A Hallmark Moment Exposed

I noticed Carter's shoulders seemed a little broader and he hauled 15 bags of junk up from the basement so that we could take it to Goodwill. I spent the day feeling like a death camp warden, forcing stuffies into garbage bags, something that will haunt me for a long time, those big, cute plastic eyes peering up at me so that I had to place them into the bag face down (apparently I have an issue: I don't do well with pinatas that have eyes either).

Even as his shoulders get broader and he becomes useful, its still there, in a drawing that he hands me as I return from an evening out with friends. Maybe I was annoyed because he and his sister 'forgot' to clean up the kitchen and I may have slammed around throwing away dried up chicken bits while he dipped around me putting away glasses from the dishwasher in apology. I put the drawing down without looking at it, only finding it the next morning, sad that I hadn't hugged him when he handed it to me. Its never neat and tidy like in the movies, its never a Hallmark moment.

Happy Birthday Arron

Its funny as time passes, it seems less and less necessary to celebrate the big events, such as Arron's birthday. Or maybe I should say, it seems less necessary to celebrate outwardly, the big events. Arron had the misfortune of having a birthday 3 days before Christmas. He always complained, as most Christmas babies do, that the birthday was always a non-event, swallowed up in the belly of Santa.

The truth was, that neither of us were ever that great at celebrations. Too much pressure. A simple dinner out, a cuddle, a single rose, a coupon for a back rub. Maybe that's what makes the day so awkward. I can't very well give him a back rub.

For the kids, its even harder. The date, no matter how much warning I give them, still doesn't mean much. And they are at a greater loss than I with how to celebrate. When I mention it, the usual reply is "are we gonna have cake?" which is funny, because none of really like cake all that much.

I have some bulbs I got at one of Carter's school's fundraisers. If it stops dumping with rain, perhaps we will plant them, so that Arron can bloom again in the spring, all shades of fushia and lavender. He would have appreciated the Latin names: Ixiolirion Tartaricum and Allium Aflatunense.

I know its weird, but sometimes I still read his horoscope. Here is what it said for today:

Making discoveries

This is an excellent day for engaging in new activities and for making discoveries about yourself and the world around you. Your life now has an exciting quality that is not always present. Take advantage of this excitement to learn about yourself in ways that are not usually possible. Your heightened perception of your world will help you make changes with a complete understanding of how the various parts of your life are interrelated. This is a good influence for studying any discipline that can reveal new and stimulating aspects of the universe. It favors the study of science, technical disciplines, astrology or other branches of the occult. You want to broaden your understanding, and the more exciting your study, the more actively you will pursue it.

Excitement, heightened perception, stimulating. Really, you couldn't ask for more on a birthday.

The Boys Are Back

As I reflect on what would have been my 19th wedding anniversary, I continue to wonder, What if? Of course it's impossible to imagine and yet, I still can in a way. Tonight we might have sat in a quiet restaurant somewhere nibbling sushi, or maybe we would now share in our kid's new foodie delights. Whatever, it would have been a quiet affair.

I had a taste last night of what Arron's life might have been like if the tables had been turned, had been me in the Trade Center that day. I was invited to a special viewing of the movie The Boys Are Back with (yum) Clive Owen. Its about a father who loses his wife to cancer and is left to raise their 6-year old son and eventually his 15 (or so)-year old son from a previous marriage. Cinematically (quite possibly a new word made up for my debut as a movie reviewer) it was beautiful. Set in the rolling wine country of Australia with painterly views of ocean slashed with undulating grasslands and meticulous rows of vines, the views created a mood in keeping with the subject matter. Nature charging forth in its never-ending cycles.

The various universalities of widow-dom (where are all these new words coming from?) were well represented: the anger, the drinking, the lack of housework, the comatose/angry kids, the wild abandon of routine, the doubting mother-in-law, the almost-love interest, the stressful job. My only gripe was that all this was displayed during a few short weeks of the father's grief process. But that's movies for you.

I was astounded at the young boy's (Artie) ability to show the range of emotion required for the role. He managed to capture the 6 year old's desire to pretend nothing was wrong, and then show great insight, extreme, irrational anger, finally falling apart completely by lying in a catatonic state on the floor.

Oddly, the storyline that touched me more, was that of the older son, Harry who had essentially been abandoned by his father (at the same age as Artie). It was touching to watch him deal with the loss of his parent, as though his loss was fresh. He harboured the same anger as Artie, and they seemed to bond by virtue of having lost a parent at a young age.

