Second Chances

I have a shamrock plant that was my mother's. She's been gone for almost twenty years so to be custodian of a living thing that meant alot to her, means alot to me. It's a finicky plant this shamrock. Over the years, on several occasions  it has wilted up, dropped its leaves and delicate white flowers, and done a convincing job imitating a dead plant.

We moved it from its spot in front of a window to another window in the sunroom so we could decorate for Christmas. It protested by stripping down to its nethers. Honestly - it almost made the dumpster but on close examination, some tiny plump sprouts were detected poking out of the soil. Close call. But we cleaned up the pot and discarded the dead leaves, gave it a good watering and perched it back in front of the window for the best sun exposure.

And it survived. And thrived!

So lesson learned. We have to seek the gifts - the tiny sprouts of hope - in adversity. Hope lives just below the horizon of the darkest day. You may have to look hard - but it's there among the debris.

Mom taught me this as I was growing up and I chose to believe that she was sending me a little reminder to nurture the delicate; care for life and lives. With love and light and time - anything is possible.

Thanks Mom.

Mother and Daughter and Mother and Daughters

I'm blessed. I am the mother of three incredible strong human beings. I am a mother of daughters. It's the shining achievement of my life... being a young mother who grew into a good mother.

And I had an excellent teacher; a mother who was more giving and unselfish than I could ever be; a mother who entrusted her children to make good decisions and small mistakes. And when I made big ones, she convinced me that I had everything I needed to make it right. She grew resilient children.
And I tried to do the same.

She once told me that when she brought me home from the hospital, her twenty-year old self laid my newborn me on the bed and cried, "I feel sorry for you baby. We're going to have to grow up together".

She shared. She was authentic. She was as strong as a warrior and as soft as a gentle breeze. She was a lady.

Mother's Day is not always easy but in a strange way the void of her absence is a comfort. I need to feel the space her passing has left. But I have also learned to make this day a time to cherish being a mother to the three precious treasures that are mine. And I can only hope that my mother would be proud.

Petals of Mom

Dear Mom,
Today is Mother's Day; a day that conjures mixed emotions.
I am a daughter without a mother.
You are not here to spoil and hold;
not here to laugh with or tell my dreams to.

And yet my love for you grows deeper.
I hear your gentle voice in my head dispensing quiet guidance.
urging me on, laughing, nodding in approval, as only you could do.
Your love lives on.

If I could, I would tell you that your life had meaning.
You have a beautiful legacy of grandchildren
who genuinely love and enjoy one another
as well as a family who stand solid and strong.

I see you Mom, in the hummingbirds flitting at the feeder
and in the dancing prisms from the crystals in the window.
I hear you in my brother's voice and
see you in my sister's face.

The warm scent of your neck
as I cried into your shoulder, still lingers,
as do your wisdom and lessons
and unconditional support.

So Mom, I guess you can tell that I miss you more than ever.
Time has not dulled the edge of grief
Nor filled the void of loss.
But I can assure you that your love lives on.

Because as you taught us all,
love is eternal,
love never dies.
And you were pretty much always right.

And for that I am truly grateful.

Happy Mother's Day to all the women who are moms or who "mother" someone. Know your impact.

Checking In

This time of year is always hard; and this day - a little harder. It's your birthday but you are eternally 58. You passed exactly a week after your birthday - a week after I presented you with my Tupperware container of homemade lasagna (your request); a week after you unwrapped the bath pillow and said that your mom would really like it - even though she had been gone for 5 years already.

But that was the end, and tonight my thoughts are with the present...

The kids are growing up quickly. One of them has your petite build; another shares your slightly droopy "Paul McCartney" eyes, and everyone says that Dar is the spitting image of you. And at least once a day I start a sentence with "my mom used to tell me that ..."  When we have a famjam the grandkids congregate at their end of the table, laughing, teasing and catching up with one another.They genuinely love spending time together.   The evident love they share for one another warms my heart and I can't help but wonder what you would think of it all.

Would you tell them how proud you were of them that they had grown into thoughtful, caring, contributing members of society? Would you marvel at their confidence and  resilience, and tell them they already had everything within that they need to be happy? Would you wrinkle your nose at the piercings; tell them that they are perfect, just the way they are; that being their authentic selves is enough?

