dearchild2019

Failing Doesn’t Mean It’s Over

Posted on October 4, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I’m fortunate to have had many successes in my life. I am very disciplined, so normally when I set my mind to achieving something, I get it.

As important as I think it is, that you’ve watched me set goals, and then strive diligently to reach them, it is equally important for you to know that sometimes I fail.

The true measure of a person is seen in how they handle failure. Winning is the easy part. But to dust yourself off, and try again – that takes determination and courage.

This is one of my favourite quotes. It goes nicely with the signature I’ve had on my email for years:

“Supposing you have tried and failed again and again. You may have

a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call “failure”

is not the falling down, but the staying down.”

There are two times I can remember in my life when failure hurt a lot.

The first was a course I failed in university.

I started at Queen’s University when you were only five years old. Colton was three. I went full time for the first year and then dropped to part-time when it became necessary for me to work while attending school. I tried to take classes in every semester since it was going to take many years to complete my degree. I liked the summer semester because they offered courses that would normally run from September to April but you could get the full credit in only twelve weeks. The course itself was not condensed, however. You were expected to take only one course in the summer semester and to devote full time hours to it.

The course was Shakespeare and it was a requirement for my degree. Honestly, looking back, I can’t remember if I was working at that time or just looking after the two of you. What I do remember, though, was that the course consisted of 12 of Shakespeare’s plays – one per week. I read every play but our summer was busy and I remember the characters all swimming together in my head. I couldn’t keep track of who belonged in which play.

I received well enough marks on the essays that were due throughout the course. But I knew when I walked in to write the exam, I was not ready. I hoped for the best, but did not pass. When the final result of the course was posted, I received 46%. It was the first time in my entire life that I had received a failing mark. And it stung.

I knew the only person to blame was myself. I had not devoted enough time to this course. I could also see (hindsight is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?) that being home with two small children and trying to do such an intensive course (12 plays in twelve weeks?!?) was not a great idea.

I dusted this failure off and when the course was offered again for the full school year, I signed up. Once again, I read the plays. I made careful notes this time, and put in the effort that was required. As soon as I sat down to write the exam, I took a blank piece of paper, wrote out the titles of each of the twelve plays and then made a character list below each one, in order to keep them all straight as I wrote the exam.

The grade I received was 90%. Heck ya.

The second moment of failure came at a provincial karate competition. And I’m not going to lie -this defeat rocked my core, because unlike the Shakespeare course, this time I had put in the work. This time I wasn’t merely hoping for the best.

I had competed at local tournaments for a few years and I normally did quite well. I was used to placing in the top three. When I decided to compete at the provincial level, it was exhilarating. The level of competition was incredibly high. I was blown away at the skill of the competitors and more excited than ever to train hard enough to compete here.

I attended each tournament, trying to learn everything I could. At home, I trained every day. I was determined to be my best. Each time I didn’t place at the tournaments, I recognized small mistakes I had made, and I would return home again to work even harder.

And finally, I performed my kata to the best of my ability. There were none of my previous mistakes, I felt strong and I knew this was the best I could do.

I still didn’t place.

Because this level was so competitive, one of the clubs tracked each of the regular competitors and their respective scores. I asked to see where I fell in the standings. I needed to know that I was making progress. They showed me the results. I nodded my thanks and walked away.

I was in last place.

To fail because you didn’t try is one thing. To give your absolute best and to still fail…well, this was something I had never experienced before. I was defeated. And honestly, at a complete loss. I didn’t know how to be better. I’d trained with everything I had.

I did, however, place in the Team Kata division.

Now, unfortunately, I don’t have a happy ending to that story yet. That was the last competition of the year and my life took a different direction shortly after (Hello Alyssa and Keenan! 😊 ). But looking back, I can clearly see that I did the best I could at that time.

That was not the best I could be ever. It was the best I could be then.

When you know better, you do better.

Failure is how we learn from our mistakes. I’ll admit, failing is not fun. But sometimes it’s necessary. It can humble you when you need humbling. It can show you what you are doing wrong. But maybe most importantly, it can show you the true extent of your passion.

Because my flame might have flickered that day, but it did not go out.

I love competing. And luckily, I also love training.

Winning isn’t fun if it’s easy. In order to truly appreciate a win, you have to have worked hard to make it happen.

And now that I know more, I can train more effectively.

This poster has always hung on the wall where I train. It’s the mantra I follow. It makes me feel empowered.

My message to you is simple – you are not always going to win. So learn from your failures and use them to become better.

Only you can decide when it’s over. If you are still trying…if you are still getting back up, then you are still on your way to winning.

