God – Dear Child

Out of my Comfort Zone

Posted on October 26, 2024 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

When we signed you up for ballet class a few years ago, we had no idea what a big part of our life dance would become. Every year seems to bring about more classes and competitions and you’ve thrived on the variety, the learning, and the busy schedule. You love every minute of it.

Since that first year, I’ve been blessed with being able to help out backstage. Seeing the dancers in their gorgeous costumes, preparing to perform, is inspiring. The excitement and energy behind the scenes is truly incredible.

Watching competitions and recitals is my favourite part. The sheer strength and gracefulness of the dancers is amazing. A beautifully choreographed piece, with music that lights up your heart, can easily bring you to tears. It makes you wish that you could be part of something so special.

For two years I watched the Adult Ballet class perform in the year end recital and I was in awe.

Always wanting to try new things – especially things that can benefit me both physically and mentally, I contemplated signing up. I’d never taken a ballet class before and my one experience in a jazz class when I was in grade six had left me with little to no confidence as I distinctly remember the teacher saying to me, “Do you hear the music, Melanie? You are supposed to dance in time with the music.” Eek.

That one moment left a lasting impression but I still loved to dance.

I got my love of dance from Grandma. Every Tuesday night, when I was a little girl, Grandpa Barber would head off to the Firehall for his weekly meeting and the kitchen would become our dance floor. Grandma would play all her favourite records. She taught me to jive, and I remember us dancing to “Bop” by Dan Seals over and over again.

Years of teaching Zumba had satisfied my desire to dance but now I could take that interest to a whole new level. With nervousness and excitement, I signed up for Adult Ballet. I had started Karate as an adult and that had gone very well, so I hoped for a similar experience in Ballet.

It didn’t happen.

Whereas karate felt very natural to me right away, ballet did not. My legs struggled to turn out, my arms were stiff, and I couldn’t remember the various combinations we learned, despite doing them week after week.

You would often watch my class since it immediately followed one of yours and one night on the drive home, I asked how you thought I was doing. “You’re doing okay,” you said delicately, “but…you’re not very graceful.” No kidding.

After every class I would go home, feeling defeated. Daddy would ask me how it went. “I’m just not getting it,” I’d confess, frustrated that I couldn’t make my body replicate the moves I watched Miss Cora demonstrate. I felt awkward and clumsy.

Now, luckily for me, I still had fun in the class. I enjoy a challenge (although this was definitely more challenging than other things I’d tried) and the women in the class were fun and very supportive. So back I went, week after week, hoping that one day the moves would start to feel more natural to me.

And then it happened.

It took all the way until February, but I remember coming home one night and when Daddy asked me about the class, I said, “I think it went…okay. I think I might actually be starting to remember stuff.”

When we started preparing for our dance in the recital, I enjoyed the class even more. Every week Miss Cora would add a few more steps and we would practice over and over again. I appreciated being able to go over it so many times, refining the techniques as best I could. Miss Cora never tired of our many questions.

And this time when we were packing up all your costumes for the recital, I had a dress to pack, too. I was definitely more nervous than you as we left for the dress rehearsal with our hair and makeup done.

The recital was an incredible experience. Although the brightness of the lights and the heat took some getting used to, dancing on stage was exhilarating. I’m blessed to have been able to share that experience with the women in my class. We celebrated our success together.

When August rolled around this year, I didn’t hesitate. Luckily, the Adult Ballet class fit into our family’s crazy schedule, so I signed up again. I’m a far cry away from graceful yet, but I didn’t want to lose everything I had learned the year before. It felt like a reunion of sorts, on that first night’s class in September, to see who had signed up again. Now in class, the movements are more familiar. I’m beginning to recognize some of the names of the techniques, and I feel slightly more coordinated than last year. And when Miss Cora links twenty or more moves together and then says “yes, that’s good, let’s just keep it simple,” I now smile instead of cringe.

We have another wonderful group of women in the class this year, and we laugh as we learn.

The best part, however, is getting to be a part of the dance world with you. You always try to stay awake until I get home from class as you are eager to hear about what we worked on. And when I practice in the kitchen, you are right there, eager to offer suggestions and demonstrate the moves I struggle with. I love seeing you in this capacity as I think it’s important for you to know that after four years of learning, you already have so much knowledge to share.

I love that we can celebrate our passion for dance together. You are a beautiful and graceful dancer, my sweetheart, and you inspire me in so many ways.

Love Mom

xoxo

Ten Years

Posted on September 29, 2024 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I was out of sorts.

I didn’t know why, but for over a week, I just hadn’t felt like myself.

Then the reason popped into my head.

Ten years.

Ten. Years.

TEN YEARS.

This August 15^th marked the ten-year anniversary of Grandma’s passing.

Ten years without the person who loved us all the most.

Ten years without the grandmother who would listen to your stories for hours, who thought everything you did was incredible and who either called or saw you every day for your entire life.

Ten years without the mother who thought most of my ideas were crazy but who supported me anyway, who I knew I could count on to help me whenever I asked, and whose unconditional love for me I never doubted for a second.

Ten years without daily phone calls, chats over coffee, or having her attend every single event in our lives from birthdays to school functions to karate gradings to recitals.

Ten years without our mother and grandmother…our constant…our rock.

How in the world has it been ten years?

In the tumultuous world of grieving, I still think about her every day. I still wish she would call. I still wish she was here for every birthday party and holiday. I still cry if I let myself dwell for too long on all the incredible things she’s missed.

I heard the song “Alive and Breathing” for the first time at our dance recital two years ago and one line resonated with me so thoroughly that I still think about it all the time. It said “Hope still walks with the hurting.”

Four days after Grandma’s passing, with tears still a constant threat, we welcomed your baby sister into the world and Alyssa became our beacon of hope. Hope for more love, hope for more joy to come, hope for laughter to fill our house once again.

