Happy "one from" Dad

Todays is my fathers birthday. It’s his one from. That’s what he and I called them, birthdays, “one froms”. For example, when I turned 33, I was one from 34, which was one from 35! which meant I was 5 from 40! GASP! We carried on like this no matter the birthday. Today my father would have been one from 60, 5 from 65, 10 from 70! GASP. I would have teased him, asked me if he could wait to get the free buss pass, or seniors discounts. He would have emailed me in advance his tagged gift list from lee valley consisting of all sorts of woodworking tools to add and aid in the building and fine craftsmanship of unfinished boxes, cabinets, tables, dog dish holders, or whatever the project was at the time. But it meant he could be in his workshop with a new tool and that would make him happier then a kid in a candy store. I would have called him from here, I would have sent him a video.

Ironically or more symbolically todays birthday makes my father a leo, the sign of the lion and I am here chasing lions in the african wilderness.

I looked up leo and the night sky to see when I could see this constellation and I found something interesting. Every year in and around Nov 18th (the day my father died) give or take a day or two there is what is called a Leonid meteor shower.



The Leonids are a prolific meteor associated with the comet Tempel-Tuttle. The Leonids get their name from the location of their radiant in the constellation Leo: the meteors appear to stream from that point in the sky. Again, symbolically in 2009 the leonids shower is to be at it’s peak on the year anniversary of his death. And in 2008 it peaked on Nov 16th through to Nov 18th. I don't think this is a coincidence. In fact I think it's powerfully significant and reminds me how important it is to pay attention to the things that go on around us, when the wind blows unusually strong in an otherwise still moment, or when a street light flickers just as we walk under it. Or that moment when a butterfly lands in our hands, or that dream that seemed so insignificant so we forgot it. Pay attention to the movement, the world around me, the little things that get missed or looked over, more often than not if we think about major life changing events in our life, and look past them to what was going on around us while we were so consumed in the moment, I promise you will find something that is no coincidence somewhere the universe sending us a message and asking us to tune in.

Pain can grab us and hold on so tightly that it feels like it is crushing us completely. Letting go of the pain is a scary thought. I am afraid that if I let go of the pain and agony of my dad's death, that it would seem that I didn't love him so much. I realize that letting go of the pain will allow me to remember him in so many ways, and when I am ready I will. Right now I am accepting that this loss has become part of my human condition that I will carry with me forever, it changed me and I am still trying to accept that and this extra weight in my heart.

Holidays, special days, and events like today, that occur where he would have had a special role, are all more difficult than the day to day. Today exceptionally sucks and the days leading up to it have been building with this exceptional sadness. Today we should be thinking about that 60th and the celebration of that. Today I am angry, today none of it is fair. Today should have been so many things, what it shouldn't be is this hard, this sad, this painful. It is hard to not stop and think that Dad would have loved to do certain things or have been at certain events, or loved this website or that song and that story, or have this new tool, but I go on and do all that he would have wanted to for me, for him. Today I will pop a bottle of champagne and celebrate my dad, I will watch a bond movie and listen to Paul Simon and I will remember him, remember us.

Happy "one from" Dad.

Baapinakamigad dibishkaawin (Happy birthday in Ojibwe)

One life

Until last week when I got the heart wrenching news of my girlfriends fathers extremely tragic and sudden death, wringing tears out of my eyes that have not even close to dried up, did I realize a few other things. I barley remember the day I got that phone call or the hours, days, weeks and months after. It’s a blur, coupled with moving to the middle of the African bush I just trudged forward. And now with this sad news the realization on the suddenness of death, of her loss, of my loss. It was sudden, it was unexpected, it was unplanned. While I don’t know what it’s like to endure a long illness in a loved one I can’t imagine it, no matter what you can’t prepare for such a thing, you can’t prepare for death. What I know is the suddenness. I read in one of the newspapers that my friends fathers one regret was not spending enough time with his children and in recent years made the effort to do so. Donna, and others told me that my father regretted not spending more time with us when we were kids, and it was evident he was trying to do so in the recent years. In fact my father told me this recently while we laughed at some old photos we had been given. I looked at him and shrugged and said what’s done is done what matters is we are here together, right now.

