my father's ring

I was always tall for my age as a kid and I'm taller than average as an adult.

I came by it honestly.

My father was 6'4".

He came from a family of tall men. 

I like to think that I inherited his hands as well as his height. 

On my last birthday, I spoke on the phone with my oldest sister.

I told her that I'd looked at my baby book because I didn't know what time I had been born. 

She remembers coming to see me in the hospital.

My mother was kept in for a week. 

Not because she was ill,

but because she already had 6 children and her doctor knew she needed a rest. 

My sister said that I was an average weight

but that I had really long fingers.

That I would someday be a piano player. 

(not destined to be. I'm a terrible piano player, alas.)

My father wasn't a big jewelry person. 

He always wore a watch

and his wedding ring.

My mother was the same, and while she did wear other jewellry, 

 her wedding ring never left her finger.

I remember when she was going in for surgeries, 

they would wrap tape around her finger 

because she refused to remove it. 

This is one of many amazing things 

I learned about my mother

that I'm not sure I ever would have had the chance to know

if she hadn't had cancer.

Go figure.

But this is about my dad.

I'm pretty sure he always wore his ring too.

My parents took their partnership seriously. 

Last year, my family went through the unenviable task 

of dividing up my parents' belongings. 

Whatever was left after a long drawn-out battle.

Because there are 7 of us, we had to essentially draw straws on the more coveted items.

Like my parents' wedding rings. 

I'll get to the point. 

I got the rings.

They, and everything else I got, 

went into the basement when we got home.
Packed in the boxes I received them in.

The divvying up process had been painful.

When I lost my dad, 

it felt like I was losing my mother
for a second time. 

The grief was so familiar

but so different at the same time. 

It all came back after 22 years
in startling clarity. 

A month or so ago, I was in a particular mood. 

I don't know what came over me

but I wanted to look in the boxes. 

I was ready to take a few items out.

The rings are in small white plastic cases.
No boxes, or velvet.
No blue.
Just - sleeves, almost.
Envelopes. 

Mum's ring fits the first joint of my ring finger on my left hand 

(are everyone's hands different sizes or is it just me?)
And that's as far as it will go.

Dad's is a bit big,

but it fits.

It was dull. 

He stopped wearing it years ago.

Mum died in 1991 and he had two serious relationships 

in the years that followed

so it make sense that he wouldn't consider himself married anymore

(although I'm pretty sure she was always the love of his life. 40 years married, so.)

Fella looked at the inscription on the inside of the band - 10 carat gold.

It will shine up as you wear it, he said.

I was nervous about wearing it.

Should I take it off when I wash my hands?

When I do anything?

And then I thought -

Dad did everything with that ring on.

Nothing I do is going to bring it harm.

And wearing it?
Felt kind of

wonderful.

Right.

Special.

It's been, as I said, a few weeks.
And I wear it every day.

It makes them feel closer to me.
Even though they are so very far away.
And I think that they may even like
that I'm wearing his ring.

And that it continues on
with the same love
with which it was bought
sixty-four years ago.

enjoy the silence

It's been awhile since I've landed here at the blog.

In some ways it doesn't feel like home anymore

I've changed

blogs have changed 

(a lot).

They've lost their lustre for many, now seem archaic in their method of delivery.

A lot of blogs I used to read regularly are now out of circulation.

It's hard to keep it going and I understand that.

Some people need to make money from blogging

and I get that too - and if the money and interest are no longer there

(because, really, if the interest is no longer there then the money dries up doesn't it?)

then other paths must be explored.

But I've never fallen into that category. 

I've had a smattering of readers over the years and I've gone through a variety of styles / attempts / what-have-yous.

But here I am - again.

And the year is nearing it's end. 

This has been one hell of a year

and by hell of a year

I mean a hellish year.

My father died in October of 2013. 

It was unexpected - sudden. 

We were so sure he was going to get better and then he was gone- just like that.

He was 83 (which really isn't as old as you may think).

My mother died in 1991 so I knew what it was to lose a parent.

But I didn't know what it was to lose the only parent I had left.

This was so, so different.

It's hard to explain - but here are a few metaphors where I will try.

I felt like I had been pushed out of a plane without a parachute.

I felt like I was on roller-skates and I was on a ramp onto the highway and couldn't stop my wheels. 

I felt like I'd been dropped off a boat into the middle of the ocean. 

Bobbing about - empty for miles.

You probably get the picture.

I have never felt so alone in my life as I have in the past year.

I am lucky - I have people around me who love me and took care of me.

I have a lot of siblings and they/we have made efforts over the past year 

to reach out to each other and to actually say

I love you.

But having no parents.