Your advice gets dispensed regularly, by proxy of your four children. Your voice rambles around my head at the most critical moments and sometimes, at the quietest of times. Your funny little laugh hasn't strayed far and the markers you left behind sustain us when we miss you most.

Guess what I am trying to say is that you live on Mom, in all of us - your kids - and in the grandchildren who speak your name and carry on your legacy of love. So today, on what would be your 73rd birthday, I can tell you that we're doing OK Mom; you prepared us well. The longing for you hasn't faded - we miss you desperately but but we today and always, we celebrate all that you were, and are.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Celebrating and Remembering

    

Today is Mother's Day.

I used to dread this day and everything that went with it: standing vacantly in front of a wall of cards, reading prose that no longer applied, wishing that I had to buy one; watching mothers and daughters on their outings at the mall ...

Their were times when I didn't want to get out of bed; preferring to immerse myself in your memory, and in what "was", instead of what "is". I would replay mental memory strips of moments with you in them, remembering the warmth of your hugs and the special spot on your neck where I would land when you comforted me. I remembered your soft but infectious laugh -- it was more of a giggle-- and how you sang as you did your housework. I would spend the day wallowing in want - wanting you to be here.

Today is Mother's Day and I'm better now, Mom. I can relive the memories without reliving the pain of your loss. I have moved from grief to gratitude. I remember each and every lesson you have ever taught me and the rest of the sibs. We speak your name every day and I start alot of my sentences with "my mom used to say...".

My girls have inherited all that you taught me, and that which your mother taught you. They are good girls Mom. In fact, all of your grandkids are good people, bound to be solid citizens of the planet. But somehow I feel like you already know that; I can feel your smile at special occasions and I know you would be so proud of them all.

So today, on this special day dedicated to mothers, in the tradition of celebration, I will graciously accept all of the love and attention  that my daughters want to share with me. I am filled with gratitude for these lovely ladies that I have been blessed with, and for the mother who taught me so much and is proof of the most important lesson of all - that love never dies.  Happy Mother's Day. I had the very best.

EmOTi0nAL MaSh-UP

You think you have it all worked out -- how to integrate the mounting losses into your daily life; how to choose to be grateful for the people you still have around you - loving you, supporting you, and reminding you why it's great to be alive. You choose to see the glass half full and count blessings, and not that which, or whom, you do not have.

And that is what I do, that is, until I get ambushed while running on the treadmill and "Back Home Again" starts playing on my mp3 player, triggering the slideshow of past performances of that song, morphing my joyful bout of singing-with-wild-abandonment-like-no-one-can-hear-you to sobs. It comes from nowhere, this overwhelming, gut-wrenching grief for everyone who cradled my childhood in love and cocooned me with the security and unconditional acceptance that is my big, remarkable family.

Scenes of my after dinner family sing-songs, Uncle Arlen playing his faithful guitar, taking requests or surprising us with, "I have a tune I think you'll like"; my mom (alto) and her sister Mugs (soprano) singing harmony with their brother and the rest of us providing choral support as we sat at their feet. Inevitably, we  got around to the family anthem, Back Home Again by John Denver, and inevitably, Uncle Arlen would get a twinkle in his eye, wink and smile as he sang "it's the sweetest thing I know of, just spending time with you".

Those moments, shared by us all, were cohesive strips binding us together. Back then, it never occurred to me that these moments were rare gifts made from a recipe of seasonal ingredients.

And so today was an emotional mash-up. I still see the faces and smiles of those who have gone before me, and more importantly, I still feel their love. And my heart still yearns to hold them. But wherever their unearthly spirits landed after their heavy earthly armor released them, I hope they found one another, and that they know they mattered and are missed. Love is eternal, and does not die.
-----------------------

And yes that was my egg that exploded in the microwave, and yes, my sobbing made me lose track of time thereby resulting in me exceeding my exercise goals. Whatever works ... thanks Mom.