And I will always be there in whatever way you need me to be. Whether it’s cheering you on, encouraging you to try again or just simply lending a sympathetic ear. Reaching your goals will never be easy, sweetheart, but it will always be worth it.

Love Mom

xoxo

Humble Beginnings

Posted on September 30, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I’ve been a mom for quite a while now and honestly, it’s hard to remember a time when I didn’t have kids. If I’m not currently doing something for one of you, then you can bet you are on my mind, as I think about what you are doing that day, what you have coming up, what you need, or when I’ll speak to you next. Being a mom is as natural to me as breathing. It’s who I am and what I do.

But it wasn’t always that way.

In less than a month, you’ll be celebrating your 23^rd birthday and I’ll be remembering back to the day you were born, back to the time when I first became a mom, and I had no idea what I was doing.

When I found out I was pregnant, I devoured every book I could get my hands on (please remember there was no internet available to me back then, this was a lot harder than it would be today). I was determined to learn everything I could and to do everything right by you. I studied for nine months, the last three of which I didn’t even work. I just prepared.

I was ready.

Or so I thought.

When this tiny little bundle, wrapped up so sweetly, was placed in my arms I felt an enormous amount of pride. For nine months I had done everything I could to ensure you had the very best start in life. You were finally here now, and you were perfect. With your sweet little round head and dark eyes and hair, you were all mine.

I already knew I would love and protect you forever.

And then you cried. And cried again. And cried some more.

I spent two days in the hospital, struggling to find ways to get you to stop crying.

You were a little happier during the day, but the nights, when I really didn’t want to disturb anyone else, you cried. At one point, the nurses asked if I would like them to take you to the nursery and by that time, I was desperate for a few hours of sleep. I hated to say yes, but I did.

They brought you back to me in twenty minutes. They couldn’t get you to stop crying either.

Your dad seemed to have a knack for calming you down. He would pace the room, gently rocking you, and you would settle. I sat, tied to my hospital bed by an IV line, feeling utterly defeated.

When it was time to bring you home, I was nervous. On one hand, I was happy because we lived out in the country and I wouldn’t have to worry about your crying disturbing anyone else, but I still hadn’t figured out what to do with you.

Finally disconnected from my IV and able to get out of bed, I got myself ready as your dad held you. Once we were all packed up, he handed you to me so he could go bring the truck to the front door of the hospital. It was the longest five minutes of my life. You weren’t crying yet, but you looked like you may start at any second. And I wouldn’t know what to do. I prayed that you would stay quiet until your dad got back. Thankfully, you did.

Ready to come home. I look like a baby myself!

We brought you home on a Sunday morning and the next Saturday your dad moved into the hunting camp for a week of deer hunting, as was his yearly tradition.

I’d never dreaded hunting season more.

During your first week, I looked forward to when your dad would get home from work each day. I loved taking care of you, but I wasn’t confident in my parenting skills. I liked him being home so the full responsibility was not on me. Now we were facing a whole week of just you and me, twenty-four hours a day. And there was no way to reach him at the camp. I was literally on my own, at twenty-one years old, with a week-old baby and I’d never felt so unsure.

But the time alone together turned out to be a blessing. Knowing there was no one coming to relieve me meant I had to figure out what to do. And I did. Within a couple of days, we had a new schedule and we were thriving together. You still cried sometimes, but I was able to soothe you quickly.

I remember laying on my bed one evening, propped up against some pillows, with my knees bent and you laying on my legs. You weren’t crying. You were just laying there, very still, and you were staring at me.

I was scared to death that something was wrong. I checked to make sure you were breathing. I checked to make sure your sleepers weren’t too tight. I lifted you up and then set you back down again. And you continued to just look at me. And then I relaxed and sat there, looking back at you.

It was like you were looking at me for the first time, and realizing that I was the one who was going to help you navigate this world forever, that I would be the one who would always be there for you, no matter what, and that whenever things went wrong, you could count on me to help you pick up the pieces.

It was in that moment that I knew we’d be okay.

I leaned forward and kissed your soft little cheeks.

You were my whole world.

Your dad got home a week later sometime, but I wasn’t watching the calendar anymore.

We had figured each other out and we were doing great.

That week alone had given me the time I needed to learn to take care of you, all by myself. It gave me confidence.

If only I’d known all that crying was preparing your lungs so you could fill our house with beautiful melodies soon.

Hmmmm….I might have still given you that soother anyway. You were really, really loud. 😀

It’s funny to think that when I looked at that tiny little bundle in my arms, I thought I could never love you more than I did at that moment, but as you’ve grown, so has my love for you.

23 years…

Love Mom

xoxo

When the World Hit Pause

Posted on September 21, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

The world was in overdrive. We were over-worked and over-played. Both weekends and weekdays were filled to maximum capacity as we struggled to do it all. Being busy had become glorified.

