Reflecting on nine months of a global pandemic

We are now ending our ninth month of pandemic life.
It's wild, right?
I marvel at how different the world continues to be.

My experience has been full of questioning, wondering, worrying, ruminating and even falling apart a few times here and there, as the weight of this experience has changed so much of our family life.

Nine months working from home, without the collaboration and friendship of my co-workers.
Nine months of holding back hugs, kisses and other acts of authentic love from my heart.
Nine months without hosting a single party, get together or birthday celebration.
Nine months since I had the people I love, in my home.
Nine months of reminding my kids to wash their hands a million times a day.

It's been a long nine months.

Lately I've been struck by the different perspectives, lived experiences and concerns of the people I care about. Some have said they don't feel uprooted by the pandemic, others mildly inconvenienced and more still a great majority are feeling burnt out, depressed, anxious and overwhelmed.

I think it's safe to say this pandemic has pushed many of us to unhealthy emotional states, like it or not. I know I have leaned deeply into my self-care practice, and there are still some days where I feel like I cannot keep it together for a moment longer.

This has been so friggin' hard.
So hard.

Waves wash over me.
Days of exhaustion.
Crazy dreams.
Mannequin-like moments,
Unable to move.
Frozen.

Parenting during a pandemic, in my experience, means questioning even the small every day things I was used to taking for granted like...

Kids playing basketball together.
Driving friends around in my van.
Online chats and gaming.
How many school sweaters to buy.

At times paralyzing, this pandemic has proven once again that life can change in a heartbeat, and we have no control over it's timing.

But then this happened...

This afternoon, as I sat with Brookie preparing a surprise for some friends, I stopped dead in my tracks when I read a simple message from a neighbourhood friend:

"I just had Nolan come in. He's a lovely boy. You should be super proud of him."

I'm teary again, as I type this.

You see, today I let him hang out with a small group of boys from his school. They rode bikes, played basketball and stopped at a local corner store for a treat. They had the good fortune of just being kids, aside from my requests to sanitize and be safe. They had a relatively normal afternoon.

My awkward, sweet 12 year old pre-teen bought a treat and paid for it himself.
He did good. Really good.

Today, despite a pandemic, my friend took a moment to share positive words with me. She had no idea I was agonizing over his safety, or worrying he would be disrespectful in public or gluttonous in his purchase. Today she thought of me, and took a few moments to reach out.

Today she lifted my weary soul.

And this, this is the way forward during this difficult, sometimes divisive time. 

We must reach out.
Be proactive.
Thoughtful.
Check in.
Share a positive note,
Warm reflection,
Quick love story.

We need to lift up every single person we love.
Find and support the weary hearts.
Prioritize love.
BE LOVE.

Because the pandemic isn't over and the world keeps turning, the bills keep coming, the kids keep growing up and we continue to live our lives, for the most part.

So DO LOVE, this week. 
Reach beyond your own challenging life to envelop a weary heart in loving kindness.

xoxo

A little about love

I've been thinking about love, lately.
The way it holds my life together.

Love for my kids.
Husband.
Parents.
Family.
Friends.

Love is permission to fall apart.
And know someone is there to hold me.

Love allows me to finish short of my word.
And know all will be forgiven.

Love is being held in a space which says; nothing has to happen right now.
Nothing is perfect and that's ok.
It's ok.
I'm ok.

That's love.

Love is when my heart races with worry.
Love is nagging doubt that I've made the right decision.
Love is hope, when there's nothing else to hold on to.

Love is a state of being where there is warmth.
It's a safe place.
An honest one.

Love permits disagreement, but always with respect.
Love allows anger, but quickly finds forgiveness.
Love is exhausting, for all the right reasons.

I've found, as I've aged, that when I centre on love, I simply cannot go wrong.

Sometimes it's a longer journey.
Sometimes it hurts so much more.
But love, as my reason, my wrapping, my motivation, never leads to regret.

I've lost friends, on account of loving them so much my honest words hurt their feelings.
I've hurt my heart, following hope and forgiveness to a place where I was trampled on.
I've literally lost hours of my life worrying from a place of deep love for others.

But I can say for sure, it was my authentic self.
It was true, honest to goodness love that led my actions.

And so, I'll continue to show up.
Sometimes exhausted, battered and bruised.
Sometimes afraid of speaking the truth.