Even now, just writing that -

it kind of knocks me over.

My Dad and I weren't especially close - we didn't have that movie style father/daughter relationship

but we had been through a lot together when my mother was sick 

and I think that we knew what we were to each other. 

We were survivors of something really hard

and we saw each other at our worst

and came through it on the other side. 

We accepted who the other person was - warts and all.

So we were special to each other

and losing him has left a hole in my life.

And what I've learned from losing my mother

is that the hole never gets filled by anything else.

Yes - you get through the grieving 

and you figure out how to get life going again

but you never get over it.

It just becomes part of who you are.

After Dad died and my sister and brother, as co-executors of my Dad's estate, 

started to work on closing the books on his affairs (so to speak)

They discovered that my Dad's partner had helped herself to some funds that we didn't know he had

(frankly, we thought he had no funds at all.)

And what ensued was an ugly battle that has lasted over a year. 

We are very close to reaching the end

but in doing what she did, she terminated her ties with our family

(which I suspect is just fine with her - I don't think she particularly cared for any of us)

and caused a lot of heartbreak.

It was something that none of us ever thought could possibly happen

and has taken a toll on all of us. 

It warps and twists your grief into something even worse - 

it makes your sorrow boil in your heart into a hateful, ugly thing.

Every milestone feels like a weight on a chain hanging from your neck.

I wish I was exaggerating.

But I'm really not.

But as I said,

we are near the end.

We have reached a settlement which means we didn't have to face each other in court

and that is a very good thing.

I don't think any of us should come face to face with her ever again.

It's not what my Dad would have wanted - none of this is what he would have wanted

but that's the way it went.

But here, at long last, is the silver lining.

Here is what 2014 has taught me.

Early in January of 2014, I realized that there was very little that made me feel better.

I tried alcohol, food, sloth.

None of it worked 

(which I realize isn't surprising in the least but when you're in a fog of grief, 

you aren't exactly astute in your self awareness.)

I joined a gym in March.

And I feel better.

I was able, at that time, to figure out how to make a gym membership work for me.

I go before work three days a week. 

I get up at 5:30 on Monday, Wednesday and Friday

and go to the gym.

And it has worked. 

And it's now part of me in a way that exercise never had been in my life.

I can't go for extended periods of time without exercise anymore 

because my body just starts to give out on me.

I've lost about 15lbs and 6 inches.

I feel more like the person I should be. 

The size I should be.

I feel comfortable in myself again.

And I'm not done - I have a long way to go to where I'd like to be but I'm in no hurry. 

I've worked at this gradually for 9 months and I know I can do more. 

Be more. 

How many times have I made New Year resolutions about basically getting my shit together? 

Many

times.

But that's not what this was.

This was my way of trying to feel better.

And it worked. 

Of course I am still grieving. 

Dad has been gone 14 months and 2 days. 

(some days it seems like more and others it seems like less.)

And now that the lawsuit is finally coming to a close, I expect there will still be a whole new batch of emotions that were put on hold while we directed our energy towards hating my Dad's partner. 

But in the day-to-day, I feel like myself

and I'm proud of what I've accomplished

because I did it by myself

and for myself

and I know I will continue in my success.

What else has the year taught me?

I hate "sayings".

Cliches. 

But you know that one -

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger?

I buy into that. 

I think it's true. 

I am stronger after this past year. 

For better or for worse.

And here's another thing which everyone should consider 

whether you have a spouse, partner, children

or none of the above.

Make a will.

Keep it current

(my father's will was from 1991. I'm not kidding.)

Make it easy for the loved ones you leave behind

because it's a cruel thing to do otherwise.

That's all I'm going to say.

Last thing -

It's taken me a long time in my life to know myself.

I think that my development has been stunted in this area for most of my adult life.

It takes me a long time to figure stuff out and until I do, 

I spend a lot of time, energy and money on the wrong things.

I think for a lot of people, a lot of the immature shit we hang on to gets zapped by becoming a parent. 

Who you are as an individual becomes secondary to the health and wellbeing of your child.

It's all about being a parent to that child

and a lot of baggage gets tossed onto the back burner. 

You can't be as selfish when you're a parent 

as when you aren't.

(although that is a generalization - I know a few people who have children and are very selfish.

 I'm speaking generally here to make a point.)

I do not have children so in the past I have spent a lot of time and energy on meaningless crap.

On trying to be something other than who I am.

But I feel different now.

I'm not going to say that I'm completely different

but there's part of me that feels calm in a way that it never has before.

I've let go of some things that I should have let go of years ago.

I'm also less apologetic for my flaws. Less afraid of not being accepted.

I am a work in progress but what I want from life now is - well - not what it used to be. 

