Tag Archives: gratitude

And Then It Happens

We were sitting in the waiting room of the IWK Heart Centre when it happened.

I was looking around the room with a head full of thoughts. The play toys all seemed so small now. The chairs next to them so tiny. I remember how Mark and I would sit together in them and play countless games while we waited over the years.

We are sitting together today too. But there’s nothing little about him anymore. I steal a glance at him to my right ~ he sits taller than me ~ engrossed in his Michael Crichton book.

And then it happens.

A faint noise outside in the hall.

A honk?

I see Mark lift his head.

Wait. No. Not a honk.

A squeak. A rubber chicken squeak.

And then I can see it in Marks eyes ~ a sense memory that lives somewhere between his brain and his heart. From long ago.

That sound is more than familiar to us.

Mark discreetly but purposefully looks over his shoulder through the glass wall out into the hallway.

He slowly looks back to me and smiles.

“Buddington?”

“Buddington.”

We sit there for maybe one whole minute and we don’t say a word. I know without a doubt we are both thinking the same thing.

“What do we do in this situation?”

Mark is probably thinking “I desperately want to go see this person who was the most consistent part of my time here at this hospital. But I’m 15, and I don’t want to make a big deal and I’m not really a patient like I used to be.”

Meanwhile I am thinking “I can hear him playing with a young child.He is in the middle of something very important. And these kiddos deserve every moment with him. We had our time. Now it’s their turn. Plus we have an Echo to get done.”

This is what we are individually thinking in that 60 seconds.

That’s the key word. Thinking. This is what our brains are telling us.

But our hearts, well, they are much more straight forward. Our hearts simply want us to run out the door into the hallway and catch him before he is gone and yell (with no grace or humility) “We are here! Come see us! Play with us! Talk with us!”

But we don’t.

Ofcourse we don’t.

Instead I smile weakly at Mark and say “We should respect his time. We can try and drop in another time when he has a moment for us”.

Mark agrees and nods, and goes back to his book.

But I swear his ears are at 180% listening power trying to hear that familiar voice and laughter.

I know mine are.

And wait a second. Is that sound getting closer? It is. We both look at each other again and then before we have a chance to voice anything the door to the Heart Centre opens, and in comes a small boy, his mother, and a clown.

The Heart Centre waiting room is quite small with chairs lined along the walls facing inward to the centre. I am sitting immediately to the right of the door and Mark is next to me. I almost have to shift in my seat so the three of them don’t bump into me when it opens.

The Mom heads to the reception area and Buddington and the little boy sit smack dab in the middle of the floor – facing in our direction.

Mark and I can’t stop smiling.

Ear to ear smiling. We must look like idiots.

But we don’t say a word.

This clown who we have come to care so much for is working. It may not initially look like that to an outsider, but he is. His attention is focused on his work – on who is in front of him. He is fully engaged on the floor with the young boy. And its not our place to interrupt that, as much as we want to.

A minute goes by and we sit and watch.

I feel as if I’m in a dream watching this man, this clown, play with this boy – who I know isn’t my child – but it so mirrors the time we spent here. It mirrors my memories from long ago. It’s the most surreal feeling.

So I’m sitting here filled with nostalgia and gratitude trying not to cry, while Mark, well Mark quite clearly wants only one thing – to leap out of his chair and talk endlessly to him about his life now as a teenager.

And so we sit.

Silent. Thinking. Wondering if he would even recognize Mark now that he is a young man.

Smiling our stupid grins.

And then it happens.

The radiologist comes out to the waiting room and loudly and distinctly says two words.

“Mark Wilkie”

And at that moment, not taking our eyes off Buddington, we see his head raise up from the floor and meet our gaze.

The recognition in what he has heard is instantaneous and the look in his eyes match exactly the look in my son’s face: a mutual, genuine and deep affection that time hasn’t changed.

Mark unfolds his 5 foot 8 frame from the chair, walks over to him, and what happens in the next thirty seconds before we go into our appointment can’t be put onto paper or into words.

It will remain one of my most vivid and personal memories ~ that short interaction between them in that Heart Centre waiting room as they, together, process the years that have passed and the years they have shared.

You see, Buddington started working at the IWK only three months before Marks diagnosis. That was 12 and a half years ago.

We don’t remember the IWK without him.

And maybe ~ just maybe ~ in a way, he almost doesn’t remember it without us either.

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I Do Know

I do know.

I do know I’m abnormally attached to your boys.

No really. I am.

I very much see this for what it is and feel a little sorry for your kiddos who have to endure yet another adult who is so invested in their presence on this earth. Particularly during a time of teenage hood where they would be happy if a giant hole swallowed everyone over the age of 30.

