Father Fear

Lately I've noticed fear hanging around.

Sometimes it's dark and heavy.
Other times it's quietly casting shadows.

But it's there.
Fear.

It's an interesting emotion. One I didn't always view as such.
Sometimes it looked like anxiety. Or anger. Or sadness.
Deep down, though, at the root of all those other emotions was simply fear.

Father Fear as I like to call it.
The one that has existed forever.
The one I rarely question.
It's so deeply rooted in my life experiences it becomes truth.

I am honestly scared to walk alone, day or night.
I am afraid that any depressed person I know will consider suicide.
I hear the word cancer and I cannot breathe.

Fear.
Big Father Fear.
Paralyzing, heart pounding, dream squashing fear.

Why do I let it win?
Why don't I question it?
Since when does fear trump passion? faith? love?

Truth is, I don't have the answer.
But I know this:

Fear + Courage = Progress

Just last week, for the first time ever, Brooklyn met a big, ongoing medical fear, and showed great courage. She breathed, remained calm and believed she could. And she did.

Major progress.

Five years ago, scared out of my mind, I left my full time job to spend more time with my children.  I found courage to let go of assumptions and ideals and the opinions of others. Thanks to a courageous heart, I have spent the last five years amassing time and memories with my children, without a single regret.

This is massive personal progress on my path to a life well-lived.

So now, it's time.
To have courage, once again.
All of us.
To really live our lives.
Love our here and now.

Engage our passion.
Make our perfect moment.
Manage without the money. time. guarantee.
Embrace the nonlinear path.

Find our courage.
Breathe.
Stay calm.
Have faith.
And love.

The only way to beat Father Fear, is to embrace him.

A little unsteady

Three months down, and I am not a fan of 2017.

I have friends fighting bitter divorce and custody disputes.

Friends who have lost their children.

Friends battling bullies like radiation, depression and infertility.

Friends in a self-described funk.

I know people who are struggling, 

I am struggling,

to understand why life can be so outrageous and cruel.

I have nightmares about cancer, head lice and broken cell phones.

I worry about doctor appointments, childhood friendships and my career.

A headache turns into brain surgery and a stomach ache turns into relapse, if I don't stop myself from going all the way there.

"Hold

 Hold on
 Hold on to me
 'Cause I’m a little unsteady
 A little unsteady" - X Ambassadors

There is a collective sense of unsteady. 

We are collectively holding our breath.

It's time to take back our power.

Breathe, friends.

Breathe, self.

Anchor.

One day.
One hour.
One breath at a time.

We will persist.

We will rise.

We will triumph.

We will strengthen.

And in the meantime, we will hold on, together.

We are not alone.

We are simply unsteady.

In comes the slow

Slow.
Not snow, like you probably assumed?

It's March Break in Ontario, and yesterday we had a pretty great snowstorm.
I say great mildly. I dislike snow more than most, and it's March, afterall.

But something cool happened in my home yesterday.
We slowed down.
Waaaaay down.

We wore our jammies into the middle morning hours.
We watched shows together.
Played with puzzles.
Thought about doing a cool craft.. ok, we lost track of time on this one...

But seriously.
We slowed down.

In came the storm.
In came the slow.

I really needed the snow.

Yesterday reminded me how fast I was going.
How fast my mind was racing.
How much time I had spent, over the last two weeks, worrying about getting 'it' all done.

Why do we do that?
Why, in this developed world, do we ruminate on to-do lists? deadlines?

The list will never end.
And neither, I suspect, will the busy.

Perhaps this is why Mother Nature blessed us with snow and wind and craziness.

To remind us to slow down.
Be present at home.
Love the stillness.

The best moment of my day yesterday was curling up in the very old reclining chair in my living room with Ethan. He was still groggy and warm from his nap. We snuggled under the oldest quilt in the house and watched the snow out the front window.

For five solid minutes we watched.
Not a word.
Not a sound.
Just our breath.
Each other.
Snow.

And in that moment, the slow, stillness of life refreshed my spirit.
Relieved my soul's heaviness.
Reset my heart.

<3 <3 <3

She endured

As we celebrate International Women's Day, I wanted to share a little about my amazing Babcia.

Born in Poland, taken by the Nazis at age 15 as a prisoner of war, she was clearly a special woman, as she faced atrocities we can only imagine. She witnessed death, felt unimaginable sadness and never saw her family again.

Despite her time in camp, she survived.

My grandmother was one of the lucky ones.

She endured.

She survived and she met my grandfather, a man I never met but one she loved dearly and off they went. First they lived in England, and then eventually the wedded couple boarded a ship which took them to Montreal.

They became new Canadians.

Immigrants who were welcomed to our country.

Settled in Fort Erie.

Welcomed four kids.

And then my grandfather died.

Once again, my Babcia endured.

She raised four children.

Learned english.

Worked.

Made most of her children's clothing.

She endured.

Her legacy rests on my ring finger.

Her wedding band became mine. 

A modest yellow gold band, a reminder to keep things simple.

She is my anchor.

My focal point during life's storms.

Rising with the tide.

Rolling with the waves.

Enduring each storm.

Anchored in love.

Faith in God.

Hope during trials.

Love at the root of all decisions.

Today, on International Women's Day, I encourage you to honour the generations of amazing women who paved the way for your very life today. Aunts, grandmothers, sisters and mothers.

Women who endured, so that we may do so as well.

