Remembering the Journey

The Poppy, Flander’s Fields, Last Post, and CBC live from Ottawa. 

These are the things I remember being a part of November 11 in the Duff home when I was growing up.

It was a given that we would all gather, in later years, in front of the television to be a part of the Remembrance Day service offered to Canadians.  It was understood that this was the day that our Dad would shed a few tears… an occasion that was very sombre and rare.  Dad was always laughing and cracking jokes – but not on this day.  On this day, we would not expect him to be telling jokes.  On this day, we would ask him about his friends.  He would tell us stories about the time he spent patrolling the Northumberland Straits, his time on Koggala Beach, India, Burma, and mostly, about his time in the air in his beloved Catalina. 

Today also became know to my brother and I as the day when Dad not only said good-bye to his friends he had lost during World War II, but also the day he said good-bye to his Paula, our mother.  It was this day  – three years ago – when he said good-bye to Mom.  I can still hear his loving words to her even today.  He sat beside her in his wheel-chair in the dimly lit room.  He held her hand.  He calmed her and reassured her that it was okay for her to go.  He reassured her that she would be okay.  He affirmed his love for her and their wonderful life together.  His voice was calm, comforting, and loving.  I am not really sure she heard him – she was unconscious at that point – but I am confident that she would never have left him if she had not been convinced he would be okay.  And Dad knew that.  He let her go.  He wished her well on her journey and that one day, God willing, they would meet again.  She passed away the next morning — he had said his good-bye. 

Dad was a survivor.  What was it that kept him going?  What keeps anyone going through so much loss?  To this day, I still believe it was Dad’s philosophy that one must count his/her blessings.  Maybe that was a philosophy taught to him through the depression, when his family had nothing but what they produced on their own farm?  Dad always claimed he was well off compared to some others who didn’t have food, let alone clothing.  Maybe it was the time he spent among those who lost so much to war?  Dad claimed he was well off compared to the families who lost their sons and daughters, houses, freedoms to war.  He survived cancer, a stroke, and multiple other health challenges. 

Today, a former student of mine sent me a photo of a Remembrance Day program she had taken a couple of years ago when Mom and Dad were able to attend.  What a wonderful surprise to see them in this photo – it was a new photo to me and so it was almost like we had been together one more time – sharing Remembrances.  My student and her colleagues were standing behind my Mom and Dad who were seated in the front row.  They were all happy – it was exactly where Mom and Dad thrived – among young people who offered them so much appreciation.  I remember this day well.  I am so blessed to have others remember it also. 

Two more students of mine today also remembered my parents to me.  “It was so nice for your Dad to be with us on Remembrance Day, Stacey”. 

Although it was a tough day today – I must remember the lessons Dad taught me – to count my blessings.  I count my country and the peaceful state we exist in as one of my blessings – I count my health, my family, my ability to read among the many other blessings I have.  I also consider myself to be blessed to have had such great role models to allow me to see the world with gratitude. 

Today – I thank the many people who have journeyed with my family and I to the place we are at today.  Thanks to the care-givers who helped Dad until, literally, the day he died.  Thanks to the friends who stuck by Dad even when he was no longer able to speak.  Thanks to family who were by our sides always.  Thanks to a country that remembers the sacrifices Dad and so many others made so that we could live a life few others only dream of. 

TTFN, Dad.  Thinking of you today – and always!

 

It’s been a pleasure working with you…

…said the voicemail from the lady at lawyer’s office.  The estate is closed.  It is all done. 

Wow – wow – wow.

You would think that after nearly a year that I wold be ready to draw a close to this – but the words hit me like a ton of bricks.  It was almost insulting to think that Mom and Dad had been reduced to those words… the “estate”.  Since the estate was closed, therefore, they were too?

I cannot understand why some things resonate with me in such a way.  It was a normal progression of which I was fully informed, not to mention the master behind.  It is like point A leads to point B and yes, of course, there you must follow.  Yet – there is an element of surprise that knocks the socks off you when you are least expecting.

To close an estate is a heck of a lot of blood, sweat, and mostly tears.  But it was a journey that I feel prepared me for the final destination more than had I not been able to take it.  It was a road that had never been travelled before.  Robert Frost sure did get it right in his poem, ‘Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”. 

“Whose woods these are, I think I know.  His house is in the village, though.  I’m sure he won’t mind if I stop for a while to see his woods fill up with snow.”  (or something to that nature)  How ephemeral it must have all seemed then – as it does now.  What a temporal existence we live – to end with a phone message indicating it is all done. 