Of course the movie ends on a relatively happy note, presumably within the same year of the wife's death, which any bereaved parent knows is a little far-fetched, but I was happy to see a film that dealt with loss head on, and handled it with the delicacy and intricacy that loss seems to warrant.

I had stuffed my purse with tissues for this one, but surprisingly didn't use them. The film was infused with humour, mostly at the hands of young Artie, but also in the sheer abandon that Clive Owen's character learns to offset the difficult moments. It may be that I am hardened to watching others undertake their own losses, or because the main character was a man and thus was slightly removed from my own experience, but I was glad that somehow the movie was more poignant and humourous than outright sad.

I never thought I would find pleasure at a movie about loss, but strangely its good to be reminded once in a while that we are not alone. And maybe not even crazy.

A Year of Magical Thinking

I was a huge fan of Joan Didion's book, A Year of Magical Thinking, a book that inspired me a great deal as I was writing my own. When some people in my group at The Healing Center decided to go (after much discussion over how difficult it may or may not be), I joined along.

The book is a quirky array of facts around heart attacks and hospitals, consummate with Ms. Didion's journalistic style. It is littered with her often alarmingly snobby views. But she manages to capture that odd numbness that happens post-loss, the automatic motions, the "making arrangements" kind of behaviour that makes people marvel at how "strong" one is. Her narrator voice is almost monotone, something she is criticized for. One of my favorite lines in her book is when a social worker at the hospital where her husband has arrive DOA, describes her to his colleague as being a "cool customer." I loved how that line so perfectly captured the outsider's view of someone in shock after the sudden loss of a loved one. But some of that monotone is simply her style.

It was interesting hearing the continuation of the story where the book left off, learning the circumstances of her daughter Quintana's death, (she died after the book was published). It was a hint that "magical thinking" can last a hell of a lot longer than a year. And the play certainly captured all the important points, and even managed to explore some of the subtle, nuanced connections she makes throughout the book, such as the idea of "The vortex" that she tries to escape as she drives around LA, trying to make detours in order to avoid all the places that her family had lived and been happy, trying to avoid memories.

I have to admit though that I was a little disappointed. Perhaps it was the actress, who peppered her lines with "uh" just a little too frequently, making it clear that perhaps she didn't know her lines as well as she ought to have. (Granted, I can't imagine having to memorize 90 minutes worth of lines). She also seemed to infuse much more meaning into the lines through inflections in her voice than the "cool cucumber" monotone I had imagined.

Somehow the power of loss didn't come through as well in the play as it had in the book. And perhaps I had forgotten this about the book, but Didion seems to find no real magic in her experience, just pain. Just loss. And to me, that's a shame.

10 Things I Love About September 11th

I know how weird that must sound, to love anything about September 11th, but here goes:

On this day:
1. I am comforted in knowing that I will hear from friends and family from far and wide and know they are thinking about me, Arron and the kids.
2. I am reminded of Arron in all his Fabbo-ness*. It keeps the good memories alive.
3. I am grateful for all that I/we have.
4. I can feel Arron's pride in his children.
5. Everyone remembers that sense of community that we all felt in the days following that sad day with smiles and small kindnesses.
6. I reflect on new ways to "pay it forward"
7. Its usually sunny with a bright blue sky, a hint of fall in the air.
8. TV viewing is banned in our house
9. I often do an interview or two where I can talk about making "lemonade" from grief and loss
10. I notice the little things

*A small reminder of Arron's Fabbo-ness:

Imagining the Unimaginable at Soaring Spirits

If you ever took the time to imagine a widow's conference (ok, something you may not do all that often), you might picture a bunch of gray-haired ladies clutching tissues and smelling salts, weeping incessantly. You probably would not picture a whole bunch of crazy ladies at a pops-in-the-park concert getting shushed and then ignoring the shushes by jumping up in seats, screaming, dancing and waving their arms wildly to the music, while the gray-haireds sat demurely, turning once in a while to cluck their disgust. Michele, the organizer got a nasty email deriding the behaviour of her widows. She was so proud! She inspired us first thing with her impassioned speech imploring us to "imagine the unimaginable," teaching us that unimaginable is not the same as impossible. A good lesson to remember, as it is something we have all lived -- the unimaginable.