Though our eyes were still filled with tears, our lips smiled, and we praised the Lord for blessing us with this tiny miracle to help mend our broken hearts. We ached knowing she would never know Grandma’s love, but we promised each other she would know how much Grandma already loved her, before she was even born.

Ten years later and Grandma’s name is still spoken often throughout our house. “Grandma would have said this…” and “Grandma would have loved this…” and of course “Grandma would have been so proud of you.”

We are still hurting. The pain of missing someone so crucial in our lives will never go away. Grief never ends, it only changes over time – moving from a searing, stabbing pain to a duller ache that will equally bring you to tears should you focus on it.

“Hope still walks with the hurting.”

We move forward.

We move forward with the questions we wished we’d asked, the pictures and videos we wished we’d taken (despite her protests!), and the memories we cherish.

We thank the Lord for the time she spent here on Earth. We thank Him for giving us the most loving and devoted mother and grandmother.

Her love lives on in my devotion to you. I am the mother I am because of her love for me. And one day, when you are blessed with children of your own, you will carry on this pattern of love and devotion.

In everything, we praise the Lord.

We praise Him for our countless blessings – for the love we shared, for the memories we have, and for the people we’ve become because of her.

Love, Mom.

xoxo

Remembering Uncle Gerald

Posted on August 5, 2024 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

It’s never easy to say goodbye.

When I was a child, there were many times I accompanied Mom and Dad to wakes and funerals for the oldest members of our family. It was common to hear such expressions as “they lived a good, long life” and “it was their time”. I understood, even at a young age, that when people get older, they start to slow down, and eventually they pass away.

I think what made Uncle Gerald’s passing so hard was that, even at the age of 79, he didn’t seem to be slowing down yet. So, in my mind, he had many years left to live.

And unexpected deaths are always the hardest for a heart to handle.

Uncle Gerald was a constant in our lives. From the time you were little, we could expect to see him first thing in the morning on every holiday and birthday and he always came bearing gifts for everyone. I knew the phone would ring during hunting season as he checked in to see if Colton had shot a deer yet and he always laughed with pride at the stories I’d share.

Ever since I was a little girl, Uncle Gerald and I had shared a special bond. Mostly, I think, because we were born on the same day. And not just any day – but Groundhog Day. A day that is quite insignificant to most people but special to us and I can’t tell you how many birthday cards I got from him that were addressed to “Groundhog Girl” – everything written in capital letters.

He would always arrive early on our shared day, and we would exchange cards and gifts, often with lottery tickets included, though neither of us ever won anything.

Uncle Gerald was my main connection to the rest of the family on Dad’s side. Grandma Barber had 10 children, so I was blessed with a lot of cousins. Twenty-six, in fact. And Uncle Gerald was the best at keeping in touch with everyone and then delivering their news to the rest of us. Despite not having seen many of my cousins in twenty years or more, I knew their children’s names and ages and what they were up to – who had graduated, who got a new dog, who loved to hunt and even who had “put on the beef”. He didn’t just keep track of ages – he could tell me each person’s birthday as well.

There was never one ounce of judgement or negativity in the updates – it was simply the news on what everyone else was doing and it made me feel connected still, even though distance and busy lives kept most of us apart.

I’d also get updates on how trapping had been lately, where the deer were feeding, and how his garden was coming along. I didn’t realize until now how much our chats fulfilled me – they brought back so many happy memories from my childhood and bridged that gap between who I was and who I am now, making sure that little girl was still a big part inside of me.

It wasn’t very long ago that he was here, helping Grandpa Barber take down two huge cedar trees near our driveway. I watched them rope the trees and drop them and then Uncle Gerald came back another day to cut up the logs and haul away the wood. Hard work, but that was what he liked.

When he suddenly wasn’t feeling well and was admitted to the hospital, I was grateful they transferred him to the Kingston General Hospital. Now you could stop in to see him before and after your shifts and provide me with detailed updates on how he was doing. Grandpa was great at sending me the updates he got from Uncle Delbert, but I wanted your opinion on his condition even more. I was so glad he got to see you in his last days.

It’s difficult to think that I won’t see his truck pulling into the driveway early on Christmas Eve morning or that I’ll be celebrating my birthday without him next year.

The sound of his voice is still clear in my head, and I hope it stays there for a long time.

Grieving is the hardest thing we do in this life. But it serves as an excellent reminder to be grateful each day for the time we spend with family and friends because sharing our love with others is the greatest gift God gives us.

Love Mom

xoxo

Chasing My Dreams in California

Posted on May 26, 2024 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

There is nothing not scary about chasing your dreams. After all, you are putting yourself out there and telling the world what you want with your whole heart.

I’m no stranger to taking on challenges – whether it was stepping into my first karate class at twenty-three years old, or applying to university when you were five – I’ve learned that with great risk, there is the potential for great reward.

But writing is different. Writing is personal.

That is my heart on the page.

The idea for my trip to California for the Big Sur Writing Conference actually started last June, when I was looking into literary agents and found the Andrea Brown Literary Agency. I read through each agents’ bio and I had a really good feeling about this agency. I noticed they hosted a writing conference each year and I liked that you needed to submit writing samples in order to get invited. I made a note to keep an eye on their website – maybe one day I could look into attending.

Then I noticed they were accepting submissions for the next conference right now.

I figured it couldn’t hurt to send in a few samples. If I didn’t get invited, then I would continue to work on my craft and try again another year.

I received my invitation to the conference later that day.

Now things were getting serious. It was in California. The conference was going to take place in February, just three weeks after our family vacation to Florida. I would have to be gone for five days. And I really didn’t want to go alone.

