A Bachelors Blog

One Last Car Ride

2025-10-20T12:51:00.000-05:00

... I can't buy pickles. I've tried over and over to buy them and every time I do I just tear up and start t cry. It would almost be funny if it weren't so damned constant and embarrassing.

Moxie's favourite snack was pickles. And pizza. But pickles, all day every day she would get the drool bubbles and make a mess on the floor as she watched the jar being opened. Not sure why she liked them so much but it was something she enjoyed from pretty much the start of our adventures together. So.

Now I can't buy pickles, I just miss her too much in those moments, I guess.

Today is one year. One year without her snorty breaths, velociraptor nails clacking across the floor, her farting to help her get up on the couch. It was a thing, truly.

The silence was the hardest, especially living in that house, the one I bought so I could have my own dog. My 170,000$ dog. Now I own a new place with a new type of silence, but I still miss Mox every day. I had a vivid dream of her the other night and it was the most banal and 'everyday' dream of sitting on the couch with her and watching tv together. I woke up happy and sad. Happy for the brief visit and sad for the loss. She truly was the goodest girl.

I've spent the past week driving out to various places that she loved, spreading her ashes around in those spots, thinking about the good times. West Hawk Lake, Hunt Lake Trail, St Laurent, Assiniboine Park, the house around the front steps where she liked to be a nosy old lady and police the neighbourhood.

She was always there for me. On her final day I am so glad(sad) that I was there for her like she'd always been for me. I held her in my arms the whole time, till she was gone. I hope and believe she was comforted by that.

Now I sit in this chair, in this new place far removed from that life, that world, that is gone forever except in my heart and I am sad. I miss my dog.

…A long time comin…

2025-08-06T19:31:00.000-05:00

…It’s been a long time runnin, its been a long time comin…it’s well worth the wait… - Gord Downie, The Hip

I’ve stepped away from the blogosphere for awhile, gentle reader. Your patience is always appreciated and to be fair and honest, I don’t know that my work would have been any good. Discordant would be my best word association.

Sometimes life just kicks you right in the mind. And heart. Repeatedly… Moxie passing last October was really tough for me. I had that dog the entirety of living in my home. She was as much a part of the history there as anyone else. I bought that house to get a dog, so yeah, I bought a $170,000 dog.

…

Worth every god damn penny. I’d give all that up in a heart beat for just one more day with that goofy old girl. I miss her dearly, even now…. especially now.

An odd thing happened after I said my goodbyes. She left me…and so did my ability to write or play guitar. The two things I enjoy the most and inject the most passion and energy into. I simply couldn’t create, try as I might. And I tried… mightily. I eventually recognized this as a stage of my grief, although an unexpected one.

Time flies. Stephen King once said that it’s the last magic left in the world, that time passes…whether we want it to or not, it has this mischievous way of sneaking under the radar even during the hard times when ‘the night draws out like a blade’, to borrow another King quote.

It’s been a wild and agonizing year. A lot has happened and to be honest, most of it has been not awesome. I’m holding to some of the victories though and anxiously waiting for this summer-time sadness to pass (thank you Lana Del Rey)... Look at me, full of the pop culture references today.

I won’t list any of the bad stuff I’ve been wrestling with, but I’d like to mention a few good and fun things recently that have propped me up during the bumpy bits.

Ireland for St Paddys weekend. A definite bucket list item with some pals, was a good trip
England/wales, see above comment. I have also found a new nerdy interest in visiting castles that begun in Italy and Poland and has carried on. A checklist for the world travels, as it were
My niece is getting married soon, and has honoured and blessed me by asking me to walk her down the aisle. I cried when she asked me…blubbering in my truck, pretending I’m tough and cool ‘It’s fine, I’m fine, dirt in my eye’, she called me on my bullshit… as she does. I love that kid alot, and I’m so very proud of how far she’s come in her journey… even if she IS marrying a maple leaves fan. (grumble grumble), No one is perfect I suppose… annnnnnyway…
I did a thing and bought a new home. Possession is September 1. I needed to move on from the old place, for reasons aforementioned as well as other ghosts of a past life, never mind the pragmatic long drive through the city to work every day and all the stresses that this scenario brings to me constantly. I’m officially an out-of-towner.

The people who are closest to me know all of this already, but for you, gentle reader, maybe this is new information. I’ve been busy, most of it stressful and upsetting business but I can hang my hat on these victories and the hope that come Autumn, at least some of the stressors and frustrations will be mitigated. The hope… it’s real.

For now, a quick update and a hope that maybe, just mayyyybe, my grief over the loss of my sweet old pup has subsided enough for me to come back onto the writing stage, fiesty and a-swingin!

Today… literally, TODAY, I finally feel like writing and the words have come to me where previously they refused and putting any sort of pen to paper was futility personified as well as exhausting.

BUT, I have also been thinking about writing more of the fantasy/fiction content should anyone care to read whatever I can spew forth. I am suspending the story I was working on Pre-Mox, and I may just re-write the whole damn thing, but I have a little “practice” story I may try to flesh out and turn into some kind of thing. It’s based off of a picture by an artist I enjoy from my junior high Dungeons and Dragons days. The picture can be found in the 2nd Edition Players Handbook and I’d like to just magic up some fictional accounting to bring that amazing piece of art even more to light.

I have issues trying to show pictures and embedding links here in blog world but Ill spam my instagram/FB/Threads and probably get a copyright infringement warning and a pee pee slap! Ah, what we do for our art. I’m very nervous right this minute. A little scared that maybe the ‘gift’ of words won't fully come back…but also I’m pretty stoked and feeling the good vibe energy that comes with a really long blast of creative writing.

So! Here we go, Gentle Reader, on this next chapter and lets hope that it truly is well worth the wait…

Blogwork is Homework is Good Work

2024-09-27T19:39:00.006-05:00

Hello, Gentle Reader,

This blog has always been my way of sharpening my writing chops, or shaking off the rust of my laziness and trying to find my 'voice', as it were, online. I know, Gentle Reader, that you often do not give feedback, and thats ok. This space isn't meant as an ego-reach and any and all feedback regarding my posts is appreciated, often more than you might guess, but thats not why I write here.

Most of my drive and reasoning is the simple act of it. Writing is healthy for the soul and great practice more than anything else, the more practice you put in, the better at it you get... or at least that's what I keep incessantly telling myself, forever hopeful that I am in fact getting 'better' as a writer, whatever that actually means. I suppose my ability to project my voice comes down to you, Gentle Reader. I hope you hear me and I am able to project the visuals and a sense of where I am, figuratively as well as literally.

So, having said that, a quick little update. Its been a week out here and Vancouver is pretty decent. The work is all sorts of complicated in a brave new way I wasn't fully expecting and as nervous as I am about that, I'm also enjoying the sights and smells and experiences of the mountains out here as well as a small sampling of what the city has to offer. I am working on downloading photos for the blog as well so hopefully that will brighten up the space and help you share the experience with me a little bit better than mere words being cast at you, Gentle Reader, from this clumsy hand.

There is an odd comfort in continuity. Knowing the same issues and challenges are facing me here that faced me in Winnipeg, work-wise, is oddly calming for me. I suppose it's the addage, The Devil you know vs the Devil you don't. I capitalized the word Devil intentionally, for anyone that cares, haha! I am looking forward to exploring the city and getting closer to nature in the next while, as my hotel is smack dab in the centre of urban-sprawlsville and I didn't bring my vehicle on this first 28 day block of work, not sure what I would be dealing with for space and living quarters and such. Next block I think I'm driving up, just alot easier for work access as well as visiting some folks around the city and on the island. I'm focused on the job but my spare time I really do want to take advantage of and try to see some sights and do some mountain hikes and be a bit of a tourist. I'm not ashamed of that, I've never been here before. Been through the airport a few times, and I have lived both North of BC in Inuvik, NWT and south in Oakland, California but yeah, this is my first real experience actually in BC.

Still alive, still exploring, still pushing my personal comfort zone in so many ways. Life is good. It's fucking hard at times, but it's also good.

Spin the globe and see where you land

2024-09-20T20:48:00.002-05:00

Funny the difference a season can make. My last post at the end of Spring had me gearing up for an epic European backpacking trip. Rome, Naples, Procida Island, Bolzano, and various other stops in Italy before swinging up to Poland to visit with a friend there after staying with a gracious and patient friend in Italy. Wroclaw was special to see for the historical side of things but more importantly to me, it was the birthplace of my dear friend Margaret. Slawek, her brother, and I would travel the streets of their youth that they had told me all about over the course of decades... it brought Maggie back a little bit, for a short while. A special end to a pretty special trip. Definitely had some bittersweet moments as well but the glory of the Roman ruins, the awe inspiring mountains of the Dolomites, to the excitement of hiking up a winding hillside through dense brush and tree cover to behold the ruins of old castles, meticulously restored. This kids inner nerd went completely haywire, it was so amazing and fun!

I mean, these are 'Me-centric' things to get excited about. For example, in Bolzano, there is a frozen man named Otzi that i remember reading about in books when I was a kid and was enthralled by. . Welp, I went and saw my new bff! Hes still frozen and viewable at their very cool museum for him. That city is amazing, an underrated gem in a country full of things to see. Highly recommend for a whole bunch of reasons.

