My blog has stood at a stand still for some time. I haven’t been very good about finding time in the day, or more appropriately the evening to post or write lately. When I go back and read old posts I see my old pattern of being drawn to the keyboard when times are tough. When things are coasting along smoothly my blog seems to fall to the way side. I remember thinking to myself after reading it once (in its entirety) I wish I had posted more when things were good, during “happier” more simple times.
If someone was to write the Coles Notes version of my life as summarized by me, in my blog, they might think having had the last 4 years as a sample, that my life was full of tragedy and struggle with little room left for joy.
Had you asked me this question two years ago, I might have to agree with this summary. It has been one big consuming struggle ever since Mark’s diagnosis in 2006. But, with his 4th annual memorial tournament less than a week away I am happy to be able to blog tonight about lighter, simpler things.
Audrey and Noah have had a month filled with sleep over’s, cottage nights, and new friends. The hot summer days of July have been enjoyed at lakeside, Lac Bernard and Grand Lake, catching frogs, learning to swim, bon fires and poker nights “kid-style”. I’ve had the luxury of waking up only 40 min before work and not having to race the daycare clock home for a week this summer. Thank you Chris and Maria!!! Audrey has thoroughly enjoyed 10 days of intensive dance camp and Noah has ventured out on his own “sister-less” to his own multi-sport camp for a week. He spent the mornings playing team sports and the afternoons swimming; having never taken a bus I was thrilled when the highlight of the day was taking a noisy school bus to and from the pool.
As I sit here with my Air Canada itinerary glowing in the background (and my email, face book, MSN, weather and iTunes!) while I write, I realize just how much my life has changed in the last year. For the first time, I’ll be sharing my weekend in Vancouver with someone. The person in my life who understands me the most, grief, widow stuff, tears and all. The idea of going back out West to the place I miss dearly seems less emotionally charged than in past years. Albeit, blending a little bit of my former Keg/married/westocast life with what has become my new life will certainly bring up some emotion, I couldn’t imagine doing it any other way.
I wouldn't miss it for the world...see you there!
http://www.relishthepub.com/relish/golf10.asp
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Dear Mark,
On the eve of what would have been your 39th birthday I am flooded with a mixture of emotions tonight. They are not the easy identifiable ones; they are more mixed on days like these now.
I glanced at the date this morning on my way to work, the route very familiar to me now having driven it for nearly two years. I drop the kids at daycare and have to weave my way back through several stop signs to get to the main road. It’s the place where I mentally prepare for the day and transition from daycare mom to career mom. It’s not a deliberate act; over time it’s just sort of evolved that way. As I exit the school parking lot, I feel a sense of lightness that I accomplished the first part of my day, everyone in tact. Now for act two.
A quick stop for coffee and I’m usually well into the planning stages of my morning. I feel a relief to have my mind occupied with prioritizing my day but as I drove this morning I found myself thinking about you.
I caught myself by surprise when I noticed the date and didn’t immediately fall into a slump for the entire day. I thought about you often today but in a different way than I have on past birthdays. There hasn’t been the same anticipation and lead up to today. I caught the date flash across my phone and I waited for the usual sadness to weigh me down when I realized the day, but it was softer. It was kinder to me than I expected.
I sipped my coffee at the intersections and thought about this idea. This realization that time changes us, whether we are willing participants or not. I felt downright thankful for this fact. Without the passing of time, how would we cope?
I wonder sometimes how I cope, and I wonder why or how this all happened. It’s hard not to get rocked backwards on significant days. It’s easy to embrace the unfairness of this and get pulled into a sad place. When I look at Audrey and Noah, I ache for them but at the same time I admire their ability to roll with their lot in life. They have adapted in ways that I never thought possible.
I have oscillated between missing you, feeling sad for what you endured, and anger for having had this happen. I have been overcome with sadness today and then caught myself smiling within minutes when a song or something significant jogs a memory of you.
As the invitation to the 4th annual Mark Allan memorial tournament landed in my inbox tonight, I was again reminded of how you continue to impact so many lives. It amazes me still. I think of how our friendship and marriage taught me to open my heart to others and how my life today is changed because of that. I wish everyday that Audrey and Noah could have gotten to know you, their time with you was too short. Hopefully as time passes and they grow, they will learn about the person that you were from the people who’s lives’ you touched the most.