But there I am – always in the wings.

I cheer just a little bit louder when “they” have their time in the spotlight either on the court or walking across a stage accepting achievements.

I tease ‘them’ just a little bit more than their counterparts.

I wave a little bigger and my heart melts a little bit more when I see ‘them’.

I do know my love for them is one that is usually reserved for family members.

I do know I’m a little too thankful for them.

I do know I’m a little too invested in their lives. That I ask about them a little too often.

I do know that when Mark is having groups of friends over I always hope to hear their name in the list of attendees (which is pretty much always true).

And I do know sometimes I even expect a little too much of them – as I do from people I truly care about. I do know the unfairness of that to them – and to you.

And I do know they aren’t my children.

I do know all of these things.

But what YOU don’t know is this:

There was a time in my life I didn’t know my son would have these friendships. At all. With anyone. I didn’t know that he would be blessed enough to have these relationships. That he would know the camaraderie of being one of the gang. Something that has now come to mean everything to him.

And here’s the other thing:

I bet you always took for granted that your children would form these bonds. Maybe you didn’t know who they would be with, or when they would happen – but I bet in life you pictured they would have close friends who would have their back.

There was a time I didn’t.

There was a time I didn’t believe he would have the privilege of fist bumps and shared laughter. I didn’t believe he would be on a court working with others. I didn’t believe he would have that feeling that comes from close knit friends.

So yes. I do know I care a little too much. I even know I care much too much.

But this was a future I never knew he would have, and so the hard truth for you and your boys is this: I don’t know how to be any other way.

Today

Today I woke up at 5:15 am.

I kissed the kids and Craig goodbye as they left for school and work, and then went off to work myself. It was another day. A day that felt heavy because of worries I thought were real.

Today Craig went to work. He got dressed and prepared for meetings.

He made his lunch and read the news. He drank his coffee and left in time to get to Halifax.

Today Mark dressed in bright colours for Pride Day at school. He thought about Badminton try outs and tried not to be nervous about them.

He prepared to navigate the halls of high school as a 14 year old boy.

Today Megan submitted her courses for her final year at Horton. She donned a bright headband and bracelets for Pride Day.

She went to school incredibly proud to be partaking in her very first Blood Donation. She left voicing why she wanted to do it and her pride and determination to do so was palpable. She wanted to give life.

But today as she was giving life, as all of this was happening, as we were going about our everyday-day, thinking we knew what “heavy” was, our Jadyn, our SuperGirl, our light, our love, our positive shining star, took her last breath.

This wasn’t supposed to happen today.

But it did. It doesn’t feel real.

But it is.

And so I can’t let today go by without this:

We love you Jadyn. We will remember, honour and celebrate you. We will whisper thank you for all that you taught us about strength, optimism and courage. We will remember to laugh in hard times, to have close friendships, to be silly, to keep smiling, and to give back to those who have helped us along the way. This is how you lived your life and we promise we were watching and listening.

We promise we will do all of this … we will make you as proud of us as we are of you …. next year, next week, tomorrow … and even today … March 6, 2018.

Celebrities on Planes

When your husband texts you from the plane saying YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHO I GOT TO SIT NEXT TO ON THE PLANE!!!!

But you haven’t received the photo yet.

So you sit and wait and think. OH MY GOD – WHO IS IT GOING TO BE? What famous person is travelling from Halifax to Toronto on January 26th that Craig knows I would be incredibly excited about?? Jim Cuddy? Drake? Meghan Markle? Prince HARRY!! (Because of course he flies commercial coach) OMG OMG could it be Bon Jovi??? It HAS to be someone INCREDIBLE AND IMPORTANT AND AMAZING for my easy going husband to be so excited and text me about it.

And finally the picture comes in.

And sitting there – with two huge goofy selfie grins on their faces – is my husband and my sons Oncologist.

And I start to laugh and cry at the same time … and I can’t stop doing either.

Because I couldn’t have been more right – about the incredible, important and amazing person part.

Period.

Where My Gratitude and Optimism Fail Me

My daughter Megan started her first real job this past Spring. You know – the kind where she has paperwork to fill out and the Canadian Government is aware of her pennies earned.

She was hired as a Swimming Teacher and Lifeguard for a local University, and as I dropped her off for this new stage in her life, like so many moments lately it seems, I thought to myself “How did we get here?”

But I didn’t lament this to her, instead I smiled, waved goodbye and headed back home.

She taught for five and a half hours and every minute that went by I thought about how she was doing. I couldn’t wait to hear all about it (note the artful use of “I” in that sentence. “I, I, I, me, me, me. Sigh …..)