Which brings us to today, with summer winding down and autumn about to kick in the door... Im sitting in a Starbucks being as pretentious as I possibly can be, typing away on my blog as i drink my 'too many names' drink, trying to expound to you, gentle reader, the merits of travelling and seeing the things. Im in Surrey/Langley BC right now. I decided a change was in orde rand seeing as, weirdly for all my travels, I have never spent any time in BC besides the airport. I have lived south of BC in Oakland, north of BC in Inuvik NWT but yeah... never really explored this province. So far the strip malls and car dealerships are quite mountainesque, hahahah I keed I keed! Ill get around to properly exploring once my work routines are settled. For now, its hotel living, wandering and exploring whats close by and within easy walking distance. Maybe next 4 week block here Ill drive up with the truck. A set of wheels would definitely be handy up this way.

This post is about seeking. We are all guilty of saying 'maybe one day' or ' I wish I could afford...' but reality is really as simple as setting a goal, breaking down how to get there, and doing the things. Part of why I'm out here working is to be able to accomplish those goals I've set for myself and the added bonus of being a new place to explore just makes this decision a little bit easier to bear. Being far from home is never easy, especially with an old senior dog at home, but life won't slow down for any of us. It's purely in our hands to try and break this wild horse called living and ride it in the directions we want and need it to go in.

...

Personally, I'm tired of letting the wild ride control where I go. It was and continues to be my choice to keep wrestling and working towards the goals I've set... One step at a time. One day at a time... Dreams don't happen by accident, gentle reader. Dreams are birthed and, so I'm told, it can be a painful process.

Fuck this place, I’m out…

2024-05-07T17:26:00.002-05:00

I grew up poor. Really poor. To steal a line from Chris Rock, we grew up so poor we couldn’t afford the O R at the end of the word, we were just PO. hahaha. Still accurate. But my childhood poverty isn’t the point of this post. I mention it because growing up I had to watch all my friends going on family vacations to Disneyland and the Phillipines and Mexico and wherever their families were in the world while I roamed my asphalt jungle like a half wild animal in a cage.

I always vowed that I would see the world someday. It was a fervent childhood promise full of idealism and hope, as only a child can conjure.

In my heartbreak of being left behind and alone to fend for myself all summer, I knew, in my bones…I just KNEW… I’d go out there and see the world some day. Even as those bitter tears streamed down my little cheeks, the fire to see the world, the one I only ever read about in books, burned deep in my soul.

…

Fast forward a few decades.

I’ve seen some shit. Travelled to Japan, Indonesia, Caribbean, Central America, the States and most of Canada. I’ve been extremely fortunate to be able to witness and enjoy the sights, the sounds, the tastes, the laughs with friends, family and strangers… the memories.

Not too bad for a kid living on Stella Ave in the North End of Winnipeg.

I’ve walked on or swam in all the oceans surrounding our fantastic country. That’s a pride point for me. Not too many folks can say the same. It’s been an experience.

…

But now… now it’s time to start something new and different.

In ten days I leave this country and try my hand at world travelling again after a 7 and 15 year hiatus from my last adventures.

This period of time will be a bit of alone time hiking all over some amazing landscapes in worlds I never thought, in any of my wildest childhood dreams, I’d be able to see and experience. I’m going with one light backpack. 20 days of travel across a whole bunch of countries in Europe. It’s time, Europe.

I will be iiiiiiiiiiiiin you!

Prepare yourself, gentle reader. More posts to come. 😈😉🇨🇦👍🏼❤️👍🏼❤️

The Hard Truth

2024-04-17T01:09:00.001-05:00

…is that we are imperfect creatures. Today… today I am sad and I can’t shake it. Some days are just like that.

I miss talking to Doug. I miss Margaret’s laugh, I miss Stefan’s ridiculous stories and ridiculous facts about any topic at all.

They are all dead and gone. Ghosts in the halls of my mind.

I recently ended a long engagement with someone I really thought was going to be my person but we are all human and as humans do, we go our own ways sometimes. We lost our way and when I realized that we weren’t a team anymore, I sadly ended it. That’s been bothering me for months. Trying to mourn the loss and deal with work and life and family and friends… these losses can fade into the background, maybe not get the proper attention and focus they need. An old injury that never really heals properly, leaving an ugly scar.

More recently I embarked on a relationship that was one of those classics that I think we all can relate to “when it was good, it was amazing, but when it was bad it was pretty horrible”. That short and bittersweet journey was fun and sad and challenging and ultimately ended. I really learned a lot in these past two relationships though; what I want and don’t want in a partner, goals and future plans, communication methods, listening skills.

I’m learning a lot. Therapy/self-help studying has helped me understand myself better especially coming from the tragic and abusive past that I have. It’s good to have someone to help you understand things that maybe most people take for granted.

Why am I triggered and angry over certain things? What ARE those feelings in my gut, anyway?! Wtf are they even doing there?

Introspection is a good thing. It’s also a very difficult thing and it hurts sometimes. Seeing your not awesome bits and learning to love them is a real challenge but it’s a kindness and allows us to give that love back to others.

Hokey? Yes.

Correct? Also yes.

So why, gentle reader, am I pulling back the curtain for you to see my deep and dark inner turmoils and troubles? Would this be over sharing and embarrassing for you to read on my behalf?

Possibly. But I think that would simply reflect on your own feelings. Truth is, I don’t care what others think about my blog. It’s built to be honest, open and hopefully funny on occasion.

I’m writing this so you know that sometimes I’m not ok, no matter how things look on Facebook and instagram. Sometimes my soul bleeds and my spirit rages in my chest with a vocal cord shredding scream…

Sometimes I’m sad. I miss my friends and I’m struggling with being a ‘good person’ and being healthy emotionally in a relationship.

It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to not be ok. I write this one month before my 47th birthday and I really don’t have my shit in order.

This is also ok. I don’t expect to. What I am though, is curious about how I can get to a better me. I think I’ve found some things to help.

This blog is one of them. I’m still sad as I write this but that’s ok. I let the feeling wash over me and allow it to just hang out. It goes away after a minute or two and I continue to write.

Take heart, gentle reader. You are not alone… keep up the good fight and push through these moments of sadness, of struggle. We can’t enjoy the sunshine without a little rain now and then.

Hope - a song by NF (worth listening to)

2024-03-13T16:31:00.001-05:00

I’ve been on a journey.

This is a long and winding road, full of bumps and danger and pain… full of challenges and hardship and did I mention the pain?

I’ve been challenged in life recently and have had enough of trying to do things the wrong way. The way my mother taught me, the way of damage and hurt and selfish and pain and pushing everyone away. I’ve hid behind the ‘honourable veneer’ of independence. It’s been my shield and my armour, keeping both the terrible pain and the amazing goodness of people away. Arms length. Exactly how I like it. It’s easier this way..

Until it isn’t. Until my child is hurt by my armour. Until my relationships suffer on the steely distance the armour provides me.

Now I am taking that armour off. It’s been wounding me and my loved ones as well as insulating me from good and bad experiences.

I needed to find a better way.

I’ve found it… but fuckin hell, is it a difficult path.

This song offers me hope and hopefully a glimpse into my world for any of you patient readers.

I highly recommend listening to this song.

I highly recommend reading these lyrics.

I highly recommend seeking help where you can in a healthy environment with someone who can walk you through your pain, however that looks for you. I’m a listening ear as much as I can be should you need it.

HOPE - NF

Thirty years of running, thirty years of searchingThirty years of hurting, thirty years of painThirty years of fearful, thirty years of angerThirty years of empty, thirty years of shameThirty years of broken, thirty years of anguishThirty years of hopeless, thirty years of (hey)Thirty years of never, thirty years of maybeThirty years of later, thirty years of fakeThirty years of hollow, thirty years of sorrowThirty years of darkness, thirty years of (Nate)Thirty years of baggage, thirty years of sadnessThirty years of stagnant, thirty years of chainsThirty years of anxious, thirty years of sufferingThirty years of torment, thirty years of (wait)Thirty years of bitter, thirty years of lonelyThirty years of pushing everyone away(You'll never evolve) I know I can change(We are not enough) we are not the same(You don't have the heart) you don't have the strength(You don't have the will) you don't have the faith(You'll never be loved, you'll never be safeMight as well give up) not running away(You don't have the guts) you're the one afraidI'm the one in chargeI'm taking the (no)I'm taking theReigns

thoughts from a taxi

2024-02-16T08:38:00.000-06:00

This morning I witnessed a beautiful sunrise amidst the brittle cold of a prairie winter. Cold all night and cold all day but in the middle of that misery was this one beautiful moment, making the rest of it that much more bearable and isn’t that just how life goes sometimes?

There are times when you are stuck and struggling and you just need to reach out for a win, something to get you through, whether Its a beautiful sunrise, a positive interaction, the hug of someone you love, the sweet tail wags of your beloved pet, the feel of the hot car seat heater on your aching back, the taste of a good mug of coffee or tea… any moment to pause from the grind and to just enjoy. Put everything else aside just for a few seconds and soak in that joy and pleasure.

Life has been difficult for me these past couple of months and I’ve been trying my best to pull out of my personal nosedive, to find my peace and to get back to good mentally. It’s the time of year as well, I get that, but sometimes things stack up on us and we flounder, overwhelmed with life’s challenges and the unfairness of it all… as we perceive it in the moment.

My list of grievances is long and each individual item is a heartbreaker in and of itself but compound them in a two month block and life gets tough. Remembering the beauty in life ; the sunrises and sunsets, snuggling your old dog, hugging your person, taking a relaxing walk or drive or swim or whatever you enjoy… it allows for a little reset. The challenges are there, sure, but maybe you feel a little bit better and can tackle one of them, take it off the shit list. Maybe not. Maybe you just have a little bit more patience for the day.