Because I know this for certain.
I am my most authentic self when my thoughts, words and actions come from my heart centre.
And I do not intend to change this instinct. Ever.

Know this about me;
If you choose to hold space for me, I will for you.
I'm probably already quietly praying for you.

If you need me, I will be there.
In times of great joy, my heart celebrates with you.
And in times of trouble, my heart aches, walking with you.
Even if you don't see me there.
I am.

Love, as I see it, is the single greatest, most honest way to honour the divinity that created me.

And this year, now this new decade, I will no longer feel shameful for sharing it with everyone, every cause, every thing out there in this great big hurting world that needs it.

Love.
Only love today.
Only love every day.
This is my pledge.

xo

The teachings of my soul

Last week I got lost in the busyness of life.

(If I'm being honest, I've been lost most of the summer)

Many of my worst habits... to do lists, late night notes to myself, an overly full calendar.... have come back in full force as I attempt to control my world.

But back to last week.

Last week was a particularly crazy week, one where I literally spent hours preparing for a weekend event that I look forward to every year. I was making phone calls and sending texts, I was confirming rules and considering all angles to ensure the best possible chance for success. 

Hours.

I'm not even kidding.

Then, the weekend arrives. I was overpacked, my brain was still swimming with all the busy of the week but my heart was happy as I was about to spend my weekend with some of my favourite people.

Then, get this.

Despite my organization, time spent and energy expelled all week, it blew up in my face.

Literally, another human being blew up in my face.

Crap.

Really?

If you know me personally, you know how much I hate conflict.

It makes my skin crawl. 

Call me an idealist, but I like to think that words are powerful enough to deflate most conflicts, and that if we take time to check our perspectives we can almost always see another side of the story.

But this weekend, despite my very best efforts to promote smooth sailing, I hit a massive wave.

I can't even tell you how much it hurt my heart. 

Hurt.

My.

Heart.

But it happened, and I left feeling unheard, disrespected and totally overwhelmed.

In fact I spent most of my day feeling sick to my stomach.

And it didn't matter how much I prepared, because it didn't help me.

Huh.

Sometimes life just throws us a curveball. 

Acts in a way which is contrary to every plan, scenario and best practice.

Sometimes we just aren't prepared.

Sometimes no one listens.

Sometimes no one wants to listen.

Sometimes we just can't win.

Sometimes words aren't enough.

And so despite living with an awareness of self, despite my every effort to be kind, speak calmly under distress and build mutual respect, sometimes life just doesn't work that way.

All I can do now, is listen to the teachings of my soul.

It continues to say, love, even when others don't love you.

Breathe deeply and speak calmly when you want to explode.

Love friends like family, because they really are the family you choose.

Fail and keep failing, but never ever stop living with optimism.

Thank those who support you, but appreciate those who do not, for they help you grow.

Remember that faith can heal a hurting heart.

And hugs really do make a tough day better.

And finally, never, ever let another person's opinion of you, become you. 

I am not what you think.

I am what I know, deep inside.

Chin up, heart open and soul bared.

Always.

Courtesy Buddha Doodles

Not all wandering means we are lost

I got asked this question earlier in the week:

"Can you let me know some differences (good and bad) about having 2 vs 3 kids?"

Hmm.
I did blog a little about this in the past, however I find the question so much more powerful and reflective, now that Brooklyn and our family have endured such a fresh journey.

Why did we choose to have three children?
Hmm.

The truth is, we really only 'planned' our first two. To be embarrassingly honest Ethan is quite the love child. No really, he was a thought in our minds, but he was not at all planned for and discussed in advance the way our first two kids were.

To most people, we had 'the million dollar family' already. Two children, one of each sex.
To the logical brain, we 'had it all'.

But here's the thing.

'Having it all' to me meant I needed one more child on the dock, in that classic photo I blogged about back in 2013.

To one friend it meant one little man and absolutely no more.
To another, it meant adopting four gorgeous little ones.
To a third, it meant two, but with a large gap in between.

The thing that ties us all together is this:
We listened to our hearts more, and our heads less.

Yes, having two children means life is more expensive.
Tables are more difficult to come by at a restaurant,
Post-secondary tuition will be outrageous.

But life will always be expensive.
And you can live with less.
Trust me on this one.

Restaurants are overpriced.
Food is too salty when you don't make it yourself.
And the best meals are always inspired by little helpers with big hearts.

