Friday, November 20, 2009
The One That Never Was
Everyone has one, that memory of the one that got away, or the one, because of timing or circumstance, never became what they were destined to be in another universe.
Mine happened when I was just a few months out of my marriage. Skittish, man-shy, and bitter, I spent my time looking after my girls and trying to make a go of a term position as a clerk-typist. Another girl who worked in the office was in the same position, although she was a little further along in the divorce route than I was. She decided that we needed a night out, and I went along with it. We went out to one of the nicer spots in town on Thursday night, Ladies Night, so we didn't have to pay cover charge.
We sat down and had a drink, and talked about work stuff, our kids, how things were going. The place wasn't full, in fact it was pretty dead, only a few other tables were full, and we really weren't paying attention to anyone else in the place.
It was a surprise when the bartender brought over a round of drinks to us, sent by a couple of guys at a table a bit over. We accepted, and raised our glasses to them. After a few minutes they came over and sat down, and we started to talk.
One of the guys was kind of cute, medium height, with a lean muscled body, and that kind of V shape that I love so much, broad shoulders with slim waist and hips. He was sort of shy, and very polite, but he had an innate confidence about him. He was comfortable with his body and understood what it was capable of.
His name was Geoff, not Jeff, Geoff. He was in town visiting his buddy, and was on leave from working in the oil fields in Saudi Arabia. It was his last night in town, tomorrow he would go back to the city, where he had a house, and then back to Saudi to work. We talked and flirted a bit, and had a couple of drinks. He was easy to be with. He asked me to dance and we did, for the rest of the evening. It was fun, and I slowly relaxed as time went on and the music played. In the slow dances that played every so often, I would rest my head on his chest and close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of strong arms around me.
He was sweet and said all the right things. When the lounge was nearing close, we all went out to the parking lot where we all had come in separate cars. He walked me to my car to say good night. He kissed me and told me I was beautiful, and then he kissed me again. He asked if he could come home with me. I would have been disappointed if he hadn't. But, it was a school night, and I had two little girls at home in bed waiting with a babysitter. And, I'm just not that kind of girl, so I said no with some regret.
There was no anger from him at this, and no pressure or whining, he just smiled and said that was too bad. He kissed me again and held my hand and we talked for a few more minutes before we both reluctantly got in our cars and drove away. I never saw him again.
It's funny, I can't even remeber the name of the girl that I went to that lounge with, but I can remember every detail about Geoff. I remember the way his dark hair fell over his forehead just so, the look of his strong, fine-muscled forearms with the dark tan from the Arabian sun. I remember the way he looked at me with those lovely brown eyes, and the smell of his aftershave on his neck as we danced. I remember how safe I felt, and how I knew I could trust him with my life. I remember what a fine man he was.
I go to work every day past the street where his house was in Winnipeg, and sometimes I still think about him. I wonder what kind of woman he married, and whether or not she is worthy of him. And sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to be that woman.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
My Father
My father never understood the art of communication. I guess I can’t really say never with complete certainty, as I was too young to know what he was like before my mother died. I guess it’s possible that when my mother died, he lost his connection with the outside world, turning off all thoughts and feelings.
Or he may have always been that way. They say that extremely bright people often lack essential life skills. I don’t remember anyone ever saying that he had changed after my mother died. All I know for sure is that my father was a silent and distant man, who spent his days working and his evenings in his garage, alone with his machines and his tools.
I never knew any other way when I was young, and so did not understand that other families lived differently from ours. I never knew that in other families, fathers would ask how your day was over dinner, listen to what you had to say, and maybe help you with your homework or toss a ball after the dishes were done. I never knew that fathers could be anything more than a closed door. My father never explained or discussed anything - why he gave our cat away, why we couldn’t go to movies on a school night, what was the meaning of life.
I managed to grow up and move away. I had no concept of a caring and supportive parent, so it was not difficult for me to adjust to being alone. Whatever I needed to learn about living, I learned on my own, as it had always been.
My own life has been punctuated by tragedies. Over the number of years I have lived it hasn’t seemed that terrible, but if I said them all at once in a few sentences, you would wonder how I have survived.