2024 started with a bang for me. The bang of bumpers clashing, shattering panels. Yeah, a car accident. Followed by work problems, relationship issues, a very sick dog and a mentally struggling blog author… it was a lot. It IS a lot. The nose dive or spiral or crash or whatever you want to call it, is real. We all suffer through those moments.

I’m taking steps to correct these things and to try to see the positives of these various challenges or to, at the least, just get through them in one piece. Moxie seems to be recovering, the car will be fixed soon I hope, the relationship is starting to move in a healthy and positive direction, and work is.. well.. it’s work. Today I watched a sun rise and I’m thankful to be here to enjoy it. I’m alive which means I have the power to make changes across the board. There is always a new day to try again when we fail, always a new way to look at hints and implement a change in our lives.

The question is… do we see the sunrise, or just the cold? Can we make a change or just stay in a situation as it is?

No one can answer those questions but you. Or I, in my own life. I’ve chosen to enjoy the sunrise and to chase after the better things. If I fail, I’ve learned some things and if I succeed then life gets better for me. Either way, there’s been growth and that’s never a bad thing.

Stay warm, gentle reader.

2 years ?!?

2024-01-22T18:53:00.001-06:00

I didn’t realize how fast time has been blurring by since 2021. After losing someone important to me I think I just needed to retreat for while.

A quick recap -

Tried to return to work in 2022 and dealt with numerous issue in my return. Doctor decided I needed to rest so I was off work again from

November till May of 2023, without support from work or workers comp so no pay for 6 months. #stress

My relationship fell apart. A lot of big and small issues but in summation… we grew apart into different directions. It happens. It’s sad but that’s life sometimes.

Tried returning to work in May and it’s stuck so far… it’s been tough and for some reason 2024 just wants to be difficult but that’s life sometimes too I suppose.

Writing has always been a healthy vent for me and my blog has been a place to just talk it out. Never really know who’s reading but it does help me process through some rough patches. So thanks, Blog!

So now we enter a new year with a whole whack of challenges; car accident, relationship issues with my important people, winter depression trying to rear its ugly head, numerous work related issues.

I really feel the weight of things right now. I’m trying my best to focus on positives; Moxie has been sick but seems to be responding to the numerous meds and she hasn’t been peeing herself or all over the house which is a huge relief mentally hah. I meant who likes a peepee house? Also she’s the smelly kid in class and that’s also embarrassing. She’s doing better as well, seems happier this past week or so. I’m very glad for that.

I’m censoring a lot right now. Being in the middle of a lot of really emotional events makes me be a little protective. I’m working on things but I know I’m not there yet. For now, I take steps to move in that direction and that’s all that’s in my power to do.

This winter is flying by, though… as difficult as it’s been so far. I’m looking forward to a trip to Europe in the late spring possibly. Something to work towards… we all need goals to target, something to strive for.

I’m rambling… rusty writing, it’s been two years already so this banality is the result.

Aw well, here it is.

Goodbyes are hard to do - a Eulogy

2022-03-16T18:08:00.000-05:00

I’ve written this in my mind about a hundred times over the past while and have studiously avoided ‘putting pen to paper’ until now.

Now we are out of time and my guts and heart ache as my spirit struggles with this loss.

This isn’t about me. I’m a supporting actor in this blog post. This is the best way to honour my friend that I can think of, to help ease her passing maybe a little. A post to tell the world about this wonderful person that most readers have never met, and never will, and that’s the biggest shame of all. This star shines so bright in the world and the darkness just seems to push in a little more without it.

I fell in love with Margaret the moment I saw her. She was my first true love. I was smitten. Her golden hair and sparkling green eyes, her musical laugh and amazing wit. The stories of how we met and the connection to eachother through the 27 years together are both hilarious and awkward, boring and crazy, sad and happy. Highs and lows. We remained friends on and off for her entire life and built a very strong bond of trust and care as she battled her Cancer diagnosis and tried to just live her life as best she could.

Margaret was one of those classic stoic Polish girls. Not one to complain or show her tears to anyone if she could avoid it. No matter the situation, she would quickly switch to caring for those around her, a hallmark of her character and heart for her loved ones, that she would consistently and efficiently shelve her own agony to care for others in theirs. I witnessed this numerous times especially over the last 18 months as things steadily went from

Bad to… really bad… for her. For us all, I suppose.

I want to write a long post about all the memories and so many good things I know to be true about Maggie. I just can’t. I think I will hold those close to the vest… those will just be for me.

I will illustrate who Mags was with this fact though. I think it will tell you all who she was and still is to the ones she had to leave behind.

Margaret couldn’t have children. She wanted them so badly, her only desire in life was to be a mom and fate, in all it’s unending cruelty, took that away from her, try as she might. It was never in the cards for her in that way.

So what did she do? Well, she fostered and adopted. Not one, not two, not three, but seven children. Seven. It amazes me still every time I think on it. The toughness that goes hand in hand with a heart so prepared to love and give that love to children. Amazing.

And what a mom she’s been. Through challenges and frustrations and heartbreak and laughter and joy, Margaret was the epitome of unconditional love. Always there, always trying, always willing. She failed, what parent doesn’t, but her bounce back was fast and constant. I loved that about her. That heart of hers… if ever there was a theme to a persons life, that would be it. Even after the surgeries that shaved off portions of that same heart she still fought hard for her kids.

I know she battled with Cancer in ways most people who haven’t had it don’t realize. I noticed the same with my dad as he fought a similar battle. Cancer takes over not just physically in one’s life but everywhere. The conversations are just about the disease, diagnoses, treatments, timelines, science, and you quickly lose yourself. I made it a point to specifically side step those conversations with her. I’d get the info and then change the subject to the kids or whether her brother was able to get back from Poland (before he was able to eventually get back here), how her mom was managing, what the kids were up to, and forever she would ask about my life. How was I? Was I enjoying work? Was the relationship going well? Always pressing hard to make sure everyone else was taken care of before her own needs were met.

And stubborn. If you want a recurring theme in a life, that one comes close to the top. She did have a fierce independence, and losing some of that as things progressed, I know that hit her really hard. She would hide it as best as she could but I saw it. I knew it in my heart. The Cancer was winning and my rage was useless to stop it. Watching my dear friend and unable to fix her…

Boy, but did she fight!! 6 years and so many chemo sessions and radiation and surgeries. I know she was struggling for the last year and a bit. She was ready to go, but her heart for the ones she was leaving behind was so big that she literally suffered to stay with us a little longer. She wanted to try to make some memories with the kids and her fiancé, her brother and mom as well as us few fortunate friends who she had time and energy for. She tried so hard for us.

Not one to show her pain, it surprised me when she leaned against me one night and sobbed her pain out. Living with the agony of a missing lung, surgery scars, and cancer running loose, it was too much. I remember her falling asleep beside me and her quiet whimpering in pain, even as she slept…

I knew then that no matter how selfish and sad I would be, she needed to rest. She had earned it but she was hanging on because we wanted her to stay with us. She was living in absolute pain, constant and relentless discomfort, she bore that simply because her loved ones asked and didn’t want to lose her. The sheer will of a person to suffer for others like that. The fortitude and stubbornness.

Truly she is one of the toughest and strongest people I have ever known.

I want the world to know her as I know her. I want her to be remembered forever and held close to peoples hearts as we will hold her.

I have much to say but it hurts too much. I’ll end this with a quote that’s as appropriate as any I have ever read.

Goodbye Margaret, we love you and miss you and you will see us all later… rest now.

- Sometimes it makes me sad though,

You being gone. I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But still, the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they are gone.

I guess I just miss my friend.

Long COVID, update

2022-02-09T01:07:00.000-06:00

Welp, as I approach 10 months of medical leave of absence, I figured it was time for an update of sorts.

So let’s Coles notes this bish and get caught up.

- summer - started to recover and get back to a level of normal. Hopeful to return to work once off my blood thinners

- October - massive setback with the cold weather. Basically all my symptoms and issues returned, almost sent myself to the hospital on a few occasions. Depression and docs orders to not walk more than a city block per day start to wear me down

- December - 30 pounds overweight. Depressed. Headaches, muscle and joint pain, cough, covid fog, insomnia issues, and a crushing fatigue. I finally get off the blood thinners. Although they are life saving they are also life altering in a less than ideal way.

- December, off the blood thinners, I start to kind of feel a semblance of my old self. Start small walks. 3000 steps. 6000 steps. 10 000 steps. My asthma and lungs are an issue but I manage even in the cold weather. Good sign.

-December. Start a healthier diet to reduce weight. I feel gross and sluggish and hate my lack of ability across the board.

-New Years. Yay. January - start hiking with 35lb weighted backpack for 14000 steps. That’s 10+ Kms. 3 loops around Ass park. Starting to feel ok even with the bloody blisters and hamburger feet.

February - start physiotherapy conditioning leading to a return to work. Still hiking. Bad combo. Exhausted and lots of joint and muscle pain. Hard to move. Still pushing anyway.

Losing weight. 14 lbs so far.

Annnnnnd up to date.

I still get headaches and the joint and muscle pain with the fatigue can still take the wind out of me on any given day. And they do. It’s an ecstasy of pure agony. Working on it though. I really just want to get back to work and move on with my life.

So for anyone who still, even now, thinks covid isn’t a big deal or that those idiot trucker convoys have a point somehow, you can delete me from any and all contacts because I’m stuck having to fight through those fools to get to my physio session so that I can try to recover from this mess. In the process I’m currently spending a lot of time in a lot of pain and a lot of not sleeping because my joints still feel packed with glass.

Am I better? Relatively to when I was in an emergency room, yeah. Relative to my life before Covid. No. Not by a country mile and I fear I may never get back to that. I hope I’m wrong but my body doesn’t agree with me on a consistent basis.