And lastly, our children will never come out of school debt-free.
Its an impossibility, as I see it.
So we'll save, and we'll help. But they will also be responsible for their education and their future.

We listened to our hearts.
Not our conditioned minds, ego voices trying to 'protect us' from its perception of danger.

Having two children is 'easier' in many ways.
Less laundry, lunches to make and hands to hold when crossing the street.

But for my heart to truly be full, to feel complete in this stage of my life, I needed my wee man.

Perhaps because his bum shaking made me laugh when his sister was sick.
Maybe it's because his "I love you mommy"s watered my withering heart.
It's certainly because his presence, as loud and crazy as it is, kept our entire family alert and moving when all we wanted to do was hide under our covers and cry.

He was meant to be.
Three was meant to be.

And so, for any family. Any couple. Any single adult pondering these important questions.
The question of if, or how many children to have can most certainly be answered logically by crunching incomes, counting bedrooms and looking to social norms.

But the real answer lies deep inside the heart.
In the quiet before bedtime.
The alone time on the drive to work.
While out for an early morning jog.

"If you want to know where your heart is, look where your mind goes when it wanders."

Happiness is felt in the heart.
Not all wandering means we are lost.

It's never really over

The thing about trauma is that it's never really over, per se.

Thoughts.
Feelings.
Painful memories.

They linger.
They take up space in our busy brains.
They can easily take over one's ability to feel happy, whole and in control.

The last couple of days I've been marvelling at how all roads in our family life led to the last 6 weeks. Gave us a 'tool kit' so to speak, for dealing with our family trauma.

I spent the last year engaging in meditation and mindfulness practices, resulting in the ability to see light during the darkest of our last six weeks. Friends, both old and new, who allowed me to entrench myself in their personal and family cancer experiences the last number of years, took it upon themselves to prop me up every single day of this journey. The practical way Jay and I rebooted our finances last fall, so that me being without work right now is a setback, not a sinking ship. The family yoga classes that Brooklyn and I started prior to her diagnosis  attuned her to the power of her breath, and taught her a simple song that calmed her worst fears and silenced her tears during our 15 odd days of inpatient treatments.

All of these roads have led to today, and just weeks after I posted about my self-declared 2016 Year of Celebration, we found ourselves stuttering and gasping for breath, trying to verbalize the sentence, 'Brooklyn has cancer' to our closest relatives. I will never forget making those phone calls, in the third floor hallway of McMaster Children's Hospital, a pile of mush on the floor. Trying, so so hard, to breathe.

I could be angry.
After all, it feels entirely unfair that a five year old should fight cancer.

I could be depressed.
It was painful to see my daughter, my own flesh and blood, in intense pain.

I could feel anxious.
After all, there are more results pending, and there will be follow up tests for many, many more years.

I could loathe God.
Many people do, following a trauma.

The thing is, I don't.
I have moments of anger, sadness and anxiety.

But I mostly feel gratitude.
Intense gratitude.

For the 'doers' who carried my family and I through this journey.
For my husband, whose love for our family carried us when I fell apart.
For my dearest, most incredible friends who lived inside my head throughout the last six weeks, offering daily support, checks ins and countless opportunities to say they loved me.
For my body, which carried my soul.

You see, we will all experience trauma at some point.

We will lose people we love.
Parents. Siblings. Babies. Neighbours.
Some of us will fight cancer, disease and mental illness.
Be unemployed, battle addiction and see our children struggle to succeed.

We will hurt, deep down in our souls.
We will feel like we cannot go on.
Like the world is better off without our pain.

But wait.
We can choose another path.

Gratitude is a conscious choice to look at every single interaction in our day as a gift, a silver lining through the thick grey clouds of trauma.

Let's be honest here, trauma brings out the best in the people we love. Coincidentally, trauma also showcases the tragic flaws in others, some of which I can personally say have been disappointing to witness.

But I can still choose gratitude.

I can choose to feel 'lucky' that Brooklyn's type and stage of cancer was the best possible outcome in the medical books. Even if being truly 'lucky' is having a child that never experiences cancer at all.

I can choose to be grateful that I am home with my children, snuggling and caring for them, despite the fact that this means my income is nil for the foreseeable future.

I can choose happiness.
Peace in my soul.
Love in my heart.
Faith in God.