As easy as it would have been to just dismiss the whole idea, the Spirit was nudging me forward.

Setting goals is what our family does. And I’ve raised each of you to believe that you can achieve anything you set your mind to do.

I think it was because of this that when I brought the idea of my going to California to everyone, no one thought it was crazy. No one thought it was ridiculous for me to fly across the continent to attend critique sessions, meet mentors, listen to editors and agents talk about what they look for in submissions or meet authors who, not that long ago, were exactly where I am now.

Chris didn’t bat an eye at having the full responsibility of the kids’ crazy schedules for five days, and Colton had no problem getting home early to meet the bus.

If this was an important step on my way to meeting my goals, then everyone was fully supportive of it.

To have that strong of a support system behind you every day, cheering you on, is incredible.

And you, well, when I asked if you would fly to California with me to attend a writing conference, your reply was HECK YES.

With you onboard, I replied to the conference, confirming my attendance, and adding you as my guest.

Now I was excited.

I’m not going to lie, I wavered a few times on going, even after I’d confirmed my attendance and booked our plane tickets. We would be gone for five days, during which time Chris would have to do everything – including taking Alyssa to her very first gymnastics competition. We didn’t have the date for that event when I signed up for the conference or I’m sure that would have been the reason I passed on it. I knew Chris could handle everything – I just didn’t want to be away. I love my life and taking care of my family brings me tremendous joy every day.

But then I remembered that pursuing my dream doesn’t only affect me.

I’m showing the rest of you that putting yourself on the line, doing the things that scare you, is a good thing. Even the little ones knew I was nervous about this trip, but they watched me print the pages I was bringing to the critique groups, they watched me take deep breaths as I packed my suitcase and they watched me head to the airport, summoning the courage I needed to move farther along my dream of becoming a published writer one day.

And if sometime in the future that helps one of them find the courage they need to pursue their dreams, then it will all be worth it.

The itinerary included four critique sessions with a mentor (either an agent from the Andrea Brown Literary Agency, an author, or an editor from a well-known publishing company), various agent panels, presentations from editors and authors – all sharing their knowledge of the writing and publishing world. Being the avid reader that you are, I knew you would enjoy these events as much as me, and as my guest, you could attend all of the meals and events with me, except for the critique groups, which was okay because you were hoping to also have time to relax, read, and enjoy the gorgeous hotel.

We navigated through three airports, found the shuttle to the hotel, and arrived late on Thursday night. Friday morning was spent exploring before checking in to the conference and joining everyone in the hall for the Welcome Presentation. We found our seats and I eagerly waited for the room to fill up as you took off to help save a bird that had flown into the conference centre through the open doors. The conference started and the energy in the room was palpable. So many writers and illustrators all there with a common goal – getting published.

The whole weekend was inspiring.

Every meal was spent with different people, and everyone was eager to ask questions and share their thoughts. Meeting Maya Marlette, an editor at Scholastic Books, was one of my favourite experiences. She was bubbly, friendly and well, quirky – and her enthusiasm was contagious. We also had an amazing conversation with author Tamara Ireland Stone who shared with us the story of where she was when she got the call that the agency wanted to sign her.

The critique groups were very interesting. Each person was required to read aloud their own work and everyone in the group had to provide comments. Though this was very intimidating at first, I’m beginning to realize that the more you do this, the less scary it is. Everyone was eager to help and offer suggestions and I learned so much by listening to others read their writing, too. I had no problem coming up with responses when it came time for me to comment. This felt right…it felt like I had found a place where others were a lot like me – looking for the perfect words to describe the story in our heads, constantly choosing between dialogue or narrative, or looking for that key phrase that would make a reader pause and think…wow, that’s a great line.

The conference solidified my belief that I could write and write well, that I could take critiques and apply them to improve, and that this dream of mine would one day come to fruition.

My favourite part of the weekend, though, was sharing it all with you. After every meal, every agent or editor panel, every presentation, I had you to share my thoughts with and review what we had learned. You love to read, but you also enjoy dissecting what you’ve read – why the plot worked, why you felt what you did for certain characters or why an ending lacked the punch you were waiting for. Your thoughtful analysis of everything we heard that weekend was also incredibly helpful to me. It was easy to fill our free time, sitting in the lobby with the delicious drinks you selected for us from the little café, while we discussed everything.

I loved the entire weekend. We don’t often get to hang out, just the two of us. Usually, we try to chat while being constantly interrupted by the craziness of our family.

We’re already looking at going back again next year, but this time for longer, bringing everyone with us and visiting more of California than just this beautiful hotel, and that will be fun too, but I’ll always be grateful for the time we got to spend together on this incredible adventure, in pursuit of my dreams.

Love Mom

xoxo

Family Vacation

Posted on May 4, 2024 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

I wanted a family vacation.

I wanted a week spent without the distraction of work, school, or activities. A week where we could hang out together and make memories that would last forever.

It’s not always easy to get the six of us together, what with your crazy 12-hour shift schedule, Alyssa’s long list of activities and the many projects Colton takes on. I try to plan various activities throughout the year for all of us, though. Public skating, strawberry picking, camping, holidays and of course Alyssa’s many competitions and recitals bring us all together too.

It’s important to me that you are all close. Right now, I feel like I am the glue holding you all together, but shared memories will help to create bonds that I hope will last a lifetime.

I started planning right after your graduation from university. Getting away in the winter was never an option before because your winter semesters were so intense. But there was nothing stopping us now. I immediately started looking into all-inclusive resorts that would accommodate our various ages and interests as that seemed like the easiest thing to book.

But I knew you’d always dreamed of going to Disney.

I knew nothing about planning a trip to Florida…where would we stay, how would we get around, how do I buy tickets to the different theme parks? But I shoved my nervousness aside and booked our plane tickets to Florida, put a deposit on the most amazing rental house that was referred to me by a friend, and started filling out passport application forms.

