He was such a family man, lived, worked, and loved with passion. A huge story teller when he was young, truth and fiction often married. Despite his rebel nature he was always kind to me. Not surprising he found religion along the way.
A talker myself, it was hard to get a word in edgewise when he was in the room! Much like me, he was a strong personality. You either liked him or not. There was no in between.
I remember his fiscal struggles as a young man with three little boys and a stay at home wife. A recent grandpa, he was finally enjoying the fruits of his labor when he was killed in a motorcycle accident July 2nd of this year. Unlike me he had a loving partnership, with ten years until retirement. His wife will be pretty lost without him. My heart goes out to people who seemly have it all together in whatever obscure way they manage to make it work.Only to be blindsided by such a tragedy. You just never know when your time is up. He had loads of living left in him!
I recently wrote a draft about another fellow I have been thinking about for about two weeks now.... I can't help but wonder if I had an intuition about this guy and why I was writing about the other.... it's all so surreal to me.
Such a jovial guy, I have no doubt his family will miss him!! Rest in Peace buddy! Very hard to believe you're gone......life is fleeting...glad you lived well! Nice to have crossed your path along the way!
My daughter's in crisis, there is nothing I can do, she is raw! Her father is moving to another country. She feels at a complete loss. Knowing she may not see him for a long time, if ever. Because divorce is complicated, and step parents can be very difficult to take.
Often a stoic girl she describes herself as an egg, with a fragile shell, completely soft inside. There has been little regard for her feelings during the process of him moving away. As much as the man doesn't fit the criteria to be my friend, I want him safe and sound for my daughter. So I pray for his safety and happiness. Even though almost everything he does irks me to the core! I wished he'd been a more of hands on dad. But he had no example and didn't know how. He is a sad man who's missed out on a genuinely amazing child. Sidney Poitier says, " The measure of a man is how he provides for his children" There is not much more I can say. Except I am so sad for my daughter, and my deceased mother who also went through the same. I am so sorry for the ugliness in her life that was no fault of her own. There is no way to rectify any of this....it's just plain awful.
Are the good old days but of failed memory of what really was?
Did we choose to rewrite our past, scribbling out that youthful angst and splotchy parts?
Was it really a better time without the current technology that affords us travel and connection through the universe on a chair in our home?
Or were the snippets of beauty in each passing day what we chose to hold onto, letting the ugly fade away?
After dad died, mother missed him dreadfully. I think it lead to her demise five years later. One evening she was particularly distraught reminiscent of all the good times
they enjoyed as a couple. Golfing, dining out, chatting, playing bridge, making a fried egg sandwich in the wee hours of the morning. I felt she was lost in these fairytale memories, so I kindly snapped her back to reality. Reminding her of the many roast beef dinners he was absent, arriving home late, and loaded, without even a call. All the other times she stewed awaiting his safe arrival home, the ritual arguments about her trips to Reno, his disappointing behavior that sometimes put her in a pickle. Relieved, she thanked me for filling in the blanks of truth, so she could grieve dad in his entirety.
Two angels arrive Encouraging relief Comforting parents Occupied by grief
Coos of innocence Fills winters air Double blessings Offer hope repair
Tiny jewels Ten fingers and toes blossoms of joy Long awaited repose
Welcome treasures Restructuring life Compensation For a labor of strife
Memories loom Of children passed A shrine exhibit Mother amassed
Resilient hearts Beat on command As birth and grief Walk hand in hand
My friends who lost their severely disabled son Ethan at age five last winter, after losing their disabled ten month old Jayna less than two years earlier, have just had a healthy set of twins on Nov 7th. They were optimistically reserved during the pregnancy since they were never assigned a proper name for their children"s rare genetic disorder. Which is still being considered by genetic specialist at this juncture. They took an alternative root and these precious angels arrived to bless an amazing couple. Twins should be a cinch for these two who carted a tall five year old around medicating him every few hours providing 24/7 demanding care. They feel their children taught them so much in the short time they were here, including true courage and patience. These lucky little princesses... WILL be loved! They'll be spoiled with humorous, fun loving adventurous, immediate and extended family, a warm, kind, loving mommy, aunt, uncle and grandmother, a highly intelligent wise daddy, and people who listens to their needs. This is hope reborn for my dear friends and their new angels.We are ecstatic for these good people!