As always. I’m alive. I’m here to report my situation and to document my discomfort and,at times, glaring agonies. So that’s something. I don t say that lightly either. I’m

Glad I’m alive to fight. It’s just hard on some days is all. Harder than anything pre Covid life that I can think of anyway.

Stay safe and be well.

guest on a podcast? whaaat?!

2021-10-14T14:49:00.003-05:00

So, I did a thing with a friend of mine who has a health and wellness podcast. It’s just me being a cranky old man and talking about my harrowing adventures in Covid land.

https://anchor.fm/girlwithaflare/episodes/In-it-for-the-long-haul--my-COVID-story---Ryan-Zammit-e18i9nk

Please check out Chrissy’s other posts as well!

Cheers all

Underlying Anger (minor COVID update?)

2021-08-26T18:04:00.002-05:00

Wasn’t sure which title to go with so you get them both…. And on that note, let’s jump right in…

If you’ve read my previous posts you’ll know about my COVID and blood clotting near misses. Going from completely healthy and gearing up for martial arts competing to not being allowed to walk more than three blocks in a day, well, it’s been a challenge.

So that will earn me understatement of the year, I think.

It’s hard to get your head around the ‘not allowed to do the stuff for your own good’ mentality. I pushed limits a few times to my own detriment and boy did I feel those repercussions. Usually lasting days of pain. You learn quickly when the teacher is agony.

So going from being the fiercely independent and driven person to a meeker version of myself, being told what I can and cannot do, and of course pushing those boundaries to my detriment (see previous paragraph) has really done a number on my psyche.

I noticed early on in my recovery how short my temper had become, how quickly I was getting annoyed at drivers and just crowds in general. Things were really bugging me in a way they hadn’t for years and years. I needed to do a deep dive into wtf was wrong inside of me.

Took me awhile to figure it out. Internal mechanisms can be hard to see when naval gazing. We don’t like to see the ugliness in ourselves, much easier to blame the world and everyone else but really, I had no leg to stand on here. I knew I was cranky. I knew things that don’t usually irritate me were irritating the ever loving fuck out of me, well out of proportion. I was also doing things like buying new appliances and trying to Reno the house and getting the truck. Those were the clues.

I was lost, my control over my life had been stripped from me with the hospitalization, the emergencies, the constantly being told what was going to happen to me. No input or say, just ‘this is how it is now, deal with it’.

To put things into perspective… I now need to be tested yearly for the rest of my life (or more if I notice anything weird in my body) and a CT scan isn’t fun. I’m on blood thinners which means I can’t do martial arts for fear of injury. Also, once I’m off the pills, if I throw another clot at any point ever in my life (including immediately after I go off the pills) that’s it, I’m on those drugs for the rest of my life and at least one CT a year plus kidney testing because of the drugs. Sooooo i may not be able to do the job I really like doing and to be forced to a desk job would kill me inside. It’s a really shitty thing to have to think about and plan for just in case.

None of this is written to seek pity. This is not a blog of boohoo. Do not feel sorry for me, just understand the position I’m in with my beloved activities taken from me, possibly the future of my job and health issues going forward. This was and is still scary for me. I’m processing through it all but it mostly sucks and I’m not going to fake it till I make it with the mindless positive platitudes. I’m going to stand up and deal with the issues as they come and keep a level head. It’s what I have control over.

And now we come to the meat of things.

I lost my control. I was no longer the master of my soul and I was raging on the inside at feeling so helpless over my own life; a life marked so iconically for its rugged individuality and independence.

Now I’m told I can’t do martial arts or even walk too far down my street?!

It was a humbling stretch, and worse to know how correct everyone was, still, didn’t make me feel one whit better about everything.

I was angry. I was frustrated. I was scared. I lost control over my own life and it was a miserable place to be.

Then I got word that my dad was back In The hospital and that did it for me. Something inside just snapped. I couldn’t really afford it and it didn’t seem to be the right time for it but I just said ‘fuck it’ (as I do) and went to be with my pops who I hadn’t seen for over two years.

The trip was tough but I was able to see and reconnect with extremely important people in my life that I had been told I wasn’t allowed to for so long.

In essence, I wrestled back some semblance of control of my own destiny. That trip has restored my equilibrium and balance of calm to my life. Is everything better? Haha nope. Not even in the same province as better but I have some control again; over my life, my recovery plan and workout routines now that I’m allowed to slowly start them up. Paiiiinfully slow but still, I’ll take the win. Control over my attitude towards these hard realities and possible new roads in my life.

The time alone on my trip helped me clarify one irrefutable fact amidst my struggle and anger and sadness…

I’m still alive to feel these things and I owe it to myself and everyone around me who has supported me unflappably all the way through, to make the right choices. I choose to look at the positives in these bad situations and when there are simply no positives to find then I will calmly accept what is in front of me. I can control my attitude. That’s a damn good start.

…

As for my recovery, as hinted above, my doc has green lit me to start very light cardio workouts. Soooo. This weeks big agenda is walking every day to get my body warmed up and acclimated to working out. 3000+ steps minimum and I’ve been over achieving already these past four days. My body will remind me not to be a pretentious asshole tomorrow morning, I assure you. Beyond that, cough still lingers but less so, still dizzy and awful sleeping patterns, body aches and weird fatigue at weird times. Also the dumb brain fog, the most annoying side effect ever.

So yeah, I’m not 100% but I’m far removed from the guy who couldnt say three words without coughing myself stupid just three short (super long) months ago.

On a few meds for the blood clots and the lungs and off work for awhile yet, sadly. I really want to be back at it, crazy as that may seem to some. I love the dynamic environment and looking forward to the satisfaction of doing a hard days work. I’ve missed that. But also, I’m not pushing too soon for it either. I want to be ready for work and my health to be good. I can’t afford to unravel the good stuff I’ve painstakingly built so slowly over these past months.

Still alive, still posting. Hoping you are well and safe, gentle reader.

COVID recovery (a reboot?)

2021-05-27T05:48:00.000-05:00

Maybe this post title should be “two steps forward, one broken leg back”, or “just when you thought it was safe to be healthy”

...

So here is the update as of may 26, 28 days since this all kicked off. That’s 4 weeks now and my life is still in some danger.

Yeah. You read it right.

Went in for a CT scan. A quick hour of dye pumped into my body and a cool 3D image of my ravaged lungs. No sweat.

Plug the parking meter for an hour and let’s do this, I’ve got shit to do, plans and such!

Ironically I was going to try and schedule my vaccine.

Well, scan comes and goes and all seems fine except they won’t let me leave after. Can’t reach any of my doctors and they won’t talk to me about my imaging.

I wait.

My hour passes and now I’m thinking about getting a stupid parking ticket.

Two hours. The tech needs doc 1 to talk to doc 2 about my results.

Uhhh, sure, that doesn’t make any sense but the nurses are obviously overworked and very nice people so I won’t make any problems for them. If I’m ticketed then so be it.

Three hours.

Ok, now this is just silly. Finally a nurse comes and she asks me to quickly grab my things and follow her. Sure! Why not? Not like I have anything else going on or brand new parking tickets to go fight downtown now.

I sigh. I follow. She seems rattled and that’s worrisome for a COVID swarmed emergency ward. She explains they found something on the scan. It’s no big deal, nothing to worry about.

Now I’m worried.

I interrupt and ask if there were clots and she says yes, they found a clot.

Ok. One. Not bad.

She takes me to emergency and triages me. Explains that they can’t let me leave in my condition and to sit tight.

I sit tight, images flashing between an embolism to the brain and immediate death, to chasing after my jeep being towed away by the city.

Not too sure which scenario is stressing me out more at this point.

I’m brought into emergency and they find me a room and tell me to undress and get comfy.

So now I’m naked with a pulmonary embolism and my car is probably impounded.

Fourth hour. Nurse is here to tell me they found multiple small blood clots (multiple now!) and not to worry (they keep telling me this, like a mantra).

I’m not worried. Dad had to be put on blood thinners for the same reasons a few years back and I mercilessly grilled the nurse-practitioner about it. Embolisms are bad. A killer clot floating through the blood stream is very bad but painless. If I’m a ticking time bomb, it will be quick and relatively painless.

That won’t happen, I’m told. Don’t worry.

I grin wryly. The odds of a brain embolism are small. True. The odds of getting blood clots form COVID are also small. And somehow here we are.

They take blood and poke more holes in my arm for IV and I wait some more. Finally a doctor pops in to tell me more of the same. Blood clots. Not to worry. They will hold

Me for a

*i interrupt*

Is there no way we can do this from home? My sats are good. I feel good, I’m not prepared to stay here. My parking meter is expired!

They don’t catch my sarcasm.

Eventually I negotiate with the doc and he gets me some wicked small and wicked expensive pills to help dissolve the embolism sitting on my pulmonary artery. Coooool.

I walked into that place with a cough, shortness of breath, fatigue, no appetite and I guess these little

Travellers.

I came out with the reality of how quickly I could have died at any point in the past 4 weeks or so. Not from COVID but what COVID triggered my body to do.

So. I walk out to the car eventually. It’s still there and, miracle of miracles, no ticket! I hop in and drive away.

So now I’m on blood thinners and need to be very careful for 3 months at least. Any bruise or cut is an emergency room visit.

COVID, the gift that keeps on giving. But! I’m still Alive to write this so I think it’s still considered a win for now.

