The day begins with rock music playing softly on the radio. I fight my way free from the veil of sleep, longing to be pulled back into sleep's warm embrace but feeling the pull of my obligations. The day's events run together like strands of yarn after being played with by children. Dance camp for the older two, a visit with a friend and former client, the drive back convincing a little boy that he will have fun at lunch, a lunch out with my MIL, browsing through the thrift store afterwards, pick up from camp, laundry, supper and then a visit with my mentor.
Wound through the tangled colours is a deep, thick strand of red. Not a pretty happy red, but an angry pulsing red. Red for the pain that shot through one side of my head and neck, pulling me down. It's tempting to whine when the headache strikes, to pull back. I soldiered through today, not wanting pity. I rubbed on headache soother, drank coffee and water, took tylenol-all to no avail. My husband prayed as did my son, but still the pain continued. I kept going.
Now the pain is gone, the red yarn trailing off into the rest of the ball. I am released, just in time for bed.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
MM: The Funeral
Mr. H's funeral was today. After wading through grief this past week, I expected today to be extremely hard. It wasn't. Although I did tear up at mostly appropriate moments, the crushing load of grief was absent. At least it was for my friends who are also followers of Christ. We mourn his absence, are shocked by how quickly and unexpectedly it happened and feel for his family left behind. Yet even through the welter of emotions, there is hope and joy. Mr. H now sees clearly what is only a dim reflection here on earth. He is face to face with the Creator and one day we will be too.
Although I have held these beliefs my entire life, it is only while walking through a tragedy in a cross-cultural situation that I am able to understand the life-changing potential they bring. My friends from another culture have been rather distraught. They have not wanted to attend the funeral or the visitation(although they have) being fearful of how dark it would be. My friend did not expect the many moments of laughter, even by the widow, at the funeral today. Even though this was one of the best funerals I've ever attended, laughter is not uncommon at a Canadian funeral. We mourn, but we also celebrate the life of our deceased friend or loved one.
I must go to bed, although there is much more rattling around in my head, much of it about death and culture. Perhaps I'll explore that later. I'm going to quickly close with my thankful list. After a week of grieving, I need the reminder.
More of the many gifts I have received:
121. A good night's sleep.
122. Sleeping in undisturbed.
123. Waking up to discover that it was just a dream(that there was a large pond outside my kitchen filled with boa constrictors, crocodiles and a velociraptor).
124. Feeling well rested.
125. Birdsong.
126. Not having to do it all by myself.
127. Living in community.
128. Specific answer to prayer-a pretty dress, that looks good on me and wasn't too expensive.
129. Communal sharing of food.
130. Beautiful uplifting cards from a dear friend.
131. Playdates.
132. A birthday phone call from Veronica's mom in the Bahamas.
133. A birthday phone call from Kate's mom.
134. So much love poured out on me.
135. The hope we have in glory.
Although I have held these beliefs my entire life, it is only while walking through a tragedy in a cross-cultural situation that I am able to understand the life-changing potential they bring. My friends from another culture have been rather distraught. They have not wanted to attend the funeral or the visitation(although they have) being fearful of how dark it would be. My friend did not expect the many moments of laughter, even by the widow, at the funeral today. Even though this was one of the best funerals I've ever attended, laughter is not uncommon at a Canadian funeral. We mourn, but we also celebrate the life of our deceased friend or loved one.
I must go to bed, although there is much more rattling around in my head, much of it about death and culture. Perhaps I'll explore that later. I'm going to quickly close with my thankful list. After a week of grieving, I need the reminder.
More of the many gifts I have received:
121. A good night's sleep.
122. Sleeping in undisturbed.
123. Waking up to discover that it was just a dream(that there was a large pond outside my kitchen filled with boa constrictors, crocodiles and a velociraptor).
124. Feeling well rested.
125. Birdsong.
126. Not having to do it all by myself.
127. Living in community.
128. Specific answer to prayer-a pretty dress, that looks good on me and wasn't too expensive.
129. Communal sharing of food.
130. Beautiful uplifting cards from a dear friend.
131. Playdates.
132. A birthday phone call from Veronica's mom in the Bahamas.
133. A birthday phone call from Kate's mom.
134. So much love poured out on me.
135. The hope we have in glory.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Mr. H's Visitation and Other Stories
The line snakes through the room, rounding several tables before making its way out the door and into the lobby. We join, three hushed adults with one child clinging nervously, the other three reading books in a corner. The boys are wearing the suits they wore for the wedding two weeks ago. Today their finery is worn for a much sadder occasion.