Everyone was tired. But there was no way to stop this crazy ride.

Guilt pushed us to accept every playdate, and to make the most of every weekend. And really, was turning down one social activity so we could stay in and rest really going to save us from the exhaustion we continually felt? Not likely.

We worked the long hours. “It’s only until this project is completed,” we’d say. We accepted every social invitation. “We’re available so we can’t say no,” we’d say. The kids need to experience every activity. “How else will we find their passion and plus childhood is so short anyway,” we’d say.

And then everything stopped.

I remember hearing something about COVID in January. But it was happening in China and I didn’t think it was anything I needed to worry about. Just another scare tactic from the news. But then in March, my boss called me and her other managers into her office.

“We’ll need to work from home for the next three weeks,” she told us. And then right after we went home, the schools closed. And events were all postponed. And Church could no longer open its doors to the public. Everything that could, went online. And the world officially shutdown.

And I felt I could finally take a deep breath.

Now weekends could be spent relaxing at home and playing with the kids, with no guilt of not attending parties or traipsing off to stimulating fun weekend stuff.

I took this breather as the blessing it could be.

A rest.

Now don’t get me wrong. This was still an extremely stressful time for the world. But we were very fortunate. Your dad, Colton and I could still work, so paying the bills was not a problem. And I was working even longer hours, but I was working those hours from the comfort of our home. There was always the possibility of someone bringing the virus into our home from work or even the grocery store, but I just prayed to God that He would keep us safe and help us all get through this.

And then I relaxed and enjoyed the pause.

This was the opportunity to regroup and get stronger, both mentally and physically. This was the chance to evaluate the crazy life we were living and to figure out a plan to do it better. So that when the lockdowns ended, we could live our life the best way for our family, with planning and purpose, and no longer being swept away by the craziness of everyone else’s agendas.

And now, a year and a half later, it feels like we are slowly returning to society. After having spent Grade 1 in the comfort of our home, sitting next to me, day in and day out, you have returned to school in person. And you love it. There were many days, back in Senior Kindergarten, when you did not want to go to school. But now, you appreciate playing with friends again and you are eager to climb the steps of the bus every day.

And I’m enjoying being out again. The dread and guilt are gone, and joy has taken their place. I feel more centered in who I am and in my beliefs. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I still want to accomplish in my life and to create the goals I need to get there.

The world hit pause and I took this as the opportunity it was. A time to re-evaluate. A time to count my blessings. And a time to rest.

And looking back, I’ll be grateful that we spent an entire school year together. Grade 1 was a wonderful year for both Cassie and Colton, as they had fantastic teachers, but your Grade 1 was even more special because we got to do it together. I was able to teach you math, and help you learn to read. I saw your creativity flow as you painted and did crafts. There were definitely struggles as I tried to be a full-time teacher to you, and still attend meetings, manage my team and perform my own work responsibilities. But every day I loved being able to look to my left and see you sitting there. I’m incredibly grateful for that time we had together.

And now we’ll move forward, counting blessings that we previously took for granted, living with more purpose and kindness than ever before.

And I’ll always look back and be grateful that we were able to find joy and peace in this unprecedented time.

Love Mom

xoxo

Integrity and Character

Posted on September 12, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I think sometimes over the course of your life, I’ve been pre-occupied with your physical safety and I’ve forgotten that the development of your character is equally important.

Although I give myself a lot of leeway in this department – sometimes keeping you safe was a full time job. Especially since you had one time cut your knee very badly after standing outside in my shoes and literally just falling over. To this day, I wonder if I should have taken you to the hospital for stitches.

What I loved most about you when you were little was your sense of self. You never cared what anyone else thought, you liked what you liked, and it didn’t matter if anyone else liked it or thought it was cool. And this attitude carried over to school, where you would play with anyone and everyone. No one was excluded from your games.

Report cards streamed in every year with comments about how fair you were and how you always included kids who were normally left out. Teachers remarked that other kids would come to you for decisions because you could always be counted on to help them find a solution that was just.

I believed that your character was due, in part, to the television shows you watched. You had seen every episode of Dukes of Hazzard multiple times and the Walton’s were another of your favourites. Shows like the Dukes always included the good guys winning in the end and the bad guys getting what was coming to them. I mentioned this to someone one time – that I wondered if these shows had influenced your way of thinking, but they noted that perhaps you were drawn to these shows because they aligned with your values.

Even now, into your twenties, you still have a large group of friends, a lot of whom you attended kindergarten with. This is one of my favourite parts of living in a small town.