It’s been easy, really. As each sorrow has healed, a veneer of scar tissue has formed over the wound to my heart. Each time there was a new hurt, the scar tissue became thicker. And the less each new hurt has been able to cut my heart. My heart still beats, it keeps me alive, but it is muffled under the layers of scars. The ability to communicate grief, even to myself, is strangled.
The scar tissue over my heart protects me from pain. But it also protects me from joy. Being unable to grieve has made me unable to rejoice.
I am my father.
Or he may have always been that way. They say that extremely bright people often lack essential life skills. I don’t remember anyone ever saying that he had changed after my mother died. All I know for sure is that my father was a silent and distant man, who spent his days working and his evenings in his garage, alone with his machines and his tools.
I never knew any other way when I was young, and so did not understand that other families lived differently from ours. I never knew that in other families, fathers would ask how your day was over dinner, listen to what you had to say, and maybe help you with your homework or toss a ball after the dishes were done. I never knew that fathers could be anything more than a closed door. My father never explained or discussed anything - why he gave our cat away, why we couldn’t go to movies on a school night, what was the meaning of life.
I managed to grow up and move away. I had no concept of a caring and supportive parent, so it was not difficult for me to adjust to being alone. Whatever I needed to learn about living, I learned on my own, as it had always been.
My own life has been punctuated by tragedies. Over the number of years I have lived it hasn’t seemed that terrible, but if I said them all at once in a few sentences, you would wonder how I have survived.
It’s been easy, really. As each sorrow has healed, a veneer of scar tissue has formed over the wound to my heart. Each time there was a new hurt, the scar tissue became thicker. And the less each new hurt has been able to cut my heart. My heart still beats, it keeps me alive, but it is muffled under the layers of scars. The ability to communicate grief, even to myself, is strangled.
The scar tissue over my heart protects me from pain. But it also protects me from joy. Being unable to grieve has made me unable to rejoice.
I am my father.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
The War
I feel like I'm in a war. I feel like every day we head out into the world, and every day, fewer and fewer of us come back alive. Those of us that do come back are wounded and damaged. But again the next day, we get up and go out into the battle. We have no choice. It's a war out there.
Our enemies are disease, both mental and physical, cruelty, abandonment, abuse, ignorance. We continue to face them over and over again, and while we grapple with them, we watch friends and family fall around us, suffering, wounded, anguished.
After enough time in battle, you don't feel it anymore when you lose someone. It's just how it is in a war. You don't form relationships, you don't get too close, because you know it can't last. Your friends today will be buried tomorrow or the next day and that's just the way it is.
My lack of contact becomes my armour, my uniform in this war. It is covered in thorns and in the crevices of my armour, the blood seeps out slowly from wounds already endured. I do not notice it dripping as I walk relentlessly onward through the fight. I know that at any time, it will be my turn, and I am ready.
Our enemies are disease, both mental and physical, cruelty, abandonment, abuse, ignorance. We continue to face them over and over again, and while we grapple with them, we watch friends and family fall around us, suffering, wounded, anguished.
After enough time in battle, you don't feel it anymore when you lose someone. It's just how it is in a war. You don't form relationships, you don't get too close, because you know it can't last. Your friends today will be buried tomorrow or the next day and that's just the way it is.
My lack of contact becomes my armour, my uniform in this war. It is covered in thorns and in the crevices of my armour, the blood seeps out slowly from wounds already endured. I do not notice it dripping as I walk relentlessly onward through the fight. I know that at any time, it will be my turn, and I am ready.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
What They Should Do
I heard on the news a couple of days ago that They are considering banning chuckwagon races because a horse involved in a race at the Calgary Stampede died of a heart attack after the race.
Well.
That makes me think that They should also ban marathon races because somebody almost always dies of a heart attack after one of those. And while They're at it, why don’t They ban car racing, because lots of guys have died from that, without even having a heart attack. I guess They should ban all kinds of racing, because somebody always dies somewhere, somehow.
Come to think of it, They should ban war, because THERE is a place where lots of people die, without doing any kind of racing at all or having a heart attack. Those people probably haven’t thought about racing for a very long time before they die. Oh, and swimming, They should ban swimming because people drown.
