It Takes a Village

I have told the story many times of the first time I knew that the Kingston Peninsula was where I wanted to live my life and raise my children. As a ten year old I stood in the midst of a crowded hall full of residents of all ages and knew the value of belonging to a community. Yesterday I experienced the same thing and hope my grandchildren felt it as deeply as I did on that day fifty some years ago. I couldn't help but think as I left the Legion yesterday that nineteen years ago the community gave a similar outpouring .On the day of Zac's funeral we were swept up in the loving embrace of our friends and neighbors. Births, deaths, accidents, fire, flood, life changing events are the times a strong community rallys behind it's people and shows support. I know other communities do the same but I have been privileged to live in this one. I used to tell my students that to have a friend you need to be a friend. Well yesterday was proof that Chapin and Brianne were raised to be a friend.This morning the April sun shines as the month winds down and I am filled with feelings of love and hope. I feel the dark night has given way to the bright morning. I am so deeply thankful for that.

Like a Pressure Cooker

Monday morning again. I have a short time in the quiet of my office as I have some daughter duties to tend to this morning. I will return as quickly as possible and take the hours left to me. Headliner has gone to print . I am very excited about that. I have participated in this process seven times now but the thrill has not diminished in the least and I can't wait to hold the finished book. I am proud of the work we all have done. I love the cover and I believe in the story.The story is a simple one of love, loss and struggling to make sense of it and find your way through. Just before bed last night I happened upon Willie Nelson's new release entitled 'Something You Get Through'. His voice is faltering a bit, his face shows a life lived and his words spoke deeply to me. I have always bristled at the phrase " getting over it" when it comes to grieving. Some may say by writing another book about loss I am stuck in the not getting over it. I beg to differ in the loudest possible voice. I can only speak for myself but I believe it is the getting through that counts.Now the getting through looks different for everyone and I can only speak to my own experience. At this point nineteen years after loosing Zac my grief is often like a pressure cooker. Certainly not as often as it once did but now and again the grief builds up, presents itself in dreams and blows off the lid.At those times the pain and fear and panic is as strong as it was in the first moments, days and months. The methods of getting through are learned, the belief you can rally is established and the lid is placed back on.I am so thankful for that and accept the reality of what my getting through looks like.Just as being Zac's mother for twenty years gave me immeasurable gifts ,navigating my way though loss has given me blessings as well.It is not up to me to question why and all I am truly left to do is my best and call witness to the journey. Perhaps in doing that I can in some way encourage others.

Books Don't Write Themselves

It is a writing day, a wonderful stretch of hours ahead of me, writing day. I say often just how much I appreciate these days.My mind is juggling lots of feelings this morning. Scrolling down my FB feed I see many people wearing hockey jerseys to support the Humboldt Broncos .My thoughts and prayers are with the families and friends, the surviving players, the first responders, the medical professionals , the bus and the truck drivers.This loss is devastating on so many levels. Not being a hockey playing family I have no jersey to wear and no hockey sticks to set out but my heart is with the country. My heart is with anyone facing loss and suffering.I do believe a caring heart does not shy away from giving voice to the heartbreak and challenge of dealing with loss at any level.So today I take the gift of telling a story. I love how the story unfolds and changes as I give it the time and attention. Taking what I feel , what I know, what I observe and combine it with what I make up is such a joy. Books don't write themselves is a common saying around here as is Sunday suppers don't make themselves, Bathrooms don't clean themselves, etc. Broken hearts don't heal themselves either. Healing and surviving loss takes hard work, love and support , time and truthfulness, crying and talking, hugging and hoping, simple acts of putting your feet on the floor and taking one difficult day at a time. Life throws the loss in with the love, the joy with the sorrow, the unimaginable with the astounding. And I try to write books that mirror all of that. So many books so little time.

The Morning After , Thirty Six Years Ago

My baby girl turned thirty six yesterday.Meg was my second born. Her brother Zac was a delightful three year old who was waiting for a brother or sister. We were living in a small shed-like building we'd built on our property dreaming of building the big house some day.Stories of those 'pioneer days' are the stories we still tell. When Zac was given the job of telling his Grammie we were getting a new baby her response was" Don't be so ridiculous".It was ridiculous to some that we believed we could have two kids in a ten by ten shed with a sleeping loft. I had designed a macrame crib that I began constructing to hang over Zac's bed in the corner. Probably not CSA approved and the reality of this plan hit me when Meg was about three weeks old. I hit the road with my friend Marilyn looking for a trailer to buy accepting the shed life was going to be more of a challenge than I anticipated. We bought a trailer and moved it onto our property living in it for five years as we built the big house.But my thoughts are on the morning after. The night before when we'd dropped Zac off at Mom and Dad's and started in to the hospital in a snowstorm. Burton got Dad's tractor out of the garage and towed our truck to the top of the driveway. Crazy! Then we began our trip in to Saint John not giving me a whole lot of time before the delivery of a 9 lb 4oz beautiful baby girl. Megan Joy.And what a joy she has been. Her dad loves to hear the phone ring and then hear me laugh knowing it's our girl I'm talking to. Oh how quickly thirty six years goes by.So many stories , so many memories , blessings , challenges, joys and sorrows. Happy Birthday beautiful girl!

Happy Easter

April again. This is a month of so many facets. The sun is intensifying , the ground is muddy but drying. The birthdays and anniversaries are many and hold joy and sorrow. A new book waits in the wings. Summer seems closer and possibilities endless. Yesterday was Easter.Family gathered at Chapin and Brianne's beautiful home and it was amazing to see the generations from 85 to six months fill the house with love and promise.Answered prayers and bountiful blessing echoed in that home and this morning I am processing it all.This is a month for me that always requires a huge amount of processing . I do acknowledge the pain of it but so gratefully acknowledge the blessing of it as well. This is the nineteenth year we have been called to mourn but I am confident we will be carried through the struggle with as much grace and wonder as the past years afforded us. Oh how I wish Zac were here to take in the beauty and wonder of the blessing of our growing and changing family.This morning I sit in the quiet comfort of this April day and let it all settle and be.The beauty, the bounty, the blessing; the sorrow , the struggle , the heartbreak.April.