You came into the kitchen the other day, upset. You had bought a dirt bike off of a kid you knew and you knowingly paid more than the bike was worth, because the kid was hurting for money. But then it turned out that his father had taken the money because the bike had originally been his. You didn’t like the father and you wouldn’t have paid that much for the bike had you bought it directly from him.

I smiled. I hold a firm belief that how things play out is not up to us, but to God. We can only control our actions and I couldn’t have been more proud of yours. You certainly do not have an abundance of money – you live paycheck to paycheck. But you basically gave this kid money because you knew he was in a worse spot than you right now. That to me, speaks volumes about your integrity and character. And you didn’t even realize what an amazing thing you did.

I’ll continue to worry about your physical safety as you and your friends ride your dirt bikes, and race your suped-up lawn mowers and play with your trucks in the mud, but my heart is full with the knowledge that the fairness and equality you developed in your childhood has carried through to your adult years and your sense of compassion and willingness to help others is strong.

I was always so proud of that little boy, with his easy smile and sense of self, but I’m even more proud of the adult you’ve become.

Love Mom

xoxo

It Was Never About “Them” Anyway

Posted on September 6, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

There are a lot of “they’s” and “them’s” in the world. “They” decide what movies are worth watching, what cars are the coolest and what fashions are “in”. But who are “they” anyway? And why in the world would their opinion be better than my own?

People are opinionated, there’s no denying that fact. And oftentimes, they’ll share their opinion with you, without you asking them to. This can be wonderful if the words they use are kind, but sometimes they are not exactly what you wanted to hear. It could be something like them telling you they don’t like the shirt you’re wearing, or that the job you have isn’t good enough, or that the choices you’re making in your life are wrong. But these opinions only have the power to hurt you if you attach value to them.

You would think it was ridiculous if someone told you your favourite colour was wrong – we all know that colour is a matter of personal preference and there is no “right” favourite colour. It’s the same thing with everything else. If you think about it – everything is just a personal preference. Movies, books, cars, clothes, food, sports…everything. What you choose to like is entirely up to you and no one else’s opinion should factor in.

The same goes for the choices you make in your life. The courses you take, the jobs you do or the past-times you pursue…these are all choices you make based on the experiences you’ve had and what you’ve enjoyed. No one else has lived your life or seen the world through your eyes.

That’s what makes you so incredibly special and your opinions so important.

Doing your own thing at four years old. 🙂

The choices you make are the very best ones you can make for yourself and you do not owe an explanation to anyone else. If “they” voice an opinion about something you’ve purchased or a job you’ve taken, then really, the problem lies more with them because the real question is – why do they feel the need to express that opinion? Are they generally trying to be helpful (in which case maybe they warrant a simple explanation of “This is the best choice for me at this time” or are they lacking in their own life and they are using this putdown as an expression of their own sadness and hurt? In these cases, I don’t find any explanation is warranted at all. I’ve been known to simply walk away.

Not attaching value to the opinions of others is easier said than done. Little kids do it all the time. They like what they like, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Unfortunately, with social media being what it is, and everything being measured by the number of “likes” it receives, the value of other people’s opinions are at an all time high. That’s why it is so super important to remember that your opinion is the only one that matters. Your opinion has all the value you need.

You need to live your life in the way that makes you happy. Trying to live up to the expectations of what other’s think will be exhausting and it will never bring you true happiness.

People will criticize you no matter what you do, but it should never stop you from doing what is right. I’ve often found that critics are the way they are because they are unhappy, they want to live their life courageously, but they haven’t yet and so they try to bring others down as well. All we can do is pray they find the courage they need to live their best life as well.

This poem by Mother Theresa is one of my favourites. It says it best:

I’ve tried to model this behaviour in my own life for you. Things like starting university when you and your brother were little, owning a martial arts club, changing careers and taking a chance on a relationship that would change all of our lives…all of this was done with you guys in mind. It was important that I demonstrate that it is never too late to change your path, or chase a dream, and that you should do it no matter who tells you it’s a bad idea.

Every time a new path or opportunity opens up to me, I look at it and decide if this is a path that God wants me to follow and if it feels like it is, then I summon my courage and take a leap of faith. And each time I’ve done that, I’ve been met with so many wonderful people and experiences.

So live your life the best way you can, sweetie, and don’t worry about what anyone else thinks. After all, it was never about “them” anyway.

Love Mom

xoxo

Martial Art Beginnings

Posted on August 23, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

We both know that a good part of your childhood was spent in a dojo. From the karate lessons you took part in, to being dragged to every class once I owned the club myself, to both helping and competing at tournaments. But I’m not sure I ever told you exactly how we found ourselves immersed in the world of martial arts.