Maybe it's not just "the year" but it's also my age. 

I'm not a kid anymore

or even a young adult. 

But even as a childless adult, I realize that it's not all about me.

In fact, it mostly isn't about me at all. 

And that, somehow, makes it easier.

So what now?

What for 2015?

I was thinking about this a few weeks ago -

I always want to have at least some "thought" for the new year, if not a plan or resolve.

One thing keeps coming to me and I don't really know what exactly what it will be

but it's this -

acceptance. 

Acceptance of who I am

and how my life has played out so far

so I can figure out where I want to go from here.

I've never been a great planner-of-the-future

and I don't think that is about to change

but up until now I have spent so much time mired in the weeds of the day-to-day

that I've made poor decisions

that really won't do much for me down the road.

Acceptance is hard.

Aging is hard

(another post to come on that one).

but it's far from over.

The game has not yet been played out.

And I want to be an active participant in my own life

(that's a ringer from days of yore.)

But it's different now.

Because now

I 

am

awake.

now

The truth is,

I don't know what to say.

Or how to say it.

I've told people

I've said it out loud

but it doesn't get any easier.

But here it is ~

my father died on October 25th.

It was sudden.

It is terribly, terribly sad.

It is worse than I ever imagined.

I wasn't sure if I should write about it
if I could
but how can I not?
I carry it with me every hour.

I don't know where to go from here.

Or how to go from here.

I move from day to day

and the days blend together.

My brain doesn't work quite the same as it did before.
Before.

Each day I feel a small shock
when I remember
and it's like my breath has been stolen away.
They are both gone now.
And who am I - now that I am no one's child?

It's been 3 weeks.

I 

feel

so

lost.

And I miss them.

far and away

Truth be told,

I'm not super close to my family.

But it's hard to be away

when one of them is hurting.

We flew east last week

to see my Dad

who is still in the hospital.

I couldn't bear the not knowing any longer.

I had to see for myself

to know where things stand

and know how I should feel.

I know I don't always post

personal stuff

but sometimes it's all you have

and sometimes,
you need to put things out into the world

to understand them better

or at least see them in a different light.

Making the trip didn't take my worry away
but it did give me time with him
and sometimes time is just the thing we need.

It's hard to see someone grow old
and to know that our future holds the same for us.
And one thing that I took away from this is
take care of your body
because when, in the future, you find it compromised.
the effort you put in now
may serve you well down the road.

frank

I'm going to be frank.

The last couple of weeks have been really stressful.

My Dad is pretty sick.

He had surgery just over a week ago

and developed pneumonia while in recovery.

This is what I was afraid of.

I wasn't afraid of the surgery.

I was afraid of the recovery.

You see, when I was in university,

my voice teacher (who was in her 70's at the time)

was diagnosed with cancer

and she had to have surgery.

It wasn't the surgery that took her

it was the infection that came after that she just couldn't fight.

She was 10 years younger than my Dad is now, so ~

And so.

He is getting better, finally.

But the last week is a blur.

It felt like time stopped

and I can't remember much of anything.

I developed this pain that shot through my back straight through my chest.

It felt like I'd been stabbed through the back.

It was hard to breathe.

I battled a flu/cold/something all week.

I was exhausted every night.

I would go to bed

and not dream.

I would just pass out.

This has been a long weekend.

But good news came on Friday

that he's out of ICU

and they've got him up and out of bed a few times.

So the pain went away.

As did the cold / flu.

But I'm still afraid

of all of the possibilities 

that I imagined 

before I knew 

that he was getting better.

And the life that I saw

and who I was.

But now I'm just waiting

for when his voice comes back

so I can talk to him again

and tell him myself that I'm here

and that I'm hoping

that he'll soon

be

back

home.

this land is my land part 1

We headed to my homeland last weekend,

otherwise known as Nova Scotia.

We had lunch downtown at a new bbq place.

(ok it was new to me but I haven't been there in two years so, it's not really new.)

then we walked around a bit.

It was a beautiful day.

I've always loved this sign.

I finally took a picture of it.

This place has incredible croissants

that's right.

it's a bacon croissant.

delicious.

and they are in Dartmouth!

There isn't a lot of cool stuff in Dartmouth so, this was kind of a big thing.

Great coffee too.

the historic Shubenacadie Canal!

(well, ok , it's shed next to the canal...)

Up next - the home of the first capital in Nova Scotia!

(try to contain your excitement.)

