our kids experienced more rainbows living there than I have ever seen in my lifetime.

I'm sure Mark suspected that each game of golf may be his last but I really don't think it was on his mind that day. It was a time when there was a lull in his treatment and he was feeling the best he had since his relapse in September. Mark had completed his salvage chemo and was waiting for his counts to rebound. Chris had been staying with us as he did for weeks at a time and Mark was happy to have some 'healthy' time with his brother. The two of them went to Swan-e-set where Mark sufficiently whipped his brother at his favourite game and they came home to find a turkey on the table waiting for them.

I specifically remember how I felt sitting at our table that day. The afternoon was warm and I had had the windows and sliders open all day. The smell of turkey had filled the house and when you went outside you could smell it coming up the stairs. As I sat there I felt very happy with myself to have prepared a turkey for my guy (it was one of his favourite things) and the day felt normal, almost perfect. We sat with the kids, Noah in his high chair and Audrey eating off one of the big 'special' plates and Mark talked about their game in a lighthearted way that was refreshing to hear in his voice.

Earlier that month Mark and I had gone shopping for our new dining room table (very exciting for a woman!) We were tired of having my Dad sit on the step stool when they visited. As we had our turkey that evening I commented on it being our first dinner ever with a guest at our new table and no one had to sit on a makeshift chair. I felt a sense of optimism for our future but then at the same time was reminded that this could be the first and last time I sit with Mark and our family at this new table. Looking back, it's funny how a simple piece of furniture can stir up such conflicting feelings at the same time. Tonight, that same table sits in blankets standing on end in my garage waiting to be moved to our new home next Thursday. It's as though it's been waiting there for me patiently to create new memories.

Something lost

The sadness that encompasses my life each day can be fleeting and overwhelming all in the same hour of a day. It makes me wonder how much see-sawing a persons’ soul can tolerate. How is it that one minute things can feel almost normal only to disintegrate before my eyes in minutes, sometimes even seconds?

It has become evident to me over the last 7 months that this is part of the deal. You don’t always get to choose when you feel like being happy or sad, it has a way of choosing you. The sometimes random nature of this roller coaster is what makes things feel quite impossible at times. Then there are those days that the calendar dictates. These are hard in their own way. All the anticipation leading up to the day and all the family members who are at a loss for words and who want only to comfort you.

How does one coast through these anniversaries without feeling bitter or deprived of what is rightfully theirs? How do you re frame something that is lost, into something that is good? This question begs for an answer from anyone who has loved and lost. Somehow Tennyson's words don’t fill the gap in my heart. It may well be that “Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. " It just feels harder to believe tonight.

Eve of Kindergarden

On the eve of Audrey's first full day of Kindergarden I am yet again drawn to my computer. These milestones and firsts are undeniable and they have a way of refreshing the mind and heart of what is lost. I have been excited for Audrey and Noah and all they will encounter this month, both are starting school (Kindergarden and Nursery school) and it is the first step out of toddler hood for my baby.

Audrey will board the bus tomorrow morning at 8:10am around the corner from our new house and Noah and I will meet his new nursery school teachers. The two things seem almost unbelievable even though I have been waiting all summer for them to happen. The children are ready and I will welcome the freedom it will give me but my heart hasn't caught up yet. My reluctance to embrace this new found role is difficult to shake.

Fall is the time for cozy sweaters and changing leaves, crisp sunny days (in Ottawa!) and walks in the Gatineaus'. All the things I love about fall are all the things I loved doing with Mark. We met in August of '95 and spent the rest of that year falling for each other. A lot of my early memories of Mark and I are of our days together living in the market. We'd walk home from work together on crisp nights and our hands would be freezing by the time we reached our doorstep. He didn't care though, he always held my hand on walks home. All of these simple memories seems so clear to me almost 12 years later. I wonder if they would be so close to the surface if things had been different...