When I was twenty-three years old, I got a job working at an auto parts store, doing office work. It was a great job. The entire staff was so nice – it was all men and everyone treated me like their daughter.

On one of my first days, my boss told me that one of the guys there was a black belt who taught karate classes regularly. I watched everyone as I tried to figure out who it was. I finally settled on the guy I thought it must be, only to find out it was actually his father, who was the oldest employee there. I look back on that now and find it amusing that I had dismissed him immediately as being the black belt.

He was very passionate about the karate club and would often share stories at work. Sometimes he would show me a technique he was really excited about, but the majority of the stories were about the amazing people at the club.

My favourite story was that one day the Senseis talked to the kids at the karate club about a new student who would be joining the club soon. Now new people were always joining, but this kid had some special needs and the Senseis wanted to make sure they made this a great experience for him. The kids were told that this new student would look a little different but they stressed how important it was that they treat him the same as the other new students – with kindness and respect. About a month later, the kids went up to this Sensei and asked him if that new special kid was ever going to start. Sensei replied that he had started three weeks ago. The kids had welcomed him in as they did every new student, without giving his differences a second thought. He was simply a new student who trained with them and that was enough. He was one of them now.

Every year the club held a Family Night. This was when the members could invite friends and family to watch karate demonstrations, which were put on by the students. I was invited to come and I was very excited. It wasn’t so much that I was drawn to martial arts (I mean, of course I was, but who isn’t? It’s awesome), but I just had to meet these people I had been hearing about for months.

Your dad and I went, carrying you along as you were not even one year old at the time. The demonstrations were great and the energy in the club was contagious. You could sense the friendship and comradery as they encouraged and supported each other. It was a great night.

But our journey in the martial arts was not set to begin yet. Your younger brother still needed to be born.

When Colton was six months old, I was looking for something for you to do. You were a smart little cookie with lots of energy but at two and a half, most activities were not available to us, as you just weren’t old enough. But the karate club was willing to give you a try.

Colton started going to karate classes with you when he was two years old.

So off we went, purchasing a little gi that was so cute on you and twice a week, on Mondays and Wednesdays, you attended karate classes. When Colton was old enough, he practiced walking on the empty mats before your class started.

The class that followed yours was the Kids class, so as I was getting you ready to leave (which was no easy feat since I had the two of you to wrangle), I would see the first few minutes of that class. There were a few adults training too, since families were always encouraged to train together.

I was intrigued. I’m not sure what I found most fascinating – whether it was the way they had memorized the moves of the kata, or how the Sensei would critique and correct each movement. I watched the students push themselves, sweating and working, and then smile and laugh when they were told to relax.

They did drills back and forth across the floor, the names of the techniques being called out in Japanese and they were to be performed without hesitation, and with incredible speed and accuracy. Sometimes I would hear multiple techniques called and see the concentration on the students’ faces as they remembered each one, in the correct order, while the count was called quickly, giving them hardly any time to process the information. I thought it looked like an incredible challenge.

I found us taking more and more time to leave, so I could always watch a bit of the next class.

I think I could do that, I thought as I watched them.

One simple thought, that continued to tug at my brain until I signed up.

And as it turned out, I could do that.

I thrived under the pressure of thinking quickly, learning the Japanese terminology and trying to master the techniques. The thing about karate is that the smaller you are, the more important it is that your techniques are perfect, since you can’t rely solely on muscle to make them work. And the harder you work on the floor, the more the Sensei will help you, since every teacher loves a student who is eager to learn.

And eager I was. Like most martial arts students, I thought about karate all the time. I practiced at home constantly. I attended every class I could, and I tried out techniques on any family member I could convince to “punch in”.

Grading for my first belt was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my whole life and I wore that yellow belt with so much pride.

Wearing my yellow belt at home, after having just been awarded it that evening.

What I love most about the martial arts is that it doesn’t matter where you come from or how much money you make. Once everyone is in a gi, you all look the same. You have already earned respect by simply stepping out onto the mat. You are there to learn and to work hard. And when you leave the floor when the class is done, with tired muscles, a sweaty face and maybe a couple of new bruises, you can grin and laugh with everyone else as you chat about that awesome class. You learn new kata, improve old techniques and maybe see something different in a throw you’ve been doing for a while that makes it easier or more effective.

It’s a constant progression towards perfection, even though you know you’ll never learn it all.

You are there to become the best physical version of yourself and you bond quickly to others who are doing the same.

But martial arts is hardly just about the physical. It is equally a mental journey. And that’s hard to comprehend when you first sign up. Most people who start martial arts are eager to learn how to fight and they are excited at the possibility of one day getting the chance to show off their skills. But a Black Belt never wants to use their skills in the real world. And it’s not because they worry they might not win, it’s because they know there’s a really good chance they will.

