Dad's anniversary

They say that when someone has died, it takes a while for that feeling of loss to become something we can manage. I was reminded that one day I would think of the happy times, not the last months of my father's dying. Today, 7 years later, on the anniversary of his death, I think of the life he lived, that I knew of and was part of. Not the years before, when he raised his first family, my brothers and eldest sister. But of the second family I felt intimately part of, made of my my second sister and I.

Tonight I am thinking about my father sitting next to his desk lamp, painting life on red clay. I am thinking of him flying gliders, particulary the red one he loved so much. I am thinking about the short time that my parents separated and how happy I was to be reunited with him again. To sit at the same kitchen table where he made art, watching him preparing a cup of tea for me.

But my mind moves back and forth from his living hours to his dying hours. I can still see him on the hospital bed, the smell of chemicals, a curtain drawn between him and his roommate. Moments when he was conscious, and lovingly acknowledged my presence. Moments when he was unconscious, not responding to light, to sound. And I think about the the times I visited him at the hospital and how I prayed that the loud cries of pain that came from a pain-ridden dying body, trapped in a bed, in a cold green room, under thin white blankets,belonged to someone else.

Iremember his asking us, when he was aware, and could talk to help him die.Then days later, watching him cry, his face wet with tears. Wanting so desperately to talk, to walk, to be well again. Letting us go, but not ready to let go. Watching us come and go until he slipped away into unconsciousness.

I think of our final choice, which I did not consider at the time to be a gift of kindness. But now looking back, it was the only gift we could give him. To release him. The doctors pulled his feeding tube. Then one August day, he took his last breath. And now, somehow, we breathe his breath, because we are part of him and he is part of us. The pain has become tolerable, but the memories are a mix of great joy and tremendous sadness.

A place for thoughts

I am sitting in the place I love the most..my gloriously green, and leafy backyard. This is certainly a different garden from the one I had when I moved in. Back then it was a large backyard, full of weeds and scorchingly hot places..lit by the sun. Since our big, happy move into this house, we have added numerous plants. David added this wonderful pergola that I am sitting under..it gives so much shade. He also added a fantastic side garden which is part ornamental and part herb garden. In addition, the children enjoy their playfort which David and my father-in-law lovingly built together on a hot summer day. My mother in-law helped too.

This garden is a wondeful place for quiet, roaming thoughts. For the preservation of spoken or unspoken words. For quiet play or boisterous play. For bird watching, and watching the dozens of squirrels get so close they get underfoot. This is how it is for ou rlittle chipmunk that has become a little more confident and gets very close to us when we are hanging up our clothes on the line or having a snack outside.

I have really needed this place of thoughts to go to. Currently I am thinking about what to do in terms of my child who has a learning disability. I want what is best and to promote the learning process in a way that is encouraging. I wish I knew what to do. I have to think things through and plan ahead somehow. We have spent so much time here learning and growing together. I remember him sitting on the grass, watching the clouds roll by. I have always been impressed by his sophistication and incredible vocabulary. Life has many surprises and guess the L.D. is one of them. I hope one day he will see it as a gift, not a challenge when he can use to it help other people.
our

fuzzy pink pajamas

I haven't blogged in ages. I'm sitting here with a sinus infection, in fuzzy pink pajamas, feeling like I've been run over by a truck.

My children will be home soon.

It is dark and the singular sound of a robin calling to its mate punctuates the silence..

Tomorrow, I will need to sort through the piles of laundry on our blanket box. Remove the roll of tissue paper on the antique desk. Actually the top of the desk will be a task on its own to tidy. A balled up kleenex, a pile of paper, a hairdryer, David's camera. My phone book. Lip balm.

I hope I'll be able to sleep soon. That I'll wake up feeling healthy. That I'll get to spend time in the garden, playing with my kids.

Jacob Scheier

It is taking the kids a while to fall asleep. Everything else in house is quiet except for their voices... They are making up an elaborate story about my youngest's crush. The eldest is now pretending he is in a spaceship and he is blasting off.

I am thinking about Jacob Scheier's visit and reading on November 26th. The Winner of last year's Governor General Award for poetry. His book is amazing and what is even more amazing is that I knew his mother. She was my professor in university all those years ago and I thought alot of her. Now her son is carrying on her legacy..she would be so proud. -The 26th is also David's birthday..this will be a special day in many ways..David will most likely be going to atleast one of the readings..he is a writer of Haiku. Wow, don't I have a lot of cleaning up to do around here before the exciting upcoming visit. I feel blessed.

Pink Bow

Winter is almost here..but today was such a gorgeous day... My son and husband rode their bikes downtownish to get their haircuts and Ella and I wandered a little closer to home. We stopped and had frozen hot-chocolates..then hit a used bookstore and picked up a few books there. Finally, we proceeded to the Art Centre where we spent time in the Green Room looking at fish in the fish pond and a variety of heavenly plants. Ella looked so pretty in her pink top, frilly pink skirt and furry pink coat to match. Before leaving the house she grabbed a pink bow for her hair so I fastened it to the one side and she looked so lovely. She has been looking so tired lately..hope my little girl is okay. Today was such a nice day that I wish I could do it all over again. When time goes by this fast it feels like stolen moments.

Almost winter

For a few brief moments I looked outside my family room windown this evening, and saw a sea of leaves scattered over the beds that I had so lovingly tended to this spring and summer. I don't think I will pluck the dead impatients from their beds but rather leave them alone to eventually become the dried earth under snow.

If felt strange to look at the bird bath that was frequently visited by birds and squirrels and to now see it vacant of visitors. But to see handfuls of leaves in its flower shaped stone bowl. Even the picnic table that David tiled this summer is buried under a mess of leaves.

I really dislike the winter. The stores are already filled with winter clothes, and Christmas merchandise. I wish I lived in a place where it was spring or summer constantly. I am not one who really appreciates or needs the change of seasons. Though I do enjoy the rites of spring. The first buds, the thawed earth. The first hint of green and new life. Summer is also a celebration of sun and warmth, and flowers, and herbs, and fruits and vegetables. And winter is time of slumber, only its short days make me feel as though I too should be hibernating..sleeping the days of winter away. And finally waking up in the spring.

H1N1

What a scary and exhausting couple of weeks it has been. My husband, son and I have been home with suspected cases of H1N1. We seem to now be on the mend but I am almost afraid to speak so soon. It has so far managed to skip our daughter and I hope that this is the situation and that she will not become sick. I have barely left the house at all except for going to work the last couple of nights. I finally returned to work on Tuesday after days of being bedbound with cough and fever. David is also back to work, and our son will hopefully be returning to school next week.

I have cabin fever and have forgotten what fall looks like, feels like and smells like. The only thing I have noticed so far is the mountain of leaves I'm going to have to rake when my energy returns. Hopefully soon Ross will feel well enough to venture outside with his sister and the two of them can play in the leaves.

I have had a crazy mirage of dreams the last few nights. More so with the fever. I believe I had deliriously happy dreams with the fever and now that I am without it, my dreams have been growing increasinlgy frightening.

I have a mess to clean, to sort through before going to sleep. I can hear my daughter annimatedly talking to herself. My son on the other hand, is quietly absorbed in something.