You and I then spent the next six months learning everything we could about Disney.

We both joined a Facebook group that shared Disney tips and tricks and we learned all about Genie Plus, Lightening Lanes and what restaurants give you the most face time with the characters. We chatted daily, sharing what we learned, and by the time January came around, we sort of knew what we were doing.

On Jan 9^th, the six of us loaded into the minivan and headed to the airport at 3am.

I had prayed a lot leading up to this trip, asking God to guide me through the planning process and asked Him to keep us safe.

We were blessed with the most magical and fun trip ever.

Despite the enormous amount of planning that went into this trip, when we got to the airport, I decided to leave all my expectations behind. Our goal was to enjoy each other’s company while on this adventure and if things didn’t go exactly as planned, then we would deal with it.

In a week that was so filled with fun activities, it’s almost hard to narrow down my favourite moments but here they are, in no particular order:

1 – DISNEY! – Everything about Disney – the rides, the characters, the parade, our incredible breakfast with five princesses, from watching Alyssa get selected to talk to Crush the Turtle to watching you and Colton drink around the world. Your ability to spot a Disney photographer from a mile away still astounds me and I even enjoyed watching you check out thousands of Disney ears before making the perfect selection. The amazing aquarium was a huge surprise and Alyssa getting to have a private conversation with Ariel was wonderful. Everything about Disney was perfect.

2 – Harry Potter – Walking into Diagon Alley felt like walking into the Harry Potter World and watching you all select your wands at Olivander’s was a lot of fun. The dragon on top of Gringott’s blowing fire was very cool and so was riding the Hogwart’s Express (twice!). I liked that everyone tried butter beer but my favourite part was watching you all use your wands to make real magic happen.

3 – Getting caricatures done in Legoland.

4 – Floating around the lazy river at the resort. One thousand times.

5 – Watching Keenan head to the stuffies in every single store and then carrying his favourites while the rest of us looked around.

6 – Seeing the grin on Chris and Colton’s faces after having ridden the VelociCoaster.

7 – How happy Colton was when we were able to find a Harbour Freight store for him.

I learned some important things on this trip. I learned that five bathrooms is the perfect number our family needs in order to get out of the house on time each day. I learned that Alyssa is terrified of water rides and that you will not hesitate to call your brother’s name at the top of your lungs when you see him from the top of the Dr. Seuss train (and Colton now knows to look UP when he hears his name!). I learned that when Alyssa says she will not spin the wheel to make us go faster in the middle of the teacup ride, she is totally planning on spinning the wheel. I learned that trying to eat everything in the rental house the day before we leave is trickier than we thought (pickles for breakfast, anyone?). I learned that Memory Maker, Genie Plus, and Lightening Lanes are worth every penny at Disney. But most importantly, I learned what a 4D movie is and that I should spend the rest of my life avoiding them.

Going home was bittersweet.

I can’t possibly be more thankful for this incredible trip and the time we spent together. We have memories that will last forever and looking back, there is not a single thing I would change. Every minute of every day was spent with the people I love more than anything in the world and there is nothing else I could ever ask for.

Love Mom

xoxo

Cassie Harvey RN

Posted on June 21, 2023 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

When I dropped you off on your first day of kindergarten, I struggled to hold back my tears. It wasn’t that I was nervous or scared for you – you were ready. They were for me. It was me who wasn’t ready for you to start this new adventure. I was sad that your baby and toddler years were behind us; time was moving so quickly.

And when I sat in the auditorium at your high school graduation, it was again tears of sadness that filled my eyes. Your school years had flown by, and they were good ones. Don’t get me wrong – I was excited for the next chapter of your life to begin but I wasn’t yet ready to leave this chapter behind.

On Friday, I sat in the Leon’s Centre in Kingston, listening as Canon in D played as the graduates took their seats. But this time, my tears had nothing to do with sadness. It was love and pride that streamed down my face. My heart felt like it would burst as I jumped up and down, waving my arms, and you finally found my face in the crowd. So many times over the years I offered support, listened whenever you needed an ear, and spoke words of encouragement – but I couldn’t work those night shifts for you…I couldn’t write those papers…I couldn’t attend those classes when you were too tired. You had to do it all.

And you did it.

It was not easy. It was never easy.

Right from the start of this degree, the hours were long, the assignments were many, and the stress was high. The break you would get in the summer months never seemed to be long enough for you to recover from the previous year, and you would be into the throngs of university life and hospital shifts once again.

But here I was, watching as your beautiful self stepped onto that stage, waved, and walked confidently across, while they announced your name. Everything had led up to this day and it was finally here.

You deserved every smile, every laugh, and every moment to shine.

And I was close by, as always, eyes shining brightly as I watched my little baby, all grown up now, taking her place in the world.

There was a moment in your third year when this dream seemed a little too far out of reach and I worried it would never come to be.

You were struggling. Everything in your life was overwhelming and stressful and you needed a break. A break to regroup so you could come back stronger. You applied for a temporary suspension from your degree program. You would work for the rest of the school year and restart your third year the following September. It was an incredibly hard decision to make, but the smartest one. You were making your health and wellbeing a priority.

Before officially being placed on a leave, you needed to meet with the Program Coordinator. During this zoom call, she told you she didn’t think you had what it takes to complete the RN degree and that you should drop down to the RPN program instead. She watched as you cried, taking in her suggestion.

You called me immediately after. You were still crying as you tried to handle the news from this professor who felt your dream was out of reach. We spoke for a while and then hung up.

I was in shock. And then I was angry.

I thought a teacher’s role was to give you the skills and support you needed to reach your dreams. I had never heard of a professional educator who would so blatantly steal the hope from a student who still wanted to try.