The hours crept by and soon it was time to pick her up. There I sat in the Acadia parking lot waiting with eager anticipation.

Now keep in mind this isn’t my first time to the rodeo. Meg is 16 years old, quiet in many ways, and like many teenagers is used to being somewhat guarded with her feelings around her Mother (who only in the last year or so has started to gain some credibility as a real human being in her mind!)

And hey – I’m a 44 year old educated professional – I know all the ins and outs of effective communication – ask open ended questions – don’t assume – probe -but only gently.

Yup. I had it going on. One skilled communicator. Check.

Until I opened my mouth.

And the following sentence came out:

“So how was it?”

Now I know. I know what you are thinking. 

It’s a pretty damn good sentence. 

Honestly. It is.

Short, unassuming, conscience and open ended.

Sure it is.

On paper.

But it’s me. Have you MET me?

Those four words in print are an entirely different beast when spoken out loud by Mamma Wilkie. Because they are, in my world, spoken with a vocal enthusiasm, optimism, assumption and gratitude that is unparalleled.

Always.

And let me tell you – it’s not always helpful.

So there I am with my high-pitched sing-song eager voice spouting those four words. 

So how was it?

Cue the completely unintended (but none the less present) expectation that the correct answer is “incredible!”

If dancing unicorns wearing rose coloured glasses could have flown out of my mouth they would have.

Oh my. OH MY!!!

I truly don’t mean to do this. And I so much don’t want it to be how I come across. But I have realized I often do. I have also realized that somewhere, somehow, the following happens:

Instantly the air is filled with an unspoken expectation. The bar is set. And we as a family are going to clear it. We are going to be the most thankful, optimistic, positive family this world has ever seen. Because we have been given everything. Everything. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

We get to be the lucky ones. And so we give back 100 fold. We are grateful 1000 fold. We have perspective. We know what the most important things are in life. Period.

Wow. 

Hold on there Miss Karrie-Ann. 

That’s a bit of an unreasonable bar there isn’t it? Let’s take a minute.

It IS a pretty tall bar – and written all over that bar says: We are over privelaged people who are so lucky to live, work and play in this incredible life. It says positive energy attracts positive energy. If you smile the world smiles with you. The more thankful you are the more you have to be thankful for.

Yup.

That’s me.

Blah. Blah blah blah blah

As we would have said in the late 1980’s “gag me with a spoon”.

But you see … the truth is … my unbridled raw truth is this … i believe in it whole heartedly … almost as a religion. That positive thought, gratitude and energy. It’s real for me – not trite or disingenuous. It’s not trendy or “just a quote”. 

It’s me.

But the other truth is this:

It’s not fair. 

It’s not fair to my family – especially those teenage ones filled with a myriad of emotions so close to the surface.

We all need to be allowed to feel what we feel when we feel it. We are all allowed really bad days. We are all allowed to not be brimming with gratitude every moment of the day.

So I’m learning. I’m learning and I’m admitting to my biases.

I’m learning that even if I’m thoughtful about what words I say or what questions I ask – I also need to be thoughtful about my tone, my eagerness, my anticipation and my unconscious expectations.

Because while gratitude, positive energy and optimism are among my closest companions, they can’t possibly serve me or my family in every situation all the time.  

Otherwise I’m little more than a cartoon character named Joy in a certain Disney movie. (A movie which by the way, gets 5 stars in my books … she says with no irony what so ever.)

She Called Me Back

Three years ago I went through a hard time and struggled with some emotional and mental health issues.

A lot was behind me. Or so I thought I guess. 

But this post isn’t about what I was going through or why. My issues did end up being something I should have expected … they just “arrived late to the party” so to speak.

What this post ‘is’ about is that we all go through hard times, and sometimes although it should be easy to ask for help, especially when you have amazing friends and family like I do, the reality isn’t always as easy as we may perceive.

It was an evening after the kids went to bed. Craig was travelling on the road for work. I had been talking to a friend on the phone and when I hung up, well, that was it.

I broke.

I don’t mean I broke down crying (although I did … a lot) and I don’t mean had a psychotic break (although the potential was there) … I mean I broke in a way that’s difficult to explain, but somehow I know it’s the exact right word to use.

I had never in my life experienced anything like it before. I had been through years of unfathomable situations, and not once did I feel the way I did that night or those months that followed.

I managed to get from the chair by my desk in the kitchen to the sofa in my living room.

I felt if I didn’t reach out to someone that I may lose myself. That sounds melodramatic I know … but it was very truly what I felt. I needed help in a way I never had before and somehow I knew that. 

There are moments in your life that are core memories. Me sitting on that sofa was one of them.