You may recognize a couple of famous hockey players here! These pictures are priceless to the parents, avid hockey fans. Some of these players will never truly know the value
of the time spent with these children.
Preschool at Halloween.Just too adorable.
The most gorgeous eyes and eyelashes.
Such a sweet little guy. Daddies pride and joy!
Mommies little angel May he rest in Peace February 26th/2009
Lost is an understatement to how I felt this week when I heard my friend’s second child passed away within twenty two months. What do you say to a woman standing on the bluff of dismay? Usually a chatterbox, I was silenced.
Albeit shocked about the timing, part of me wasn’t surprised given the history of the past year. Too many bouts in the hospital with difficulty breathing, elevated seizures then a feeding tube.Hints I chose to deny.
Every morning my friend took her son to preschool where he sat in his special chair with all the other special needs children. Such a happy little guy with limited mobility, dependent on everyone, he seemed to smile a lot, much like his parents.I loved it when he giggled. Attending school was risky, with classmates carrying normal childhood viruses he could easily contract. But it was such a joy for him being with other kids, giving him a semblance of normalcy.
There was a time he could roll, push buttons with his fists to make music exude from his toys. Occupying himself with childhood sounds in a close to normal way. However this last year there were many set backs as his health deteriorated. Meanwhile his parents monitored every move. Aware of every nuance preceding a seizure, mother policed his hospital care. She was her darling boy’s voice. Knowing when he was uncomfortable, angry, or unhappy. Just like any good mother knows.
My friends nonchalant way of preparing food and medication to be syringed every few hours without skipping a beat amazed me. Never a complaint over the laborious chore of feeding him, the years before the feeding tube was inserted. Attending to every need, sound, bathing, changing and carrying around a five years old without a peep of objection. It became very matter of fact, it was her normal. She cuddled, carted him around with all of his apparatus, spoke to him with love, jesting with him as though he understood each and every word. It’s impossible to know for sure he didn’t.
My friend did her best under very difficult circumstances. It was rare for her to take respite care for her son.On occasion her mother stepped in to give her a reprieve, she also had a sitter who was trained to care for disabled children on an hour to hour basis. Lately it was only when hospital staff convinced her, with assurance he would have twenty four hour hospice care could she even consider leaving his side. During his hospital stays she spent every moment overseeing his care, sleeping there for days on end. I wonder if anyone realizes how difficult it is to have a disabled child. All the sleepless nights concerned over each breath. I know I didn't.
With each bout of illness came fear and worry of losing this adorable little child. So deeply loved by his parents. So what do you say to someone who has already lost a ten month old daughter less than two years ago, now a five year old? These children with an undiagnosed genetic disorder left their parents,friends and family totally distraught.The fact that he rallied and seemed to be doing so well the previous month made things all the more startling.
Instead of me, woman of many words finding the right sentences to comfort my friend in her days of need. Guess what, we cried together, and she so lovingly consoled me with her tender words. My dear friend of over twenty years, shared with me in detail, the last hours of her sons life.
Twelve loving people surrounded his bed, read him stories, sang his favorite songs as he laid there. His parents assured him of their love for him, what a precious gift he was to them and everyone who knew him. How his courage and strength amazed them, how honored and proud they were to have him as their son, then they gently let him go.
When he passed the sun shone so brightly through the window, on the other side a bright rainbow appeared as though the heavens opened up to receive him. Everyone felt the passing of his little life as spiritual moment of beauty. Although the moments of grief are dark and the pain grueling, every so often my friend gets a wonderful wave of peace. And she knows it’s her son, saying “Mommy it’s okay, I’m at peace now!”
Photo taken November 2008 during happier times. We had such a great night!