When you called me back a little while later, you told me you were considering leaving nursing behind and trying something new. This professor had broken your spirit and my heart broke as I listened to you consider different options outside of nursing.

You see, it was not only the compassion and empathy that you had shown your entire life that made me believe you would be an amazing nurse. It was that during the first two years of your degree program, the happiness and eagerness I heard in your voice whenever you would call happened more after your placements than it did after your days in the school.

You loved learning in the classroom, but it was on the hospital floor where you thrived.

School would end, but you would spend the rest of your career with your patients and if this is where you felt the most happiness – if this was where your skills shone – then this is where you needed to be.

That professor might have knocked you down, but you didn’t stay down.

You quickly decided she was wrong, and you returned to your nursing program with renewed vigor and determination. And from that point on, you crushed it.

When I arrived at the Pinning Ceremony on Friday afternoon, the professor whose name had haunted me for over two years was there and you pointed her out to me.

Since that awful zoom call, I had held anger in my heart toward this woman. Multiple times I had considered emailing her or driving to Kingston to ask what she was thinking – why in the world would she suggest you drop out of a program you were so passionate about, when clearly you had the skills to succeed. I prayed often about it, trusting that God would lead me to the path I needed to take to resolve this issue within my heart.

The ceremony started and as I watched her take her seat from across the room, God spoke to my heart. The words Forgive her filled my mind and my anger immediately dissolved. Instead, I felt thankful.

I had always known you were strong. You constantly surprise me with your determination, resilience, and will. But I hadn’t realized the depth of your strength, or the confidence your heart holds. Your sense of self is powerful, and it took a moment of weakness for you to be given the chance to show us all what you are truly made of.

You walked across a second stage that day, at your pinning ceremony, and met your good friend Olivia in the middle as she placed your nursing pin on you – your badge of honour as you enter this incredible profession. And then you walked over to shake that same professor’s hand and you let her know you had passed the NCLEX-RN exam two days earlier. Not only did you graduate on Friday with a Bachelor of Science in Nursing degree, but you did so as a Registered Nurse. I watched as she congratulated you with a huge smile, most likely having completely forgotten that call years earlier that had the potential to alter your future forever.

But we remember. We will always remember.

So yes, I cried again at the pinning ceremony because when there’s too much love and pride inside you, it can’t help but spill over.

I wrote you a poem when you were only three years old and the last verse of it seems especially fitting now:

“My life was so dark, and I just never knew,

What you would bring to it, what you could do.

Underestimate you, I did, my sweet little girl,

You came into my life…and you lit up my world.”

I love you so much, sweetheart.

Love Mom

xoxo

Remembering Grandma

Posted on August 15, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Today marks the anniversary of the day Grandma passed away. Eight years. It’s still hard to believe she is no longer with us, but even more remarkable is that so many years have now passed. They say when someone significant in your life dies, time seems to separate into two parts – the years before and the years after. This is even more easily captured for us since Alyssa was born just 4 days after Grandma passed away. So, if an event had Alyssa in it, then we know it didn’t have Grandma.

This is a hard realization for many reasons.

When Grandma found out I was pregnant with Alyssa, she was mad. And I mean, mad. Anyone who knew Grandma knew she wasn’t shy about sharing her opinions. Or about sharing the fact that she always knew best. You don’t know what you should be doing? Ask Grandma, she’ll tell you in a heartbeat. In fact, normally, you didn’t even need to ask.

She had many valid reasons for thinking I shouldn’t have another child at that time – I mean, after all, I was 37 years old and there would be fourteen years between Colton and this new baby. But God had put it on my heart that I had love to spare, and one thing I have always done (much to Grandma’s dismay, usually) was follow my heart.

The fact that she was mad didn’t bother me all that much. I mean, I didn’t like it, she lived in the granny suite we had set up for her in our house, so I saw her disapproving look a lot, but I knew she’d get over it. After all, she had been upset both other times I’d announced I was pregnant.

When I shared the news that I was pregnant with my first baby, she thought I was too young. The fact that I was already married and had graduated college didn’t seem to matter – I was twenty-one years old, which made her a grandmother at 43. It didn’t take her long to come around though and before I knew it, she was shopping like her life depended on it and showering us with gifts. She was already on her way to becoming the most devoted grandmother ever.

Three months before Cassie was born, Grandma sold her house and moved to an apartment that was only fifteen minutes from my house, rather than the hour away she was before. And before Colton was born, she bought a house on my road. I pushed the double stroller down that gravel road to visit her many times.

She called multiple times each day and never let more than a couple of days go by between visits. She loved to keep Cassie and Colton overnight and as I’d find out later, they would be treated to “coffee” with her in the morning. Apparently, this was a tiny smidgen of coffee with a healthy dose of milk and sugar. Looking back, I realize all she had at her house to play with was this ridiculously small grocery bag that contained a couple of toys. They were pulled out of the closet at almost every visit and never played with. Toys weren’t needed when Cassie and Colton had her undivided attention. Cassie would share stories about her friends and Colton would talk about how he couldn’t wait until he was old enough to drive, and they’d often discuss how badly he wanted to be taller than his older sister.

When I found out I was pregnant with Colton, Grandma wasn’t happy again. Her best friend had spaced her children out five years apart so that one would be in school before the other was born, and Grandma had decided that was a great idea. I didn’t like it. I wanted my children to be close enough in age to play together. Whether it was really that, or just the fact that she wasn’t consulted in the decision, I’ll never know.

Either way, she never stayed mad for long as her love for her grandchildren was much too strong. And even though she eventually came around when I was pregnant with Alyssa, I knew she still thought I had made a bad decision. I tried not to dwell on it. In a few short months, she would be holding her newest grandchild and I knew her heart would be lost all over again, and any thought that this pregnancy was a bad idea would be forgotten. I could be patient. I’d been there before, and I could wait for this moment.