It’s that regret that gets to me here. Why? Why when something sudden happens do we turn to our loved ones and tell them so, hug them. Appreciate them until life kick starts again and we get caught up in the day to day. Days pass, months pass, years pass and we didn’t make that phone call we meant to make, to that person we think of often. Only to say later “I regret not”. Life is short people! while yes death is a fact of life, that life can change in an instant. In a snap. I challenge myself not to have regrets. Even if the person on the receiving end isn’t as affectionate as I am, I will hug them anyway. I will tell them I love them, I will let them know I appreciate them and I will now challenge myself not to have expectations in a response, it’s my avoidance of regrets, theirs is their own to try not to have.

The news of my friends own loss’ pulled on my heart strings more now then ever before. Before I knew profound loss I had friends who lost loved ones. And you sympathize, and you can’t imagine, and you are sad for them and there for them as best you can. But you really can not imagine until you actually experience it. And I can say that with such confidence only now. When you look at someone in condolence and say, “I just can’t imagine what you are going through” you don’t know how true that is until you go through it. And not until you are in it do you really appreciate those that came to you who had been through it, saying they did understand, when even 15 years after their own loss yours triggered tears in a reminder to them. Now in hind site, I wish I took the offers. Judy Alexander shared the experience of the loss of her father with deep knowledge, she knew when she looked at me what would come. She knew that now, 7 months later I might be here seemingly spiraling into a different phase of sadness until I reach the next stage of my grieving process. But I was still in shock then. I didn’t know how much I would need to hear from someone who knew how it felt until now.

I ramble, my point is life is short. The only things you will regret in life are the things you never did. It’s cheese I know but take the time to smell the roses, don’t sweat the small stuff. Concentrate on what you have, not what you don’t have and be grateful. I want to remind everyone to enjoy, love and embrace every one of your family members. We never know when it will be the last time we have the chance to say "I Love You." You can't regret anything, because at the time it was exactly what you wanted.

This isn't a practice run, not a dress rehearsal, there is only one life

No set back is ever too daunting, and while I (and my friends) may have lost an important person, our fathers, we still have many who love us just as much. And I must count the most important people who make my life worth living and despite the distance between us at the moment know I love you, as I know you love me. (you know who you are). There are friends who have taught me that distance is not a hindrance to any friendship, again you know who you are and I thank you.

No more, no less. Just me.

As a variation on a famous statement by Descartes I would like to say “I write, therefore I am”. It is the best way I know how to express myself. Grammatically it’s terrible, this I have been made painfully aware of by various people (you know who you are). Punctuation is not my thing. Eats shoots and leaves who? I am not hooked on phonics by any means. But I have been writing in a diary since I was about nine years old, yes nine. I had a lot to write about at such a ripe age, sadly not so innocent and short of the one that just got stolen in South Africa, I have every single one of them, stored in boxes spread out amongst different family members like a squirrel hiding it’s nuts all over the place to return to at a later time. I am verbally challenged when it comes to communicating what I want to say clearly. That is not to say I don’t try. I do, but it never comes out the way I want it to and the message I am trying to convey always ends up falling on the ears of the receiver incorrectly. It’s often why I get caesar salad when I want the drink and vice versa. Of course this analogy runs much deeper than salads and drinks.

And so I’ve come to write a lot of letters in my time. Many past boyfriends have received such letters of declaration from me. Yes I have kissed a few frogs. Those reading this are likely grinning/grimacing hoping they threw them out before their wives/girlfriends find them. And some, one I know cherishes a poem close to his heart. I’ve written equally as many letters and never mailed them, some exist in said stolen diary so I suppose they’ve now been sent out to the universe as I am sure whomever stole it does not care. It was therapeutic to just write them so then their loss shouldn’t matter right?