Remembering these early days is good for a moment, then incredibly sad. I don't think I'm far enough away from losing Mark to have a feel good memory that lasts that way in my mind. I long for the time that I will remember and be grateful, rather than remembering with sadness. There is no pre-determined set of instructions to follow to achieve this gracious mind set and it seems to have become the hardest part of grieving for me.

But, what can you do? It can't be fixed, or changed. Hoping for the impossible is tiring and hard on the soul. My mind tells me to plow through the sadness and hold it together for Audrey and Noah. I just have to talk my heart into it, one day at a time.

HOW

How do I hold my head high

when I want to weep
how do I sit on the stairs and listen to our two year old cry

when he doesn’t want to sleep

How do I not feel alone

when everyone else is part of a pair

how do I pull myself out of a slump when I want to

but feel only despair

How do I watch our baby start kindergarden

with only me at the door

how do I be satisfied

and not want more

How do I move forward

and try to enjoy each day
how do I know what to do for our kids

and what to say

We didn’t choose this
nobody would
life shouldn’t be this hard for our babies
I know you’d change it if you could

I miss you I love you and I feel so alone
I wish I had you to share it with Mark

I wish you could come home.

The Odd Day

As time goes by, I wonder what makes up a good day and what makes up a bad one. During this process I am confronted with both, and at times can feel overwhelmed with the moment. I know in my heart that it is completely natural but I can't help but wonder if anyone else in the world has felt like me. Sadly, I know the answer is yes but it doesn't soften the longing I feel for a life I once had.

It is difficult to imagine that this could have happened to my happy little family. Who knew that a persistent sore throat and a few fevers would bring me here to today. I have trouble believing all that has happened over the last 17 months. It is a story that one reads about, I never thought I would be writing about it.

When I look back at the horrible circumstances that have been dealt to me I feel differently about it at different times. Depends on the day, but there is an overall feeling of disbelief still. I hope for a time that things will feel normal again but it seems a long way off. As the days trickle by, I hope that my appreciation for the fragility of life will outweigh my disappointment in what could have been.

There is the odd day that my disbelief takes a back seat and I feel fortunate or even lucky to have made connections with a few special people. I would venture that if all of this had never happened I would still be close to these special friends, but their unconditional love and support for me reminds me how lucky I am. As I get older, I have come to realize that it is rare to come across more than one or two people like this in a life time. The kinds of friends who are there for you and more. People who reach out when no one else knows what to do. When I catch myself appreciating these extraordinary people, I can feel in my heart that one day I will be okay. I consider myself lucky to be able to think of a half dozen people right now in my day to day life that fall into this category. For that, I am truly thankful.

For now, for tonight, I will ride this wave of appreciation I feel for my friends. It can be as simple as a long meaningful chat on the phone, but it is friends like you that remind me that sometimes it's easier to be grateful than sad.

Brighter Stars and Crisper Days Ahead

It's a beautiful sunny crisp day in Kanata. You can feel autumn nipping at the heels of summer waiting for it's chance. As I sit here with a hoodie and shorts on at my desk, I am surprisingly aware of the change in season. I have often read that those who are grieving are more in tune to what's happening in nature. Just last night as I was closing my windows I noticed the stars and how bright they seemed. The air seems crisper and the clouds more fluffy today. I guess the books are right.

Being back in Ontario has been full of mixed emotions for me. Through out the summer, I have been relieved to have the cottage to go and spend time at. The kids have had a wonderful time but as summer draws to a close I am reminded of all the milestones that lie ahead. All summer long the kids have grown and matured in ways that I still can't believe. Noah speaks in full sentences now. He sits at the table without a booster seat and is almost potty trained. Audrey learned to swim with her life jacket and swims right out to the raft. To some, these little things are just part of growing up. But to me, they are bittersweet to witness. As Audrey is yelling "Look at me Mummy, I'm swimming!!!" I want in my heart to be as excited as her, but I can't chase away the thought of Mark missing it all.