While we wait to offer our condolences, three tables in the room offer entertainment, if one can say that. A table in the middle is adorned with an engraved baseball bat, Mr. H's umpire uniform, a baseball written on by another neighbour, plaques from the association he served with, and a book on umping that he wrote. Another table is piled with yearbooks, genealogy books, his thesis, his autobiography and his various diplomas. I smile at the old family picture, admiring the dated glasses and hairstyle and my friend as a child. It's remarkable how much his son looks like him. Still another table sports art the grandchildren made in memory of their grandfather as well as his Bibles, a book he and his wife translated into English and some quizzes made up for his 70th birthday and their 40th wedding anniversary.
I managed to hold it together until the very end of the line up and lose it completely while at the casket. As a family we gather to say goodbye to Mr. H, me spontaneously offering up a prayer in thanks for his life. We move away after a few minutes, preparing to head home and then out again. I catch sight of a friend and then spy Veronica in line, alone. After checking with Steve, I offer to stay and head back through the line. I bawl again.
Then off we head to a farm. Aris and I change in the house before striding down the hill to where the rest are gathered. I sit around a pond, while corn and sausages roast over the fire. It's beautiful. The food is good. We pull out leftover cake, blueberry squares, apple squares and Neapolitan ice cream. Everyone sings happy birthday to me. I smile, feeling loved. Conversation bubbles up around me, my children choosing to go wrestle somewhere else as per my suggestion.
Coming home, I wander over to Keesha's house. Veronica and I babysit so the other adults can go the visitation. I play silly games with the babies, especially the ones I don't know as well. By evening's end, those two are my good friends. My daughter wrestles with the children when she isn't watching Backyardigans. I get them to chase her, and they run circles through the house giggling madly. To settle them down, she gets them to lie on the floor and then leads a yoga relaxation. She teaches well. I am amused, seeing my teacher's style in her imitation. The evening ends well.
It's been a full day, grief interwoven with beauty, community, good food and silliness. My tears keep coming. Tomorrow we will attend the funeral. I think I'm going to cry a lot. I'm not a cryer so this has me a wee bit concerned. My in-laws are probably a bit more concerned as they're babysitting six kids tomorrow, three three year olds, two 16 months olds and one six year old. They're pretty brave. Somehow, we'll all get through tomorrow.
While we wait to offer our condolences, three tables in the room offer entertainment, if one can say that. A table in the middle is adorned with an engraved baseball bat, Mr. H's umpire uniform, a baseball written on by another neighbour, plaques from the association he served with, and a book on umping that he wrote. Another table is piled with yearbooks, genealogy books, his thesis, his autobiography and his various diplomas. I smile at the old family picture, admiring the dated glasses and hairstyle and my friend as a child. It's remarkable how much his son looks like him. Still another table sports art the grandchildren made in memory of their grandfather as well as his Bibles, a book he and his wife translated into English and some quizzes made up for his 70th birthday and their 40th wedding anniversary.
I managed to hold it together until the very end of the line up and lose it completely while at the casket. As a family we gather to say goodbye to Mr. H, me spontaneously offering up a prayer in thanks for his life. We move away after a few minutes, preparing to head home and then out again. I catch sight of a friend and then spy Veronica in line, alone. After checking with Steve, I offer to stay and head back through the line. I bawl again.
Then off we head to a farm. Aris and I change in the house before striding down the hill to where the rest are gathered. I sit around a pond, while corn and sausages roast over the fire. It's beautiful. The food is good. We pull out leftover cake, blueberry squares, apple squares and Neapolitan ice cream. Everyone sings happy birthday to me. I smile, feeling loved. Conversation bubbles up around me, my children choosing to go wrestle somewhere else as per my suggestion.
Coming home, I wander over to Keesha's house. Veronica and I babysit so the other adults can go the visitation. I play silly games with the babies, especially the ones I don't know as well. By evening's end, those two are my good friends. My daughter wrestles with the children when she isn't watching Backyardigans. I get them to chase her, and they run circles through the house giggling madly. To settle them down, she gets them to lie on the floor and then leads a yoga relaxation. She teaches well. I am amused, seeing my teacher's style in her imitation. The evening ends well.