It’s what has kept me sane (relatively) during times of great torment. And allowed me to celebrate those silent victories and what I did non stop in the weeks (and still) after my father died so as to not burden anyone. It was what amplified feelings of uniqueness, and writing was always there when I needed it. When no one else was. I write entirely to find out what I am thinking otherwise I would have no idea. I write what I see and what I fear it’s the only way I know how to get it all out into a way I can understand myself.



For the longest time it was something that I kept to myself (other than those fortunate boyfriends to receive said letters) I didn’t really ever share it. Once my father read some of my poems, written at the tumultuous age of 14-16 he said they were rather dark (I am sure this was about the time that he really started to worry about me) and he was sure they would brighten with age, but that I had something and should write more. That meant the world to me, but I still felt it so private and that is was such a window into me that I didn’t dare share with anyone ever again. I wore many masks then, one was the facade that I was an eternally and perpetually happy person. Giddy with anticipation every day and confident beyond the mountains strength. Which reminds me of something my aunt Wynanne said to me when I was about 19, and like her have tried since to pass on this wisdom to the youth (to no avail) that comes with women as they age. You will change again, and again and again. Who you are now is not even close to who you will be at 23, 25, 29, 33 and so on. (I just realized I stopped at 33 thinking that was how old I am. Indeed I am not, I am 34, hrmph!) I didn’t believe her, I knew exactly who I was and what I wanted at 19. I was so sure of myself. When my poems reveled that I was just a scared little girl, so unsure and uncertain and unaware.



Until now when I write here. And even now it’s not so deep. Feelings get withheld here in this forum, they really only dance on the water line like a far off buoy warning the on coming sailor to stay port side. Because we all fear judgement don’t we?

To steal again “why I write” from George Orwell and from Joan Didion who stole it from George. More specifically why I write this post now. It’s a bit of a rant actually, being told blogging, more specifically that my blog is self indulgent. Well yes, it is I suppose. Writing in itself is self indulgent. It’s a way of saying I. To quote Joan “there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writers sensibility on the readers most private space”

As is any artist, photographer, marketer, musicians/song writers. Anyone who imposes their vision, their ideas, or their thoughts onto anyone else. I suppose merely existing socially is somewhat self indulgent. I just chose mine in this way, in this forum. I can’t paint or draw so this is my self portrait so to speak.

It’s been said that blogs are the media phenomenon responsible for the publication of more self-indulgent nonsense than any other in the history of the world. I have to agree with it. And most blogs that I have seen are written by people that don’t write very well (myself included). But this is a bit like walking into a party and complaining that the conversations there don’t live up to the standards of a room full of professors or a newsroom. Never mind that you stand a good chance of finding at least one conversation that’s better at the party. The bulk of blogs aren’t meant to be polished or professional writing, and we (you) shouldn’t be concerned that they aren’t.

The truth is I am, as I’ve always been perfectly in fashion and on Que. with the latest trend. In 2008 websters new world dictionary introduced a new word and made it word of the year in 2008.

Overshare : to divulge excessive personal information as in a blog or broadcast interview, promoting reactions ranging from alarmed discomfort to approval.

Many ponder where this narcissistic urge to self revelation comes from and then suddenly find themselves with Facebook pages, or blogs. It’s true, I was one who for a long time refused to sign up for facebook, let alone find myself writing a blog. And now look at me. Sharing it all with the world in both forums, why I even have people from facebook following my blog on facebook, 22 followers to be precise. Thank you all 22!

I guess my point in this rant is, I am not a scholar nor do I pretend to be. I am not an intellectual either. I am not articulate when I speak or when I write. I am not a good, nor bad writer. I just write. And it’s how I communicate not only with others when the need to get something really deep across arises, but how I communicate with myself. I would be completely lost (more so then I am) if I didn’t write.

I enjoy it, now more than ever. And as I write more I become more confident. And so to you I say and quote a dear friend Jess, “I am who I am, no more no less”. And part of who I am is this. Take it or leave it. But if you take it, you must embrace it as part of me and who I am. Is this a self indulgent attention getting device or my sole connection to the outside world from deep in the african bush? How well you know me is that answer to that.