February 24th, 2009
Distraught
Empty rooms
Full of toys
Empty hours
No more noise
Blank calendar
Appointments void
Nature’s decorum
Looms destroyed
Disabled children
Lives have ceased
Parent’s heartache
Unreleased
Changed world
Changed lives
Changed hearts
A mother cries
Dreams crumpled
To bits of rubble
Spirits captive
In sorrows bubble
Compassion staid
Of what to say
A couple’s anguish
In disarray
No words of solace
No words of just
No words of hope
To help adjust
Lovingly cared for
Through every ill
Needs and nuances
resolved at will
Amazing parents
Profusion to cope
Bound in adversity
On a downward slope
"Sorry," too lame
For suffering endured
Pardon my failure
for a germane word
Nothing I imagine
Can ease this grief
Vacant of answers
For your relief
So I hold you close
In thought and prayer
When the world disperses
Expect me there
After a difficult journey through life, my friend’s young son has passed away. Nothing can prepare you to have a child that never realizes his first steps, or throws his first ball. Nothing can prepare you for daily bouts of medication, feeding tubes and seizures. Nothing can prepare you for a monthly calendar jammed packed full of physiotherapy sessions, doctors appointments or having your child poked and prodded at Childrens hospital. Nothing can prepare you for weekly bouts overnight in hospital with your child during flu season. That’s what my dear friends have faced the last five years. As hard as is was, nothing is more difficult than losing that child. I can’t begin to fathom what it must be like for them to lose a second disabled child. To have no children occupying their home, to have life as they’ve known it halted completely, while ripping out their souls.
My friends have been the kindest most loving patient parents any child could ever have. These are the times I question life most. They are wonderful amazing people. I couldn’t have imagined better more tender parents for those two angels who graced this world for only a short time. I can’t help but wonder how my friends will cope with this huge void in their lives and in their home. Nothing could have prepared them. My heart bleeds for their sorrow. I am sad beyond words and tears…........often life just isn’t fair.
If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden. ~Claudia Ghandi8/15/2006 to 6/3/2007
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. ~From a headstone in Ireland
She fluttered on this earth for just a moment
Picked the sweetest parents she could
Hoping they’d not forget her
Knowing they never would
She fluttered on this earth to make a difference
While here she impacted many
When she flitted up to heaven
Dry eyes, she’d not left any
She fluttered on this earth for just a moment
So the world could truly see
What an angel looked like
And how one came to be
She fluttered on this earth to make a difference
And you know what she found
So many people who loved her
So many she’d astound
She fluttered on this earth and made a difference
Now we’ll never be the same
When you see little purple wings
It’s that precious angel, Jayna is her name
By Happytiler
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whisper
the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~William Shakespeare
Jayna's Angels
A year today Jayna died. Still devastated her mom has had no time to grieve. Contending with her four and a half year old disabled son is a full time job. For the last six weeks they’ve been in and out of Children’s hospital dealing with deteriorating health issues. Both mom and son have picked up yet another virus, the hazards of spending long bouts in Children’s.
Ethan was poked and prodded to Selina's chagrin. She slept many hours along side him despite his flailing new symptoms unrelated to previous seizures. Some days she was able to muster bouts of wonderful humor, radiating love to her son and husband. Nurses found these parents to be inspiring for other families on the ward. Other days it took everything to find strength to keep it together as she had mini melt downs.
One particular day (during that vulnerable time of month) she wept as she asked god why this was happening to her son. Seeing her tear stained face and sensing her distress, one special nurse bought her a coffee and muffin with her own money. Barriers penetrated it was just one mother attempting to comfort another mother.I cried when she relayed this story to me.
Life is hard for this couple; Ethan now has a feeding tube. Instead of taking the day to commemorate Jayna, Selina is nursing a virus and her son. If you could only see the dedication this couple has for this beautiful little boy, and to each other. You’d never again make one complaint about your own healthy child.
My heart goes out to this little family as mom and son are confined to home on the anniversary of Jayna’s death. I have dedicated a wall in my loft for Jayna’s angels. My dream is to honor this sweet angel with my art. To bring parents together with my grief wings so that those who’ve lost children will never again feel alone in their sorrow!
I've known this couple for over twenty years, I could never have imagined their life would be full of such hardship. Just know I am thinking of you guys with so much love.Praying one day there will be the answers you're looking for.
Check out this clip from the meeting held Sept 9, 2007 in New York by John Feal founder of Feal Good Foundation!
Sept eleventh, I canceled my contact fitting at Costco. There is just something about that day that will never be the same since the World Trade center was demolished. I have such a deep sadness and respect for the innocent Americans that have been traumatized by this event!
At the time my daughter was dating a bit of a rebel, a good fellow, a religious young man, with some conflicting morals to his faith. This naive young dude said some negative things that day that shocked me. Although quite religious he had no concept of the injustice in its entirety! My perspective as a mother, keeper of the peace, clashed with his, we argued.
I wanted to see compassion for the human lives ripped from their loved ones. Instead he roped all Americans together represented by their administration. I was quick to remind him not to judge me by asinine choices my government makes without consulting me!