By the numbers -

$2.50- amount of money I tossed in the meter

4 - hours in the hospital

1 - hours I was expecting to be in the hospital

2 - emergency visits since may 6

3 - minimum months on blood thinners

10% - the percentage (or less) of getting blood clots from COVID

28 - days since my first COVID symptom appeared. A cough.

Some folks have asked why I’m not more scared, upset or frustrated. Fair questions.

I could be dead. That’s the alternative. I am alive and so far I’m doing alright. Just a slower recovery and gotta go easy with every damn thing for now.

Oh, and my coworker is off the ventilator, Alive and slowly getting back to good.

Prayers and thoughts and energy and whatever else you amazing people, my gentle readers, having been throwing our way, well, it’s working. I’m an extremely lucky man. For dodging two COVID death bullets but way more so for having such amazing people supporting and caring for and about me. I’m blessed.

Covid blog - an update.

2021-05-13T15:45:00.000-05:00

I’m starting this post with a quick story going back about 2 months;

So! I have been worried about cancer since my dads battle and my friends current struggle. The last time I had been in for a physical was during my infantry medical when I was 18.

My doc was happy with my results, stating I could ‘run a marathon’ and do just fine. Better health than my age group average. Rad!

Surprising. I expected bad news. I always expect bad news. I hope for the best news but yeah.

So anyway. I’m very healthy. I booked my vaccine for may 7. I was set.

Now. Here we are.

I wrote my blog; feverish in the night.

I woke up coughing so much that I damaged a muscle in my neck, causing me to cough blood. Anyway. I went to emerg for the day.

I’m home now... but let’s look at my Covid experience by the numbers ;

15 - days sick currently

12 - days of continuous fever

16 - lbs lost due to fever and loss of appetite

39.6 - temp when admitted to the ER

9 - doctor/nurse meetings since they allowed me to go home

17 - hours I slept after getting home from the hospital

3 - phone calls made to my family, in tears and terrified I wouldn’t be able to see them again.

5 - bad jokes made to patient nurses

1 - thankful human being who is still here to write this.

This nearly killed me. That’s not dramatic overstatement. That’s a fact of 12 days of agonized fever and chills and back to fever and coughing and wheezing... my body was almost done.

Now this is the number I don’t actually have.

Phone calls. Texts. Messages. Visits. Food drop offs. Social media reach outs. Thoughts. Prayers. Vibes....

I know that had I been truly alone, I may have given up out of pure exhaustion and that would have been a memorable battle. I had a fever once for 2 days and it was such an awful time that I would have nightmares about it afterword. This was 12 days.

The only thing that kept me going was everyone’s words and thoughts. There simply was no room for me to give up. I couldn’t quit because all there was, waiting for me, was love. Friendship. Care. Concern.

It mattered. It meant something.

It matters still. So thank you, gentle reader. You saved my life.

I only ask that now you cast those blessings to a good man, fighting for his life. Kris Isford. It’s ok if you don’t know him but please keep pumping out your grace and thoughts and hopes in his direction. I will add my voice to the cacophony of care.

Let’s hope for the best..

well...fuck

2021-05-06T01:59:00.001-05:00

I guess it was bound to happen. A coworker was infected and during our trip together I also was infected. He didn’t know, nor did I and I don’t blame him at all, especially knowing how hard he’s fighting for his life right now.

Me... I’m as sick as a dog but managing to stay home. My breathing is slowly getting a little laboured at times but I’m hoping now at day 7, I can start recovering. Those are the timings I’m told anyway.

My experience started with a cough, just an annoying dry tickle on a Thursday night. Friday afternoon I started to feel the body aches and a fever. By Saturday morning I went for my Covid test. My partner from work had messaged me saying he tested positive and that he was hospitalized. My last message from him was that they moved him by ambulance to Brandon. He hasn’t responded to me since. He was apologizing for getting me sick we we last communicated. He’s a stand up guy like that.

I watched an update video from his wife today stating he’s in ICU on a ventilator now and all I can do is hope for her and him and their little boy.

My fever hasn’t stopped since Friday. It feels like a chill is on me and my joints feel packed with broken glass, I can barely move. I usually have time to hobble to bed, take Advil and Tylenol and sleep for awhile. The fever hits and I just lay there and suffer till it abates. I have a box fan to cool me down and I burrow under the covers with moxie when the chills hit. It’s just a constant wave of fever and chills and pain. It goes away for a bit and usually that’s when I get things done, a couple hours to feed the dog and myself, reload the water bottle and make some tea for when the chills hit.

Rinse

Repeat

Ad nauseum

I consider myself lucky right now. I’m still at home and I can still breathe. Maybe that will change tomorrow but for now I’m still in the fight and avoiding hospitalization. I fear going in will mean maybe I don’t come back out.

Having said that, if my breathing suffers, I’m calling it. I’m pragmatic and understand the rules of this game well enough.

Right now I’m laying here, cooling off from the fever sweats with some time abd a little bit of energy to try and document the horror of this damn virus.

So I guess we are up to speed now. I’m going to grab more Advil and Tylenol to kick back some of the ache so I can try and go eat something. Eating wonton soup was good but somehow I have no appetite. Which is weird because I’m starving. I can feel my tummy trying to grumble. As soon as I drink a little water or eat a fruit cup or start some soup, body tells me I’m super full.

And it’s super aggravating. I’m tired of this fever and chills combo. I’m tired of feeling on fire. I’m tired of wondering what may happen next. Mostly I’m just tired.

You’re in my thoughts Kris. I wish nothing but a bounce back for you, buddy. This is my only voice right now.

Be well. Everyone.

Dear Mother, Do You Remember?

2021-05-06T01:41:00.000-05:00

This is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever written and I hope you all, gentle readers, can make it all the way through it as I had to. Just remember, you only have to read it. I sadly, had to live it. Be safe.

Dear mother,

People sometimes ask me about you and when I tell them that I haven’t spoken to you for 16 years, they are usually pretty shocked. I try to tell them that, simply, you aren’t a good person, and they always say ‘but she’s your mom! You should always love and stay In Touch with your mom, she gave birth to you!’

Yeah.... about that.

I’ll come back to that in a minute. I’m writing you for the last and only time. I won’t respond to anything you try to say or write. I’ll block this account and any other way you try to reach out. Your job is to read this and move on. But let’s be honest, you won’t read this.

You attacking my Dad on his fb account is disgusting. First off, all three of the kids have made peace with him one way or another. Secondly, this is 43 years. 43 YEARS!!! And now you come and stalk his account and try to verbally assault him for failing his children?

So let’s talk about failing ones children, shall we. I’m best equipped to speak on this subject as I was an unwilling witness

to the epic and monstrous failure of your so called ‘parenting’.

So you remember what your favourite threat to us was when we were little? ‘I should just ship you off to your retard father! You fucking bastards deserve eachother’.

I was 6 when you started using that old faithful of an insult. Usually followed up with ‘I wish you had never been born, I hate you all’. Later on as we grew up we sometimes got the treat of ‘why don’t you fuck off and just die!’

My mother, the woman who gave me life. About that....

You remember telling Jen, and later me about how you tried to have me aborted but you were a week too late? Do you remember all the booze and smoking and drugs you did while I was helpless, growing inside of you, becoming stunted, losing my vision, having a hole in my heart, and being born deathly sick for that first year of my life? I don’t remember it, but I sure got the coles notes from everyone else in the family who remembers and I DEFINITELY have the near blindness, weak health, and damaged body from your ‘parenting’.

Do you remember ‘spanking’ us until your arthritis got so bad that it hurt you more than it hurt us and when we’d nervously giggle at your feeble attempts, you would beat us with the belt or the wooden spoons till they broke... until we had no wooden spoons left in the house? Do you remember the super mom parenting when you’d crash drunkenly into our bedrooms and drag us by the hair into the shower at 3 in the morning and made us have an ice cold shower for an hour or until you passed out?

I remember.

I know you kept us kids away from our dad who fought so hard to stay in our lives and loved us, because welfare money was good money and you could inflict emotional damage on dad indefinitely until he finally left the province or else was going to be arrested because of your false claims to the police.

I know you didn’t care much about us because you let me watch 9 1/2 weeks when I was 8. How fucked up is that?

You think you have the high ground because you chased dad away? You let random strangers in to the house while your three small children slept, sometimss in the same room, as you hot knifed your hash and oil and did your drugs and drank yourself stupid and fucked these randos.

The biker gang members, the prostitutes and the druggies who you palled around with all year long and partied allllllll night long with.

I was a smart kid but I stayed up all night, all the time and it fucked up my ability to learn and to pay attention and to be a decent student. I was lucky to scrape by and escape high school with a solid 65% average. I doubt you even knew what my final GPA was but that’s inconsequential and not something I feel is even worth bragging about. You wouldn’t give a shit, as you would say, whenever I wanted to share my successes with. ‘I don’t give a shit’ or ‘I Dont fucking care, just fuck off, okay?’ With your home made cigarette dangling from your mouth... just waking up at 4 in the afternoon.

I slept at school. Sometimes nodding off in classes or hiding out in spare band rooms or art closet areas and even in the bathroom stalls to try and get some rest. To feel safe because I sure didn’t feel safe at home with your biker pals leering at us and getting into fights in the living room, or in the hall of the apartment.

Your parties would go all weekend, Monday morning would suck for school for me but hey, you were having a good time and really earning your mother of the year medals.