They should ban cars, because many, many people die in cars. But don’t let them ride horses instead, because they might fall off the horse and die. Or the horse might have a heart attack (see first paragraph). Here are some other things that They should ban because people or animals might just die:
· Elevators
· Airplanes
· Boats
· Scuba diving
· Mountains
· Lightning - oh now that’s a good one. Can you say D A N G E R O U S ? ?
· Slurpees - brain freeze, duh!
· Blow dryers – they get dropped in the bathtub
· Cats – they trip you when you’re walking down the stairs, plus you might step on it and give it a heart attack
· Roller blades
· Gas barbecues – they explode and they cook meat which has been previously been an animal that was KILLED!!!
· Snow shoveling – heart attack just waiting to happen
· Watching Blue Bomber football – gives you a heart attack watching them lose
I think They should also ban pregnancy, because pregnancy leads to, you know, birth and everything. And with birth the natural progression always results in death. It’s a given.
So I think I have successfully solved the world’s problem of how to stop heart attacks and other deaths. I think They should get right on that.
Well.
That makes me think that They should also ban marathon races because somebody almost always dies of a heart attack after one of those. And while They're at it, why don’t They ban car racing, because lots of guys have died from that, without even having a heart attack. I guess They should ban all kinds of racing, because somebody always dies somewhere, somehow.
Come to think of it, They should ban war, because THERE is a place where lots of people die, without doing any kind of racing at all or having a heart attack. Those people probably haven’t thought about racing for a very long time before they die. Oh, and swimming, They should ban swimming because people drown.
They should ban cars, because many, many people die in cars. But don’t let them ride horses instead, because they might fall off the horse and die. Or the horse might have a heart attack (see first paragraph). Here are some other things that They should ban because people or animals might just die:
· Elevators
· Airplanes
· Boats
· Scuba diving
· Mountains
· Lightning - oh now that’s a good one. Can you say D A N G E R O U S ? ?
· Slurpees - brain freeze, duh!
· Blow dryers – they get dropped in the bathtub
· Cats – they trip you when you’re walking down the stairs, plus you might step on it and give it a heart attack
· Roller blades
· Gas barbecues – they explode and they cook meat which has been previously been an animal that was KILLED!!!
· Snow shoveling – heart attack just waiting to happen
· Watching Blue Bomber football – gives you a heart attack watching them lose
I think They should also ban pregnancy, because pregnancy leads to, you know, birth and everything. And with birth the natural progression always results in death. It’s a given.
So I think I have successfully solved the world’s problem of how to stop heart attacks and other deaths. I think They should get right on that.
Friday, July 3, 2009
I have to write about this because it is like a huge rock inside my chest. It is hard to breathe around it, and it weighs me down so that I can hardly move.
Carol has died. Wife, mother, sister, friend, leukemia sufferer. She was 33 years old. Carol was diagnosed about a month before my husband with the same kind of leukemia that Dennis has. Right from the beginning, she was very very sick. The first round of chemotherapy for leukemia is done in hospital and is called induction therapy. It makes you very ill because the goal is to wipe out as much of the cancer cells as possible without killing you. Most patients require one round of induction therapy to be in first remission. Carol had three rounds and remained in hospital the entire time. I don’t know if they ever did manage to get her into remission, defined as having 5% or less blast (cancer) cells in the blood. Following induction therapy is at least three rounds of consolidation chemotherapy, done as an outpatient. She and Dennis both did those throughout the summer.
Carol had her stem cell transplant shortly before Dennis had his. Hers was a stranger donation as none of her siblings were a match. Stranger donations almost guarantee graft vs. host disease will occur, where the donor cells fight with the recipient cells. It can make you very ill. It did make Carol very ill. Her blood counts never really came up either, so they had to do a second “top-up” transplant from the same donor. She was in and out of hospital with pain, infections, problems, never really recovering. She was in hospital more than out throughout the whole time of her illness. She had been in hospital for a month before she died, and finally succumbed to respiratory failure.
We saw Carol quite often, during Dennis’ own long hospital stays and in the clinic. She was still in the hospital after her transplant when Dennis was admitted for his. They were both still there for Hallowe’en, and one night Carol and her husband were in the patient lounge trying to find a Thomas the Tank Engine costume for their littlest boy online. They were looking at costumes and talking about prices and quality and size as if it was perfectly normal to be in a ward with absolutely no hair and an IV pole attached to your chest and talking about Hallowe’en costumes. Life went on.