Scenes from Family Friday

Sunlight flooded the room through the crystal hanging in the window, making colourful prisms dance on the walls. The colours refracting from the crystals remind me of my mother and as I watch them move slowly around the room, even landing on the faces of my loved ones, I smile and think of her spirit dancing lightly among us. Family and love flooded our home for Good Friday dinner. I feel blessed. I feel joyful. And most of all - I am so eternally grateful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Love Lives On

You were close by today; I could hear your voice telling me to slow down and drive carefully in the rain; and memories of you and your laughter wove in and around moments in my day. It was after all, the anniversary of your birth. I try to conjure a picture of you at 72, but that won't be necessary. You were spared any ravages of aging and your spirit is forever young. I still miss you as much as I did that night when you left us. But my longing for you is a strange brew of comfort; the little space of empty - a reminder of the exceptional mother who used to fill it.

Happy birthday Mom. Your love lives on.

Reminder

She got mail! My mom has been gone for almost fourteen years now impossible! and today, she got mail. I couldn't help but smile when I saw the envelope laying on the kitchen table, with her name on it.

Just in case I had any notion of letting her memory lapse, she gave me a gentle nudge, just as she has done so many times before.

Mom, we speak your name every day; the advice you so intuitively dispensed is passed along generously to those who need it most; and your handwritten notes flutter out from nowhere to remind me of your loving spirit.

Thank you ... you always seem to know when I need you most. 

Remembering

Remembering. I did alot of that yesterday, and I know I wasn't the only one. Imagery of 9|11 flooded the airways and did what it intended -- it brought me back a decade, to a precise moment in time, to remind me exactly what I was doing, and where I was when IT happened.

The ceremonies and emotional snares reeled me in. It seems that we like to remember. I certainly do my share; most of my sentences start with the preamble, "remember when ...". That can be annoying to someone who suffers from memory impairment, which is me most of the time. There is a certain comfort in remembering and reliving "old times", even the painful ones. We find refuge in ritual and solace in monuments, even if they happen to be scraps of paper with shaky handwritten sentiments.

This desire, this need to memorialize monumental moments and events in our lives is a way of retaining or even creating something tangible out of that which is no longer so; it provides touchstones and resuscitates; it breathes life into thought, and permits a visitation with the past - however fleeting.

When the mood strikes me, usually when I set out to clear the clutter, or clean out my room, I rummage in my bookcase and old shoe boxes and sort through the random old photos and the collection of cards and letters I have saved. I pull out my mother's spiral-bound journals and read the notes that appear in her beautiful handwritten script: affirmations, wish lists, shopping lists, thoughts, reminders and health tips. I hear her voice reciting as I read her words.  I feel serene in that which she left behind.

Remembering ... embers of precious and pain that remind us what it means to live and to have lived.  - Lyn

Tarnish and Brilliance

It is tarnished, this dollar-sized silver pendant, but the turquoise manages to defy the time inflected camouflage. It is special because it was yours; I was with you when we bought souvenirs to remember our trip to Mexico. When I hold it in my hand and tightly wrap my fingers around it, I can feel your energy; it pulls you close ... or at least your memory. I hesitate to clean the protective film of tarnish and expose the brilliance.

I love change; in fact I embrace it. However there are just some things that I like to preserve and wish to remain the same. My memories are like that; history - not so much. I miss you and when I touch something that you touched, or read a book I know you held in your hands,  I can pull you close and for a brief flicker of time, forget that you went on ahead.

So back the pendant goes into the treasure box with the rest of my mementos; there will be another time for remembering. And maybe I'll even clean it and wear it from time to time.

Mother's Day Pixels

Pixels of the Mother's Day I shared with 2 of 3 of my gals. Kidlet is across the pond with her dad. The sun shone brightly; the sky was blue; and I had two amazing women walking by my side. And I would call that a pretty amazing day ... one that makes me happy to be a mom. 

To all the mom's out there --- I hope your day was every bit as good.

Legacy

 

She was a fiery spirit cloaked in a quiet demeanor. She was a sidelines kind of person - content to sit back, one leg tucked up under her, the other one dangling, nodding, giggling and offering a word or two when the opportunity presented, but never vying for the spotlight.

She came in a diminutive package however offered more spunk per pound than anyone I knew. She was a peacemaker but not a push over -- not when it counted. And when she engaged her inner fury, it was unexpected, and effective. She could get your attention. It was a power she used sparingly - selectively. And as a young girl, I was always a little proud of her when she did.

