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.