I’ve met so many incredible people in the world of martial arts and I’ve been blessed to have been taught by some amazing Senseis. It’s a world that once immersed in, I never want to leave. And I know my journey is far from over.

After thousands of hours attending and teaching classes, and countless seminars and tournaments, it’s funny to think it all started because I was invited to a karate club’s Family Night and I went so I could meet the incredible kids I’d heard so much about.

You just never know where your path may lead, but meeting good people will almost always take you to great places.

Love Mom

xoxo

Jacob

Posted on August 15, 2021 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Just over four years ago, on Aug 13th, your younger brother was born. And it was also the day one of your best friends lost their life in a car accident.

Losing Grandma had solidified my belief that there was nothing harder to bear in life than your own grief. But watching your child grieve, as it turns out, is equally hard. I can deal with my own pain. I know that by relying on my faith, I can get through anything. But watching your child struggle as they try to come to terms with the death of someone incredibly close to them, someone taken from this world long before we would have believed it would be their time…well, that was a new kind of pain.

Keenan was born at 1:30am and you came to meet your new brother in the afternoon that day. You left the room for a few minutes to take a phone call and never told me what it was about when you came back. But you had just been delivered the news that Jacob had died.

You didn’t want to tell me because you didn’t want to diminish my happiness on the day your little brother was born. That was an incredibly selfless thing to do, although when I found out later that afternoon, I’d wished you were still there so I could comfort you. Seventeen year olds aren’t supposed to die and seventeen year old best friends aren’t meant to grieve.

I’d known Jacob since you were both in elementary school and in later years I was fortunate to get to know him even better when he attended my karate classes. Jacob didn’t have the most ideal home life, but his grandma made sure he got to karate class because she said it did so much for him. He worked hard and was eager to earn our praise. He came to every class with a huge smile and I always looked forward to seeing him. He had a good heart. I know you love being with ‘good people’ and Jacob was certainly one of those.

First Communion, Colton followed by Jacob

My tears fell that day for the boy who was only in our lives for a short time and for you and all your friends who now had to figure out how to move on after an unexpected death shakes your core.

The class and dignity that you and your friends exhibited during the days following the news still warm my heart. You all organized a “ride” where everyone would meet up where the accident happened and drive to the cemetery where Jacob was buried. This ride was such a fitting way to pay respect since you were all obsessed with your cars. After that, you all collected money so a headstone could be purchased because Jacob’s family couldn’t afford one. And for the next three years, you all met up for that ride again so you could share memories and stories of the boy you all grew up with, the boy with the easy smile who will remain seventeen years old in our hearts forever.

Jacob will never be forgotten.

Love Mom

xoxo

Grandma’s House

Posted on September 3, 2020 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Oh, how I wish I could take you all back in time and go with you to Grandma’s house. And I’m not talking about your grandma, I’m talking about my grandma. My dad’s mom. Your Great Grandma.

We’d pull into the gravel driveway and pass the huge lilac bush out front that your Grandpa told me he used to hide behind so he could wave the bus by on the days he wanted to skip school. Then he’d head up to his uncle’s farm and hang out there all day. Different times.

We’d park our van in front on the barn that held the tractors (and a long time ago – pigs) and we’d walk past the metal and ceramic dishes by the back step that Grandma always put bread and milk in to feed the barn cats. We’d open the screen door to the summer kitchen and then let it bang shut behind us, like always.

We’d walk the path to the kitchen door, which was framed by a long chest freezer on one side and a variety of old tools, newspapers, snow shoes and lawn chairs on the other side. There would usually be a few pies sitting on top of the freezer and we would wonder who the lucky recipients were. Grandma made the best apple pie and they were usually given to friends or family celebrating birthdays.

We’d knock on the kitchen door and walk in. The center of the room held a large oval table with a collection of chairs around it. There were also a few stools in the corner by the cupboards. You just never knew how many people would show up to visit so extra places to sit needed to be close by. Grandma would be sitting in her usual spot at the table. I’d tell you all to grab a chair and I’d hope, as I always did, that I could sit in the glider next to the back door. It was a toss up between this chair and one other as to what would be considered the best chair in the house.

Once seated at the table, I would watch for your reaction as you took in the sight of every child’s dream and you’d finally see that what I always told you about Grandma’s house was real. One end of the kitchen table was always full of treats. I know you would all look at me with hopeful expressions and of course, I would nod and tell you to help yourself. I couldn’t very well deny you the pleasure of what Aunt Melissa and I got to experience almost every day of our childhood.