It’s inconceivable to send my family off to work for the day not to have them ever return. To be obliterated as a pure vendetta, of differing religious beliefs is blasphemy in any country. I cried deep hard tears of grief for families changed forever! Needless to say my daughter moved on soon after that.
It was a heartbreaking day that changed the world forever. Today my daughter boarded a domestic flight for work; I was reminded of all the changes as she tried to fit all her liquids in 100 ml bottles. I remember back to that fearful day, unable to get a hold of my only brother, the last of my immediate family who was to fly home from Toronto that afternoon! Instead he was stranded when all Canadian and American flights were grounded until further notice. No one really knew how far this calamity had reached. We all sat glued to the television, waiting for an explanation.
To this day there is no justification! Instead the catastrophe continues as young men shrouded with lies are shipped to Iraq for surmised time limits that prove to be inaccurate. Billions are spent on a war in the Middle East while many first responders suffer without proper healthcare, or financial restitution for their deteriorating health caused by Nine Eleven! Sadly the aftermath continues, and will for years to come as soldiers return damaged for life, by horrific physical and emotional experiences they’ve unjustly endured. Pray for the safe return of all soldiers as the hell continues six years later!
This has been a pivotal year for me. My daughter turned twenty; my father’s been gone twenty years. I turned fifty, and my mother has been deceased fifteen years today.
Mom having suffered an arduous passing at sixty six should have lived longer. Fear of being overweight, on a five foot tall stature, mom took up smoking at thirty years old. What was she thinking? It was the fifties, and that’s what women believed was done to stay fashionable slim. Did she stay thin? No she didn’t, although never obese, she was always unhappy about even a minimal weight gain. So when the middle age spread arrived, she was already fully addicted to the almighty cigarette.
May 3, 1991 at sixty six years old she had a stroke, induced by a brain tumor. The tumor was secondary to the primary Carcinoma lung cancer. Hours on end were spent in the hospital, policing moms care. She suffered not only the heat of that summer, but also the cancer ravaging her body. It was a grueling stint for all of us who loved her.
Nights do seem to be the hardest for the cancer sufferer. Infrequent room visits by nurses can leave patients distressed and alone for hours. Didn’t take long for us to catch onto the nightly routine in palliative care, we’d only leave for small intervals when competent caring nurses were on duty. Like any job, there are those less efficient employees who shirk their responsibilities. We had no intention of letting our mom be a victim of a less than stellar care. Two weeks previous to her demise, my brother and I slept in her room every night.
Mom took comfort in hearing her children converse by her bed. She’d awaken every so often; look over with a half smile, contented to know we were still there. Along with our voices she loved the lull of the television too. Even though mom was aphasic and unable to speak, nurses knew her disdain when they attempted to flick off her television in the middle of the night. Communication consisted of only body language during those last months.
Mom was never shy discussing death. She didn’t want her life prolonged unnecessary with chemo treatments. A morphine drip was hooked up making her furious. You could read the anger in her face. I had to assure her it wasn’t chemo. I explained with love, that we wouldn’t betray her wishes.Trusting me, she relaxed. Doctors never offered Chemo for her late stage of cancer.
The morning mom passed, my brother and I sat on opposite sides of the bed holding her hands. As hot as a freshly brewed cup of coffee, we constantly released her hands every few minutes. The extensive body heat was rather shocking. Eventually her body began shutting down at her feet. My brother narrated the passing; reiterating each detail as it occurred until her last breath. When he announced she was gone. Her spirit is hovered above us. It was the oddest most spiritual thing. I don’t even think he remembers his narration.