When Dennis was released after his transplant, we were at the clinic twice a week for monitoring. I had a few weeks off work to look after him and take him to his appointments. Carol was on the same clinic schedule. We would chat about things while waiting to see the doctor. We talked about what her work was before she got sick, how her kids were doing, how she was feeling, how Dennis was feeling. It was November, and she already had her house decorated for Christmas. She had eight Christmas trees in her house, and had someone come and put up lights on the outside. She was determined to make everything beautiful for her family.
She had some good days, but mostly not so good days. One time she said to me that she just wanted things to go back to being normal. She told me that she would sometimes say to her husband, “Remember when things were normal?” She didn’t require perfection, just regular everyday life, watching her kids grow up at home, working, fixing up her house. Just an ordinary life, without hospitals and needles and constant pain.
I found out that she had passed when I saw her picture in the obituaries in the paper. At first I wasn’t sure, because I had never seen her with hair, and in this picture she had straight dark brown hair. When I realized it was her, it was like an electric shock went through me. I said, “Oh shit. Carol died.” The tears started immediately. Dennis already knew, his daughter who knew her from Carol’s kids’ daycare had heard earlier and told him. He didn’t want to tell me, because he knows how upset I get when any of the leukemia patients we know die. He said, “I’m not Carol.”, as in “It won’t happen to me.” But that wasn’t the point. Carol IS Carol, and now she’s gone.
Her boys are just little, seven and two. I know how the seven year old feels, I was about the same age when I lost my mother. He will not remember much about her as he grows, the sound of her voice, the smell of her skin, how she looked after him and loved him. In fact, he will mostly remember the hospital and the fact that Mommy was always sick, and then she was gone. The little one will not remember her at all.
I also know how her husband feels because I have lost a spouse. He will be in shock for a very long time, and he will never ever recover fully from the pain and the hurt of the last year and a half, watching her suffer, trying to keep things together for the children, and then finally losing her. He cannot even fully grieve because he has two little boys that he has to make a normal life for, who now need him more than ever.
I do not know how Carol felt. I do not know if she was aware that she would die, and if she did, at what point that realization came to her. I cannot imagine the agony of knowing you were leaving your babies behind. I cannot imagine the suffering she went through with her illness. Maybe she was ready to go when it finally happened. I only hope that she is at peace, if such a thing exists in death.
Mixed in with my extreme sadness are twinges of other emotions. I feel guilt, because even though Dennis has the same illness, he is on the way to being well. Everything has gone so smoothly for him. On the leukemia scale, if Carol was a 10, Dennis is a 1. Not to say that he has not experienced things that no one should have to withstand, but I believe with all my heart that he will be one of the lucky ones and will beat this. I also feel some relief, that it was anyone else but Dennis that died. In my little insular world, things are still okay, he is still there breathing and recovering. I am almost ashamed that I still feel panic and desperation over the future when it could have been so much worse.
Life goes on, they say. But sometimes, life just doesn’t go on. It ends. It has ended for Carol, and it has irrevocably changed for her husband and her children. Life will not go on for them the same way, it has changed them forever.
Carol has died. Wife, mother, sister, friend, leukemia sufferer. She was 33 years old. Carol was diagnosed about a month before my husband with the same kind of leukemia that Dennis has. Right from the beginning, she was very very sick. The first round of chemotherapy for leukemia is done in hospital and is called induction therapy. It makes you very ill because the goal is to wipe out as much of the cancer cells as possible without killing you. Most patients require one round of induction therapy to be in first remission. Carol had three rounds and remained in hospital the entire time. I don’t know if they ever did manage to get her into remission, defined as having 5% or less blast (cancer) cells in the blood. Following induction therapy is at least three rounds of consolidation chemotherapy, done as an outpatient. She and Dennis both did those throughout the summer.