Remember that time I was in that massive car accident in high school and I came home, pale, shaken, injured and in shock? I told you what happened and your response? ‘Well my fucking day was hard, these tenants keeping banging on my door trying to bum smokes off me like I’m their corner store’. I just walked away and went to my room. My friend Jon was with me and he idolized you, always thought you were the coolest mom because you let us drink and party and do what we wanted even during school. That day he finally understood why I always said you weren’t that cool. He finally saw who you really are. I sat on my bed and listened to Black by pearl jam on that shitty pawnshop stereo your drug biker boyfriend gave me, the one that skipped all the time because the CD laser reader was fucked, he sat with me and quietly said ‘man, im so so sorry. You mom is a monster’.

He finally got it.

Mother of the year? No, sorry, you don’t get that one, but you definitely are the front runner for Monster Of The Year! You will win that by a landslide.

Do you remember being so drunk that Jen and I had to sneak over to KUB bakery when we lived on Stella Ave? Remember how we would dumpster dive so we literally would not starve to death for lack of food? Ketchup sandwiches were better than no sandwiches. You probably don’t remember that because you were busy being a good mom to those beer bottles, because you sure paid them way more attention than you did to us.

Do you remember when Jen got hit by that car on mcgregor on our way to school that one morning? Do you remember when Colin slipped and crashed his bike when he was 14, in the rain? He had his board games with him and slipped, it was rainy. It happens. He broke an arm and a finger in his other hand. He came home crying and in obvious pain...

Do you remember? He begged you to take him to the hospital but you told him to stop being a ‘fucking baby’ and sent him to bed without supper because it took him so long to get home...

do you remember that he finally took a transit bus to the hospital two and a half day’s later by himself and both arms were in casts for that whole summer?

Do you remember?

I can do this all night, mother, and I probably will. I won’t stop writing this till every awful and horrifying memory I have is posted here for you to read (which you probably won’t). I’m leaving this here in your message box to read and I’ll block your account in a week or so, give you a chance to read why I will defend dad to my last breath against the ‘mother who raised me’. I’ll also post this to my personal blog, which sees a decent amount of traffic from friends, coworkers, family and strangers from across the globe. I’ll link this blog posting to my fb, my Instagram, my snapchat and anywhere else I can. Your ‘parenting’, I sure hope, is about to go viral. And if it doesn’t then that’s ok too because the people who truly care for me and my life and my family and KNOW me and KNOW how much my dad means to me, those people will bear witness to who you really are. A monster in a human skin. You’re 5’1, 95lbs of terrible human being with no one to love you even if you let them.

Love, caring, concern, empathy... That’s weakness to you. A tool to be manipulated.

Do you remember, dear mother of mine, calling me names like ‘little bastard’ ‘fuck up’ ‘useless piece of shit’ ‘mistake’ ‘loser’ and your person al favourite ‘retard’... you’d hurl these words at your 7, 8, 9 year old youngest child, an underweight, double lens glasses wearing kid who got his ass kicked by bullies and ‘friends’ alike most of his school years... you’d insult me till I broke down crying, confused, hurt, aching for my mum to just hug and hold me, being crushed by your vile words and just needing my mom...

do you remember laughing when I’d cry? Do you remember calling me a ‘little pussy’ or to ‘go to your room you fucking faggot’. Do you remember?

I remember. All of it.

Do you remember when I was hit by a car on arlington st and miraculously walked away unhurt but scared and upset because my bike was destroyed... do you remember laughing when I started to cry from the shock hitting me as I tried to explain to you what happened and your mom of the year response? ‘I’m not buying you a new bike you little retard’.

Good thing we had to either steal or build our own bikes anyway or get them from friends.

Do you remember christmases? I sure do! Let’s have an interlude from all of this super heavy commentary, yeah?

Ahhh Christmas! The lights, the tinsel, the excitement of gifts! GI Joes, Transformers, Ninja turtles, comics. Barbies and cabbage patch kids! We lived for looking through those consumers distributors catalogues and marking what we wanted and the endless waiting for the big day!

Do you remember the two christmases you bought us a bunch of gifts and then one year you waited till 10 days before Christmas before finding an excuse to get mad at us and return everything.

Everything. All gone. You spent the money on booze and drugs though so your Christmas with the guy with the 68 mustang who drank too much, that was a fun one right?

The second time you waited till less than a week before and did the same thing. It worked once right? May as well put it in your SUPER MOMS GREATEST HITS playbook.

We at least got Christmas hampers and the little toys and socks and the turkey and food that they offered. Ana let’s not forget Koats for Kids! My school teachers at King Edward when I was 9 saw me coming to school in a couple hoodies and spring rain jacket in -32 c weather and let me get a really ugly brown jacket. But it was warm at least. The humiliation of that night never went away. That’s the night I realized that we were well and truly the poor kids. That even a poor north end school saw how badly in need I was but you were busy spending money on booze and partying. But hey, free jacket! More money for me to spend at green brier pub!

Aw shit, look here! My interlude, our break away from the heavy awful stuff wasn’t an interlude after all.

Well, that’s because we had no break, nobody stepped in. Nobody was allowed, you kept us away from most of our family and we had no place to go.

Every. Single. Day.

Relentless. The abuses, the fear, the exhaustion,., the near starvation. That gnawing in our belly that really never went away till I was finally on my own.

The emotional retardation we learned from you. We still suffer from it, mother. All three of us struggle in relationships, both with friends, family and our partners. You only equipped us with the skills of verbally decimating people, lashing out blindly when we should be talking and listening and trying to work things out like adults... you sure taught us how to deal with the world. Rage issues, manipulation, verbal abuses. Yup. We were ready to take on the world.

Clear eyes, full heart, right, Mother of mine?

Do you remember? I remember all of it... I am stuck trying to fix it all, to repair myself and learn how to be a good person and how to properly love and receive love with no strings attached.

Your gifts... we were poor of course and I know that you showed what little care for us you ever had by spending money on us but of course there were always strings attached. Those christmases are a good example. Buying school clothes was another one. Do you remember me going to grade ten, HIGH SCHOOL!! A big year for a freshman! You bought me clothes and that same day returned shit because I argued with you about cleaning up.

I went to my first day in high school in a Teasers Burlesque Palace baggy (down nearly my knees) sweater with paint stains. A gift from one of your boyfriends (he forgot it when he left and never returned that last year). I got in shit from a teacher who demanded I take it off. I didn’t have a Tshirt on because you had returned my clothes, so there I was in the hall with kids swirling all around me with looks of curiosity and some laughing as I had to explain that this was all I had. The teacher asked if I even knew what the sweater referred to and I said I had no clue, he finally relented and let me go to class with the promise not to wear it again.

I found out in grade 12 that it was a greasy strip club.

Do you remember DJ, Super mom? DJ was my dog that you decided one day to send away with your biker buddy Curt to a ‘farm’. Do you remember laughing at me after i got home from school and started watching tv, not realizing yet that DJ hadn’t come to lay with me? And when I did ask about her you literally laughed in my face and said ‘took you long enough’ regarding me noticing. ‘I got rid of her. She’s in a farm now. Better place for her’.

I cried for days afterward. She was my only friend in that house on Atlantic Ave.

She was my pal. I loved her and I missed her presence for a long time.

Do you remember when she escaped wherever she actually was and made her way all the way home to me? I begged for you to let her stay and you finally peeled me off her and sent her away again. She never came back.

Do you remember when I had my paper route on dufferin ave and a cute dog on the route was run over right In Front of my 12 year old eyes? I came home sobbing and tried to tell you about it, about how I pet that little black lab every day for two years, it was an outside dog and loved seeing me everyday. That day I stupidly crossed the street instead of going to pet the dog because another dog was In the yard so I thought I’d let them play.

You called me a ‘stupid retard’ and told me to stop being a pussy and left me In the living room crying my heart out. I still can’t listen to the song Forever Young without thinking of that puppy and tearing up. The song was on when I got home. It tore me up, but of course, you were busy drinking and playing rummoli with your pals. More important things than my lame problems, am I right?

Do you remember... in junior high at Isaac Newton, we came home from our big performing arts tour, after my first time away from home and for a week too! Do you remember being at the school to pick me up with all the other kids and their parents? No.. I don’t suppose you’ll remember that because you didn’t come for me. You left 13 year old me to take my luggage (a garbage bag) on the transit bus and ride home alone, trying hard not to cry on the bus.

Do you remember what kept you so busy and away? You were having a house party with a bunch of biker dudes and a bunch of drugs.

I called Andrew to see if maybe I could come and stay with him and his family, like I did so often back then, and he said no.. he just got home and was 13 and just wanted to chill with his family. I cried as I hung up and went to bed at 430 in the afternoon on a Saturday, listening to Nazareth playing downstairs as bottles smashed, you scream-laughed and deep bass voices laughed and said unintelligible things. I woke up sometime in the early morning, sunrise, and you were still partying.

Did I ever tell you one of my earliest memories I have? We lived in St. John’s in that duplex in the north end. Fun fact, a good buddy lives about 5 houses away from that old house, but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know me at all. Anyway, I must have been about 3 or 4. It was summer so I must have just turned 4. The kids in the duplex below us, Kevin and Eddie, would fight with us all the time. For some reason Colin and Jen weren’t around to protect me, the baby. Kevin and Eddie were chasing me around the house and I ran up the back fire escape to the back door, three floors up. To this day I remember screaming at the top of my lungs In terror for you to come unlock the screen door and let me in but you were listening to your music sooooo loud. Not loud enough though because Kevin and Eddie heard my screaming for help, and I remember them turning the corner on the ground level. I remember Kevin, the older boy (what was he, maybe 11,12?). He came around the corner and pointed at me. He scooped up a fist sized rock in his hand and baseball pitched it up at me.

I remember the sound of a crack and blackness. I don’t remember anything after that.