I look up from my computer screen to see an image of Mom and Dad smiling… those were happier times for them.  They were healthy – not a care about health issues or finances or death benefits.  They really had their eyes set on their own future.  I remember Mom often breaking into silent tears of her own to mourn the loss of her own mother – so, so many years before.  I thought how odd it was that one could feel such strong emotion nearly 50 years, then 55 years, then 60, and then some,  years after a loss.  I don’t look forward to that  – but what an honour it would be at the same time.  Bitter – sweet is the way I guess some would describe the feeling.

Several of my colleagues at work are going through the motions I once went through.  And although their pain is palpable, I am pleased to see the loyalty and dedication to their parents is as strong as mine was to my own parents.  It is heart-breaking and I feel the emotions all over again living through their own piece-by-piece loss.  A very wise friend of mine always said that, “the degree to which you grieve is a measure of the degree to which you have loved.”  I find comfort in that statement – knowing that the price I pay for the loss of my parents has great value measured in love … not money. 

Money, indeed, cannot buy happiness and I would exchange it all to have them back.  I know that if I actually could strike that deal I would feel horrible as I am confident they are in a better place now than when they were here.  It would be selfish of me to wish their return – – yet I dream. 

Tonight would be a good night to have them visit me in a dream.  I always take great comfort in their visits – although it has been a while since their last visit. 

Meanwhile, the dishes need doing, the floor needs vacuuming, and the family needs a Mom – in real time.  So, my friends at the lawyers office… I will bid you adieu and reply back, “It has been a pleasure working with you too.”

TTFN

(http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171621)

Is it time to move on to the next stage?

It has been a long time that Mom and Dads condominium has been on the market.  I did not know for the longest time whether to rent or to sell.  So, recently I did both – hoping Mom and Dad would guide the direction of the sale.

I am now realizing that if it is to be  – it is truely up to me.  I think this means I have reached another benchmark in my grief.  I asked, I waited, I anticipated a sign from my parents – hoping they would make yet another decision on my behalf.  Growing up, I never had to really take a lot of responsibility as Mom and Dad bailed me out.  If I was too tired to bake the loaf of bread for 4 – H club (as if any of you readers know what that is….) Mom would bake it for me.  Any dress that I did not finish (which was often as I had no patience for sewing) Mom would finish for me.  This could go on and on – but I think the pattern is quite obvious.  The condo is not selling and I was waiting for Mom and Dad to come to my rescue once again.

Tonight – I took the bull by the horns and called a stager.  I had no idea what that was until my real estate agent explained it – someone who can help make the place look more modern…. and I guess more sellable.  Anyhow, I feel like I have taken a big, bold step forward – on my own.  Imagine.  Maybe I am finally growing up?

Mom was always very proud of her home and I thought it looked very beautiful.  She had originally enrolled in University to become an interior decorator.  The war, however, broke out and her program was cancelled.  She took nursing instead.  Good thing because she turned out to be a wonderful nurse and put her talents to use her entire life.  Nontheless, here I am hiring someone to redesign what she had taken such time and loving care to design herself.  

What will be changed?  Will I remove Dads montage?  Will the stereo cabinet go?  Will the sheer curtains come down?  What about that chandelier?  It is all these things that I so heavily associated with Mom – yet it could very well be these things that need to be removed.  I think I am okay to let go now.  I did not think that I would ever be at this stage of the game.. but I believe now that it is time to move on.   I hope.

 

Home is Where the Family is …

For the second year in a row – Ben, our oldest boy/ man will not be coming with us to Myrtle Beach.  It is not that he does not love us anymore.. I hope.  He is now in college – and the colleges have already had their break.  This leaves him home – alone – for a week – with a car.  Hmmm.  Am I too naïve to be worried  – nay.  Trusting.  Life is changing.

For the first year in a long time I have not had to plan, plan, and plan care for Dad.  I was always so worried that one of Dads caregivers would not make a shift and then Dad would be left alone on a week-end.  So – I over-scheduled and had back up after back-up.  The food was all prepared, packaged, and frozen for the week.  The bills were all paid in advance.  Phone numbers and contact information was thoroughly communicated… you get the drill.  Dad would also be a bit worried I would imagine – although he was in such good hands – none of us really needed to be concerned.  This year I am so under-planned it is ridiculous.  Yet – here we are – without Dad… I would rather have the plan, plan, planning to do!  Two very special men are out of the Myrtle Beach plans this year.  Weird as it is – there is a giant hole that is left behind.  Not sure what to do with it yet – can it be filled with books, rest, wine (grin) or good conversations with friends..