Carol had her stem cell transplant shortly before Dennis had his. Hers was a stranger donation as none of her siblings were a match. Stranger donations almost guarantee graft vs. host disease will occur, where the donor cells fight with the recipient cells. It can make you very ill. It did make Carol very ill. Her blood counts never really came up either, so they had to do a second “top-up” transplant from the same donor. She was in and out of hospital with pain, infections, problems, never really recovering. She was in hospital more than out throughout the whole time of her illness. She had been in hospital for a month before she died, and finally succumbed to respiratory failure.
We saw Carol quite often, during Dennis’ own long hospital stays and in the clinic. She was still in the hospital after her transplant when Dennis was admitted for his. They were both still there for Hallowe’en, and one night Carol and her husband were in the patient lounge trying to find a Thomas the Tank Engine costume for their littlest boy online. They were looking at costumes and talking about prices and quality and size as if it was perfectly normal to be in a ward with absolutely no hair and an IV pole attached to your chest and talking about Hallowe’en costumes. Life went on.
When Dennis was released after his transplant, we were at the clinic twice a week for monitoring. I had a few weeks off work to look after him and take him to his appointments. Carol was on the same clinic schedule. We would chat about things while waiting to see the doctor. We talked about what her work was before she got sick, how her kids were doing, how she was feeling, how Dennis was feeling. It was November, and she already had her house decorated for Christmas. She had eight Christmas trees in her house, and had someone come and put up lights on the outside. She was determined to make everything beautiful for her family.
She had some good days, but mostly not so good days. One time she said to me that she just wanted things to go back to being normal. She told me that she would sometimes say to her husband, “Remember when things were normal?” She didn’t require perfection, just regular everyday life, watching her kids grow up at home, working, fixing up her house. Just an ordinary life, without hospitals and needles and constant pain.
I found out that she had passed when I saw her picture in the obituaries in the paper. At first I wasn’t sure, because I had never seen her with hair, and in this picture she had straight dark brown hair. When I realized it was her, it was like an electric shock went through me. I said, “Oh shit. Carol died.” The tears started immediately. Dennis already knew, his daughter who knew her from Carol’s kids’ daycare had heard earlier and told him. He didn’t want to tell me, because he knows how upset I get when any of the leukemia patients we know die. He said, “I’m not Carol.”, as in “It won’t happen to me.” But that wasn’t the point. Carol IS Carol, and now she’s gone.
Her boys are just little, seven and two. I know how the seven year old feels, I was about the same age when I lost my mother. He will not remember much about her as he grows, the sound of her voice, the smell of her skin, how she looked after him and loved him. In fact, he will mostly remember the hospital and the fact that Mommy was always sick, and then she was gone. The little one will not remember her at all.
I also know how her husband feels because I have lost a spouse. He will be in shock for a very long time, and he will never ever recover fully from the pain and the hurt of the last year and a half, watching her suffer, trying to keep things together for the children, and then finally losing her. He cannot even fully grieve because he has two little boys that he has to make a normal life for, who now need him more than ever.
I do not know how Carol felt. I do not know if she was aware that she would die, and if she did, at what point that realization came to her. I cannot imagine the agony of knowing you were leaving your babies behind. I cannot imagine the suffering she went through with her illness. Maybe she was ready to go when it finally happened. I only hope that she is at peace, if such a thing exists in death.
Mixed in with my extreme sadness are twinges of other emotions. I feel guilt, because even though Dennis has the same illness, he is on the way to being well. Everything has gone so smoothly for him. On the leukemia scale, if Carol was a 10, Dennis is a 1. Not to say that he has not experienced things that no one should have to withstand, but I believe with all my heart that he will be one of the lucky ones and will beat this. I also feel some relief, that it was anyone else but Dennis that died. In my little insular world, things are still okay, he is still there breathing and recovering. I am almost ashamed that I still feel panic and desperation over the future when it could have been so much worse.
Life goes on, they say. But sometimes, life just doesn’t go on. It ends. It has ended for Carol, and it has irrevocably changed for her husband and her children. Life will not go on for them the same way, it has changed them forever.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Things That Annoy Me
I feel fairly safe in listing things that annoy me here, because nobody will read it anyway. The older I get, the more things annoy me, in number and ferocity. I believe I am going to grow up to be one of those generally nasty old women. And my husband is already looking forward to the day when he can stand in the front door and yell at the kids passing by: “Get off my lawn!” It’s a family thing.