Mark was such an involved Dad. While other moms were going to baby group and on their own, Audrey and I were lucky enough to have Mark with us. Working at The Keg made for some long nights but having Mark around in the mornings was great. We all had breakfast together, went to play group together and he was there for Audrey and Noah's first steps and other baby milestones. I always thought it was so neat that I got to hang out with my hubby in the day.

Now with Fall just around the corner we're coming up to Audrey's first day of school. This will be the first of many big milestones that the kids and I will do on our own. I remember when Mark relapsed he told me there were two things he wanted to experience; Audrey starting kindergarten and Noah talking. All Mark wanted was to hear our son say "I love you." I can't imagine how he must have felt knowing that these simple pleasures were being taken from him by his disease. Noah did start to talk right before Mark got really sick so it gives me some comfort that he got to really communicate with Noah. Not just repeating back as toddlers do.

Another event that is fast approaching is the Light the Night Walk that Mark and I participated in last year. It was such an amazing day. Early that morning Mark was suffering from severe bone pain due to the leukemia and couldn't even get out of bed. I raced around town looking for a wheelchair for him because he wanted to walk the 5kms with us. Only hours later, he recovered from the pain and actually walked the whole 5kms on foot. I was always amazed at Mark's ability to overcome the obstacles that leukemia threw his way. This year I am fundraising in his memory. It will be difficult to do without him, but I know how strongly he felt about making a difference. If you'd like to help, come visit my Light the Night page and make a donation or join the team and come and walk. It was a life changing night for me last year and I would love to share it with you.

To donate:
http://www.active.com/donate/ltnvan/2103_lallanLTN

To join Team Mark Allan and walk or fund raise yourself: http://teams.lightthenight.org/TeamMarkAllan

Choices

The last trip I ever took with Mark was August long weekend last year. We were celebrating his recovery and getting in a quick trip before we both had to go back to work. My parents had flown in to help us with the kids, as they had so many times that year and we decided at the last minute to go to Whistler. In all the years we had lived out west, we had never taken the time to go to one of the most beautiful places in Canada. We were both so excited to finally have some time alone together. I remember us both being pretty giddy and excited as we drove off for our first weekend away from the kids. We were the ones who felt like kids that day. I remember so many details of that weekend. It doesn't feel like it was a year ago.



We stayed at the Pan-Pacific and loved it. The rooms were luxurious, the people were friendly and we got hooked on the AVEDA bath products they supplied in the rooms. I washed my hair this morning with the same rosemary-mint shampoo I used that weekend. Both Mark and I loved the smell so I bought it for us to use at home. A small fortune for shampoo and conditioner but it's amazing how great memories can be triggered by such a simple thing.


Mark and I did the touristy things you do when you go to Whistler. Shop, eat in restaurants, drink beer in the middle of the day. The whole weekend seemed to fall together effortlessly. I had planned to go for a massage at the Pan and then the girl at our hotel gave me a local tip on a great inexpensive place to go. She saved me over 100$. Then, the girl who gave me the massage also just happened to work on the mountain and gave me two day passes for the gondola. It felt like people were being extra nice to us. Complete strangers who knew nothing about us. There were other things too. Someone told us about some "secret" parking in the village and saved us 25$ a day, and Mark got a tee time at a golf course where people book weeks in advance. I remember Mark saying that it felt too good to be true that night while we had drinks at a local cafe. Looking back now, it was the calm before the storm.



It's funny how you can remember such small details about a time or a place you have been. It's like your mind was already programmed to remember it as one of your "lasts". I never thought that would be my last trip with the love of my life. I really thought, we both thought, we were just getting started. Noah and Audrey were at an age then that we felt comfortable leaving them and I just really thought it was the beginning.


I looked back at the blog I posted that weekend and it was titled "More than Surviving". The optimism I had when I wrote that post was a dangerous one to carry. Mark's future was really uncertain even though he was in remission. The survival rate of AML is less than 50%, but we both chose to accept the odds and hope for the best. I have come to believe that the choices we make as we get thrown all these obstacles is what determines our future. Some people crumble, some people wallow and some stumble and fall but then they get up. If I had never had a reprieve from cancer and never got a weekend away with Mark, I might be one of those who doesn't want to get up. But I know in my heart that I need to. For me, our August long weekend trip represents a time of happiness and freedom that we so desperately needed. So with this great memory to look back on, I will try my hardest to do what Mark so graciously did. Choose to LiveStrong.

