My Blog

I do not start this journey lightly. The idea of writing and sharing my thoughts and experiences is a powerful one. I'm doing this for several reasons, the first has to be for my own therapy. With such an immense loss in my life, I need to give myself every chance to feel a purpose.

Last summer I told Kirsten that, despite her ongoing fight with refractory Hodgkin's lymphoma, I was happy. I was deeply sad, depressed, and struggled with the meaning of it all. But, I was happy. Being with Kirsten made me content. Not having her with me leaves me with a void of true happiness. As I've mentioned to many, I can laugh, have fun, enjoy the moment, even look forward to something, however, that satisfaction of inner happiness is not there.

I am so grateful for the people and dogs in my life. My son, mother, family, Kirsten's family (including the four-legged variety), our friends, and, of course, our Lab Finnegan. Many of you will hear your own voices echoed in my writing. I needed and will continue to need the tremendous support that has been offered to me. Thank you.

I also write for Kirsten. In life, Kirsten, let's say, guided me. She still does and always will. Having said that, I can not guarantee that any future clothing purchases will be entirely fashionable.

As Kirsten was a champion of the healing power of writing, I hope to pay tribute to her. Kirsten has a tremendous legacy because of who she was and how she lived. I wouldn't speak for her, although if I tried, there would be a strong chance of a visitation, but I hope to add to her story.

If my sharing helps anyone who may relate to some of what I'm going through, that would be the best tribute to Kirsten I could give.

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Another moment with you.


A few weeks ago, I was paddling my kayak in Indian Arm. I was on the return leg of a Cates Park-to-Deep Cove-for-lunch excursion.This felt very much like an ode to our one fully successful trip with Suzy Spitfire - that being a favourite memory of our life together.

I was paddling with an ease of rhythm and a strong sense of tranquility. I was in the moment. In that moment, not as a sudden realization or conscious thought, but as a waking dream, it came to me that you were there with me. It enveloped me and it was beautiful. I was happy and content.

As I continued to paddle, I considered why I was motivated to buy a kayak and be on the water every other day during the summer. This thought process gave me a new understanding of how you would never leave me - your spirit, your sensibility, your nature, what was important to you, who you were - I have those with me. We talked about owning kayaks many times and that would undoubtedly have happened. At that indistinguishable time of movement into awareness, we were together on the water.

I’ve always recognized your ongoing influence, presence, and connection, but somehow this seemed to resonate on a deeper and more significant level. No, I'm not going to go buy a double kayak. And, yes I know the kayak/relationship analogy of each having our own boat; to fully enjoy our journey together without interdependence - a sense of our own strength and control being essential to a healthy relationship.

It will always seem unfair that we cannot hold hands anymore, but it feels like I’m still sharing this life with you. Thank you. Having said that, I’ve made some questionable choices of late (mostly clothing-related) so, I will look for your further guidance.

Jesus, I just turned to see Finn staring steadfastly at me like he knew what I’m writing about… Or, he may just figure it’s dinner time. We miss you.

This Was the Day

Monday, January 13, 2014

Three Years

You never saw the school I work at now. Half of the staff never met you and may or may not be aware of my grief. I live in an apartment that you were never in. About half my coffee mugs you never drank from. The band is doing songs you've never heard. Miles has a girlfriend of two years you have never met.

You would have turned 40 last week. I tried to imagine what we would have been doing on the day. Probably the tradition of a family dinner at The Boathouse. 

I walked by our old house on the evening of your birthday. We may have been celebrating in that house. It’s harder to imagine what we would have been doing when there is so much newness between us. I feel strongly, though, that we would be enjoying life and growing together.

This is the first holiday season that I didn’t recoil at suggestions  of a  “Merry Christmas” and a “Happy New Year”. They weren’t such a personal affront. As I said last Christmas, this season has forever changed, but the change is ongoing. Such as it is with life, I suppose.

What hasn’t changed is that feeling of disbelief that you died. That deep untouchable sadness.

Lately, I have felt like I’m more awake - not just going through the motions. I think I needed to get to this place. Leading a life of going through the motions is not a great way to go. I’m sure you would agree. I may change my mind next week, but I don’t think so. It's good to have you with me.