To sleep and rest some more

I changed plans this weekend. I was supposed to be away with 56 guys at a lake in cottages attending a men's retreat. I agreed to attend, in part because some of my friends asked me to be there. Part of me really didn't want to be there though. I came home on Friday confused about my decision. I decided to take some rest and then make a final decision.

I finally decided that I would not attend the retreat and once I did that I felt like a mountain had been taken off my shoulders. I called and emailed those closest to me to advise of my decision and to a man they support me, thanks guys. Above you can see a photo from last years retreat and this is what I would have seen again.

I need rest. I need a break and spending the weekend busy with retreat things will not have allowed me to do this. Will I have missed some positives, of course. But, I slept 12 hours last night, I don't normally sleep that much and I would not have gotten that rest at the cottage with the guys.

There is more rest needed. I need to rest from grieving, and I don't know how. Grief has taken and gripped me in a fierce battle. I have fought it and endured it, I have cried and sobbed and I still cannot shake it. I need help and decided that I needed to reach out and get some help. I am meeting someone on Tuesday at his office to talk about my grief, my feelings, my pain and I want to live in this grief and experience it deeply and then I want it to go!

I want to remember my friend for so much more than my warm living hand on her cold head. There are times that this is all I can remember and it crushes my heart like a grape is crushed for juice, without mercy. I hope that with time, this grief observed will help me to better understand the depth of love that I have for her and most importantly the depth of love God has for me. Knowing His loss, He still loved me, knowing my loss, He still loves me and He is not offended by my anger, frustration or disappointment.

I need to rest some more.................

I need to.........................................

I need............................................

I...................................................

We did it!

We (my beloved, myself and trusty old "walker") finally accomplished goal number 1 (so numbered as it was the most important to me so far) of my post surgery days. We completed the first odyssey of our little block. The entire block is about 1.5 kms, not much in reality but when walking less than 50 meters was a problem before, this is a major accomplishment. We completed it this afternoon. It should have happened earlier, but a number of things including a little parasite got in the way. That was no fun. Now it is done, time to wipe that little one off the list, or maybe start a new list.

Well, this is just the start of a number of such odysseys. It is our plan to do this journey daily and then eventually to extend it beyond our local borders. It felt great to accomplish. I experienced no complications, no numbness, no pain, nothing!  I am ecstatic. This was my primary goal to accomplish following this surgery. I advised the surgeon that this was what I wanted out of all this.

Now on to greater things. I can't wait to walk on Caribbean beaches or paths previously unknown to me. Maybe I'll get a bike and start pedalling my way around town and then beyond? Maybe this will lead me to my own "alaska" whatever that may be.

Who knows what might be next, I do not, but I do know this, I made it and I am happy.................

6 weeks and counting

I made it. It is now six weeks since the surgery and I feel fine. Well, not fine as in completely healed, but fine in that I am getting better. That continuum is somewhat longer than I thought. It seems that every time I go through these surgeries, the most recent was my tenth (10Th) bone related surgery. That's a lot of work, if it was plastic surgery, I'd already be someone different, that's a scary thought, good thing comments have been put on hold.

Oh well, I am now six weeks post major surgery to repair a back that was even more damaged than the surgeon thought. I am walking more, I am resting more, I am sleeping better, but, I feel like I have hit a plateau and it freaks me out. My beloved tells me that I used the exact words the last time (just over two years ago), to express me frustration with the state of recovery that I am in. So, I guess I need to keep counting and to remember the past.

In the spiritual world we are reminded to remember the former times when God did so much for us. The people of Israel are reminded to look back to the original Exodus. We have (at least I have), in my life, many experiences not too unlike the Exodus, where I can remember God working out the details when I could not even think through the initial steps. He was and continues to be true to His word, He says that "I will never leave you or forsake you" and so, in my time of frustration of being "stuck" or at a plateau, I need to look back to the "former times" and remember, believe and trust. That's a definition of faith for me.

Six weeks ago, I was on an operating table, I trusted God and the surgeon, He chose to fix my back and it was and is a long term agreement. I will continue to trust both of them, but God gets first billing, sorry Dr. M.

40 years is over

Forty years ago, about this time, we got out of a plane from Ireland, met some Canadian relatives and drove from Toronto to St. Catharines in what was the final leg of a lengthy journey to Canada. I have vivid memories from that day. I recall crying like there would be no more joy. I was an 11 year old realizing that I was leaving all that I knew and for what? I never really got an answer to that question then, and since both my parents are no longer with us, I can only surmise. But we don't talk about those things, because appropriate shame is bashed around by inappropriate pride.

I recall the plane ride, my first. I remember, for some strange reason, the smoke in the plane. I remember arriving in Toronto, and that long drive to St. Catharines. I remember the roundabout at the Niagara end of the Burlington skyway and all the street lights along the highway. I remember arriving and going to bed. I remember the many nights of nightmares, so vivid I can "see" them today. I was small and insignificant and all of this was being foisted upon me, like so many other things.

I remember going to school in Canada and being picked on because I spoke differently. That is also where I met Reg, now a life long friend. I remember walking to Meadowvale school, positively alone, I had no friends. We lived with my aunt, uncle, their three kids and I think my grannie lee lived there too. I used to think the

house was so big, and now when I drive by I realize it isn't so big after all. I remember my first birthday in Canada. My parents had so little, I

remember getting my first hockey stick with a straight blade, a puck and some hockey tape. I remember moving on Dec.23/69 to our first house and I remember our first Christmas.

And all of a sudden, it's 2009 and forty years have passed. I so wanted this day to be special, but life took over, in between work, responsibilities a

nd a very late day, it seems that the day much like the memories have faded and its' importance is fictitious. I so wanted to celebrate this day with my siblings, but, the "ideals" family just doesn't exist. In the years that have passed, strife has eliminated most of what each of us have lied to keep, "the family". Each has retreated to

ones own little silo to use whatever substance or behaviour is the latest to shield them from reality. Which crutch works this time, I wonder?

And now what? Will I be here in another forty, I doubt it. How many more of these false remembrances will I see? More likely the sad reality will be when is the next funeral. Then the talk will begin again, Mom and Dad would have wanted this or wanted that, and once again, I will remind them that what they want is immat

erial, for they are no longer here and what they want does not matter, it is just more guilt. The guilt will fly, o precious guilt, I was raised by a Jewish mother who converted to Catholicism, there was always guilt to spare. It's almost a cause for a charge of treason to defy and decline a request for the next "look at me in my drunken state" festival.

It's been forty years. Would I go back? Heck n

o, I think I have finally started to live again. I am no longer under the eyes and lies of the clan. I live for my God, my little family and for new opportunities to release myself of the guilt, inappropriate shame and immense sadness that pervades all that I am. I am haunted by memories of pain and mistrust that seem to lurk in the shadows waiting to pounce at my weakest moment.

And so, with Tenebras Expellit et Hostes as my motto, I will open myself to the light. For the light will show that which is in darkness and identify it for what it really is. Much like the light streaming in this photo, I want the light to brighten the darkened corners and crevices of my mind and soul, so that the exposure will bring beauty from ashes.