New Year New Photo

So as you may have noticed, I've changed the photo above.
I thought I'd change it up since it's a new year.
It's a photo of my parents way back in the day. (1950 maybe? can't confirm)
My dad owned a gas station back when they were first starting out and I'm pretty sure that's where they are in this photo.
I think what I love most about the photo is how bossy my mom looks.
And how sleepy my dad looks. He looks like he'll just do whatever she says.
This cracks me up.
My parents had a long married life together.
They were high school sweethearts and had seven children together.
They were married for 40 years
and although I'm happy that my dad has found another woman who makes him very happy
I'm sure that my parents would still be together if my mother was still alive.
All in all
it's a great photo.
And I thought it would be a great addition to my little blog.

Concoctions

On Friday I was in a frenzy of domestic activity.

On Saturday we were having my brother and his family over for a bbq as well as another couple who have a wee baby.

It was our first big "do" in our house (or our backyard, at least). 

We lucked out that the weather was perfect - sunny but not too hot and the humidity made itself scarce.

This was the one thing I was determined to make but I was nervous about my capability as a baker and the combination of heat wave/melty vanilla ice cream.

The "cute" factor was a big incentive. I mean, really, how cute are these?

The answer?

Pretty cute.

See?

Totally worth the trouble!

(it's really more of a time commitment than difficulty. Lots of waiting for cooling and baking.)

I also made potato salad from an old family recipe. 

I squealed with delight at my success.

It came out perfectly (accompanied by a flood of memories upon eating the first bite.)

I know, you're probably thinking - big deal. 

What the heck us with this mess who is excited about some stupid potato salad?

Well here's why - 

I used to make this when I was a young teenager (before I couldn't be arsed with culinary cares) and I was always told that if you made the dressing properly, it would be almost white once you pour in the vinegar. 

But mine always came out kind of yellow (other ingredients included yellow items such as - mustard, butter, eggs. I think the only other ingredients are flour, cayenne pepper (which is red) and vinegar so the yellow to non-yellow ingredients ratio is fairly uneven. Just saying.

Anyway - mine usually ended up yellow and the response from my sister, mother, aunt or whoever was around would be along the lines of "well, I guess you didn't do it right."

So encouraging.

Very little I did while I was growing up was met with much encouragement. 

Usually it was criticism.

So it delights me when I discover that I can do something I never thought I could.

Even if it is just homemade mayonnaise.

I

Home Sweet Home

My Dad has moved out of the house I grew up in and it's now on the market.
I looked it up on MLS and was kind of sad to see the empty rooms.
I haven't lived there in 16 years but it was where I spent my childhood.
Memories of my mother are unavoidable. She spent her final days there - as well as her healthy, happy ones.

My Dad is 80 now and he and his girlfriend have moved on to a new place - she got a a great, well-paying job and I think for her it's an opportunity to not live in a house that's filled with ghosts, but one that she can make her own home - their home.

But it isn't easy for me.

My brothers and sisters are a fair bit older than me and I think their memories of that house are different than mine - they grew up in a different place - a different city. And although they spent a lot of time there - it wasn't where they were formed.

Our family went through some very hard times during the 80's. My Dad lost the job that he'd held for more than 25 years because he was "too old" and no longer fit the company profile. (That was very common at that time. More youngsters were getting their MBAs and forcing out the old guys who had  helped these companies grow and succeed.)

My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was 15. I was very naive and I don't think I fully understood the gravity of what was happening - especially since I was told that Mom was "sick and had to have an operation" not that she had colon cancer. This I found out when I overheard the doctor telling she and my father that they thought they had "gotten all of the tumour". Tumour? I remember feeling like the clouds were starting to open up. I was standing in the hallway outside of my mother's room with my best friend, her sister and her mother, who had come to visit. My oldest brother was also there and when I heard the doctor I perked up and said " tumour? She has cancer?" and my brother looked at me as though I was simple and said "What did you think it was?"

I guess they were trying to protect me. I am the youngest of seven kids. Maybe they thought I didn't need to know. Maybe they didn't think at all. Maybe they forgot to tell me.

Anyway - the following five years were good and bad. My Dad struggled with employment - it was hard for him to find a job at his age - he was 56 - but he did his best. My mother's health came and went - as did the cancer and the operations. She was healthy for some of it and was able to work up until about 6 months before she died. I am grateful for that time. She worked at the university I was attending so we got to spend more time together - the hospital where she went for chemo was down the street from the university so I would go to my early morning class then go wait it out with her at the cancer clinic.
I did not do well at school that year - everything was a struggle. It was just the way life was at the time. I did normal things too - drink and party and date - but there was a tarnish to everything that year. I tried to keep Mom's illness quiet because I didn't want people to feel sorry for me but it eventually got out.

She died in June of 1991. It's hard to believe it's almost 20 years ago.