She was quick to say "sure" and to offer whatever she had to give (even that which she didn't have). Anything I learned about giving, I learned from her. She was a dreamer and taught us that we were perfect manifestations of all that is good, and that we could create the life we wanted. She was content to stay on the sidelines, supporting and adopting the dreams of her husband.

Once in a while she would permit herself the luxury of wondering how her life would have looked if she had made different choices; stayed in school longer; studied her beloved Latin; traveled before having children. These mini laments would always end with -- "it all turned out how it should. I got you kids."

We always knew she was a giving little powerhouse, but nothing would prove it more than when she became ill. She fought her disease with an unfailing determination and focus and in the end, she won. She shared her journey with all of us and showed us how to honour the life that is be-gifted to us. She lived on her own terms and best of all, she left a family intact, closer than ever who speak her name every day. She is proof that love never dies.

And on this Mother's Day, I honour the living legacy that is my mom.

Don't Take Your Organs to Heaven

Don't take your organs to heaven. Heaven knows we need them here.

I remember this slogan from a button my Mom wore on her jacket. Those were trying times; anxiety ruled as we waited for the beeper to sound like a trumpet of hope. My mom was waiting for new lungs that would offer her breath of life. She was a petite woman with lungs to match. We were warned that it may be a lengthy wait to find organs small enough for a proper fit.

Organ donation is the ultimate gift of hope. To this day nothing has rivaled the sheer euphoria of that phone call telling us that they had lungs and to get Mom to the hospital pronto. In an instant that little ember we had kept alive burst into a blaze of hope; everything seemed possible. "We're on!" was her response when I asked her if she was scared. She was out to the car barely before I hung up the phone. It was all I could do to whisper silent "thank you's" as profound gratitude washed over me.

As part of the lung transplant program, Mom and I met 17 other families who were in the holding pattern of regular therapy and exercise as they waited for their miracle. It made organ donation personal for me. The drawn, exhausted faces of the people whose lives hung in balance were emblazoned in my brain, and when they disappeared after waiting too long, we were collectively devastated.

My Mom received the ultimate gift of life and enjoyed one year of perfect health and a second year of life in which she battled rejection. I asked her if she would do all over again, knowing what she knew and she said, without hesitation, "Of course! I lived didn't I? It was better than the alternative."

Years after her passing, my mom's younger brother died suddenly from a brain aneurysm. He had signed his donor card and as result, at least five people had second chances at life.

There are many different perspectives on organ donation, but to me, it is simply "paying it forward". To you who have signed your card, bless you. To those of you who intend on donating, please share your wishes with your loved ones.

Triggers and Lessons

Your song was playing when I turned on my car radio... the husky crooning of Louis Armstrong singing "and I said to myself, what a wonderful world". I smiled and thought of you. These gentle triggers come at times I need them most. I thought about how many times in a day I start a sentence with "my mom always told/taught me ...".

Your life lessons, delivered so casually, were profound. You were ahead of your time. Who talked about the mind, body, spirit connection in the early seventies - or the power of visualization? When I felt worried you would tell me close my eyes and make a mental list of everything that was upsetting me, and then picture myself loading  the "problems" into a trunk, locking it up, and then dropping it from a plane into the sea. If it's out of your control, let it go. Funny enough, I always felt lighter and relieved afterwards.

When I would lose something, you would tell me to go lie on my bed, close my eyes, breath slowly and deeply, the whole time affirming that "I know I will find [lost item -- usually my library books]. I know the answer will come to me".  It was like magic! I would inevitably get an image of where to find that which was misplaced. I felt powerful and confident.

You taught us to "accept" that which we needed --"I accept all the creativity and inspiration I need to complete this project" - as opposed to begging for it. You explained that all that we need already exists and is there for the accepting -- knowledge, wisdom, strength, courage, and creativity. It was a matter of learning to access it.

You taught us well Mom and I am still learning. You reminded us always that life is an exciting adventure and not to sweat the small stuff. Best of all you taught me to create the life I want to live and to trust that life is unfolding as it should. And you know what? I think I have, and I know it is!

Care Package

We've all got the call -- someone near and dear to us desperately needs our help. It often comes without warning and it is rarely convenient. That's why they call it help. I can remember as a younger version of myself I thrived on being needed; being the one people turned to for advice, guidance and support. I needed to be needed. But if memory serves me correctly, I think I harbored a secret sense of martyrdom. Oh, I was sincere enough in my concern and assistance - but I was also somewhat self centered about it all. There was ego involved.