So in your absence, it only feels natural to celebrate you tomorrow.
We'll be thinking about you as we blow out your candles and remember you. Dad, husband and best friend.
Love,
Leslie
On the eve of what would have been your 39th birthday I am flooded with a mixture of emotions tonight. They are not the easy identifiable ones; they are more mixed on days like these now.
I glanced at the date this morning on my way to work, the route very familiar to me now having driven it for nearly two years. I drop the kids at daycare and have to weave my way back through several stop signs to get to the main road. It’s the place where I mentally prepare for the day and transition from daycare mom to career mom. It’s not a deliberate act; over time it’s just sort of evolved that way. As I exit the school parking lot, I feel a sense of lightness that I accomplished the first part of my day, everyone in tact. Now for act two.
A quick stop for coffee and I’m usually well into the planning stages of my morning. I feel a relief to have my mind occupied with prioritizing my day but as I drove this morning I found myself thinking about you.
I caught myself by surprise when I noticed the date and didn’t immediately fall into a slump for the entire day. I thought about you often today but in a different way than I have on past birthdays. There hasn’t been the same anticipation and lead up to today. I caught the date flash across my phone and I waited for the usual sadness to weigh me down when I realized the day, but it was softer. It was kinder to me than I expected.
I sipped my coffee at the intersections and thought about this idea. This realization that time changes us, whether we are willing participants or not. I felt downright thankful for this fact. Without the passing of time, how would we cope?
I wonder sometimes how I cope, and I wonder why or how this all happened. It’s hard not to get rocked backwards on significant days. It’s easy to embrace the unfairness of this and get pulled into a sad place. When I look at Audrey and Noah, I ache for them but at the same time I admire their ability to roll with their lot in life. They have adapted in ways that I never thought possible.
I have oscillated between missing you, feeling sad for what you endured, and anger for having had this happen. I have been overcome with sadness today and then caught myself smiling within minutes when a song or something significant jogs a memory of you.
As the invitation to the 4th annual Mark Allan memorial tournament landed in my inbox tonight, I was again reminded of how you continue to impact so many lives. It amazes me still. I think of how our friendship and marriage taught me to open my heart to others and how my life today is changed because of that. I wish everyday that Audrey and Noah could have gotten to know you, their time with you was too short. Hopefully as time passes and they grow, they will learn about the person that you were from the people who’s lives’ you touched the most.
So in your absence, it only feels natural to celebrate you tomorrow.
We'll be thinking about you as we blow out your candles and remember you. Dad, husband and best friend.
Love,
Leslie
Monday, July 5, 2010
Please
How do you undo a pattern? The negative kind that makes you wonder how it got so out of control. A pattern of behaviour that begins each day at the crack of dawn and ends with the little person upstairs finally falling asleep from exhaustion. How does he do it every day??
The constant explosions and negotiations for one more this, one more that, I’m hungry, I need another book. I need a glass of milk, I need…more. He is unfillable! He doesn’t see the erosion of good will that is being sucked out of me day by day. The desire to be kind falling deeper within and harder to draw from when needed the most.
As I sit here and listen to him I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he wants. Is it just me? Does he just need more of me? Is he screaming for boundaries, or revolting against them? How can he be so relentless? I have to be both for him. The nurturer and the boundary setter. Is this possible? Can one parent be both? Can he find both those roles within me?
I have armed myself with information and advice from other parents, some solicited, some not. I have read articles and countless parenting blogs only to discover one common thread in all these readings. I am in for a battle of a lifetime. I am in for years of undoing the negative pattern that has erupted in my household. And it’s all up to me.
As I read about the parenting “team strategy” and the united front one must keep when dealing with a persistent school ager my mood started to slip. Then the importance of being able to take turns and take breaks from the challenging child, you know, for your own sanity... ? I stopped reading mid paragraph.
It’s hard not to feel bitter and a bit sorry for myself when I feel the weight of both roles sitting upon my shoulders. The only part of this mess that doesn’t completely suck is that I have the privilege of getting to know Noah at age 5, his Dad never got to. I have to remind myself of this when I feel overwhelmed. I get to see them grow and the price I pay is being both nurturer and boundary setter, their Mom and their Dad. So when you see me struggling with my kids and trying to stay sane, be patient with me, please. A sympathetic ear or a hug will do.