I read somewhere that major head injuries will usually have black out periods just before and/or just after the injury, sometimes the memory comes back and sometimes not.

We didn’t go to the hospital and I, as an adult, understand why. The doctors and nurses would ask uncomfortable questions about what happened to me and why I was left alone and where was my mother? So you just let me heal up without any medical attention.

I dont need to remember the scars on my cheek, under my eye, and on my upper lip and forehead though. Those bad boys are still with me, all these years later, reminding of me your stellar parenting, because locking your 4 year old out of the house while you blast music and clean or drink or sit and rage or whatever the fuck you do... that’s more important than keeping even a half assed weather eye out for your youngest child and heaven forbid if you did fuck it up and your kid was hurt pretty seriously but you refused to take him to the hospital? Braaavo! Parenting 101 right there

Do YOU remember? I do.

I remember everything.

Do you remember Jen and I fighting when we were in our teens? Do you remember her knocking me unconscious because she found out welfare covered me for contact lenses so I was getting them? Do you remember her almost throwing me out of the second storey kitchen window and me slashing at her with a kitchen knife in the same episode?

Do you remember what you said? ‘I don’t fucking care what you two do, kill yourselves for all I fuckin care’.

And you let us continue to beat the living crap out of eachother for weeks.

Do you remember kicking me out when I was 18 because you wanted your own life and you were sick of us ‘mooching’ off you? I guess that’s pretty tough love and we were really cramping your style. You could only go to the bar once or twice every week, drink and do drugs and bang strangers when we went out... thanks for the life lessons there. Definitely made me a better person.

Do you remember the racism and bigotry that came out of your mouth every single day? The hatred for anyone not as white as you was kept at such an impossible level, I sometimes thought you’d spontaneously combust. The pakis, the jigaboos, the n-words, spear chuckers, whops, and let’s not forget the WHITE people you hated on.

I brought Margaret to meet you when I was 16, my first true love! She was 14, blonde haired and green eyed and freckled and just a sweet and beautiful girl. I was excited for you to meet her...

Do you remember? You talked politely to her for a couple of minutes and I thought ‘hey, this is going really well’ until you asked the question.

‘What’s your last name?’

She said it and your response?

‘Fucking polack piece of shit, get the fuck out of my face you fucking piece of shit. Polacks are retards, are you a ...?’

That was when I grabbed her hand and dragged her out of there. I speak with her still and she doesn’t remember it.

But I remember.

You ask dad if he remembered his first three kids...

He remembered us... every single day and he hated leaving us knowing full well what he was leaving us with. I dont blame him nor should I. You chased him off. You abused him like you did us, you made this fucked up little drama, and it played out in a way you thought was good for you..

...

Except now here we are. Your son, defending his dad against the ‘Monster of the year’ and I won’t stop. I won’t stop talking to him and learning about who he is and where he comes from and learning how to be decent and good and a better man.

He has taught me how to care and listen. To be objective. He’s taught me how to love someone unconditionally. I watch him do it every single day. I see him be vulnerable and recognize a true man.

Your idea of a man... if he isn’t beating you up then he’s not a real man, right mother?

I remember, you see. I remember you insulting and abusing these guys and when they refused to beat the living shit out of you, that’s what you’d say. ‘You’re not a real man! Pussy! Can’t even hit a woman!’ And you’d laugh maniacally.

Do you remember?

I do. And I chose to build a relationship with my dad. He’s the best man I know and I need him to stick around awhile because, as you and I both know, I still need to work on things, I have a lot to learn about being a good and proper man and person.

I’ve always been a late bloomer but I eventually get there.

So, mother of mine, I will end this missive and this ‘relationship’ as it were, on a simple note.

Dad is loved. He is wanted and needed and cared about. Elaine is my mom and she has watched out and cared for me for so long and unconditionally that I’m finally starting to understand what a good mother looks like.

Im a better man now. You don’t get credit for that. I’m better in spite of you, not because of you.

I’m blessed with mom figures who took me in and tried to keep me out of trouble. Andrews Mom Annemarie is one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known and took in this dirty and beat up stray from day one. My fiancé, Meaghan, who’s amazing in her own right... her mom, just the most decent and caring woman you could ask for. I watch my friends with their kids and I’m quietly taking notes on what good parents... and most importantly... what good mums look like and I’m learning quickly.

You go back to your booze and abusive relationships, you go back to Jen and cry about why your boys don’t want to talk to you and why you can’t understand why they don’t want to speak with their mother... you’ll never change, you’ll never try to be better, you’ll never ask forgiveness or admit all of the wrongs you’ve done. My list is the smallest of the kids, my memories not as long and sharp as Colin or Jennifer’s, and look at this... why would anyone in their right mind reconnect with a ‘monster of the year’ like you?

I will hold to the few good memories I do have. You holding me and smoking and talking on the phone when I was very young and I could hear your voice and vibrations through your chest as you chatted with someone. Your gift of a green thumb, seems I have that, and your love of music. I will take those things and hold them close in memory of the mother who died long ago, causes unknown, and left behind a truly monstrous creature to raise three vulnerable children who almost didn’t make it out alive.

Some argue that not all of us did, but the jury is still out. Goodbye Rosemary.

Thanksgiving?

2020-10-10T17:33:00.000-05:00

We can probably all agree that it’s been one hell of a weird year and for some, the word catastrophic wouldn’t be hyperbolic at all. It’s been one of the toughest years for just about every single person I know.

I absolutely commiserate and have shouldered my own burdens this year...

But!

I am learning that dwelling on the past really doesn’t help me move forward. Not to dismiss the hardship and lessons learned throughout this craptastic year, but not to let the bitterness settle around my heart and soul.

It’s a fine line, most days.

Today I wil choose to be thankful for the positives I have witnessed and also for some of the negatives in my life that (I hope) are slowly rectifying.

I’m thankful for my friends and family, of course. This goes without saying but I really mean this. Having loved ones with me during the lockdown probably saved me from a terribly depressive summer... I don’t know for sure but I struggled mightily as it is and that was with support in my house. I am grateful for having good people in my life.

I’m thankful that my Dad is in remission and is doing better as this year grinds along. I didn’t realize how much weight this was putting on me till he got the all clear. I feel like I can breathe again.

Reaching out and reconnecting with someone so near and dear to my soul that mere words won’t do it justice... that... well, that’s been the highlight of the year for me. Looking forward to spending time with this special person has made this mess of a year so much easier for me.

My awful vision. Hahaha yep, I think most of you, my loyal readers, know how bad my eyes are. I’m hoping there’s a fix in the near future, and no guarantees but I will settle for being thankful for an option where I had lost all sense of hope.

Being back at work! Hah, most people may not agree but work gives me drive and direction, purpose and routine (sort of), and a sense of well being. I know I shouldn’t tie my identity to my job, it’s just what pays the bills, but it’s nice to be working and contributing again. I was feeling like a drag on the household and just in general.

I’m thankful that no one I know has gotten seriously ill from Covid to this point and most of my people are taking it seriously enough to wear their masks. We may not all agree on all the things, all the time, but protecting others and ourselves from germs by wearing an inconvenient mask, well... small price to pay.

I’m thankful I live in a country that is trying to protect its citizens, keep them fed and clothed and sane in this insane time. They don’t get it right all the time but they are trying and it’s all new so there will be some fails. I’m fine with fuck ups but I’m always watching the effort. That’s what matters. That’s what I’m thankful for.

And for you, dear readers. Be safe and be well, be thankful for what we have where so many do not have. Keep fighting the good fight.

As a wise songwriter once wrote “Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight, gotta kick start the darkness till it bleeds daylight.”

Now ain’t that the truth.

And Now For Something Completely Different

2020-07-26T13:09:00.001-05:00

I admit that last weeks post was hard to read. I thank everyone for the overwhelming support and love considering what you’d just read. I’m sad you had to go through that but also encouraged by your courage. Not an easy read.

Not an easy writing. I’ve been processing through it this week and it’s been healthy and positive overall. Meaghan has been incredible in her patience and support and listening ear on the long drives, while I babbled through my process. Everyone’s comments, texts, calls, BBQ and beer support.. I didn’t think it could get better for me but now and then the world surprises you.

Not like 2020 dumpster fire kind of surprise. Not this time. This was and is a good one.

So!! My D&D nerd group (I love you pack of fools) is getting together tonight and I’m prepping buuuuuut... these two idiots refuse to leave me alone haha. Amazing that a year ago both of these rescues (Moxie dog and Tom the Cat) who were street animals and abused, didn’t much like eachother.

Mox has attacked and killed cats in the past and Tom will fight Moxie even tho he is missing most of his teeth... but lately their usual ‘Mean Girls’ style of passive warfare has calmed a little bit. Mox still shoves the cat off the couch (that literally just happened) and the cat flaunts his time rolling around in my lap while intentionally staring at Moxie, who always loses it a little at sharing the love.

Ahhhh life in my house ... is weird. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CDHUJ2XA5Eu/?igshid=c0pzwcggguil

what a weird year...

2019-11-13T16:25:00.004-06:00

...and it’s not even over yet.

Another big year of change and rollercoaster events in the life of yours truly, with no real signs of slowing down and I’m ok with that.

I’ve learned that life is best (and mostly) lived in the plateaus of life. Those times where not much really exciting is happening but nothing awful is going on either, just that day to day life-living, small victories earned kind of times.

Some folks hate those times; too boring and uneventful, but let me be the first to tell you, from a guy who’s had a truck load of ‘eventfulness’... there’s peace in the quiet times. There is time to let your soul breathe and to reflect on what we have and the goals we have attained, as well as planning for the next step. The plateau is where all the real work happens. The building blocks of our lives and futures and plans and hopes, one day at a time.