2947 Clicks

I looked down at the odometer today while driving up to my cottage and was surprised to see how far I have gone. The kids were snoozing in the back and I always catch myself reflecting on my situation when I get a quiet moment. It sort of sneaks up on me when I don't mean for it to, usually a song or something will do it. Almost anything that comes on the radio has significance seeing that I spent the last year of Mark's life commuting to downtown Vancouver with him. It's difficult to pin a memory on every song or every place you go. Difficult to do it, but at the same time - impossible not to.

As I was driving, I thought of where I was sitting, where I was living and what I was actually doing today. Everything at that moment, was a result of losing Mark. I wouldn't have been driving in a new car, coming from my house in Kanata and going up to the cottage for the day. All of these things seemed sad because the only reason I'm doing them is because Mark is gone.

The temptation to live in the past and long for what should have been is terribly difficult to resist. Most people my age are having a second or third baby and thinking about where they might go for their 7th wedding anniversary. I on the other hand, am going to a cemetery tomorrow to choose a spot for my husband's ashes...it just doesn't seem right.

Close to the end of Mark's illness we often spoke of what I was supposed to do, where was I to live? Should I sell our house? It all seemed so surreal talking about it, so distant, but now I am living the life that he encouraged me to plan for. If it hadn't been for Mark's strength and courage to face his disease we would never had had the conversations we did. It breaks my heart to remember the times we talked about my future without him, we always cried, but now I feel lucky that we were given the chance to.

I miss my life in BC and the house we had our babies in. Our neighbourhood, our friends and favourite places. I miss my life with Mark and our kids as a family, but when I looked at the number of kilometres I had put on my car today I thought to myself "Wow, who knew I could do this?" I never thought I'd make it this far.

As hard as this is, I try to remind myself it could be worse. It can always be worse. So, as I put the miles on my new vehicle, I will try to look at them as steps forward. These are the steps into my future that Mark wanted me to make so I could build a happy life for our children, one kilometre at a time.

My night light

Tomorrow (July 14th) would have been Mark's 36th birthday. Having spent the last two weeks up at the cottage I have had a lot of time to reflect on what an amazing person he was and how much the kids and I miss him.

Five months have come and gone and it feels, (at times) that he was just here yesterday cooing at Noah as a baby and kissing Audrey's cheeks. I haven't sat to look at any home video yet because my memories of those days feel just as sharp and clear as the days we made them. Just the thought of how Mark smiled with pure joy while hugging and kissing the kids erases the last few months of hardships we endured together. I am finding it easier to remember the happy times now instead of the long days at the hospital. I am relieved that they are being replaced by things only an innocent 4 year old could remember.

Audrey has been like a glowing night light for me when things feel overwhelming. She often has jags of crying and sadness, and the frustration of not being able to get a zipper done up is enough to set her off. But, it forces the three of us to sit and pause at least once ever day or two and remember something special about Daddy. I think Noah is just playing along but soon enough he'll understand our game and it will be just one of the ways he remembers his Dad.

Whenever someone is sad in our house we give each other a hug and try to "Have a memory of Daddy" as I would say to Audrey. It's turned into a really great way to remember why we miss him so much and all the great things we love about him still. I want the kids to feel like they can talk about Mark as much as they want. It seems like almost everyone is a little worried they may say the wrong thing in front of us but there's nothing like the honesty of a child to break the ice.

Audrey sometimes surprises me with her memories. She talks about little daily things they did together more often than big events or places we all went to together. A favourite one of her memories she recalls often is "Watching Daddy's puzzle show on our bed. " In her whole life, she remembers the feeling of cuddling up to Mark while they watched Wheel of Fortune together.