Unfortunately, that moment never came.

It was a Thursday morning when Grandma called an ambulance because the pain in her back had become unbearable and she was unable to walk. I quickly rescheduled my day, so I didn’t have to work, and brought Cassie with me to the emergency room. We stayed with Grandma for a while, and then left to return home to collect a few of her things, as she was being admitted. That afternoon, I sat on the end of her hospital bed while a nurse sat next to her with a computer, asking questions and collecting a full medical history.

The nurse asked me how far along I was, and when I replied, “Nine months” Grandma and I laughed at the nurse’s shocked expression. I was feeling good. I was due in five days. I was sure that Grandma would be released in a day or two, and I couldn’t wait to share this baby with her.

As it was, having Grandma live in an apartment below our house had been amazing. We each had our separate spaces, but it was so simple to bring my coffee downstairs in the morning once I heard her up and about. And she was well known for being a tiny person who somehow walked like an elephant, so I always knew when she was up. I ran a daycare out of my home at that time, and most mornings I would be in the backyard with the kids and Grandma would come out and sit next to me. We would chat as we watched the little ones play. When Cassie and Colton got home from school, they would run to share the details of their day with Grandma. She was always ready to listen to them for as long as they wanted to talk.

Envisioning a new baby in our house was easy. I could picture myself bringing the baby down with me in the morning, so we could both cuddle and adore her as we drank our coffee. I pictured myself giving the baby a bath in the evening, putting some adorable little sleepers on her, and then bringing her down for bedtime kisses. Instead of waiting for Grandma to drive to our house, I could simply bring the baby to her, anytime she wanted. And that was if she wasn’t already upstairs at our house, which seemed more likely.

It was going to be perfect.

The call from the hospital at 7am the next morning surprised me. She had had a bad night, her blood pressure had dropped to almost nothing and they were not hopeful she would wake up. I sat next to her bed, holding her hand, as the dreams I’d been hanging on to for the last nine months slowly fizzled away.

Before noon, she was gone.

Eight years. Eight years without the mother who loved me more than anything, even if she claimed I drove her crazy sometimes – usually when we didn’t agree on something I’d decided to do, like the time she found out I’d signed up for the Polar Bear Plunge – but that’s a story for another day.

Before heading out to my high school formal.

I spent a lot of time wishing she could have held Alyssa just once – that my dream of seeing her fall in love with her newest granddaughter would have been fulfilled. But even more than that, after eight years, I’m just sad that you and Alyssa never got to experience her love. Cassie and Colton were spoiled with her devotion, and this is something you and Alyssa will never know. Now, I realize you don’t yearn for what you never had, but I do. I know how absolutely in love she would have been with the two of you. My heart aches for what you don’t even know you’re missing.

You and Alyssa ask about her often, which makes me happy. I love sharing stories about Grandma, and Cassie and Colton are quick to jump in and share their memories too. She’s still very much a part of our lives, even if she’s no longer here with us.

Grandma would have loved so much to see her older grandchildren all grown up, and she would have loved to spoil the little ones.

If I could talk to her just one more time, I’d thank her for the love and devotion she showered on us for so many years. I’d talk for hours about all of you, and she’d listen eagerly to everything I said, interrupting me only once, to find out if her adorable grandson got his wish.

Yes, I’d tell her happily, Colton got way taller than Cassie.

Love Mommy

xoxo

Mother’s Day 2022

Posted on August 2, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Even as I write this, it seems unbelievable – this year was my twenty-fourth Mother’s Day. And I was lucky enough to spend it with all four of you.

I remember a Mother’s Day brunch I attended when I was pregnant with Cassie. It was at Angelo’s restaurant just outside of Smiths Falls, and I was there to celebrate the incredible mothers in my life – my grandma, my mom, Aunt Nancy and Aunt Mary. I remember the soft, green stretchy dress I wore and as I rubbed a hand over my growing belly, I realized that from the next year on, I would be a mother as well. I couldn’t wait.

This Mother’s Day, we went to brunch at Michael’s Table in Perth, and of course the time was spent with much laughter, some good-natured ribbing and the re-telling of many favourite stories.

Cassie, having been at a well-deserved end-of-the nursing school year party the night before, wasn’t feeling her absolute best, and while we poked fun at her for this, Keenan quickly piped up with “Yeah, Cassie, you make the worst choices!” Of course, ironically, this kid was spinning his very-full chocolate milk in the little plastic cup – by the straw. Everyone lunged forward to right the cup before his choice turned out to be worse than Cassie’s.

Alyssa, who had spent the day before perfecting a card trick, entertained with that while we waited for our meals. Alyssa looked so proud of herself when she flipped over a card at the end and Cassie exclaimed “That’s my card!”

The keychain Keenan made me for Mother’s Day

We took a few pictures after brunch, before Cassie and Jarred headed to his mom’s and you went off to hang out with friends. Pics that were not easy to get with the silliness that always happens, but I couldn’t care less – the fact that I have four amazing children who are all best friends, and who laugh and love so fully is the greatest gift I could ever get for Mother’s Day.

You see, I believe that each one of you can face every challenge in your life with confidence and optimism and that the ability to pick yourself back up again is directly related to the place of love, reliability, and steadfastness to which you know you can always return. It grounds you when life gets out of sorts. It’s the safety net for every time you fall. Take those chances on your dreams because when it comes down to it, you know there will always be a place you can return, a place where people will greet you at the door with open arms, because your worth is not determined by the successes you achieve, but by the person we know you are. A home where no matter what, you belong. But I didn’t create this home by myself. And I believe it is only because of the incredible love and support that Chris gives to me every day, that I am able to then make our home one of happiness.