This is the first year that a dear friend of mine will not be joining us and our families reuniting.  She has a new life with a new partner and there is no Myrtle Beach in her blood it seems anymore.  She deserves this happiness as her life has not been easy as a single parent.  Again, there is a hole – a divide. 

And this is the third year that Mom is not around.  There will be no one asking me for contact information – to watch for sharks – to be careful on the roads and to watch those crazy drivers!  No one will be buying me a bathing suit as Mom always knew what would look relatively civil on me and I hated buying it myself.  No Mom to take me out to spoil me with a meal from Red Lobster – just because – and fight me for the bill.  No Mom to call and explain that we have arrived safely  – not to worry.  No Mom who will wish my family a great trip – and to not worry about a thing!  To have fun.  To get some rest (you look so tired, Stacey, you do too much!) But each time I pass a white rose … I will think of her.

Life happens.  It happened to my Mom and Dad and now it is happening to me.  I remember so well when my parents spoke about the changes their lives had endured.  Some of their friends passed away – others divorced – others grew apart… I thought nothing about it at the time as their lives were so far apart from mine. 

It seems that distance has almost been bridged.  I am so glad I remember them talking about life changes – talking about firsts.. growing older… it makes my divide seem like it is a part of life.  They survived it – I guess so too can I.

Mom and Dad were always there for my brother and I. In fact, I remember thinking that wherever they were – that was my home.  Now that they are no longer here there are times, I must admit, that I feel a little homeless.  But – other times I feel that life is happening to me the way it happened to my parents – and that it will all be okay.  I wish they were here to talk to – to listen to my epiphanies as I age.  Aha – I get it – moments.  I wonder if they felt the same way? 

As time passes, it seems I become more distant – yet closer to my family on so many dimensions.  Life has a way of bridging gaps.  Ben, Dad, my friend… my Mom.  Through it all – I still know that I am home – home is where the family is – forever in my heart. 

Forwards or Backwards?

David and Poppa

My daughter was excited this Christmas to open up one of her gifts from Mountain Equipment Coop:  a slack line.  I wondered where she would be able to attach it in the middle of winter – now that the basement poles are no longer exposed.  Of course, we needed to explore the possibilities anyhow.  My daughter is quite driven to find solutions to problems she has.   After there was a “no go” decision for the basement, she turned her eyes to the front yard… and voila.  The street-light was a good distance from the maple tree and it would be perfect.  The snow below would also serve to cushion the multiple falls that we were advised she would have initially.

With snow pants, boots, mitts, and all the winter garb, Katya was ready.  She hopped up on the slack line with great caution and focus.  And fell.  She tried again, and again, and again.  Finally, she called it a night and unhooked the line.

My husband and I watched from the front room.  I thought about how my mom and dad would have been so excited to see her tackle this new sport.  This was something new – something that they had not seen before… much like New Year’s will be for my family and I.  I recall I was anxious to leave the year 2010 (the year Mom passed away).  I don’t want, however, to leave 2012… the year Dad passed away.  Moving forward will mean leaving the past.

I have always found New Year’s to be somewhat nostalgic.  It is a time to think of highlights, things for which we can be thankful, and things that we want to improve.  How important is it to not forget the past and to reflect?  I think it is vital to pause and reflect.  It is not easy, though.  Sometimes mistakes we’ve made – mistakes I’ve made seem unforgivable.  But these mistakes have also been such powerful lessons.  Mom taught me, for example, what not to do – and by learning from her – I was able to help Dad depart this world with dignity.

What lessons did I learn from Dad?  I’ve learned that everyone needs a purpose – no matter how old you are.  I’ve learned that that purpose can be as simple as what Dad had decided.  “My purpose, Stacey, was to make people happy.”  I’ve learned that to forgive people, you first have to be honest with them and tell them how you feel.  I’ve learned that it is vitally important to count your blessings.

It is a tricky balancing act – to not fall too far on either side of this line that sits between history and future – the stroke of midnight between 2012 and 2013… the “dash” between one’s birth and one’s death.  It is tricky, but not impossible.  And tomorrow, Katya will, no doubt, be back up on that slack line… finding her own balance – just like me.