Audrey's willingness to share these things with anyone in the room makes me proud to think that Mark and I have raised such a thoughtful, innocent little human being. It brings a smile to my face (through tears of course) to marvel at how Audrey is able to live in the moment. She may be sad when she crumbles in a pile trying to get a hoodie done up - but conger up a great "Daddy memory" and her smile beams across her whole face... just like her Dad's used to.

We made it...

The evening air is starting to cool down and the heat of the day is finally slinking out the window. I instantly remembered the hot days from my childhood as I piled into the car with the kids this afternoon and it felt as though we were in a sauna...it was nothing like Spa Utopia.

Time is funny. It feels like years since I've been here but so many things are still just the same. The familiarity of my parent's place, the Queensway, downtown. It's just like I left it 9 years ago. The two obvious differences are that a) I have kids now and b) Mark is no longer at my side. These are the things that make it feel completely different. Over the years, Mark and I had come back for occasional visits in the summertime but now that it's not a visit or a vacation it feels different.

The kids and I are settling into our townhouse here in Kanata. We're going to be here for 4 months and a bit so we're trying hard to unpack only what's needed. Actually, I'm trying to find the motivation to unpack anything. I have surrendered to my lack of motivation tonight and have been sitting at my computer setting up my new email account and checking messages. Okay, facebook too...that's my favourite time sucker.

I bought a new car this week so my parents could have theirs back. Sharing a car with 3 drivers and one who caters for a few hundred people a week was a bit of a juggling act. I got a Hyundai Santa Fe (with AC!) and am loving it. Audrey tells everyone "it is Deep Sea Blue and she is very fond of it." Noah especially likes that the windows go down in the back seat. I am eager to take it up to the cottage tomorrow with Aunt Shell for our first little road trip. It's supposed to be stinking hot again.

I am surrounded by boxes just like the last time I blogged but I feel like things are winding down instead of about to explode. The anticipation for this move was hard to describe. Eager to get on and do something, but sad to be leaving so many things behind. I miss my friends the most, because I know the rest will still be there waiting for me when I come back. For now though, I feel relieved that I can relax and reconnect with old friends, and play with my kids.

Three Days and Counting

As I sit here and write this blog, I know I should be running around and packing while the kids are sleeping but I think I will leave it till the morning. I haven’t really been able to find a second to sit and type but thought I ought to update everybody.

I sold the house, sold the van and the golf and we’re off to Ottawa this Saturday.

Sounds like a nightmare to be dealing with all these details while planning a move across the country but things have sort of fallen into place over the last three weeks.
It all started when a nice young man named Chris Allen phoned my ad in the auto trader to enquire about our golf. He ended up buying our car and has since given it a great new home to go another 200,000kms hopefully. Chris Allen also just happens to work at the Park Royal Keg where Mark and I both started our careers with The Keg. It almost seems like it was meant to be. I had a number of other calls about the car but felt like my little green golf with all its sentimentality was meant to go to a fellow Kegger. I then broke the rule of selling a used car, never call the buyer after and ask how everything is but I just needed to know. So, I phoned Chris and heard back from him after his first road trip with his new car up to the Island to Tofino. Tofino, ironically is a place that Mark and I always wanted to go to but never did once we had the kids and it is the name of our new street in Kanata.

There have been lots of other welcoming coincidences along the way but I am way too tired to write about them tonight. In less than 72 hours our house will be bustling with movers and some great Starbucks friends who have kindly offered to help me clean. The kids will be swimming at the hotel having fun with Grandpa, oblivious to the amount of effort it requires to move (the kids that is, NOT Grandpa!) and we will be in our new home next week.

We are spending Wednesday and Thursday here in Langley with the hopes of saying goodbye to everyone and all the special places we have discovered over the last few years and would love to see everyone. My permanent webmail will remain the same baristamamma@gmail.com so please contact me if you’d like to connect with us before we fly out on Saturday morning. Of course, you can always reach me on my cell. Email me if you don’t have it. The primary email address most of you have lesnmark@shaw.ca will be disconnected on Wednesday so update me in your address book. And look for me on FACEBOOK if you'd like. Warning though, it's a bit of a time sucker and lots of fun.