There was always a bowl of M&Ms, a canister of mixed nuts, a white ceramic dish of caramels and a red plastic bowl filled with Pringles. There were sometimes bowls of smarties and occasionally a clear plastic tree with chocolates pressed onto the end of the branches. Sometimes I had to eat quite a few to find a strawberry one, but I never minded!

My favourite treat was always the caramels though. I loved the dark caramels best, but so did Uncle Bob. Often while I was digging through the dish, Grandma would say, “Not very likely, dear, Bob was here yesterday.” Darn that Uncle Bob.

You would all listen politely as you snacked, while Grandma filled us in on all of the visitors she’d had lately. Having 10 children and 26 grandchildren meant she always had lots to share. It was pretty common for others to arrive during our visits – best to not give up that other best chair, the one in front of the candy.

After you all had your fill…and I would warn you to stop as early as you could, since I knew exactly how a ‘too full of candy’ tummy felt, I would bring you upstairs to show you where Grandma kept the games and puzzles. You see, Grandma’s house wasn’t just about filling up on junk food.

I couldn’t even count the number of afternoons we would chat away to Grandma while working on the Wonder Woman puzzle or playing a game of Clue.

Her house was just up the road a little ways from where I grew up. Mostly we peddled our bikes there and although it didn’t look like much of a hill, you knew it was one when you were riding your bike. Luckily, that meant when you were full of treats, you didn’t need to peddle home. You could coast the whole way back. Which we did, often, just to see how far we could make it.

Looking back, what I remember most about Grandma’s house was the time she spent listening to us. We would chat about everything as we did puzzles, played games and munched on candy. And whenever our friends or cousins came over, we always brought them up to Grandma’s house. And she would always remember their names and ask us about them often.

Without knowing it then, it cemented in my mind what the role of a grandmother should be – someone who puts the time in, whether it be teaching card games, doing puzzles and just simply talking. I was lucky enough to, very often, have the undivided attention of someone who loved me just the way I was. Looking back, I realize not once did Grandma ever say ‘that’s enough games for now’ or ‘let’s put the puzzles away’. She always gave her time freely to us. What an absolute blessing that is to a child.

Grandma loved to knit and crochet and we were always interested in seeing her latest projects. She crafted beautiful doilies with intricate patterns and she knit hundreds of mittens. She also knit tiny hats and sweater sets to be given to premature babies at the hospital. I think we liked seeing those the best.

I remember when Grandma started a project of crocheting granny squares to use up the hundreds of leftover balls of yarn that completely covered one of her couches. Every day I would check in after school to see how many more squares she had made and look over the different colours she had used. I was intrigued and couldn’t wait to see them all be put together into a blanket.

And then, one day, it was done. I was so surprised to see the folded blanket on the kitchen table when I walked through the back door. I looked it over, admiring how perfect it all came together. And then to my complete surprise, she said, “You can have it, dear.” I had never asked her who it was for and I’m not sure if it was given to me because I showed more interest in its creation than anyone else had, but I was so grateful to have it. And now that Grandma has been gone for many years, it’s a wonderful reminder of her and the time we spent together.

Leaving Grandma’s house was always bittersweet and I’m sure when our visit was over, you would all be asking me when we would be able to return. And just as we’d promised when we said good-bye, the answer would be soon.

Grandma’s house was a huge part of my childhood and I have so many more memories – from watching as my many uncles shot skeet in the field beside the house, to collecting apples on our walk through the bush and feeding them to the pigs, to meeting my friend Shawn at Grandma’s after school every day to play basketball once we’d discovered an old basketball hoop attached to one side of the barn.

How lucky I was to have had a childhood filled with so many simple pleasures and to be reminded of them every night as I pull that special blanket up from the end of my bed and use its warmth to comfort me or when I bring it out to the couch so we can all cuddle under it to watch TV. Every time we use it I am reminded of the wonderful grandma who made it.

Love Mom

xoxo

6 Years

Posted on August 16, 2020 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Six years.

It’s funny how six years can seem like a long time but when something happened six years ago that completely changed your life, it can also feel like it was as close as yesterday.

I had no idea when I woke up that morning it would be the last day I would have my mom here with me, or the last time you would see your grandma. So many memories of that day are burned forever in my mind, from having been replayed over and over again as I struggled to understand how everything could be so normal the day before and so completely upended by the next morning.

I’ve often said the only people who can truly understand the pain of losing a mother are people who have also experienced it. It felt like I now belonged to a club I never wanted to join. It’s hard to describe the void that suddenly exists – it’s like a part of you is missing and no matter what you do, that hollowness will never fill. I think you just learn to live with a piece of emptiness in your heart.

Looking back, though, I have many reasons to be thankful during that time.