Thanks to all of you who have supported my Dad and I through this blog – our sentimental journey.  I hope that this journey has allowed you some insight into your own lives.  And so, I will write the last post for 2012 and bid all of you, “Ta-ta for now. ”  (TTFN) from Bill Duff, (Dad) and I (Stacey).

All the best in the new year!

They are everywhere… they are everything…

He sat.

In his chair.

He smiled.

For there – beside him was his grandson who placed the graduation cap on his Poppa’s head.  The sun’s rays warmed their exchange.

He sat.

In the pilot’s seat.

He smiled.

For there – beside him was his son who took him for “one last flight”.  The sun’s rays warmed their exchange.

She sat.

In the restaurant’s seat.

She smiled.

For there – beside her was her son-in-law who shared one last meal with her.  The moon’s glow warmed their exchange.

They sat.

On their front porch.

They smiled and sighed.

For there – in front of them were the fall leaves.  The glow of autumn warmed their exchange.

He sits.

In his walker.

He shivers and smiles.

For there – in front of him is the approaching winter.  The wind off the bay warmed their exchange.

It sits.

On the corner.

It is.

It provides shelter for the many who gather to collect mail, to buy supplies, to now buy pizza.  The door swings open and permits others to exchange a warm welcome.

They sit.

Sisters, mothers and daughters, cheering, flying, soaring, poppas and grandchildren, sons, fathers, care-givers and care-needers, chefs, and hosts.

In the frame.

It offers snapshots of history, roots, smiles, tears, colour, family, cousins, anticipation, scenery.  The images offer warmth to the heart.

 

Where Does the Journey End?

I have not had much to say lately.

Mom and Dad continue to be on my mind – often – but I just don’t know what to write.

Maybe it’s writer’s block?

Maybe it’s grief?

Maybe it’s time to put closure to something else?

This blog, and all you wonderful readers, have been a great source of comfort for me through a very challenging time.  I’ve lost both parents in less than 18 months.  To me, this has been traumatic.  It has been a long, long, journey.

I wonder now, though, if the journey is coming to an end?

Is it time to put this blog to bed?

The condo up for sale.  I have a difficult time going back there to even check in on it.  It’s difficult to go “back” in time.

Yet, I sit faithfully in front of the digital photo frame as images of our lives fade in and fade out.  I sent some new photos to it the other day and I enjoy watching those fade in and out too.

What would it feel like to say, “good-bye” to this sentimental journey – or rather TTFN?  Letting go is the hardest thing to do, yet I think I need to know my limits and not stay too long.  I feel like the guest that never left… not knowing when enough is enough.

I need to move on – but how much of the past do we need to break from?  Does the past propel us to the future?

Does the past help us to build a foundation, yet anchor us to the ground?

It is inescapable, haunting, yet at the same time it is still my greatest source of comfort.

Should I stay or should I go now – I believe someone else used that phrase and sang a tune along with it (grin).

Maybe the falling leaves have brought this feeling of loss to front and centre.

Where is my faith? What is my purpose?  When will “this” sentimental journey end?

I guess today is a day of questions.  And having said that – maybe today begins a new “quest” for closure.

How is closure best achieved?

And the photo frame flashes images at me like pieces of a patchwork quilt.  They all blend together in an odd, yet harmonious blanket of comfort.

TTFN  – for now.

The Maple Syrup Operation: It Was One Sweet Story

(Thanks to my brother, Jamie, for this contribution)

After buying 80 acres of pasture and bush, getting us to move into a dirt floored cabin until the house could be built, dad seceded that he wanted to make maple syrup. He knew next to nothing about the process, but as always, the library had a wealth of information. After scouring a number of books, Dad he was ready to take on the maple bush. If it was in a book – Dad could do it.

First, he ordered an attachment for his chainsaw and a special bit (The saw rotates opposite of a drill, so the bit had to cut backwards) Then, he ordered 200 spigots along with the pill you have to put in behind to stop the tree from “healing” itself. He went out and bought an old fuel oil tank and had a local shop in Craighurst cut the side out, weld a pipe and tap onto the now bottom, and steam clean the inside of the tank. They also welded a stand to sit the tank up to allow the fire to be built underneath.

He set up his first attempt at this beside the old cabin deep in the woods…. the one we slept in for 4 months whille the house was being build.  He tapped trees on the other side of the stream. His original intention was to bring the sap back by wagon, but we’d had lots of snow that winter, so that idea was out. His next idea was to take a plastic garbage can and use the snowmobile to collect the sap. This worked well at the start, but as the snow started to melt and the packed snow wasn’t as solid, a number of cans full of sap were lost to tip-overs, as my brother Jamie and his friend David Clark can attest.  The sap was not only “wet” but it was sticky.  What a mess.