As I matured and had my metal tested, I grew to find the gifts in giving of myself. My mother became very ill and  lived with us as she waited for a lung transplant. The program was grueling, requiring her and her caregiver (me) to go into the city four days a week for a series of exercises, appointments and preparatory therapies. When we first started this journey I felt pretty darn proud of myself - bloated with self importance to be giving so much of myself to the cause.

But as the days passed and my devotion, stamina and patience were tested, I started to see the situation for the hot bed of opportunity that it was. I shared hours of dedicated talk time with my beloved Mom as we drove the 2 hour round trip and spent hours in countless medical waiting rooms. I was privy to her thoughts and private anxieties, as well as the benefactor of her theories, perspectives and philosophies on the mind-body-spirit connection, self actualization, how to pray and how to be the highest form of expression of one's self. She once told me, "This is important for you too Lyn. You are going to grow from this experience. You'll see." She knew what she was talking about.

I shifted my thinking from how this was impacting MY life, to this IS my life. Ever-changing schedules taught me to let go of that over which I had no control. Hours of waiting - for doctors, procedures, appointments - taught me patience. Witnessing her stoic, positive demeanor in the face of impending death inspired me to be grateful for my own health and the life I had created. Her appreciation for every breath of life taught me to cherish life that much more. Her attitude that there is always someone worse off than ourselves motivated me to want to be a better person. And in the end, she showed us that there are things worse than dying.

Needless to say I learned that it is an honour and a privilege to care for the ones we love; to give back a small fraction of the love and kindness that has been shown to me. And if we do it with our eyes and heart wide open, we can expect to forever changed, and blessed -- the ultimate care package.

Dedicated to MIH who always gives more than she gets.

Life Lessons From My Mother

Happy birthday Mom. It is hard for me to imagine you as an aging lady; you are frozen in time at 58. It's almost 13 years ago that you left us, and I swear a day hasn't passed in which I haven't spoken your name, shared some snippet of wisdom you imparted or thought about something you did or said that made me smile.

Today I celebrate your special day by sharing some of the lessons you taught us ...

To those who did not know her well my mom appeared a small, timid person; easy going and pleasant; a contrast to Dad’s flamboyant, outgoing personality. To those closest to her, she was an unwavering rock; deeply philosophical, spiritual person in a very private way. She meditated regularly to help achieve an inner serenity and peace that was so critical to her maintaining her trademark optimistic disposition.

The number one most important principle she taught us was to seek the gift in every adversity. She believed that we are here on earth to evolve and mature spiritually and therefore have many lessons to learn. She felt our earthly life provided us with the opportunities to experience, make choices, feel consequences, learn from them and aspire to greater understanding. It was because she was so busy trying to find the lesson in every hurdle that she did not perceive herself as having “bad things happen to her”.

She once used the analogy of life as a hurdle race …. You start the race expecting hurdles and when each one is encountered, you make your very best attempt to clear the hurdle with the finest of style. Regardless of the outcome, it is the attempt that is important. With this attitude, no time is wasted mourning the fact that a hurdle has presented itself but rather how the hurdle will be tackled. It was with this amazing attitude she tackled her own health problems. She wasted no time complaining or bemoaning; she assumed full responsibility for her own well being and busied herself with making herself well.

She was a firm believer in the mind, body, spirit connection long before the rash of self help books came along. She believed that thoughts materialized and so it was very important to her to keep her thoughts focused on the higher good rather than dwelling on the negative. She taught us that "as we think, so shall we be" - the power of thought. I’m certain it was from her belief in this principle that sustained and empowered her through her many grueling health challenges.

Something else Mom taught us was the importance of  visualization. I can remember when I was eleven, after a particularly long day of me complaining, whining and fighting with my sisters she took me over to a mirror and said “See this little girl. She not very likeable.” She went on to point out that I hadn’t made a positive comment from the time I got home and that I was forming a habit of acting negatively. So at the age of eleven she gave me Norman Vincent Peale’s “Power of Positive Thinking” to read. She convinced me that if I could create a mental picture of how I wanted my life to be and the kind of person I wanted to be, that my picture would soon become reality. I live this technique every day of my life.