When I look at the pictures of the empty house - I see her. I see the drapes in the bedroom that she chose. I see the chandelier that my sister and I bought for her on sale - it was always a little wonky and didn't hang straight but she swore she loved it. I remember my parents letting me choose the carpets for the bedroom that would be mine ( pink shag carpet. Never let a 4 year old choose her own carpet). I see the family room fireplace where we had our hideous family portrait taken in the early 80's.

I think those were the best years, maybe. Mom had gone back to university and started a career for the first time in her life. She had some independence and income. She was finished with just being a mommy to seven kids and was on her way to being her own person again. I've always felt that she was cheated by life. She was 59 when she died and in some ways, in her 50's, she was finally getting some ease back. She never had a chance to come into her own. Maybe she would disagree with me but it doesn't really matter.

It's all bittersweet.

I'm amazed by and proud of my father for the leap that he is taking in picking up after 35 years in one house and moving to another part of the province with the woman that he loves. At his age, most people are moving into retirement homes. I hope he's happy there. I hope the house sells quickly (which could be a challenge considering it still has a lot of that shag carpet previously mentioned) so that he can move on and leave his ghosts behind. But it still makes me sad to think that our phone number isn't our phone number anymore and that our address is no longer our address.

I guess it's just one more crappy part of being an adult.

Auld Lang Syne

I haven't been writing been writing a lot lately. Things have been a mixed up mishmash inside. I often have a lot of anxiety at this time of year. Christmas is coming and my family is far away and I long for days of yore.
Because, see, Christmas in my house when I was growing up, was magic.

I mean - the magic of Santa and dreams coming true on Christmas morning was a reality for me. But it wasn't just about that - it was the one time of year my whole family was together. Christmas day was sacred to me because no one went anywhere. No one went off with their friends, everyone spent the night and we were all there together. There's no question there were flaws - my dad drank his way through Christmas Eve and probably through most of Christmas day but I think that, as a kid, I didn't see any of that. Maybe I was just used to it. Things changed over the years. I grew up and found boyfriends and friends more important than hanging out with my family but I think I always held on to hope - that that one day was going to be more special than any other of the year. I still wanted us to be together on Christmas Day.

The spell would break the following day, (although in our neck of the woods, stores didn't open on Boxing Day so shopping was out but they would publish the newspaper and everyone would check out the upcoming sales and wonder if anything was actually open on Christmas Day and if you needed to urgently buy milk, where would you get it?). That was the day that everyone went a-wassailing, read their new books and magazines, watched a movie, ate turkey sandwiches and mincemeat pie and cookies galore. Sometimes, when I was really young, I would wake up on Boxing Day and convince myself that it was Christmas morning all over again because it had been so wonderful.

My mother loved Christmas. She went overboard to a massive degree and it was amazing. There would be a mountain of presents under the tree- they would creep out into the middle of the living room! I'm sure she paid for everything with her credit card and spent the rest of the year paying it off but she made it so special and she seemed to love doing it. I just realized that my mother never had a real vacation. She never went to Europe or New York. She never went anywhere. Her family was her life, whether she wanted it to be or not. She went on to do some amazing things but in the end, she was cheated by life, I think.

It was hard the year she died. Everyone came home with the hopes of somehow buffering ourselves from the reality that was painfully clear - she was gone. And with her went the glue that held our family together.

Two years ago, my niece got married. We all went home for the wedding, the first family wedding in many years, and decided to make it a family reunion. There was no other occasion than the wedding. We just convinced everyone to go. That was the first time my family had been together in sixteen years. I'm not talking extended family - this was my brothers and sisters and my father (as well as spouses and kiddies.) Sixteen. Years. This is a hard fact to swallow. As cruel as it sounds, I've come to believe that we don't rate each other as important enough to make the effort that is required to get together. We take each other for granted. We are a selfish lot. And one day, there will be regret. Maybe. Maybe not. My father is aging. So are my siblings. I am the youngest of seven - I will outlive some of them. Some of them I will feel I never knew. Some feel like home to me always.

My Christmases now are different. My partner and I have a quiet routine that we enjoy but there's no question that my heart longs for the way it was. The noise and bustle of a big family - the closeness and chaos and quantity of everything. We went home a couple of years ago and spent Christmas with my sister and her husband. I vowed to never do that again. The whole thing just felt off and I knew that it was better to create new traditions rather than try to recreate old ones.

I allow myself to indulge in my memories at Christmas, even though they make me melancholy, it's like eating or drinking too much - it feels good at the time, even if it brings some pain. I know those days are only a memory and I guess I should count myself lucky that I have them. But I know that they, like my mother, are gone. And it still hurts like it was yesterday.