It's been a full day, grief interwoven with beauty, community, good food and silliness. My tears keep coming. Tomorrow we will attend the funeral. I think I'm going to cry a lot. I'm not a cryer so this has me a wee bit concerned. My in-laws are probably a bit more concerned as they're babysitting six kids tomorrow, three three year olds, two 16 months olds and one six year old. They're pretty brave. Somehow, we'll all get through tomorrow.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Birthday Party
My husband threw me a surprise birthday party today. We typically just have small family/whoever shows up parties for our birthdays, but have started a tradition of surprise parties for milestone birthdays. Today's party was amusing as I knew he was throwing me a party today and he knew that I knew but we were both pretending to be surprised/surprising. Our friends were very confused. We got a big kick out of it.
Steve and Veronica pretended that we were having a community barbeque today instead of a surprise party. This way they roped me into making food for my own party. :) Steve was in charge of food while Veronica planned out games. She had us play a breastfeeding bingo game. The first person to get five in a row was declared weaned. The guys in the group had a great time coming up with alternative definitions. Apparently hind milk is what is in a sippy cup discovered behind the couch. :)
Next she had us play a potty-training game. There were three dolls(okay one doll and two teddy bears-one for each of my children) that were dressed in a diaper and a onesie. The object of the relay-style game was to change the doll from a disposable diaper to a cloth diaper to a pull-up to underwear. The first team to complete all three stages won. My team won with room to spare. :)
I had a great time. It was nice to be loved on, eat good food and hang out with friends. Thank you, Steve and Veronica! :)
P.S If you didn't get invited and probably should have, I apologize. Next time, I will be writing up a list of people Steve should invite to my surprise party. :)
Steve and Veronica pretended that we were having a community barbeque today instead of a surprise party. This way they roped me into making food for my own party. :) Steve was in charge of food while Veronica planned out games. She had us play a breastfeeding bingo game. The first person to get five in a row was declared weaned. The guys in the group had a great time coming up with alternative definitions. Apparently hind milk is what is in a sippy cup discovered behind the couch. :)
Next she had us play a potty-training game. There were three dolls(okay one doll and two teddy bears-one for each of my children) that were dressed in a diaper and a onesie. The object of the relay-style game was to change the doll from a disposable diaper to a cloth diaper to a pull-up to underwear. The first team to complete all three stages won. My team won with room to spare. :)
I had a great time. It was nice to be loved on, eat good food and hang out with friends. Thank you, Steve and Veronica! :)
P.S If you didn't get invited and probably should have, I apologize. Next time, I will be writing up a list of people Steve should invite to my surprise party. :)
Friday, August 26, 2011
FMF-Older
The Gypsy Mama has challenged us to write for just five minutes, no editing. Every once in awhile, I'm able to take her up on the challenge. I thought today's prompt was appropriate. :)
Start:
I'm older today, this being my first day after turning thirty. Some have remarked that I'm just 29 with experience, trying to soothe me by telling me that I don't look thirty. Each time I've responded with great emphasis that no, I am thirty. I'm welcoming this new decade with much enthusiasm for many reasons.
My twenties were spent largely wading through the jungle(or swamp, perhaps?) that is new parenthood. There is much beauty and life there, but also a never-ending battle just to stay sane. I haven't always won those battles. But now, as I hit thirty, I'm leaving that jungle behind me. Scant weeks before my birthday, my youngest weaned and potty-trained. The diaper pail has been regulated to the basement, the diapers packaged up and passed on, and my breasts stay covered all day long. After nine years of being pregnant and/or breastfeeding, this feels like freedom. (While filling out a health survey, I discovered that I have been nursing for a total of 86 months. Craziness!)
Becoming pregnant meant dropping out of school, putting my academic dreams on hold. Then motherhood took me in a whole new direction. I've found passions that I didn't even know existed. Before getting pregnant, I knew nothing about birth, breastfeeding, babywearing, parenting, fill-in-the-blank. While hiking through this jungle, I've learned much, become wiser, more informed, more graceful. As I enter this new decade, I sense that I have more to offer and can truly make a difference.
My five minutes have come and gone, but I could keep on going. Growing older has meant new maturity, a sense of being comfortable in my skin and a growing acceptance as well as realization of who I am. Slowly I'm learning to move past my hurts, my hang-ups, my selfishness to be a better mother, daughter, friend, doula and hopefully wife. I'm excited to age, to become purified, continually changed by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit to become a wise woman of peace and grace. Or at least that's my hope.
Stop
I'd keep going, but I have a picnic supper to pack and funeral flowers to order.