The constant explosions and negotiations for one more this, one more that, I’m hungry, I need another book. I need a glass of milk, I need…more. He is unfillable! He doesn’t see the erosion of good will that is being sucked out of me day by day. The desire to be kind falling deeper within and harder to draw from when needed the most.
As I sit here and listen to him I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he wants. Is it just me? Does he just need more of me? Is he screaming for boundaries, or revolting against them? How can he be so relentless? I have to be both for him. The nurturer and the boundary setter. Is this possible? Can one parent be both? Can he find both those roles within me?
I have armed myself with information and advice from other parents, some solicited, some not. I have read articles and countless parenting blogs only to discover one common thread in all these readings. I am in for a battle of a lifetime. I am in for years of undoing the negative pattern that has erupted in my household. And it’s all up to me.
As I read about the parenting “team strategy” and the united front one must keep when dealing with a persistent school ager my mood started to slip. Then the importance of being able to take turns and take breaks from the challenging child, you know, for your own sanity... ? I stopped reading mid paragraph.
It’s hard not to feel bitter and a bit sorry for myself when I feel the weight of both roles sitting upon my shoulders. The only part of this mess that doesn’t completely suck is that I have the privilege of getting to know Noah at age 5, his Dad never got to. I have to remind myself of this when I feel overwhelmed. I get to see them grow and the price I pay is being both nurturer and boundary setter, their Mom and their Dad. So when you see me struggling with my kids and trying to stay sane, be patient with me, please. A sympathetic ear or a hug will do.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Freedom from Fear
In preparation for an event that I attend each year in memory of Mark, I found myself sitting on the floor of my closet rummaging through boxes. Boxes I had carefully packed away before leaving Vancouver. I remember the finality I felt when I slid the lids onto those boxes.
I sat in my bedroom only weeks after Mark had died knowing I needed to preserve these things for Audrey and Noah. I felt frantic about keeping just the right things to one day show the kids. As I carefully chose each item and thought about where we might be one day when they were old enough to see them I felt sick with a hollow feeling inside. I cried as I remembered each moment that was tied to the treasures. Everything seemed so wrong, so unreal as I stared at the things in the box. I felt myself switch onto autopilot as I put the things away. I felt flattened by my cruel reality. These things, that were just things had taken on such significance I couldn’t bear to look at them, nor could I bear to get rid of them. They brought comfort and pain in the same minute, two opposing feelings that have been tangled inside me since.
I packed them away not knowing when I might have the courage to open the boxes again.
The boxes sit in my walk-in closet, visible from my room as I walk by. They have been neatly organized on the top shelf where they sit proudly, out of reach and secretly. No one else has ever looked in them and for now, the children are oblivious to what is inside the pretty flowered boxes. To me, they are merely a slice of Mark’s life. Not even one one thousandth of what he was. To the kids, the contents of these boxes will represent his whole life. It will be all they will ever hold. Tokens, pictures and letters about the person who they knew was their Dad, but never got to know as their Dad.
These boxes have sat idle for nearly three years. There have been times when I have been tempted to test my fragility and look inside them. I have on one or two occasions only to find myself soaked in tears and feeling mad at myself for trying such a self- destructive thing. The pain of looking at hand written letters from Mark has been something that has brought heart ache…not the happy go-to memory that I was hoping to draw from in a moment of need. At least this has been the case until a few nights ago.
I have often commented to those close to me that I don’t always understand what drives me to move along and other times I can’t seem to move even an inch. It is difficult even for me to understand let alone try to explain to another. This thing we call grief can empower me and it can render me hopeless. It can break my spirit on any day of the week or it can give me the freedom from fear that we all crave.
Who doesn’t want to feel enlightened and empowered to trust their own instincts? Who doesn’t want to feel good about appreciating the ones they love? Or leaving fear at the door and taking a chance and believing in somebody? I have stopped, breathless on many occasions to find myself seeing my life through a new lens…all of these feelings, sadly are the result of paying the ultimate price. I get mad about this price I’ve paid. I am saddened by what my kids will never have…and then I am gently reminded here and there about the life that has changed mine forever.