#IWD 

One year and a lifetime ago

Today is Brooklyn's one year cancer-free-iversary.

One year ago, doctors meticulously removed her tumour, diagnosed as stage one neuroblastoma for the mix of benign and malignant cells inside its walls. The cancer had not spread beyond her tumour, a reality I like to call being lucky, as far as unlucky goes.

One year ago we began healing.
All of five of us.

First, Brooklyn's physical body.
Her bravery lines.

Then, mom and dad's physical selves.
Back pain. Acid reflux. Sleep issues.

Now, all five of us are focused on our mental health.
Kicking the nightmares.
Lessening the anger.
Managing the guilt.
Feeling the sadness.

All this and we are the lucky family.
We endured a mere five weeks of treatment.
Quarterly follow ups.
A healthy child.
(This is where my guilt takes hold)

Thankfully Brooklyn is finally speaking about her time in treatment, thanks to an incredible play therapy program offered by Wellspring Niagara, which is led by Liz Christie of Playful Solutions. Just last week she said to Liz that every child with cancer is sad, but that sadness is really just being afraid. She has been able to articulate, through sand tray therapy, that sadness has taken her heart, a crushing reality of childhood cancer and medical trauma.

Her progress is slow but reassuring.
And we are grateful.

Little brother still clings, worries with every doctor's appointment and hugs his sister like a deity.
Big brother still feels jealous of the attention she has received, but we're discovering a level of anguish in his anger which seems to be tied very closely to all that happened last year.

And we were the lucky family.
Our daughter is alive.
NED.

She has grown over 10lbs and 3 inches in the last year.
Her hair, ironically cut as a Wigs for Kids donation two summers ago is growing long and thick.
She expresses her desire to be a dance teacher, play therapist, babysitter and mommy someday.
She reads beyond her grade level and next week will be doing a long first reading of Genesis at her school's monthly mass.

She's a freakin' rockstar.
A Warrior Princess.

So, in honour of this special day, we've decided on morning muffins, pasta day at school and then a meal at the kids' favourite restaurant.

We will laugh, eat and play as a family.
Be together as a family of five.
Tell the guilt of having a healthy child to go away, for a day, so we can celebrate.

Today, our Warrior Princess is one year NED.
And our prayers tonight will be plentiful.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Performance indicators of a life well-lived

Today marks exactly five years since I announced I was leaving an awesome full time job to become a freelance work-at-home mom. It was a very scary decision, but it felt innately comfortable.

Five years and a lifetime ago.

What astounds me about the last five years is that I do not have a single regret.

I do not regret putting my career on the back burner.
I do not regret the late, late work nights.

Not the burn out.
Not the exhaustion.
Not even the lack of 'me time'.

Don't get me wrong, the last five years have been incredibly difficult.
Painful at times, both physically and emotionally.

But my performance indicators were simple.
My decision to leave my career was based on the desire for simple things.

Balance in our home.
Time with our children.
A deeper family love.

I say 'our' in each of those first two statements because this wasn't a decision I made alone. I made it with my greatest cheerleader and best friend in life and parenting. We made this decision together.

To have less vacations.
But more time.

To buy less stuff.
But share more meaningful moments.

The performance indicators of my freelance business were not what a student reads in business texts.

I did not intend to build a large clientele.
I had no desire to work entrepreneurial hours to grow financially.

I chose balance.
I worked some, but less than full time.
I said no to projects, if they threatened my ability to be a mom.
I turned down dozens, dare I say hundreds of networking opportunities.

All to be with my family. At home. Together.
And I regret none of it.

So while a textbook may say that, by growth standards, I have failed, I am proud to have succeeded in business the last five years based on the deeply personal and engaging relationships I have with all three of my children as well as the equally strong and loving relationship I have with my husband.

Life is not always about income.
A position title on a business card.
Professional growth.

For some of us, at one time or for a long time, the performance indicators of a life well-lived are simply based on love, family and balance.

All the way there

I've been a bit of a mess this month.

We've dealt with our usual MRI appointments and follow ups (which were all NED, thank God), a lovely bout of lice (yes, you read that correctly) and the back-to-school-crazy-transition that rocks the lives of parents the world over.

It has been grey and rainy outside for a couple of weeks.
A new world leader took power, threatening peace.
People are protesting.
Hearts are angry.
So much negativity.

My instinct has been to retreat.
Into my house.
My family.
My thoughts.

I didn't realize how much I was holding inside until this week, when I finally had a good cry and was honest with my husband.

Truth is, I am struggling.
Not with worry.
Not with anxiety.
I think I am just sad.

The reminder posts on social media of the events that took place this time last year are very overwhelming. Full of emotion and fear, it's almost as if I am re-living it all now, a year later.

As my husband puts it, we went all the way there.
We didn't just think about our child having cancer, we actually heard real words from real people.
We are reminded every three months that it could come back.
We belong to a club of amazing people with the worst possible connection.

We went all the way there.
All the way.

As another cancer mom explained it to me, we aren't fearful of what COULD happen.
We re-live what DID happen.

And so as this month comes to a close I am doing something I haven't done in 10 odd years. I am going to donate blood.

To honour another childhood cancer warrior and his family.
A friend's mom gone 15 years.
All who battle this horrific beast.

I will lean into the sad.
Stand strong and rooted in my fierce desire for peace.
I will go all the way there.
And grow as a result.
<3