So there I am. Sitting on my sofa in a state I had never experienced before. Even through everything I was the strong one. I was the positive one. I carried the weight. 

What the hell was THIS?!!??

So I picked up the phone. Now this is the point in the story you expect to hear “I dialed a friends number, easily poured out my heart, hung up the phone and it was a rocky but manageable time.”

It didn’t work like that for me. At least not that night.

That is what you see in the movies. In reality – in my reality – it worked like this.

I made a total of four phone calls.

The first call I got my girlfriend on the other end. But because I am who I am (an idiot) I started small talk. I could tell it was a very busy time of year for her and that her life – her cup – was quite frankly overflowing into a soon uncontrollable river … just like so many of us Moms who delicately juggle 20 more balls in the air than we should. We know each other so well and are alike in many ways.

So I hung up the phone with nothing said.

I didn’t want to be one more thing. I didn’t want to be a burden. I think this is sometimes the catch 22 with our closest friends and family. We care so much about them and what they are already dealing with in their lives. We don’t want to be a weight. We want to be the one to ‘lift’ the weight, not add to it. I know this is how I felt that night with her, and I know it’s how I feel with those closest to me like my Mom and Craig.  But it’s not right, and I can feel them yelling at me through this post as I type it.

The second phone call resulted in another girlfriends answering machine.

I left no message.

I was quickly running out of people I could be so raw and real and scary around.

Call number three was a chance.

It was to a friend who had only been in my life a few years and quite frankly we hadn’t had many soulful conversations – just ones that touch the surface of our lives – kids, work, school, activities – but I felt there ‘could be’ something deeper there between us.

So I called anyway.

She was home.

She was also in the middle of kid-crisis mode – her son had a significantly large project due the following day – of which he had barely started. So she was up to her ears in deadlines.

Once more I made small talk and hung up the phone.

Certainly these are examples of what NOT to do when experiencing an emotional breakdown. I should have “taken care of me” more and been honest with these women. I should have worried less about disturbing their lives and poured my heart out. And although that’s easier to say than do when people are busy, I do also know that each of them would have been there for me, but I didn’t give them the chance to do so.  

I think it’s hard to admit, but my hesitation to disturb these women’s lives, these friends lives, is an all-too-common trait as mothers and women in the world. It’s one thing to say it – it’s another thing to walk it. Especially in a moment when I was so vulnerable and terrified of what was happening to me.

So we are on to call number 4. Looking back now it amazes me I even picked up the phone 4 times. It isn’t like me to reach out for help in that way. I think it’s a testament as to how bad it was.

I remember sitting on the edge of the couch and kind of slipping down off of it. “Well that’s stupid”, I thought, as I sat on the hard floor crying. That IS something that happens in the movies. Who falls off a couch?? 

And then it became hard to breath and I really thought I may be experiencing a true mental break that I may have to call an ambulance for. It sounds so absurd as I type it – but that is the state I was in.

So somewhere I found the strength to pick up the phone again. 

This call was a risk as well. Someone I knew on the periphery of my life, who I would absolutely call a friend, but not close. She did however, always have a depth that I ‘recognized’. I looked up her number in the phone book (a pretty good indication of our lack-of-bond). I remember thinking how small the print is in the phone book and how hard it was to read.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

No answer.

That was it.

I had nothing left in me to reach out. I was done.

At that moment I have never felt more alone in all my life. I’m trying to think if that’s really true and I think it is.

And then – the phone rings. 

It’s her.

And I pick it up.

She saw my number on her display. Or she star-sixty-nined me. I don’t remember now.  But there she was. 

The minutes, hours and days that followed is a long story for another time. 

But I will say, that after a few months, and then a few months after that, I finally was on the other side. I had symptoms of delayed Acute Stress Disorder. It is similar to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and ofcourse it was a no brainer it had finally come home to roost after seven years. It was time to break. Time to stop being strong. And combine all of that with turning 40, preparing to shave bald, and hormones … well … it really is miraculous it hadn’t happened before this.

I often whisper thank you for finding the strength to ask for help during that night – and I carry with me many lessons learned about being better at asking for help ‘the first three times’ no matter what.

These many years later there are still things that are crystal clear from that conversation during my ‘fourth phone call’ and there are many things that are not. But the following two I remember with great clarity:

Her saying: “I’m so glad you called”.

And me thinking: “I’m so glad she called me back.”

The Women in my Daughters Life … Who Aren’t Me

I received a text from my friend Amanda yesterday. She sends me various texts over the course of weeks, checking in for this or that, or just saying ‘Thinking of You’ (she is great at that). Yesterday she sent me one asking my daughter Megan to babysit. 