Colton – you are a man of integrity, of kindness, and wholesomeness. You are a good person – through and through. The integrity you show every day, the way you stop to help people in need – these are the reasons I am so very proud of you.

The world can be a scary place, and each day sometimes feels more scarier than the last, but you still see the good – because you are the good. You still see the possibilities for kindness – because you create that kindness.

And that safety net we call home is there because God put the most unlikely person in my path and then showed me over and over again that he was who my heart belonged to.

When Chris and I met, we were instantly drawn to each other, however it became apparent very quickly that we came from different worlds. We’d had drastically different upbringings that had each coloured our views and caused our very different expectations for life. I mean, come on, a metalhead and a country girl? How could that ever work? But there was something there that was impossible to ignore. And the more time we spent getting to know each other, the more we found we had in common. We understood our pasts and what had brought us to where we were, and we understood that what we felt was more than just feelings that would fade in time. We knew we had the real thing.

I always believed that Alyssa was born because God knew there was no way I could have handled losing Grandma without having some kind of miracle to take her place. Alyssa was truly a beacon of hope when I went through the darkest days of my life. But hindsight being the way it is, I can see now that it wasn’t only Alyssa God gave to me. There were a million ways that Chris and I could have never met. We weren’t from the same town, we didn’t know any of the same people…the fact that our paths crossed at all was only by God’s intervention. And every time we thought we were too different to be together, God showed us the ways we weren’t. He showed us that this relationship was exactly what we both needed.

And as we stood in front of family and friends and professed our love for each other, it turned out that we weren’t just buying dinner for 100 of our closest friends, we were creating that rock solid foundation that you and your sisters and brother can always depend on.

My life has become infinitely better since I met Chris. Successes come more easily, dreams become realities more often and every day life became this incredible thing where I looked forward to waking up each day.

And it’s because love is the only real thing in this world.

Without out, everything is hard. With it, we are unstoppable.

So, my advice, sweetheart, is to always value love the most, because once you have that, everything else is easy.

Love Mom

xoxo

My Love of Church

Posted on March 19, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

Church has been a part of my life since I was born.

I was baptized when I was one month old, in St. John’s Anglican Church in Merrickville, I think because Grandpa Barber’s family was Anglican. Judging from the sheer amount of pictures, the large number of family in attendance, the announcement in the local newspaper, and the journaling Grandma did about it – it was a pretty big deal. 😊

Luckily, Grandma was very consistent with journaling when I was little, so I found a few notes about Church, that back-up my memories from that time.

I love reading Grandma’s thoughts and seeing her familiar handwriting.

Sometime when I was around seven years old, I remember going to the Anglican Church on Sundays. Kids were only in the Church for the first part of the Mass and then we headed downstairs for Sunday School. I loved this. There were tons of kids, and we always ended the class by playing games (my favourite was 7-Up) until our parents came to get us after Mass. I’m pretty sure they didn’t hurry downstairs. 😊

When I was ten years old, Grandma decided she wanted us to go to the Catholic Church instead, since that was the Church her family belonged to. I remember Great Grandma being very happy about this. Grandma arranged for us to meet the priest, Father Brian Hart, and I remember being extremely nervous, sitting in his living room, while he told us about Jesus and how happy he was that we would be coming to Mass. I was excited.

You see, I’ve always loved Church.

Now, I don’t think everyone needs to go to Church, and I’m a firm believer that you can have a very close relationship with Christ without ever stepping foot in the Church. I’ve also seen people who attend every mass but who clearly go about their daily life ignoring Jesus’ teachings, as if showing up on Sunday will earn them the points they need to get into heaven. It goes both ways.

But for me, Church is synonymous with love.

I have wonderful memories of sitting in the pews of the Catholic Church for the first time with Grandma and Aunt Melissa, brand new missals in our hands as we tried to follow along with the standing, sitting, kneeling, then standing again rituals, flipping from the section of today’s mass to the pages of prayers, and then to the Eucharist. It was cause for celebration when we could find the right pages to follow along for an entire mass.

I remember joining the adult Choir when I was only twelve years old and loving Church even more as I sang from the balcony. I even attended the Thursday night choir practices at the home of Gerry Gray.

I remember standing in our kitchen in Merrickville, memorizing, and then reciting the necessary prayers in order to make my First Communion and then later my Confirmation. The importance of these events wasn’t lost on me as we shopped for the perfect dress, hat, tights, shoes, and necklace. The cake was ordered, and our entire family was invited. I had attended all of my catechism classes and knew my prayers by heart.

I then later put those same preparations into Baptisms, First Communions and Confirmations for Cassie and Colton, with Grandma by my side. Years were spent attending mass, going through the ritual of sitting in the same seat, kneeling down to pray and then sitting back in the seat and reaching for the hymn book to see if any of my favourite hymns had been selected for that Sunday’s mass and then chatting with Grandma as we waited for Mass to start.

It was in these same seats that I prayed diligently every week for Aunt Melissa to be blessed with a baby.

I stopped going to Mass after Grandma passed away. Not because there was any lapse in my faith, if anything, I leaned on God more during that time than I ever had before. But I had rarely sat in those long wooden seats without Grandma by my side. The grief I felt during mass was so incredibly strong that I just couldn’t take it.

But leaving the Church was not an option for me. I couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was missing. St. John’s Catholic Church in Perth still held too many recent memories, so I tried the Free Methodist Church in Smiths Falls, where Aunt Melissa was attending because of their amazing kid’s program. The people in this Church were the friendliest people I’d ever met and incredibly supportive, however, it just didn’t feel like it was what I needed. They sang a lot of songs, which I loved, but they were not the same hymns I’d grown up singing, knew so well, and missed so much. I also missed the familiar Eucharist and yes, even the sitting, standing, kneeling, and then standing again routine.

