Everything Will Be Alright: If I remember correctly.

One of the things I miss most about Mom and Dad is their infernal, eternal, and ever-so-clever words of comfort.

Mom:  “Stacey, you’ll be fine.”

(Never believed her!)

Dad:  “A hundred years from now, we’ll all be dead.  So what does it matter?”

(This one had me stumped for a long time!)

Mom:  “Just do your very best.”

(I wasn’t reassured as a child as I didn’t think that would always cut it!)

Dad: ” If they don’t like it – too bad for them!”

(Didn’t get that one at all!)

 

How I miss their reassurances these days.  It really doesn’t matter who you are or how confident you are – everyone needs a cheer-leader.

I have been juggling and struggling this week to find a balance between work, home-life, Dad’s condo, a visiting German student, and play.  Play-time has never been a priority for me as my family were strong subscribers of the Puritan work ethic.  Work first – then play.  And there is too much work to do to play these days.

Play. For a long time I didn’t understand that word.  I really thought it meant have fun at work.  I think I still do.  And I think a lot of my play is my work.  Others, however, have a more realistic version of what play means… I think.  And I get the impression that play means recreation.  In any case, I am struggling to redefine my definition so that everyone in my family is on the same page.

Anxiety.  This emotion seems to be two emotions attached to each other:  stress and anticipated failure.  I find myself anxious these days about a lot of things.  It happens usually when things pile one on top of another.  I forget to isolate the projects and so they blurr and give me an overwhelming sense of .. anxiety.  Dad’s condo. insurance – moving furniture, marking assignments, making muffins, cleaning toilets… you get the picture.

Comfort.  I long for Mom and Dad’s words, “Stacey, everything will be okay.”.  We offer these words to our children – or we ought to offer these words to our children… but how often do we hear them as adults?  Will everything be okay?  I know, in the long run, things always find resolution.  It’s the process that is sometimes derailing, debilitating, confusing, and frustrating.  But, as fate would have it – there is always a better resolution that falls than one that could really ever be planned.

Yes.  I miss my Dad’s casual, “Don’t worry, Stacey.  You worry too much.  100 years from now… ”

I know, Dad, we’ll all be dead.  Kind of puts things into perspective.

Patience.  Perspective.

Everything will be alright.

 

 

 

A Sign?

Dad said, “I’ll make the light flicker”. 

At the condo two nights ago – all alone – I turned on Dad’s light – and the light flickered.  

I said, “Dad, is that you?”

He “flickered”.

I said, “Dad, that’s you isn’t it?”

He “flickered”.

I thought, “is the light bulb screwed in tightly?”.

I checked – it was tight. 

I thought, “Maybe the bulb is about to burn out.”

I changed the bulb – and there was no more flicker. 

What do I make of that… I had changed the bulb two months previously… am I looking too hard?  

Dad. 

I know you are with me.. bulb or no bulb.  

TTFN

Firsts.. for the Second Time..

Today is the first time ..

• I’ve wished my oldest son, Happy Birthday, Ben! through a post…
• I’ve made Ben escargots for breakfast
• I’ve changed Mom’s recipe for cauliflower soup to suit my health-crazed daughter (that’s also the last time I’ll change it..)
• I’ve recognized how birthdays, as you age, can be opportunities
• I’ve been able to catch up on these posts
• I’ve sat under the gazebo this summer and had the morning dew drip on my back
• I’ve heard “Dad’s songbird” sing in the garden and not had him try to whistle the tune back to the bird
• I’ve realized that I’m holding onto Mom and Dad’s condo for sentimental sake
• I’ll shop for groceries in my 50th year
• I’ve weighed so much in my life.. other than being pregnant – too much celebrating so far this summer
• My parents have not called my child on the occasion of his birthday
• I’ve spelled occasion correctly for the first time
• I’ve seriously considered my ability to retire from teaching in five years
• I’ve rooted for a country to win a beach volleyball game (I’ve not really ever been a fan  – just no exposure till now)

But, should I be granted the gift of tomorrow and tomorrow, it will not be the first time..

• I will enjoy the company of my husband and children
• I will be served a morning coffee by my husband
• I will sip my coffee under the gazebo with my husband
• I will cry over coffee about my parents
• I will smile over coffee about my parents
• I will rejoice in my family
• I will wish my oldest son a wonderful birthday!
• I will prepared something “odd” for my son to eat as per his birthday request.
• I wish all of you some very happy firsts – may these bear repeating.

And once again, “TTFN”

Firsts

This is the first time my parents have not called me on my birthday.