It’s not goodbye yet...
Leslie

Moving forwards...

The time has come for me to make my way back to Ottawa. At the end of the month, Audrey, Noah and I will be moving back. I found a house for us during our trip home last month and we will be on our way on June the 2nd.

It comes at a time when the days feel especially long without Mark. I miss him terribly as do the kids, and our life out here moves along with a large gap in it. Now that some time has passed, I feel ready to embark on what Mark and I decided was the best thing for our family. It will be hard to leave BC, but in our hearts we knew this was what was going to happen. I am grateful Mark had the courage to plan for our future and help me make this incredibly hard decision. I don't think I could have decided something so important without his input. I admire his courage for facing reality and helping me choose where I was going to raise our family even after he was gone.

It might come as a surprise to some that we talked about stuff like this, but I remember the day Mark told me I should move back to Ottawa. As I'm sure you could guess, it was somewhere between VGH and the Portmann bridge. The place where we had so many of these conversations was in our little Golf that we bought together 11 short years ago. By the time we got to that bridge one of us was usually crying and Mark always said..."Why do we have such heavy conversations 15 minutes from home?!" And my response was usually, "You have cancer, why do you think???!!! Even when he was so close to dying, he still wanted to carry on as usual and not get too bogged down with things. He accepted it, helped me to accept it, planned and then said, "Let's get on with things here, we haven't seen the kids all day."

As for our green golf, I have decided to sell it (on Mark's advice of course). It will be hard to see it go but it is an awesome car that has never left me stranded anywhere in the 11 years that I have owned it. And just to add to the list of TO DO's, I have decided to sell our minivan as well. The thought of driving across the country, alone, with two small children just seems crazy.

With so much to do and such a limited amount of oomph, I have neglected my blog, phone calls, thank-you's and much more. I hope to blog more and keep in touch as time goes on. The friends that Mark and I have made out here on the West Coast will be friends for life. I always look forward to your comments and emails so keep in touch and I will promise to do the same.

Leslie

Just for a Moment

I suppose because I'm coming up to a milestone in this journey I am inclined to write. Also, to read my past entries. For the first time ever, I sat and read my entries from start to finish... What a year.

Seeing it in print reminded me of some things I had forgotten but also made it sound so fast. I didn't blog so much when things were going well and I wish I had. I long to remember all the details of the "good times" with Mark over this past year as they are a little fuzzy for me right now. I guess it is grief and sadness that is stalling my brain for the moment.

One thing that has stuck with me over the last month is our celebration for Mark at the golf club. The day was wet, but the rain seemed so appropriate for how I'm sure we were all feeling.
The idea for it was actually all Mark's.

He was adamant that we were all to have a party (for lack of a better word) after he was gone. He didn't want to have a dreary sad funeral - it really wasn't his style at all. One day after a visit to VGH in January, we were sitting at the stop light at 200th and 72nd Ave here in Langley. I distinctly remember him saying "Les, you have to have party, a celebration." We hadn't been specifically talking about it or anything, just listening to the radio and waiting for the turn arrow. The subject had come up before so I knew right away what he was referring to. On the radio, the song Going to California was playing by Led Zeppelin and that moment has stuck with me.

As soon as I walked into the Conservatory at Newlands, I knew it was perfect. Chris and Sue and I had gone to check it out just before dusk only a few days before and the three of us knew right away it was the place. As we wandered around the room awe struck by how perfect it was and how unreal it felt to be choosing a venue for my husband's funeral, a golfer strolled by the green in front of us. Dark hair, ball cap, about 5"8. We all looked at each other and paused just for a moment. As soon as I realized that of course it wasn't Mark, it was just one of those moments in time, my heart really ached. But I also had to smile too.