Unimaginable was the strength, bravery, heroism and everything in between that pervaded the spirit of the day. Such an aliveness you never did see. And the characters: A wonderful author, Gail Graham whose book, Sea Changes I can't wait to read. She wore a pair of gigantic black eye glasses and was accompanied by a sweet white terrier. Not something you see every day. Sitting side by side at the book signing table, I met Jennifer Silvera another widow with young children, and also an author. We bought and signed each other's books. (The only one I signed alas). I look forward to reading her perspective. I got a kick out of Joy, the founder of The Centering Corporation, the only traveling bookstore that specializes in Grief books (a great resource) and her therapy dog, Bernard, a huge Newfoundlander. Another great resource is the brain-child of Anne-Marie, a lovely woman who founded the website Widow-speak, a resource for widows worldwide. There was a Christian songstress, a contingent of women from Singapore, and a widow from Iraq who waited a month for a visa in order to come, among many others.

And then there are all my new friends. Its an amazing experience to have virtual friends become real. Through their blogs its possible to know people like dear friends, so meeting them in the flesh involves immediate hugs, many shared margaritas and a lot of laughter. Candace was the glue who put us all together in the first place. I look forward to visits with her, as we live only 3 hours apart. Matt, our accidentally famous blogger and lone male attendee had us all cracking up swearing like a sailor about reverse mullets, Jessica Simpson, and in shared texts and winks during dinner. Nor would he let us buy one drink, the scoundrel. Mel and I kept each other sane during a somewhat strange session on dating and a post-session mad dash to Starbucks to make up for a lack of breakfast. I felt a special kinship with Jackie, a fellow Canadian from Nanaimo, who knows my first cousin and has a daughter named Olivia. Strange small world. We now know way too much about one another, in such a good way. And as much as I wanted to be green with envy, I adored Marian, a fellow 9/11 compatriot and author who had us all cracking up at dinner with her ill-fated dating exploits. We shared many secret smiles during her authors panel when the 9/11 questions came up. It felt like we had known each other for years.

Sadly, Kath from the Seattle Healing Center sprained her ankle and was unable to come, but the Healing Center was well represented by three of us. I wished Kath could have met Rachel, director of the Heartlight Foundation, a similar organization (and potential sister organization??) in Denver. Hopefully we can keep in touch and trade ideas.

Carter and I managed to find some fun in San Diego at Sea World (highlight was winning a huge stuffed Cartman of South Park. I know, I know, its time to figure out the V-chip) and while I was conferencing, he and sitter Katie boogie boarded, went to In-and-Out Burger (another highlight), ate frozen yogurt and crab (albeit not at the same time). I didn't think it was possible for him to be with a sitter for 14 hours without checking in with me once. Leaps and bounds Little Mr. Big Man, leaps and bounds.

Its slightly lonely coming home to such a quiet house, because I already miss my much-expanded circle of friends, something unimagined 3 short days ago.

Can't wait till next year!

Post Traumatic Growth

The Bereaved Families of Ontario conference in Waterloo was amazing, inspiring, validating, and I am so glad I made the trip. Its a difficult line to walk, as someone who is overcoming learning to incorporate grief into her life. Grief was not something I wanted to ever become an expert on, and yet here I am. I guess that's what happens when you write a book on grief! After I spoke the first time on Tuesday night, so many people came to me to have their books signed and from each one, I got a story of loss. A mother losing a child, a grandparent losing a grandchild, a mother losing her husband. Many had already read my book, and told me the parts that had them nodding, so happy to have someone validating their feelings. I found myself saying over and over again, "you are why I wrote the book." And they were. The next day, I was the first of several speakers, all talking about the toll grief takes on families. Children, grandparents, parents. But overall, the theme that kept coming up, either on purpose or unwittingly, had to do with the positives that come from grief. Marny Williams who put the conference together did a phenomenal job in linking the speakers in such a way that as a group, we all came together as a cohesive whole. My aha moment came at the end of the day when one of the speakers, Susan Cadell a professor of Social work at Wilfred Laurier, spoke about "Post Traumatic Growth." Its not a new notion, but it was the first time I have heard the term and it seemed to make so much sense. She talked about the 5 areas associated with it: Personal Strength Relationship to Others New Possibilities Spiritual Change Appreciation of Life And oddly, or really, not so oddly, all of the talks given throughout the day touched in some way on all of these areas. I had talked of my struggles with kids, my family, the physical debilitation of grief and subsequent spiritual awakening, and ended on how I found the silver lining in my renewed "appreciation of life." Carol Poduch, a mother who lost her 9 year old daughter in a tragic accident, and who has also written a book, Shared Moments, beautifully illustrated each of the areas of Post Traumatic Growth with stories of her daughter and the strength she found in her marriage, in handling her grief, and in her renewed vigor as a result of her loss. I think I am learning to embrace the plurality of my role. Widow, mother, griever, sympathizer, single mom, daughter, friend and seeing how really lucky I have been to be given such a massive wake up call, and I mean that in the best spiritual sense. In that room, I certainly didn't feel in any way special, just privileged to be with such an inspiring group of people who are all exceptional in the way they have embraced the gift of loss.