This is the first time my mother-in-law has sung me happy birthday in Tukkie – Tukkie (not sure if that’s how it’s spelled)

This is the first time my husband and daughter have attended a visitation for a young girl whose life was tragically snatched at a too young age.

This is the first time I’ve been 49.

This is the first time I’ve been “without” words.  Sorry – this post will be short and sweet.  I would like, however, to say, “To all of you who have been following Dad’s/ my blog… “thank-you.”  It’s the first time I’ve publicly offered you my appreciation for all the feed-back you’ve given and “hits” Dad was so proud of while he was alive. Your support of this blog is one of the best birthday gifts I could receive… next only to the gift of my beautiful family.  I am truly blessed. ”

Cheers!  And…. TTFN

Lost

Stacey:  Dad, I feel a little lost today.

Dad:  I understand.  You have to change your routines, Stacey. 

Stacey:  I don’t remember what it felt like to have so much free time, Dad. 

Dad:  You’ll find yourself.  You were always so busy – it’s good to slow down.  Mom and I always worried about you. 

Stacey:  You took over the role of worrying when Mom passed away – and you worried about everyone and everything.  I gave the girls an “investment/ money management” magazine at the Nanny- Party the other day.  They really liked it. They talked about how you always encouraged them to not spend their money. 

Dad:  They have to be wise and not spend it all.  I always had to reign in your Mother’s spending or she would have spent the whole lot on the grandchildren.  How are they doing? 

Stacey:  Actually, Dad, they are doing very well.  You’d be so proud of them.  Ben is guarding at Johnson’s Beach today and Katya is working at Canadian Tire.  She has some really good stories to tell about her experiences.  

Dad:  And what is Ben going to do about school?

Stacey:  I don’t know yet.  Do you know?  Is that what you can now do is see the plan unfold? 

Dad:  I can’t tell you that.  You’ll have to wait. 

Stacey:  I can wait – sort of.  If I went to a psychic do you think I’d be able to talk to you and Mom? 

Dad:  I can’t answer that either.  

Stacey:  It’s so lonely without you, Dad.  I have such a wonderful family but like you said, you can only really talk to those who share your stories with you.  I feel lost.

Dad:  You’ll be okay.  Don’t be impatient, Stacey.  You always want things “right now”.  That was your Mother in you.  Patience is a virtue.  I had to learn to be patient and you can too. 

Stacey:  But it’s so difficult, Dad. 

Dad:  If everyone could do it – then it wouldn’t be so extraordinary.  You take care of that beautiful family of yours and stop thinking of me so often. 

Stacey:  It’s hard, Dad.  I really miss you.  And I miss Mom.  

Dad:  We are both here for you always, Stacey.  Remember look to the morning Sun and you’ll find Mom and I’m there in the wind – just watch for the trees to bow their heads.  You remember.  Think of the happy times.  That’s how I got through after your Mom passed away. 

Stacey:  I know, Dad.. “Who has seen the wind?”

Dad:  “Neither you nor I.  But when the trees bow down their heads..”

Both:  “The wind is passing by.”

Stacey:  TTFN, Dad.  

Dad:  TTFN

How it that Possible?

“How are things? “, a friend of mine recently queried.

“Good question.”, I replied.

“Why?”, she asked.

“Because I don’t know.”, I replied.

The conversation continued, “Are you okay?”.

“It’s like a million balls were in the air, and now they’ve all fallen.  I don’t know where they’ve landed. But my arms are tired. Is that okay?:

Losing Dad was a complete 180 departure from what happened when I lost Mom.  I have said that if Mom would have liked to die “vicariously” through Dad – his death was so good – if that’s okay to say…. He appeared to be in peace.  He died without pain, he died surrounded by people who loved him, he died with faith, in his own bed.  Mom was in pain, in the hospital, and while my brother and Deb were there with her – there were still so many missing who would have liked to have been there – including Dad.

I get what it’s like to lose someone and be devastated and I get what it’s like to lose someone and be at peace.

When Dad passed away, there was nothing amazing that happened.  There was no grand inhale, no grand exhale, no revelation, no sense of a spirit departing.  I was convinced that that was it – death was death.  I was convinced that there is no spirit.  I lost my faith.  Still, I was okay.  I just didn’t want to leave Dad.  I continued to hold his hand and kiss his cheek, to talk to him – I wasn’t convinced that he was really “gone”.

Not long after the doctor arrived, and then the funeral home, that I realized I was feeling strong.  I didn’t break down and sob.  I was okay – I felt peace.  How was that possible?