Live every moment, and live it consciously. The life Mom and Dad had together was a wonderful example of a couple who took an incredible journey together, taking all the back roads to savour the scenery, hopping on the freeway once in a while just for the thrill of it, stopping to refuel occasionally but never stopping.

In the past years of her life, my Mom was on a little journey of her own. When she received the ultimate gift of a lung transplant, she was supremely grateful and immediately set about cramming as much living into very day as she possibly could. She traveled to see my Dad in the Arctic, accompanied us to Mexico, bought a new bike and used it, exercised daily, went to her first Raptors game, her first stage play, tried Indian food … you get the picture. She urged us to do the same. Every morning she would enthusiastically ask me what I was going to do that day. On one such day when I was still a little groggy I said - “I don’t think I want to do anything”. “Good", she replied, “just make sure you do it consciously so you can really enjoy it! Otherwise you may feel as though you didn’t accomplish anything at the end of the day.”

Life is unfolding as it should. Often we question or think that the events in our life are tragic or unfair … and we struggle to make sense of them. Mom believed that life was unfolding exactly as it should be .. that our failure to realize this lay in our inability to see the big picture. After witnessing the magical way the choices my parents made roll out into perfect synchronicity has reaffirmed my faith in the greater power that moves amongst us in our lives. Looking back on my own life I realize that the events and times that once seemed chaotic, were actually perfect pieces of a puzzle that fit together seamlessly; a perfect plan.

Now every famjam we have is the bittersweet portrait of a happy, wholesome family, united and enjoying and supporting one another; a wonderful testament to a mother who left our hearts full and overflowing.

But there will always be a little space, in the place  her presence used to fill.

Thanks Mom - you taught us well.


Other posts about my mother

Motherhood Gifts

You taught me things about myself I had never known. You introduced me to love that was absolute, unconditional and infinite.

You held the strings to my heart; when I first laid eyes on you, my thought was you could really hurt me.

I learned to give - completely, unhestitantly, willingly - and how to live for someone other than myself.

You are my most important accomplishment and the source of my greatest joys, happiest memories, and hopes for the future.

Motherhood, you  have bestowed upon me the greatest gifts in the world - my three precious treasures. And so on this Mother's Day, I am so very grateful for the privilege of being a mom.

You may be interested in other Mother's Day posts:

Mum's Day
Mother's Day Blessings
Mothers in My Life

Reconciliation

Mother's Day ... How are motherless daughters and sons reconciling?

Avoiding the endless racks of cards - that are just too hard to read. Cringing or sighing at every Hallmark commercial. Tears escaping recklessly. Remembering, retracing, and wanting to feel that little piece of empty that is somehow comforting. A day reminding me of what I had, and still want.

A reason to count my blessings.

Spring in my Walk

Spring is an early arrival -- about two weeks early I'd say. I walked slowly, strolled really, breathing deeply and enjoying the heat and sunshine on my face. And I wondered as I walked. Wondered and marvelled at everything around me. Deep breath. The air was heavy and sweet - and the trees in full blossom. A perfect day. A gift. I sung the soundtrack silently (thankfully for others) as I walked. You know what it was ... Sunshine on my shoulders (c'mon - sing along with me - you know you want to).

The lightness from my walk continued for the rest of the afternoon. I found reason after reason to burst into song - and my cubemate Susie was patient a saint. It was joy to overflowing bursting out. And it didn't stop ... not even when I got in my car to drive home at the end of the day. I started the car, opened the sun roof and flicked on the radio. And no lie -

You are the sunshine of my life
That's why I'll always be around,
You are the apple of my eye,
Forever you'll stay in my heart...

I sang happily as I drove along and suddenly  the words "forever you'll stay in my heart" choked in my throat - an emotional ambush! A surge of so many feellings at once ... happiness, bliss, sadness that she isn't here to share this. These uncontrolled emotional blips are like flash fires ... fast and furious, and often at the pinnacle of happy. Some minor leakage, a silent acknowledgement of I miss you Mom and then a big smile.

It's true what they say ... love never dies. And a day like today, rich in every way possible leaves my heart full of gratitude, for all that I have, and all that I have had. 

Happy springtime everyone.