Sidney by the Sea

Its funny how there are places in this world that just seem to fit.   You may never have been there before, but when you get there – it just feels right.  You walk the streets and unwrap a neighbourhood and feel as though it was meant for you.   You sit in the local coffee shop and speak to complete strangers who are happy to make conversation – it’s the middle of a workweek and the pace is peaceful, unhurried.  

Maybe it’s got something to do with the person you’re with, or the common desire to shift gears and make a change.   Maybe it’s timing, maybe its luck or fate.  It’s probably a combination of all of the above, but there is something about the west coast that feels different.  There is something about being close to the ocean and the mountains that make it a beautiful place to be.  A place that you miss dearly when you’re far from it and you wonder how you ever left it for so long.

By day 2 I had discovered my favourite place for coffee and the best breakfast place in town.  I knew where to buy a great bottle of wine off hours (this is BC!) and I could drive Chris to work and back and not get lost.   I took advantage of my alone time while he had the busiest week yet at his new job and I wandered the streets of Sidney with no deadlines, and nowhere to be.  It felt downright luxurious to wander and explore while the details of a pending house deal worked their way out in the background. 

As the week quickly drew to an end the patterns of a new beginning began to show themselves…my walk home from dowtown was on Third Street always because there are more magnolias and cherry trees to see on that route home.  And, if it’s early evening you can see the sun shining on the water as you peer between the waterfront homes.   My morning stop for coffee is already a done deal, and the cashier at the local market smiled at me again like she recognized me.

I think we’re going to like Sidney, it just feels right.

Etched

Some dates and memories just stick in your head, difficult to shake.  Years go by and you marvel at your own ability to remember.  How can a person remember what the air smelled like 7 years ago one evening?  The hum of fluorescent lights in a vacant parking lot, the rain drops shimmering on the hood of the raspberry red minivan.  Two lonesome cars, parked under a light.

The stillness and heavy feeling that saturated our bodies fell upon us like a blanket that night.  Standing out front the clinic in a parking lot in Langley.  We stood in between our cars looking at one another, grasping hands, speechless – afraid to let go and escape into the privacy of our respective cars so we could both cry and embrace the terror that was surging below our brave faces we had tried to put on for one another.   

This night is etched in my mind, as crisp and as real as anything today.  I battle with myself when the memories come back.   I wonder what is gained by reliving such a traumatic night?  Why do I do this to myself?  Why do I let a date on a calendar dictate my mood?   Am I getting better at it as the years go by, or worse??   Why is this so real, so easy to recall 7 years later?

I’d always thought we are somewhat pre-programmed to soften memories to make it easier on ourselves.  It’s our built in safety mechanism.   How else could people survive traumatic events?  It would be destructive to relive these types of things over and over.    Human nature must take over somehow and soften the blow for us.  I believe this to be true, yet – there are times when all it takes is a date on a calendar, a place, a familiar smell, or the way the light shines and the memory is there.   Like it never left your side, not even for a moment. 

With all my heart

The words make me smile softly to myself as I read them.  I find it crumpled up, wet in a school bag days after the winter break has begun.  A piece of art that was tended to with care at the time, forgotten with the excitement of record snowfalls and the anticipation of Christmas.  I place it on the heat register to dry in the night without peaking inside it and remind Noah the following morning that he may have forgotten something in his bag.

It dawns on him when I mention it and he’s immediately concerned about where he misplaced his handmade card.  He makes a start for his school bag, I tell him it’s drying and he stops, relieved that its not lost for good.  Forgotten again for another 24 hours.  Presents, visitors, more snow and the excitement of Christmas morning.

I finally receive the card, hand delivered to me from the heat register after it being moved one or two more times.  Seemingly forgotten and un-important but given to me with a moment of care and pride.

“Here you go Mom, I made this for you…for you and Chris.”

“Thanks Noah.”

A hug and a kiss and he’s gone before I wrap my head around the words.

I read them again and I stare at the printed words on the page and his carefully drawn heart.  I sit and think about how far he’s come, how much he’s lost and how full of love he is today.   Makes me realize just how lucky I am.

Happy New Year to you and yours, may 2013 be full of joy for your family too!