Not long after making the arrangements at the funeral parlor, I realized I was feeling strong.  I didn’t break down and sob.  It was okay. How was that possible?

Not long after meeting with the minister, I realized that I was feeling strong. I didn’t break down and sob.  I was okay. How was that possible.

On the morning of Dad’s funeral, I wrote his eulogy.  I realized that I was feeling strong.  How was that possible?

Dad wanted a happy departure.  No tears.  I was determined to not cry – in fact, I ended the eulogy by singing “counting my blessings”.  How was that possible?

I know how now – well, at least I have a  hypothesis. I think when Dad left his body, his spirit – whatever that is – awakened in me.  How is that possible?

I had one good cry at his bedside that is now vacant – but that has been all.  People greet me with their condolences and I appreciate their pain – but feel very little myself.  I “miss” Dad, but I don’t feel distraught.  I say Ta-ta-for-now to his empty chair, say “I love you Dad” and hear him reply “I love you too”. How is that possible?

I don’t know how I feel.  But I am okay.  I know when I find those balls, I will have begun a new chapter.  And I know that a new chapter is possible.

TTFN

Negotiating My Faith

I have never been a religious person.  I have always had a faith, but I guess I was raised that faith is something you practice, not get when you go to church.

The farm was my church.  God was with us in the trees, the birds, the deer.  I respected nature and admired the creations.

Paula and I raised our children to have a faith – we always said grace and reminded our kids that we need to be grateful and appreciate the things we had.

Paula always wanted to join a church, though.  Her Dukabor heritage had introduced her to a different world than I was used to.  He father, Michael Malloff, did not approve of the way the Russian community would cater to their spiritual leader – Peter Verigan (sorry about the spelling!) Michael was a hard worker and to him, it didn’t seem right that a man could become wealthy without doing the hard work.  Michael withdrew his support for the Russian leader and although he remained a man of faith, he did not attend church.

Don’t get me wrong.  Paula and I did spend some time at church – the first church we attended in Barrie was Burton Avenue Presbyterian.  Paula taught Sunday school and Stacey was baptized there. But, when we left Barrie to move out to the farm at RR#1 we just seemed to be living in faith and didn’t feel the need for church.

Several months before she passed away, and I almost wonder if she knew it was coming, Paula joined Collier Street United Church with Stacey and her family.  I wasn’t interested.  I didn’t feel the need to advertise my faith or to be a church member.  I didn’t see the benefit.

Paula would often attend church services to hear Dennis Posno preach.  She’d come home feeling better – lighter – and sometimes Stacey would read Dennis’ sermons to me that had been posted on-line.  I have to admit he was good.  I enjoyed his sense of humour.  He didn’t seem to take himself too seriously – and that was good enough for me.

It was November of 2010 when my world collapsed and I watched as paramedics took Paula away from me.  I thought Paula was coming home – she always had come home before.  She was strong.  She had been a nurse.  I was worried, but I felt that it was best for Paula.  Stacey tried to bring her home where she had wanted to be – but on the morning she was to come back to me – she passed away.  She made a journey that no one had really anticipated.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Paula – I see her in my dreams and I see her in my wake.  I know I need to be with her – but for some reason the good Lord has decided that it is not my time.

I still have faith – and I am confident that I will be with Paula again one day in the House of the Good Lord.

For some time, I was able to go to church with Stacey and I really enjoyed hearing Dennis.  He always made a point of coming over to me and asking me how I was doing.  There were many others that did the same thing.  I felt welcomed there at Collier.  It made my road a little less “lonely” to walk down.  I still missed Paula terribly but it gave me some comfort to know that the Minister had known Paula and had been the one to preside over her funeral.  I joked that he was now presiding over my life – but not too much.

I feel grateful to Dennis for the gift he gave to my family and I.  He must have sensed to “lay off” the preachy stuff and stick with the essence of Paula.  He represented her life beautifully.

I think what I appreciated most about him was when he came to my home to gather stories about Paula – he sat with us and listened with an open heart for almost two hours.  Okay – what I liked about him even more was that he joined us for a glass of wine.  Wine, in my world, represents celebration.  And I guess that night – we were celebrating and rejoicing in Paula’s life.

Between Ruth – who looked after Paula during her final moments and Ruth and Dennis  – who continue to look after my family after Paula’s final moments – I have enough faith.

One day I will join Paula if I’m lucky enough – I know my family will be okay while they continue to accept the hand of our Good Lord.  They will never walk alone.