A very wise friend said to me, once you battle cancer it's never really over, it just becomes the new normal. You live for today, and you make a choice not to worry about tomorrow.

And so it may never really be over, per se.
But I firmly believe the aftermath of trauma is manageable with a heart full of gratitude.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Grow with us

I am still trying to come up with words, to express how I am feeling right now.

Angry.
Sad.
Broken.

A good start, yes, but the pain I feel is so much deeper than that. So much more raw. It's as if someone took my heart out of my body and still expects me to be 'myself' without it. My brain is foggy, my body aches and tears fall in streams from my face without a moment's notice.

I look at my little girl and wonder how this will change her.

Will she go into medicine someday, hoping to change the world?
Will she refuse to bare her midsection as a tween because she's ashamed of her scars?
Will she feel a strong dislike for doctors, the very people dedicated to making her well?

I look at my sons, and I can see how this has changed them.

Ethan screams when being left alone, begs for us to sleep with him, wakes 10+ times a night and says things like, "Mom be careful, Brookie is sick." Nolan is, once again, highly sensitive. He is crying more often, crawling into my lap at least once a day and looking at me with eyes that shout dissatisfaction and worry about the current state of our life.

And then I look at Jay and I.

It's awful.
We are shells.
Breathing, yes, but otherwise void of our usual zest for life.
We are pale, exhausted and hurting.
Laughter is infrequent. Silly jokes are missing.

Our love for each other remains unspoken.
We are partners in this journey.

When I am ok, he is not.
When I fall apart, he is strong.
Every ounce of our energy is being poured into our kids, leaving an empty bucket for each other. But that's ok, because we know we are in this together.

I came across a video today, and I feel like everyone needs to watch it.
It's time to stop the 'not doing' and get to doing.
Living.
Being.
Appreciating all that we have.
Losing the regrets.

The silver lining, in all of this, is becoming evident.

Hearing friends say, I've taken too much for granted.
Seeing neighbours spending quality time together as a family.
Feeling family members give so much of themselves, in the name of family.

It's incredible.

Too many of us worry incessantly about the next step in our careers at the expense of missed hockey games, first home runs and cups of coffee with dear friends. Too many of us have become overly concerned with the next big style trend, the brand of car in our driveway and the roots of our dyed hair.

But wait.
What if we looked again.

What if we let the silver lining shine a little brighter.

Notice the way a hug feels around our neck.
Take in the smell of our spouse when crawling into bed at night.
See the love our pets offer us without hesitation.

You see, as much as I cannot breathe right now, as much as my heart is broken into a million pieces, I know that there are lessons to be learned. I know that my life will be enriched by choosing mindfulness in my daily activities. In appreciating the kindness and love of others.

I want you to be part of the silver lining.
I never want you to go through this with your child.
But I want you to learn from us. 
Grow with us.
Find peace along side us.

I want to prove that all of this happened for a reason.
And I want to hear about what you've learned.

xo

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

I'm not ready

The truth is, I'm not ready.
I don't think I'll ever be ready.

I just tucked in my two oldest, beautiful children. Asked them to please get a great sleep because tomorrow was their first day, first experience as full day students.

We'd already shopped for back to school clothing. Pulled out backpacks. Talked about snacks and lunch and which zipper container to open on their new, very fancy lunch bags.

Reminded them to use their manners. Get to the bathroom before too long. Wash their hands. Listen at circle time. Ask questions. Behave.

I told them how proud I was of each of them. How much I love them. How I will miss them dearly.

Then I said goodnight. Closed the door. And cried.

Cried for my pending loss. Cried for the quietness about the take over my house. Cried because I know life moves too quickly, children grow too fast, and kisses don't fit inside backpacks.

I cried because I love them. Love who they have become, love seeing them grow every single day, love every single ounce of their little bodies and souls. Love who they have moulded me to become as a mom and woman.

This journey, this incredible opportunity to have been home, their stay-at-home, work-at-home mother, has been more demanding and as a result more rewarding then I ever dreamed was possible.

And so, I'm not ready.
To walk them to school. Kiss them goodbye. Turn and walk away.
I'm not ready.

My Nolan. My Brooklyn. Forever my preschoolers, forever my little sidekicks on an adventure with me. Forever my soul mates, partners in crime and snuggle monkeys.

Forever my babies.
And so, I will cry. Over and over again.

Because I have been blessed with the most special gift of all. Being their mother.

xoxo