It was the Catholic Church I needed, and I found my place again at St. Francis de Sales in Smiths Falls. Daddy and I decided this would be best since Alyssa would be attending St. Francis school eventually and I loved when Cassie and Colton attended the Church in Perth that was linked to their school.

So it was in St. Francis that I stood in my seat, thanking God for the blessing of you, Keenan, growing inside me, while I soaked in the familiar hymns, celebrated the well-known Mass and closed my eyes and remembered Grandma, knowing she would be happy to see that I’d found my way back again.

Being in Church makes me feel peaceful and the familiar words of the Mass make me feel whole.

And I hope one day, if you are ever feeling lost and you need a reminder of who you are and who loves you most, that you will also feel comforted by walking through the tall, heavy, wooden doors, finding a seat and remembering the many times we sat, cuddled together, listening to the Word of God.

Love Mom

xoxo

Just a Girl and her Dog

Posted on February 19, 2022February 19, 2022 by dearchild2019

Dear Child,

It has become a bit of a running joke that every time you come home to visit, you forget something. We never know what it might be, or where we’ll find it, but it’s something every time. It could be a phone charger (plugged in somewhere inconspicuously), or your lip balm… one time it was your dog’s bowls. This time it was your pillows.

Your boyfriend had already made plans to come back to Perth the next weekend, to meet up with friends at the shop in Balderson to help swap an engine in somebody’s vehicle. Since your new semester hadn’t started yet, this worked out perfectly. You would go too, and then on the way back to Kingston, you would swing by and grab your pillows.

So now, I was lying in bed, listening for the front door to open.

Finally, I texted you, wanting to confirm that you had your house key and to hopefully get a narrowed down time of when you might arrive.

The cell service isn’t great out in Balderson so when you didn’t reply to my text, I tried calling. No answer. Then I waited. Then I texted again.

At midnight, you texted me back to say you were still there. I replied, telling you where I’d put your pillows. I tried to fall back to sleep.

But at 1:30am, you called me.

It’s never a good thing when my cell phone rings in the middle of the night, so I wasn’t surprised to hear the anxiety in your voice on the other end.

Andie, your three-year-old chocolate lab, who had spent the day in the shop with you, had licked up some slush containing a bit of antifreeze from the floor of the shop and wasn’t acting like herself.

The pillows were long forgotten – you were heading straight to the emergency vet in Kingston. They’d instructed you to call the Animal Poison Control Center on your way. We spoke and texted for the duration of the drive, as you sat in the backseat of Jarred’s car, with your precious bean asleep across your lap. At almost 3:30am, you were at the vet and Andie had been taken inside.

The prognosis wasn’t great. They could do bloodwork and urinalysis, but they didn’t have the test needed to check her ethanol levels. They said she looked pretty good at the moment but that with ethanol glycol poisoning, there is a recovery period before kidney failure.

All we could do now was pray.

Before you got Andie, you had been wanting a puppy for a while. You’d bring it up often, and we’d discuss it, and even though you didn’t live at home anymore, you seemed to take my opinion into consideration as I’d explain why it just wasn’t the right time yet.

But then one day, after you’d broken up with your boyfriend, and moved into a calmer household with just two other girls, you brought it up again. You were in nursing school and your life was busy, but I just felt like you needed this. You needed a little somebody to love and take care of. God put it on my heart that this was the right time.

You called me and this time when you said ‘I’m getting a puppy’, I said, “Good.”

Andie immediately became your shadow, your side-kick, your bestest friend. And for the next three years, she became a constant in all of our lives with her adorable little face and calm demeanor. Everyone who meets her, loves her.

And now this incident, this one small accidental moment in time, was threatening her life.

I’m old enough now to have seen the life span of many pets and with that, comes an understanding that sometimes things happen – terrible things – but that’s life.

But this wasn’t happening to my dog, it was happening to yours. And while the adult in me understands that pets don’t live forever, the mom in me was saying “Let’s do everything we can.”

The vet in Kingston knew they didn’t have the equipment or tests required to provide the care that Andie needed so they called around and found an opening at the University of Guelph Veterinary College– they would hold a spot for Andie, provided you could commit to driving her there immediately. The Kingston Vet said if you couldn’t take Andie to Guelph, then they would do the best they could…and it might be enough…but there was a chance it wouldn’t be.

There wasn’t a doubt in our mind that Andie was going to Guelph – figuring out the logistics was the next step. You were on the break between your semesters, luckily, and Jarred was able to get a few days off work. A hotel room was booked for the night, and you picked Andie up at the vet in Kingston and started the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Guelph.

I received countless texts, videos and phone calls over the next couple of days while I waited at home, praying for this adorable little sweetheart who, from the moment you first held her in your arms three years ago, had become the most important part of your life.

Her creatinine levels continued to rise, as we became more panicked with every repeated test, until finally they levelled out, and then even dropped a bit. We began to relax as we realized she might make it through this after all – although we were still cautioned about the possibility of permanent kidney damage.

After two days in Guelph, Andie was cleared to go home. Armed with a handful of meds and instructions for follow up appointments in Kingston to continue to monitor her creatinine levels, you and Jarred headed back, with a very happy puppy.

You have no idea how much of your heart is walking around outside of your body, until something threatens its existence. Life just wouldn’t be the same without those sad eyes, melting our hearts every day.

I’m so happy that now, after a month of being on a special renal diet, Andie’s creatinine levels are almost back to normal. And except for her little shaved belly and legs, she doesn’t look any worse for what she went through.

We prayed for more time with this little sweetie, and God answered our prayers.

And the shop in Balderson now has a sign hanging on its door that clearly states: No Dogs Allowed.

Love Mom

xoxo