I sat on the floor and read the letters and I smiled as I wept. I remembered how happy I was and the butterflies I felt the first time I read the letter 12 years ago. I looked at pictures of us before we were married and remembered the way we held hands on the way to work on chilly mornings in the market. I poured through an album his Keggers made for him realizing how he touched all their lives in a meaningful way. I pulled out a video I had never had the courage to watch until now from his celebration of life and I watched in amazement.
I watched as people cried, listened and came together to celebrate Mark. Watching the day unfold again reminded me how lucky I was to have had him in my life. I feel changed, again three years later watching this event. For the first time, I was able to see these things, these pictures and videos stand on their own, separate and apart from the heartache and sadness that has been tangled up in them for so long.
I have been so fearful of lifting the lids of these boxes for such a long time. They sit there each day up on the shelf in my closet, but now when I glance up at them, I see the memories instead of just the sadness.
I sat in my bedroom only weeks after Mark had died knowing I needed to preserve these things for Audrey and Noah. I felt frantic about keeping just the right things to one day show the kids. As I carefully chose each item and thought about where we might be one day when they were old enough to see them I felt sick with a hollow feeling inside. I cried as I remembered each moment that was tied to the treasures. Everything seemed so wrong, so unreal as I stared at the things in the box. I felt myself switch onto autopilot as I put the things away. I felt flattened by my cruel reality. These things, that were just things had taken on such significance I couldn’t bear to look at them, nor could I bear to get rid of them. They brought comfort and pain in the same minute, two opposing feelings that have been tangled inside me since.
I packed them away not knowing when I might have the courage to open the boxes again.
The boxes sit in my walk-in closet, visible from my room as I walk by. They have been neatly organized on the top shelf where they sit proudly, out of reach and secretly. No one else has ever looked in them and for now, the children are oblivious to what is inside the pretty flowered boxes. To me, they are merely a slice of Mark’s life. Not even one one thousandth of what he was. To the kids, the contents of these boxes will represent his whole life. It will be all they will ever hold. Tokens, pictures and letters about the person who they knew was their Dad, but never got to know as their Dad.
These boxes have sat idle for nearly three years. There have been times when I have been tempted to test my fragility and look inside them. I have on one or two occasions only to find myself soaked in tears and feeling mad at myself for trying such a self- destructive thing. The pain of looking at hand written letters from Mark has been something that has brought heart ache…not the happy go-to memory that I was hoping to draw from in a moment of need. At least this has been the case until a few nights ago.
I have often commented to those close to me that I don’t always understand what drives me to move along and other times I can’t seem to move even an inch. It is difficult even for me to understand let alone try to explain to another. This thing we call grief can empower me and it can render me hopeless. It can break my spirit on any day of the week or it can give me the freedom from fear that we all crave.
Who doesn’t want to feel enlightened and empowered to trust their own instincts? Who doesn’t want to feel good about appreciating the ones they love? Or leaving fear at the door and taking a chance and believing in somebody? I have stopped, breathless on many occasions to find myself seeing my life through a new lens…all of these feelings, sadly are the result of paying the ultimate price. I get mad about this price I’ve paid. I am saddened by what my kids will never have…and then I am gently reminded here and there about the life that has changed mine forever.
I sat on the floor and read the letters and I smiled as I wept. I remembered how happy I was and the butterflies I felt the first time I read the letter 12 years ago. I looked at pictures of us before we were married and remembered the way we held hands on the way to work on chilly mornings in the market. I poured through an album his Keggers made for him realizing how he touched all their lives in a meaningful way. I pulled out a video I had never had the courage to watch until now from his celebration of life and I watched in amazement.
I watched as people cried, listened and came together to celebrate Mark. Watching the day unfold again reminded me how lucky I was to have had him in my life. I feel changed, again three years later watching this event. For the first time, I was able to see these things, these pictures and videos stand on their own, separate and apart from the heartache and sadness that has been tangled up in them for so long.
I have been so fearful of lifting the lids of these boxes for such a long time. They sit there each day up on the shelf in my closet, but now when I glance up at them, I see the memories instead of just the sadness.
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