Start:
I'm older today, this being my first day after turning thirty. Some have remarked that I'm just 29 with experience, trying to soothe me by telling me that I don't look thirty. Each time I've responded with great emphasis that no, I am thirty. I'm welcoming this new decade with much enthusiasm for many reasons.
My twenties were spent largely wading through the jungle(or swamp, perhaps?) that is new parenthood. There is much beauty and life there, but also a never-ending battle just to stay sane. I haven't always won those battles. But now, as I hit thirty, I'm leaving that jungle behind me. Scant weeks before my birthday, my youngest weaned and potty-trained. The diaper pail has been regulated to the basement, the diapers packaged up and passed on, and my breasts stay covered all day long. After nine years of being pregnant and/or breastfeeding, this feels like freedom. (While filling out a health survey, I discovered that I have been nursing for a total of 86 months. Craziness!)
Becoming pregnant meant dropping out of school, putting my academic dreams on hold. Then motherhood took me in a whole new direction. I've found passions that I didn't even know existed. Before getting pregnant, I knew nothing about birth, breastfeeding, babywearing, parenting, fill-in-the-blank. While hiking through this jungle, I've learned much, become wiser, more informed, more graceful. As I enter this new decade, I sense that I have more to offer and can truly make a difference.
My five minutes have come and gone, but I could keep on going. Growing older has meant new maturity, a sense of being comfortable in my skin and a growing acceptance as well as realization of who I am. Slowly I'm learning to move past my hurts, my hang-ups, my selfishness to be a better mother, daughter, friend, doula and hopefully wife. I'm excited to age, to become purified, continually changed by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit to become a wise woman of peace and grace. Or at least that's my hope.
Stop
I'd keep going, but I have a picnic supper to pack and funeral flowers to order.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Hope in Glory
As I glanced across the yard while getting my mail, I noticed two police officers talking with some teens. Curious, and yet not wanting to intrude, I called my friend down the way. Not suspecting anything wrong, we joked about the police being after me and her needing to point them in the right direction. She wandered outside only to find paramedics working on someone at the pool. Coming closer, she realized it was Mr. H, our superintendent's husband.
Our happy little world came crashing to a halt. We prayed, our hearts gripped with anguish and dread. Not only was Mr. H our neighbour, he was also the father of good friends, a man we loved and respected. After the ambulance left, we huddled together in a knot on the yard. Our children played by the pool fence as they always do, not noticing Mr. H's little box of pool chemicals sitting there, or his shoe left floating in the pool. We attempted to find any scrap of hope that he was still alive, refusing to admit that Mr. H had left this world. Hours later, it was confirmed that he was indeed gone.
We cried then and continue to, mourning not only the passing of a good man, but also the hole he will leave in all our lives. I cry for his wife of almost forty years, going to sleep alone. This world seems like a desert, full of grief and sadness. I would that this was a nightmare I could wake from with relief.
But though we walk through the valley of sadness, I cling to truth like a stone in my pocket. The verses, embedded from the many Christian funerals I've attended, are etched in my heart. For I do not mourn like one without hope. I know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. I hurt for myself, for the family, for all of Mr H's friends, family, coworkers, students, neighbours, congregation, but I do not hurt for him. For he is rejoicing, around the throne, made perfect. These little nuggets of powerful truth are clutched tight as I mourn.
How thankful I am for my faith and the great hope it offers. I look forward to seeing you in glory, Mr. H. I miss you.
Joining with Imperfect Prose;
Our happy little world came crashing to a halt. We prayed, our hearts gripped with anguish and dread. Not only was Mr. H our neighbour, he was also the father of good friends, a man we loved and respected. After the ambulance left, we huddled together in a knot on the yard. Our children played by the pool fence as they always do, not noticing Mr. H's little box of pool chemicals sitting there, or his shoe left floating in the pool. We attempted to find any scrap of hope that he was still alive, refusing to admit that Mr. H had left this world. Hours later, it was confirmed that he was indeed gone.
We cried then and continue to, mourning not only the passing of a good man, but also the hole he will leave in all our lives. I cry for his wife of almost forty years, going to sleep alone. This world seems like a desert, full of grief and sadness. I would that this was a nightmare I could wake from with relief.
But though we walk through the valley of sadness, I cling to truth like a stone in my pocket. The verses, embedded from the many Christian funerals I've attended, are etched in my heart. For I do not mourn like one without hope. I know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. I hurt for myself, for the family, for all of Mr H's friends, family, coworkers, students, neighbours, congregation, but I do not hurt for him. For he is rejoicing, around the throne, made perfect. These little nuggets of powerful truth are clutched tight as I mourn.