We spent an hour alone in the room with her. Together we did her hair and makeup. A very proud woman, a hairdresser for forty three years, she hated people to see her without her hair done. It may seem superficial to some, but long before she died we knew her wishes. Fifteen years ago today my then thirty year old brother and I became adult orphans
I ambled around the house numb In and out of tears and fears about doing the correct thing It was a long night, and a long day The last hours were peaceful Each of us spent time alone with him Giving him the love and solace he so deserved He knew we were there He was always comforted when we were all home There we were his last hours Together with him, taking turns Saying good bye Kissing his head Thanking him Then it was time Almost time to go Each of us wailed Heavy, hard, and messy For the longest moments ever Clinging to that last little bit of life left Bundled in a damp, soft blanket, he relaxed As much as he could in his state He seemed to know Then, a last picture His eyes saying okay He loves the car He didn’t stir in the laundry basket We spoke softly to him I didn’t cry, He’d be afraid if I did I held it in, head pounding From weeping relentlessly, in the bath Alone, in a face cloth I muffled the grief From the kids, and him I ran more water and cried harder And harder, and harder My face was vulnerable I was weak and tired And childlike Here I was, ready to take him Two fifty five, time to leave Three tear stained faces bid him adieu I drove down Fraser highway Mount Baker was a majesty of beauty I commented on the amazing site I forgot the camera The perfect mountain The perfect weather But there is no perfection, is there? And I said it I said there is always a ray of beauty in a somewhat horrific day And just as the words left my mouth I drove by a raccoon, sprawled out on the road In perfect form, dead We giggled at the irony diverted by comic relief Not because the poor creature was dead We giggled because I said it And there it was, the back drop of the mountain And sadly, a dead animal Goodness knows how he met his demise Not with as much love or comfort as ours would That’s for sure It was a moment of relief Then we were back to the grief We found the place She stayed in the car I went in alone They needed too much information I wanted it over It was painful enough But it was cool in the building He rallied at the temperature drop It was just a moment though I weighed him, he liked the cool metal scale A sprinkle of guilt passed through me I placed him comfortably back into the laundry basket I toted him to a room I spoke calmly to him He didn’t stir at the animals sounds As he normally did He surrendered to my compassion I assured him he’d soon be at peace We waited together, I felt defeated Vulnerable, glad The young doctor entered Compassionately introduced himself Rambled off the procedure I didn’t hear a word He asked about him I mechanically answered Stoically I held him close to me The buzzing of the shears Made a small square on his paw Then the needle was inserted He didn’t fight it No sound was made His breathing slowed And he was gone
1993-2006 Rox R.I.P. Deeply loved, a joy to his family Sadly missed
There’s a lump in my chest now, of what I’m afraid to feel It’s been there for a day and a half Its time now, and I know it, He’s going fast He lays right beside me, burning up I cool him down, constantly I haven’t had much sleep I know it, I know it Its time to put him down I cried for a bit on Friday When Johnny’s song played A sign from above “He’s not afraid to die” I ‘m afraid to feel, To let him go No more, my little man To sleep beside me To follow me around And no one to be excited to see me No one to make me smile, like only he could With his cute little happy dance after a good meal I am sad, but afraid to feel, tears stream About him, about me, about the kids Who needs to see him, before I let him go? His legs give out, he’s so weak Every two hours and sometimes sooner I gently place him in a cool bath For a little while he breathes easier He vomited blood, on a blanket and pillow on my bed But I didn’t care, he’s with me, he knows I’m there I didn’t sleep; I just laid my hand upon his bloated belly I have to let him go, I just know, I knew I would know I always do I’ve done this before, three other times Each time, I knew when the time was right I bathed the bloody vomit off his body and mouth Not very much of a nurse, I nursed him And placed him on a cushy rug, put a fan at his head And turned on the softest music While I left to find a number of a place Where I can take him when morning comes My back hurts, the lump is heavier This time its worse than before We are closer than I was with the others This is it, once he’s gone I will feel lonely without him No one to warn me when a stranger is near No one to cuddle in, when everyone is gone No one to ride with me in the car The tears are painful, they hurt in my throat I have to keep my composure For him So he has peace and love For his final hours I can feel an ugly cry about to appear I’m nauseous You’d think I’d be used to this by now With all those I’ve lost Instead it reminds me Of those losses The suffering The sadness The loneliness that follows I am tired of losses I just finished losing someone Twenty two months ago I was depressed for close to a year And she’s still alive I don’t want to feel that pain again That dead, and sad, and lost I have been preparing myself for this But you’re never prepared Never I’ve been grieving and fooling myself too As I often do What am I suppose to learn from all this grief I wonder? To just accept what is? Live around it? Embrace what you can’t change? I don’t know but, I have to let him go Take him in And wait until that final moment When he goes limp in my arms Last time I did this, Elton Johns “Can you feel the love”, played on the Radio It really is an act of love, to end his suffering That’s what I tell myself anyway But oh……. what will I do with out him! Just one more minute, one more hour But not one more day I have to do it! I am doing it At three twenty in the afternoon On this hot day of June! My love, I will miss you!