Leslie

Making a Difference...Light the Night

Each year I raise money for the annual Light the Night Walk for Blood Cancer Research, as most of you know it is very near and dear to my heart having lost Mark to Leukemia in 2007.    I waffle as the years slip by as to how I can make a difference without imposing my passion year after year on the same people. 

It became apparent to me today and my apprehension about it was confirmed when a co-worker said to me … What?? (insert “ugh” here) you’re doing that again already??  Co-worker – not smiling… It’s been a whole year??   Long pause…silence.  

Not sure what the appropriate response should have been, but for a change – I was silenced.  No witty response back, no prepared answer.  The feisty part of me that thought of a handful or responses later in my office for the moment was extinguished.  Flattened for the afternoon.  I worked with my door shut as the afternoon sun poured in on me and I thought about what Mark would have said…

“Yep, the husband’s still dead…and it’s been a whole year so, yes, we’re raising money AGAIN so other Fathers can watch their children grow up and don’t have to die.”   Delivered with sarcasm of course.  I chuckled at myself (for a moment) for the shock value that would have delivered.  Then the tears started rolling down my cheeks. 

A small part of me is enraged by the fact that if it was current and in their everyday lives, peoples’ responses wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it.   It’s easier to make an excuse than to put yourself in someone else’s shoes.   Until it’s real for you, or for someone you love – it’s easier to avoid.

I know I tread the line of polite donations from co-workers and acquaintances as I raise money for the 6^th year in a row, but I feel a drive from within to make a small dent in the race towards a cure.   I have got to hope that someone with the same disease that Mark had in 2006  (AML Leukemia) has a better chance of surviving it today than 6 years ago given the advances in research.  I do have faith that this is the case and this is what I tell my children when we invite others to donate to a cause that has affected us deeply.

If you are one of the people who smiled at my kids while dropping a tooney in their piggy bank this weekend know that you’ve made a difference to them.  ALL of the online donations to date have been cherished and meticulously added up by my budding (Grade 2 and Grade 5) mathematicians.   Their eyes sparkle as they realize that their Dad made a difference and they feel empowered to make a difference too.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for supporting our family, 

http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=1630398&langPref=en-CA

Leslie, Audrey and Noah

Sunny afternoon in Osgoode

More sun...apples...and pumpkins!

14

The sound of the treadmill motor is comforting as I run to the beat of familiar songs.  The playlist, a surprise as the iPod is borrowed.  Mine lies on the unplugged dock, day 5, still waiting to be plugged in and charged ready for the next run.  I run, leisurely at first enjoying the fresh mix of songs.  I know each one well, but the order is unpredictable.  I like the change.

The window is open and the smell of wet cedar wafts in with the breeze.  It instantly brings me back to another place, another time.  The familiar smell of the West Coast, it’s unmistakable.  The air is warmer than expected for September, not the brisk reprieve I was hoping for as my cheeks grow hotter with each kilometer.

I run and hope that I can steal away 30 or 40 minutes to myself, as predicted the interruptions come, Noah first, then 15 minutes later his sister follows.  I am only mildly annoyed as I expected as much.  I am pleasantly surprised with myself for not over-reacting.   The day-to-day annoyance factor seems dulled tonight.  As long as the day was, I feel a heightened sense of enjoying the moment at hand.   I glance at the treadmills’ green and red lights flickering tracking my heart rate.  The thump of my feet is satisfying as I watch the last kilometer count down.

On the eve of what would have been my 14^th wedding anniversary I find myself smiling instead of crying.   Instead of being short with my kids tonight, I am more patient than I have been in months.  I stare at them in awe at what they have become and I wonder if Mark could have ever imagined them as they are today.

I’m not sad, so much as I am curious.  I wonder if I would be the person I am today if it were not for my marriage, if it were not for the challenges we faced with a diagnosis of cancer…I wonder where I would be if things had been different.  I trace a few possible scenarios in my head but they all seem unlikely given the life changing effect that cancer can have on a family.  It’s as though you can’t undo it.

I find myself thinking about the excitement of that night 14 years ago, wondering what the future held.  The possibilities seemed endless.  I never thought I’d ever have even a spark of that optimism again…I’m glad I was wrong.  

Hopeful feels good.