So here is a list of things that annoy me. This list is not guaranteed to be complete, and may change over time. For a hand written copy of this list, please send $500 and a self addressed stamped envelope to Box 1000, Grinchville, F0K 0FU.
So here is a list of things that annoy me. This list is not guaranteed to be complete, and may change over time. For a hand written copy of this list, please send $500 and a self addressed stamped envelope to Box 1000, Grinchville, F0K 0FU.
Ahem. Things that annoy me include:
· the guy who cuts the lawn and doesn’t put the eavestrough extension back on
· the person(s) that chuck their little plastic bags of dog poo over the back fence between our neighbour’s and our garage. Do they think we don’t EVER go in there?
· rude salespeople who make minimum wage and think they can bully me over something stupid
· the guy across the backlane with the gas powered leaf blower AND the power washer AND the lawnmower AND the air compressor on a Saturday morning
· people who don’t take care of their flowers
· computer operated telemarketers so I don’t even have a human I can be rude to for interrupting my dinner/afternoon nap/morning coffee
· the recyclers who spread recycling all over the back lane when they’re supposed to be picking it up
· cars that honk at me when I’m riding my bike
· cyclists that get in my way when I’m driving my car and I have to honk at them
· snow
· my cat at 5:00 a.m.
· parents that let their kids run amok
· the Tim Horton’s person who can’t make a large half decaf with two milk correctly
· combovers
· Ellen when she hangs her tongue out and drools over a great looking man when she is so gay. That would be like me doing the same thing to a great looking woman. Kinda creepy.
· litterers – and I don’t mean mama cats
· smoking – anytime, anyplace
· the janitor who mops my shoes when I’m in the bathroom stall
· bad spelling
· the movie “Australia”. What a load of hokey manure.
· Jack Hanna, although he’s dead now so I guess he no longer counts
Whew, I feel so much better now having said all this to no one in particular. I think I’m going to carry this list around with me for reference with a bunch of space at the bottom so I can add to it at will. So you had better watch out, my pencil is sharpened and my ire is ruffable.
Monday, June 15, 2009
First Blog
Ho hum, first blogs are so tough. Not that I do a lot of them. I'm not a blog site whore by any stretch. I only have one other existing site that I do not intend to give up. However, this is where I hope to be a little more anonymous, maybe a little more free to be me. Somehow, things get a little constricting when you have been around for a couple of years, and maybe it's time to be fresh and new. Kind of getting away from your mother. Guffaw. Maybe not, but maybe so.
This place looks hard, I'm going to have to learn how to do shit all over again. Look at that, I said shit in the second paragraph already. I rarely swear on my old site, I have this rep over there. When in actuality I swear like a trooper and just couldn't bring myself to do it. I have this old hangup about not swearing on the computer, part of the original etiquette learned back in the dark ages of computer shit. There, I said it again. Somehow, somewhat liberating.
I don't know what I expect of this place. I won't be duplicating myself, no point in that. My hope is that I will write here, stories, deep stuff, stupid stuff, depressing stuff, happy stuff, any old stuff at all. Just to be new and free of obligations. I don't care if anybody reads me over here, seeing as how I'm new and all. New new new. I have a couple of awesome people that I love over here, and that will grow over time I'm sure.
Now that I have this first blog out of the way, things will go easier from here. Whew, what a relief.
This place looks hard, I'm going to have to learn how to do shit all over again. Look at that, I said shit in the second paragraph already. I rarely swear on my old site, I have this rep over there. When in actuality I swear like a trooper and just couldn't bring myself to do it. I have this old hangup about not swearing on the computer, part of the original etiquette learned back in the dark ages of computer shit. There, I said it again. Somehow, somewhat liberating.
I don't know what I expect of this place. I won't be duplicating myself, no point in that. My hope is that I will write here, stories, deep stuff, stupid stuff, depressing stuff, happy stuff, any old stuff at all. Just to be new and free of obligations. I don't care if anybody reads me over here, seeing as how I'm new and all. New new new. I have a couple of awesome people that I love over here, and that will grow over time I'm sure.
Now that I have this first blog out of the way, things will go easier from here. Whew, what a relief.
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