That night was only days after losing Mark. I'm pretty sure a few of us that week had similar moments when we thought just for second...maybe. But then reality bonks you over the head and startles you back to real life. So if you feel like you need just one more moment, you can always hear his voice on our answering machine, Mark will be there to greet you and kindly ask you to leave a message.

A Week and a Day

It's been a week and a day since I lost Mark and these past eight days have felt like a dream. Time is funny when there is such intensity all around you, it stands still but at the same time feels like it's slipping out from underneath you. Now that I am quiet and sitting here at my keyboard I am slowly bracing myself for the days and weeks to come.

It feels truly impossible to even imagine a life without my husband, best friend and soul mate. These last 11 months brought us closer together and happier than I ever expected. Despite the illness and endless hours at the hospital, the harsh reality of an expiration date on our time on earth together really did make the little things count. No wonder people write those little pocket books full of cliches and sayings like "stop and smell the roses". Now I get it.

During the service for Mark yesterday I sat and listened to Lynda tell Mark's story. I already knew it of course, being married to him and having written the details of it for her, but hearing it told out loud in a room full of people made me smile. As the minutes passed I watched the rain drip down the glass and noticed how absolutely beautiful it was. The trees swaying in the wind and the flag on the putting green catching the breeze every now and again. These are all things that Mark would have noticed. At the time, I thought to myself, Why am I noticing all these little details now, in the middle of my husband's memorial service? How is it that everything around me seems so beautiful? I thought I would be crying and sobbing uncontrollably through this and here I am smiling at the rain dripping down the glass.

I don't really know why I chose yesterday to marvel at how amazingly beautiful a dreary west coast day can be. Or why I noticed how an empty golf course could look so peaceful and serene, but sitting and listening to others speak about my husband's life has changed me forever. Losing Mark has changed me. It is because of Mark that I was able to crack a smile through my tears over these last eight days. They have been the hardest yet, but I know if I look hard enough, I will find it somewhere within me to cope when I feel hopeless. I don't think I chose yesterday to notice the beauty that surrounds us everyday, I think I had a little help.

Remembering Mark.

As many of you already know, the day that I have been dreading has come. After an almost 11 month battle with leukemia, Mark has succumbed to this dreadful disease. We put up a good fight and Mark will be remembered for the efforts he made to find a cure for leukemia.
Mark will be remembered for many things. I’m not writing my long list here because honestly, it’s endless, but each of you have your own reasons to keep Mark in your heart.

There are so many things that can be done to help our cause and ensure that someone else will benefit from our loss. I would love for everyone to consider donating blood and getting on the bone marrow donor list. Wearing a Leukemia and Lymphoma Society awareness wristband and sharing my story with others would inspire me to be strong for my children and never forget Mark.

To help aid in Mark’s legacy, we have partnered with two organizations that will benefit from any contribution you may make in Mark’s memory. To acknowledge the care that Mark received at the VGH Leukemia and Bone Marrow Transplant Unit and on B4, the outpatient clinic, please consider making a gift to the VGH & UBC Hospital Foundation, 855 West 12th Avenue, Vancouver, BC V5Z 1M9 for the Leukemia/BMT Program. You can also phone Trudy Preston directly @ 604.875.5240. I would like to see an everlasting memorial in the form of a Tribute Plaque in Mark’s name to be hung at VGH and your donation to this excellent facility will help this Tribute Plaque dream to become a reality.

In addition to supporting the hospital where Mark received much of his care, I know that increasing leukemia awareness is very important to both Mark and myself. Therefore, donations to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society of Canada would also be appreciated at http://www.leukemia-lymphoma.org/ in memory of Mark.

A celebration of Mark’s life will be held on Monday, February 19th at Newlands Golf and Country Club at 21025 – 48th Ave, Langley at 11:30 a.m. This is an open reception and I hope you will join me to share stories and memories about the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with.

What Can I Do?