I am thankful that when I left Grandma’s hospital room on Thursday night, she gave me a big hug and told me she loved me. I will always be grateful that those were her last words to me.

I’m thankful that I brought both of you to the hospital on Thursday to visit.

I am thankful that when I called Aunt Nancy from the hospital Friday morning and immediately fell apart on the phone, barely whispering, “Please come.” that she instantly responded with “We’ll be right there.”

I am thankful for Grandma’s brothers and sisters who came to the hospital, to Grandma’s friend Rose Marie who came and prayed with us and to Father Brian who was also there.

Leaving the hospital that day was extremely hard and I was so thankful that your Nana and Aunt Lisa came over to our house right away.

I will always be grateful for the outpouring of support from friends and family who stopped by our house with food and cards as well as everyone who attended the funeral and packed St. Ann’s Church in Merrickville. I know I wasn’t much for socializing at the lunch we had after, but I still remember the people who attended and appreciate their kindness so much.

Time gives us a perspective that nothing else will, so looking back now, I am most grateful that I had the opportunity to watch Grandma for so many years and learn what it means to be a devoted and loving mother. And when you were born, Cassie, I watched her become an enthusiastic and dedicated grandmother as well. She loved every minute of her time with you both and if she wasn’t at our house visiting or looking after you, then she was calling to see how you were doing.

I remember calling her one afternoon when you, Cassie, were learning to walk and you were getting so close to taking a few steps on your own. I said, “She’s trying so hard! I think her first steps could happen any minute,” and Grandma said, “I’ll be right there.” She arrived fifteen minutes later and we spent the rest of the afternoon watching you hold your little push toy as you walked back and forth between us.

I remember being fortunate enough to be there when Aunt Melissa shared the news that she was having twins with Grandma. And instead of spoiling just two grandchildren after that, she got to spoil four. And we watched her love every minute of it.

There was never any question that her world revolved around all of us.

I remember one afternoon, though, when I walked out onto the deck and found Grandma sitting at the table with her morning coffee and I could tell she had been crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she said that she had been thinking about her mom. I remembered how hard it was for everyone when Great Grandma had passed away. She was the sweetest and kindest soul. But six years later, I didn’t cry over her anymore, instead my heart filled with love when I remembered her.

And now, six years after Grandma passed away, I completely understand.

The thing was, I couldn’t understand back then. I wasn’t in the club yet.

I know that Grandma watches over you both every day. Cassie – I know she would be so incredibly proud of you for your strength and determination in completing your nursing degree. And Colton – she would be so impressed with your ability to fix and rebuild anything you set your mind to, and also, of course, she would love to see that you grew so much taller than Cassie. 😀

You were both so lucky to have experienced her love for so long and for that, I will always be thankful.

Love Mom

xoxo

The Best Lessons

Posted on July 26, 2020July 27, 2020 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

One of the greatest things about having children spaced far apart in years is that you and Colton were both able to watch me go through two pregnancies when you were teenagers.

I remember when we surprised you both the first time with a gift on Christmas Eve that held a little baby outfit. It was fun to watch the comprehension dawn on your face when you realized that we’d be adding a little baby to our family. Your tears of joy meant the world to me. But they weren’t a surprise. Knowing what amazing people you both are, I knew you’d be thrilled about having a little brother or sister.

You watched me take prenatal vitamins that made me gag (despite my cutting them in half -or more). You saw me switch to decaf coffee. You watched my belly expand and my tiredness grow. You excitedly waited for ultrasound pictures and the news of a little girl coming. You guessed what kind of a person she would be and you argued over who would get to hold her more and who she would love the best. You shared the news with all of your friends.

You helped us pack up our game room and transform it into a nursery. Our excitement grew as we got closer to the due date. You were there, every day, watching as I paused to catch my breath at the top of the stairs now, and struggled to tie my shoes over my belly. You sat next to me on the couch and laid your hands on my stomach to feel her kick and move. You were there for every minute of this incredible journey.

I never realized what an impact it all had on you, though, until you came home one day after having argued with a pregnant girl at your school who had just dyed her hair. You had debated with her on the risks involved and what the potential side effects for her unborn child could be. You were actually more informed than I realized, and you knew the science behind it even more than I did.

You outlined the risks to the girl, who dismissed them as not being serious enough to worry about. And you ended the conversation with the line that will stick with me forever and sums up exactly the way I felt going through each of my amazing pregnancies.

The girl had said, “I don’t think any of that stuff will happen to my baby.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, “My mom was never willing to take that risk.”

My heart swelled. It always surprises me when I see you pick up things I never struck out to teach you, things you learned by watching. Turns out those are the best lessons.

Love Mom

xoxo