The tank didn’t allow for accuracy of any kind when it came to temperature control, so there were a few batches that were lost due to burning. It was a tricky process getting the sap to a really light syrup, then drawing that off to finish on a Coleman stove. Even with a hygrometer to measure density, it was seconds sometimes between the “perfect draw’ and a burnt glob. Dad persevered though and got it down to a reasonably fine art, even with a fuel oil tank for an evaporator.

He used old wine bottles for his first syrup containers, and considered the year a rousing success. He managed to make 12 bottles of syrup that year, and had collected about 2000 gallons of sap to accomplish that.

Dad was hooked, and for the remainder of our time on the property, March was Maple Syrup time. He moved up from the tank to a professional evaporator manufactured in Quebec, with a “sugar shanty” to keep the elements out and allow for a better product. His best year was 200 litres of syrup produced … at a ratio of 60 gallons of sap to produce 1 gallon of syrup, we collected 12,000 litres of sap that year.

 

The maple syrup was “liquid gold” to most folks, especially Mom and Dad.  For us, my brother and I, it created golden memories and sweet tales.

Dad – where are YOU???

Where are you?

Why aren’t you answering the phone?

Dad, I have so much to tell you about my day today!

I called you  – but no one answered the phone.

Dad, I know you were only a phone call away.

Where are you?

Why did you not answer?

Dad, I love my students – they are so challenging – but you would love the stories.

I called you – but no one answered the phone.

Dad, I thought you said you were only a phone call away?

Where ARE you?

Why did you not answer?

Dad, you would enjoy hearing about the students.  I DID have to remove a student from my class today – but she is so amazing – I don’t know her story yet – but I know I will admire her for overcoming her adversities.

I called you  – but no one answered the phone.

Dad, I feel like you are so close – but so far.

Where ARE YOU?

Why did you not answer?

Dad – you would love these stories – to whom do I tell them?

I called you.

You didn’t answer.

Are you there?  Will you listen tonight? Were you with me today?

Dad – you didn’t answer.

Are you okay?

Dad?

I’ll call again tomorrow.

TTFN

Hope everything is okay.

You were always there…

The “Frog” Test: Study Not Needed

It was called the frog test.

According to research collected and posted on Wikipedia, mice used to be injected with the urine of the person to be tested and the mouse was later killed and dissected.  Presence of ovulation indicated that the urine contained hCG – meaning the female was pregant.  Rabbits were also used – but needed to be killed to check the ovaries.  The frog tests, however, arrived in the 1950s… allowed the frog to remain alive and the frog could be used repeatedly.  “A female frog was injected with serum or urine of the patient; if the frog produced eggs within the next 24 hours, the test was positive.”  Who would have thought?

For more information about early pregnancy tests, check out this website address:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pregnancy_test

Why the sudden interest in pregnancy tests?  I’m not pregnant – nor considering the possibility.  Been there done it – and David was our little miracle.

Today – I had enough mental energy to tackle some of Mom and Dad’s things I brought home from the condo.  There was a beautiful wooden box I discovered in Mom’s dresser drawer.  It was full of all kinds of sentimental reminders that Mom had collected in silence.  There were letters from Dad, naturalization papers for my Grandfather from Russia, pins, an anklet from Dad to Mom, buttons, receipts for some of Mom’s designer clothing… and a copy of a frog test.

At first, I thought it had to be a joke.  What the heck?  I mean seriously, who gets a frog test?  Furthermore, the technician was listed as PMS.  Seriously? North Bay Civic Hospital issued the test and test results:  positive.  Mom was pregnant in 1957.  Jamie would have had another little sibling…

I knew that Mom had lost a baby boy a week before he was born.  “Baby Duff” was his name – I think Dad was supposed to have named him – not sure what happened, but I do know that was something we didn’t often talk about.  Crazy, though, if this was the only “evidence” of Baby Duff – a frog test from 1957.

All in all, it does bring a joke to mind that Dad used to tell and we all groaned when he told it.  It goes like this – and forgive me – remember it’s Dad’s joke.

“Did you hear about the guy who stayed up all night long studying for a urine test?”

That’s it.  You are welcome.  Brought to you by Mom’s frog test.

Mom knew she was pregnant because of a frog?

Ribbit or read-it…  your call!