It’s been so long since I’ve had time to blog and I feel like I’ve left you all hanging. So much has happened since I last wrote but I can’t seem to remember all the details

You could draw a triangle with your finger on a map that extends from Langley Memorial Hospital, to our house and VGH. Mark and I have been traveling within these three points since I last blogged

The last few weeks have been tougher. Mark’s energy is much depleted as he has been fighting a number of infections with two trips to the hospital via ambulance. It has been the toughest month yet.

Mark was just admitted to Langley Memorial last night and is now concentrating his efforts on jumping over the most recent road block thrown his way—pneumonia!

While Mark had an hour or so of sleep last night I was able to finish my book,” When Bad Things Happen to Good People’ by Harold S. Kushner. A very special friend passed it along to me after her Mom read it. It is a book that examines God’s role in our lives. Being in the “undecided camp” on the topic, I was eager for this book to prove or disprove something for me. I was pleasantly surprised after the first 20 pages or so that it was far from “preachy”

Now that I am finished it, I am left with the feeling that I am not alone during this; I decided a long time ago that these circumstances are nothing more than that. Mark’s leukemia just is.

Life is not fair, the wrong people get sick and it seems so unjust. I have wondered often why bad things happen to good people since March 14, 2006. Now after reading this book I need to focus my energy not on why, but on; now that it has happened what am I going to do about it? What can I do to help my kids remember their Dad? How can I make the rest of Marks time as special as possible? What can I do to help find a cure for leukemia or encourage others to donate blood? How can I help others going through the same thing?

For all these questions I am grateful to have the strength to even want to ask them.
It’s incredible how a simple book can change your outlook.

Thank you Kathryn, and to you too Sharon for lending me a book that has helped point me towards love and change instead of bitterness on this long road ahead of me.

Drive on the right, pass on the left!!!

Today was a particularly hard day and I guess I am drawn to my computer when it's been a tough one. On a good day, I have no time to dwell on what lies ahead but feel compelled to ignore the phone, ignore my emails and spend time with Mark and the kids. Mark's "better" days are outnumbered by his bad days and it sometimes feels like we are racing against some giant clock somewhere but we just can't hear it ticking so we don't know how much time is left. The things on our "To Do" list seem infinite.

Mark has surprised many doctors along the way and we are pleasantly surprised when he bounces back from all the stubborn infections that have come his way over the last 10 months. The latest of which, are being a little more stubborn and are hanging around causing all kinds of problems. But, this is the nature of this disease, it is relentless and rarely gives you a break. Having a bright outlook and a glass half full sort of attitutude is the only thing to get you through.

Up until now, I never considered myself to be such a person. I have been called a pessimist and even a little negative in the past and I am never surprised when things don't turn out as they should. I usually assume they won't. I enjoy swearing and getting mad at terrible BC drivers as Mark pointed out to me today (drive on the right, pass on the left pls!!!) I get really irritated by those drivers who try to sneak onto the number 1 East right at Boundry at the very last second and love honking my horn at them. This clearly irritates Mark and today he finally asked me why I waste my energy to even point out the fact that people sneak in at Boundry without having waited their turn. We do the drive up to 4 times a week and everytime someone cuts in I feel the need to rant about it.

I don't know why I do it. I didn't have an answer for Mark. Once we got to the Port Mann I decided that yes, this is a colossal waste of my energy. Why use up what little energy I have on petty little things like bad drivers. (Mark has known this all along and was waiting for me to figure it out) He gets it because he has had hours and hours to think about how best to budget his limited energy. After I got thinking, I realized how wastefull I have been with stress that is completely unnecessary. I have been wasting my "unlimited" energy while the whole time Mark is sitting in the passenger seat breathing hard from the walk to the car.

Everyday this disease teaches me to appreciate what I've got. When things are unlimited they are usually underappreciated. Today, Mark in his own witty way has encouraged me to be less angry. Don't get me wrong, I am mad at Leukemia who ever the guy may be, but I decided this afternoon not to be mad at the insignificant things. What's that expression? Don't sweat the small stuff.