How thankful I am for my faith and the great hope it offers. I look forward to seeing you in glory, Mr. H. I miss you.
Joining with Imperfect Prose;
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Birthday Celebration
Originally written May 23, 2010. I thought I had published this one already....
I don't like going out in public anymore. It's not as bad as earlier this fall, but some days I really don't want to leave my house. Some days, the fear of rejection and confrontation is too much. I used to think that if I just smiled nicely and was polite, people would like me. I bit my tongue a lot and occaisionally went along with stuff that I wasn't comfortable with(opinions or gossip), because I didn't want to make waves. Then my world blew up. Suddenly a lot of people didn't like me anymore, even hated me. It was hard enough dealing with the friends who confronted me and told me in great detail why they thought I was a bad person. That was devastating in and of itself. But what turned out to be worse was the strung-out process of finding who else didn't like me anymore. It was checking out my Facebook account and discovering which people were no longer my friends. It was walking into church and noticing that not only were some people now avoiding me, if they did talk to me they were mean. Months later I'm still finding new people who have defriended me. This slow, silent rejection has eroded my confidence more than the explosive endings did. Now I am afraid. Afraid to make new friends, afraid to show my face in public for fear that someone will yell at me. It's slightly ridiculous, but also crippling.
A dear friend turned 30 yesterday and her parents threw her a party. We were invited and decided to attend. It was a drive, but she's worth it. However, when I accepted the invitation, I didn't count on the fear. Suddenly on the way there, I began to be overwhelmed. What if people showed up who hate me? What if there isn't anybody I know and the other guests reject me? It was stressful, but I decided to just celebrate my friend. Upon arriving, we discovered that no, we didn't know anybody else. That was slightly awkward at first, but my friend's mother took us under her wing. She had provided beachballs and bubbles for our kids and was incredibly friendly. Apparently I had met her before but I couldn't remember where until we left. She kept bringing up details about our family and I was trying to figure out how she knew them. It was awkward, but funny. :)
We had a great chat with her and then began meeting some of the other guests. The lunch was great. Our kids behaved, we have fun and it was great to celebrate a truly special woman. I was so blessed by the kindness of a host. She treated me like I was special, even when I couldn't remember how she knew me. Being loved on without knowing why was really healing to my damaged soul today. Happy birthday to JB, and a big thank you to your mom! :)
I don't like going out in public anymore. It's not as bad as earlier this fall, but some days I really don't want to leave my house. Some days, the fear of rejection and confrontation is too much. I used to think that if I just smiled nicely and was polite, people would like me. I bit my tongue a lot and occaisionally went along with stuff that I wasn't comfortable with(opinions or gossip), because I didn't want to make waves. Then my world blew up. Suddenly a lot of people didn't like me anymore, even hated me. It was hard enough dealing with the friends who confronted me and told me in great detail why they thought I was a bad person. That was devastating in and of itself. But what turned out to be worse was the strung-out process of finding who else didn't like me anymore. It was checking out my Facebook account and discovering which people were no longer my friends. It was walking into church and noticing that not only were some people now avoiding me, if they did talk to me they were mean. Months later I'm still finding new people who have defriended me. This slow, silent rejection has eroded my confidence more than the explosive endings did. Now I am afraid. Afraid to make new friends, afraid to show my face in public for fear that someone will yell at me. It's slightly ridiculous, but also crippling.
A dear friend turned 30 yesterday and her parents threw her a party. We were invited and decided to attend. It was a drive, but she's worth it. However, when I accepted the invitation, I didn't count on the fear. Suddenly on the way there, I began to be overwhelmed. What if people showed up who hate me? What if there isn't anybody I know and the other guests reject me? It was stressful, but I decided to just celebrate my friend. Upon arriving, we discovered that no, we didn't know anybody else. That was slightly awkward at first, but my friend's mother took us under her wing. She had provided beachballs and bubbles for our kids and was incredibly friendly. Apparently I had met her before but I couldn't remember where until we left. She kept bringing up details about our family and I was trying to figure out how she knew them. It was awkward, but funny. :)
We had a great chat with her and then began meeting some of the other guests. The lunch was great. Our kids behaved, we have fun and it was great to celebrate a truly special woman. I was so blessed by the kindness of a host. She treated me like I was special, even when I couldn't remember how she knew me. Being loved on without knowing why was really healing to my damaged soul today. Happy birthday to JB, and a big thank you to your mom! :)
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