Amanda has two kiddos younger than mine, and a few years ago she was one of the first people to entrust their care to my own kiddo on the occasions her and Brian venture out into the world as adults.

As we worked out times and details, I thought about her presence in Megan’s life.

I think many things help build a child’s character over the course of their lives. One of them I have seen for my daughter, and one I never underestimate, is the faith and trust that others have placed in her to care for their own children over the last number of years. 

 
Megan’s knowledge that Amanda, along with Mary, Jenna, Sesaly and Karen all think of her in that way – as a responsible, intelligent, caring, young woman of whom they can trust, has helped to build a confidence in her as she has grown from a girl into a young woman. She prides herself on the job she does, she adores the kids she cares for, and I see how important it is to her that other women think of her in this way to call her on a regular basis.

These are but a few women who have come into my daughters life and played a role, perhaps unknowingly, in shaping who she is in the world. And this example of child care is but one instance where I see this happening.

There are also the women who actively build a relationship with her in a different way.

Women who in my own life I share wonderful rich friendships with, but who also have developed their own relationship with my daughter. It may be small and it may be infrequent, but it still exists all the same. I see examples and the results of it all the time.

It’s when Megan comes through the door in the middle of a party and races over to hug Sesaly or Dena. This doesn’t happen from circumstance – this happens because these women have gone out of their way to ‘see’ her, to take an interest in her life independent of their friendship with me. Megan feels that and she seeks them out. 

It’s when Kathy comes to visit from Ottawa and she carved out some special alone time with Megan, inquiring about her interests and activities, finding common ground and laughing and sharing stories. I see in Megan’s eyes the sense of respect and pride she feels with Kathy who takes a true interest in her life.

It’s when she is jogging over the road one day and feels an uncomfortable feeling that makes the hair stand up on the back of her neck – because a strange dog is following her – and she doesn’t hesitate to go to Amanda’s door to seek refuge – a place she feels safe, with a woman she is comfortable confiding in rather than being embarassed around.

It’s in the phone calls from both Amanda and Sesaly that came on June 30th. Phone calls where I pick up the phone and they ask for – gasp – Megan, not me – because they want to congratulate her on being named Valedictorian.

It’s Norah who never ever – not once – misses calling for her birthday. And it’s never enough to wish her a Happy Birthday, but she spends time talking with her about her day and her friends and her plans. It’s Norah who thinks far enough ahead to always have her gift here, on time, from a different Province, or who listens so intently to the small things Megan says that she remembers to ask about them months later.

And ofcourse it’s Nanny and Granny who are there for concerts and games and graduations, sitting in the audience as the ones who she sees as her family who she can always count on. Who play games together and surprise her with this or that. Who remember the big test she has. Who make a big deal of the little things. The things that truly matter.

These women in my daughters life – not girls – not people her own age – but women – who ‘see’ my daughter and who actively nurture and build a relationship with her are, without consciousness or purpose, creating a foundation for her. A foundation that has the potential to influence and grow over the years becoming something Megan can count on in years to come. 

So often we think of the people who influence our children’s lives as being teachers or coaches or others who are in obvious ‘helping’ professions, positions, or blood relatives. And while certainly that has rung true for Megan, I am filled with such gratitude for those women who are not paid, nor expected, nor in any ‘natural’ circumstance to influence her life. But instead these women who put themselves out there and ‘choose’ to be a part of her world – who each have their own different, personal, unique connections with my daughter. 

 
As a parent, it’s hard to realize you can’t be everything to your kids. There is a selfish part of me that wants to be. I’m embarrassed to admit that. I’m even more embarrassed to admit that sometimes I’m a wee bit jealous of these women and the relationship they have with Megan. They never have to be the heavy hand or the ‘Charlie Brown Teacher’ lecturing ‘woh woh woh woh woh’.

But my jealousy is quickly brushed aside, because I know that some day she will look for different perspectives and opinions … she will look for a friend and an ear … she will struggle with big and small problems … and although I hope more often than not she WILL turn to me, I am not naive enough to think there will not be times where ‘mom’ won’t be the first nor the most realistic choice. A time when she will need more ‘advice’ than friends her age can provide. A time she will seek out older women in her life she can trust and confide in.

I am beyond grateful that women in my life are building a foundation NOW that will help my daughter in the future. That these women want to – choose to – play that role in her life. A role that sometimes seems so small and random, but that I see helps build her character and sense of self in the world. Women who can be there for her in a way I can’t always be in the role of ‘Mom’.

I wonder if they know what a difference they are making in my daughters life, or the potential it will have to make a difference?  

I hope so.

I am so grateful for each and every one of them.