Happy Birthday Arron

You would have been 47 today. I saw a little bird outside my window this morning flitting around in the deep snow that is blanketing Seattle today and thought of you. I know you would have been dragging Carter and Olivia out of bed this morning to go and play in it with you, building snowmen, sled ramps, sliding down the steep streets hooting your head off. You would smack them both in the bum with snowballs and laugh when they nailed you back. Jill told me about the monarch butterfly that Caelin found out of nowhere and put on the Christmas tree. That was a nice touch. I love how you find these little ways of reminding us of you. I probably should be doing something more to mark the day, but you know as well as I do that you are not forgotten. You were always content to downplay the birthdays anyway (probably so you didn't have to buy presents!) A Carvel ice cream cake doesn't make you any more alive, even to the kids whose memory of you is mini mouse pancakes and farts. Instead I keep you alive for them in the little stories I tell of you. How I stepped on your foot two seconds after you told me not to when you were showing me that cool spider even though you had 10 stitches in your foot from stepping on glass at the bottom of the lake, or how you always took a picture of yourself with your favorite haircut to Supercuts so they would get it right. Both Carter and Olivia now follow suit. I thought of you yesterday as I was earning some serious mommy points with Olivia by taking her downtown through the deep snow (did you laugh at the chains on my Prius?) so the fancy salon could fix the bad haircut she had received the day before. You had one of those once and wore a hat for a month. Olivia cried and so I drove through the blizzard and they fixed her hair and I bought her a crepe and there you were. Crepes with lemon, driving like a maniac through the snow, laughing all the way. Happy Birthday Arron. You remind us of you every day in your little ways. Love, Lemonbird

Spinning with Kudos

Its been a while since I have posted. Somehow life keeps going too fast. Beginning today with my very first blog review at Crash Course Widow, there will be a series of reviews of my book. You can see the list at TLC Book Tours. They will be running through the end of December. I am looking forward to these reviews as they will be written by people who are either widows, single mothers or by people who simply enjoy reading which in my mind will make them a little more real than the journalistic type of reviews that I have received so far. My first review has proved to be just that -- honest and straightforward, not gushing, but appreciative. For me, the reward of writing the book is in how it resonates with others, and in how it may help them through a tiny piece of their grief, no matter how small. This is what makes the "blog tour" so meaningful for me. I have also received a couple of other kudos in the past couple of weeks. Alchemy of Loss has been "longlisted" for the BC National Award for Canadian Non-Fiction, the biggest non-fiction literary prize in Canada. The shortlist will be announced this month. It feels a little like the Oscars and I can't resist the temptation to utter the cliché "I am just thrilled to be nominated," although that is truly my sentiment. As if that wasn't enough, yesterday Alchemy was listed in the Globe and Mail under the Best 100 of 2008. My head is spinning.

After Happily Ever After

I would like to write another book, but I am having a problem finding a topic. At my bravest, I would write about finding love after loss and all its perils. It would mean baring more than just my soul (and I am not sure how naked on the page I really want to be), and I worry that much about love and dating has already been told by others. I guess I question my unique experience. I question the universality of my experience. Finding love again has been fraught with confusion, missteps, poor decisions and no real happy endings. Perhaps that is the story.Having written already about the bright side of loss and grief, I wonder if I am prepared to delve into the netherworld of dating. And how to protect the privacy of those who have dared to love me? My second idea is to write a sequel to my first book. The move to Seattle, writing the book, etc. In trying to figure out this sequel for myself I keep staggering into the mental block of whether or not this story is compelling enough to sell. Perhaps only my tragedy was. Now that I have been plopped back into a routine daily life, I wonder what it is I have to offer to the world. It seems possible that the highs and lows of tragedy are in themselves addicting. No one wants to hear the story after “happily ever after”... Hiho.