I’m ok with all of that. As Time passes, I see more and more what a good thing the plateaus in life actually are, not just times to be tolerated till the next exciting and dramatic thing happens.

From the guy who’s life is built from drama,

Id like to officially say, I’m out of that game.

Drama is draining and stressful and foolish.

I like the quiet and solitude, the peace and relaxed times.... I’ll protect that peace.

I don’t speak to my mother (as I’ve mentioned before). She is the harbringer of all drama and stress in my life so to protect my self and my soul, I had to stop communicating with her. Completely.

That was 15 years ago. As sad as that fact is and hard as it was for me to do and hold to...

I’ve grown more since then, and being away from her, as a caring and decent person, than I ever could with her in my life. Sadly, she’s the poison in the well of my life.

So I’m serious when I say... protect your peace. Revel in the plateaus. Earn the time to reflect on yourself and your life. Fight for a better future. M

Another random post by yours truly 👍🏼

Being content with the process.

2019-07-14T21:07:00.000-05:00

I’m going to preface this post with the fact that I just about took a bite out of my unpeeled orange just now, thinking it was my apple.

If I’m rambling, it’s the fatigue and I hope to keep this short and sweet.

One of the hardest lessons to learn in life has been patience. I think most people can relate to that comment as it’s not high on our collective priorities these days, in a world where everything comes to our door same or next day, drive thru everything, instant gratification is the norm and waiting for things has really fallen by the wayside, especially with self development.

I’m only speaking for myself as everyone’s journey is different but the past few years have really taught me the value of patience. Waiting is hard but usually it’s worth it. Not always, mind you, but usually.

Having to wait and see how dads doing with the chemo and the fight has taken more out of my than I recognized until this recent emergency trip out there. I haven’t been that scared in a very long time and it was a difficult trip for a lot of reasons. It was also a good trip for just as many reasons and I recognize the value in the benefits. Closer knit family, face time with my brothers, nephews, sister, mom, and of course dad.

Patience.

Waiting.

Sitting in a cold and sterile ICU room, waiting for things to get better. Hoping, praying... wanting to do.... something, anything, to help. But just being there, I realize, was enough. Or so I had hoped. It was a tough time and I had to wait it out. I made it through that with a new view on things. Life, work, relationships, love, family, and the value of waiting.

Some things in life are worth the wait and that depends wholly on the individual whether to wait for ‘it’ or not.

Is it a relationship? Is it a financial goal? Is it pursuing something new? Is it news from or about someone?

The art of patience. It’s almost a lost art until it’s forced on you hah.

I’m lucky. My family and friends help me constantly to walk through my stuff, to help me see with healthier and different eyes, help me pull away from a broken history of looking at things improperly. I’m forever grateful for everyone I’ve got in my corner. I’m truly a lucky man.

I’m not ‘there’. I haven’t won the patience game (just listen to me while I drive in rush hour with the masses or play video games... unrelated note, the PlayStation computer DEFINITELY cheats). The point is that I’ve burdened my self with the goal of attaining patience where once upon a time there was absolutely none. I have moments still, of course I do, but they are less and less. Navel gazing and self repair are so hard and also take a ton of patience. Becoming a better person and learning to be kind to yourself takes a lot of work and even more time, but I’m trying and that’s what matters.

I patiently await my phone call from the office to tell me which train I’m driving home. I patiently await my partners return and reunion with the house full of animals (myself included). I patiently wait for my brain and heart to align and figure out what’s best for me. I patiently wait for the good things that are coming my way. I deserve them and that. We ALL deserve good things, whether we are currently in a place to accept that truth or not. I hope you are, gentle reader. Truly, I do. I’m rooting for you, for growth and patience and a clarity of heart to go find your own happiness.

Mine is in my house and animals and loved ones. It’s in my work (for the most part) and in martial arts and reading, in music and food and writing.

I patiently wait to be better at all of these things, even as I work my ass off to be better... the results will come when you really don’t expect them to.

I dig it.

Laughter and Heartbreak

2019-05-12T07:27:00.000-05:00

This blog has definitely become a fairweather friend to me, in that I can’t seem to normalize a writing schedule with it. Having said that, it’s also not been huge on my priority list what with all the life stuff to live. Also I can be lazy so theres that.

The recent season has been a rough one, but I find myself less morose and more in waters I have never really been in before and that’s the ocean of contentment, or maybe the sea of possibilities. Who knows, but I can say with certainty that every time something major in my life happens, especially the calamitous events, I no longer become the Eeyore I once did, or rail immediately against the heavens for such mistreatment.

No, these days there is a little bit more grace for my various situations, understanding that these too shall pass and at the end of the day the only things that absolutely have value are the relationships that you can’t place value on. As long as I have people living and caring and cheering me on, nothing else really matters in the long run.

I don’t say these things glibly. This isn’t wisdom attained lightly at all. In fact, for anyone reading who knows me and my history, my life has been anything but easy and yet, it took me this long to accept the truth of a simple fact. Grace in love.

When we are loved and give our love, we find grace. I have spent the majority of my life feeling unworthy of this truth, this reality, but lately I have tried hard to embrace it and to emulate more the people I cherish in my life. My Dad, with his unwavering and unconditional love, my friends for their support, wisdom, and differing views and opinions that, even when I argue against, I’m listening to and thinking earnestly about. I treasure that and them so damn much.

Another reality I’m facing (and struggling with at times, In all honesty) is showing people how you feel and what you think of them, purely in the positive sense.

I’m trying to tell people what they mean to me, to speak the soft words that hover over my heart, to touch an arm, shake a hand, hug a friend who is hurting, to bless them with kindness and love wherever I am able as it’s been so freely lavished on me.

This is so counter to how I normally think and how a very bitter parent taught me to live.

I grew up in a house where tears were tools and words were weapons and love was a commodity to withhold if you didn’t do as you were told. I grew up hearing everything under the sun but the words ‘I love you’ from

A parent who’s heart is too cold and bitter to even say that to her own children, instead mocking, belittling and abusing.

I’m late to the game, you see. I’ve always been a late bloomer, heck! My last growth spurt I was 21! I’m late to the game of life and love but at least I made it. I’m figuring it out on a fairly steep curve. My dad, who is battling cancer, has taught me so much about this and about cherishing life, and fighting for what’s right, about loving and showing that love with words and deeds. He called me a good man as I stood next to his hospital bed...

That was the first time I feel like I can accept that truth and love. I finally feel like I deserve that blessing. But the man laying in bed battling for his life still made sure to tell a room

Full of family that his ‘outsider’ son (as I tend to think of myself) is a good man. It cut me to the core... in the best possible way. That’s grace. To bless someone else while stuggling with your own battle.

I have learned a lot about opening up from Oma, who lives a life very well lived. She filled up any room she entered, lit it up and then fed you till you couldn’t move, then threatened the wooden spoon if you didn’t have one more plate. I really miss her voice. It was sad and hard to let her go, to say those goodbyes, but it was a small comfort to be there with and for that family that took me in and fed me, shared their love with me and never once asked anything from me, no second thoughts given. That’s also a lesson I’m struggling to learn.

I’ve fallen into a good place... not easy, never that, but good nonetheless. I can’t say it enough... I’m a lucky guy. Maybe more than I deserve...

Or maybe exactly as much as I deserve...

And to everyone reading this who encouraged me, talked with me, texted and messaged, who held me in my grief and were just there when needed... it meant more than mere words can express.

A fluffy post. Cheers all

Merry Christmas .. and a Bah Humbug too!

2018-12-23T19:11:00.000-06:00

It’s that time of year! Snows on the ground, food and drink to be had, family and friends to be visited!! Hectic errands and shopping to be sorted out. It’s an insane month generally, but for most of us it’s a fun and happy time filled with good people and good memories.

I’ve never been a huge fan of Christmas. My mom ‘took away’ Christmas from us a few times as kids, so she could buy booze and party it all away. That sucked.

As an adult, the commercialization of a heartfelt time sucked a lot of joy out of me as well as the hard childhood memories... till I became very .. Grinchlike.

The last few years I have struggled mightily with this sadness attached to a festive season and have largely won. Excellent friends who care about me have kept a weather eye out and invited (dragged) me to various events to keep my spirits up, be it social events, small family dinners or just the traditional Christmas night hangout with a couple of good friends.

These gestures are Christmas, to me, in my pruney little grinchmas heart and I’ve found peace and enjoyment as it was meant for this season.

This year is a tough one for me, last Christmas had a whole nest of problems that I no longer have and I have much to be thankful for, but being away from family right now really is weighing on me.

So I’ll admit that I am sad, at this point in. The season. Not many people want to admit that or even hear it because now I’ve become the ‘downer’ or the ‘attention seeker’.

I’m neither of those things. I don’t want people to pint their sympathy my way, I’m handling my sorrow and my struggles as I’ve always done. Being a downer is dependant on the reader. I can’t make anyone feel anything so please choose to read this for what it is, simply a gentle reminder that not everyone is festive this season. Suicide rates spike dramatically at this time of year simply because the have nots are faced with what the haves... have. Some people can’t carry that burden and take that drastic and unfortunate road.

Ok, so this got dark but here’s the thing. I am sad and I am also happy.

I’m sad that I can’t hug and sit with my sick father. I miss him dearly and it’s extremely hard to be so far away. I’m

Sad that I’m working a night shift on the 9 days leading up to Christmas so I can’t go out and be with my friends in the evenings and have some laughs, try to enjoy the good times.

I’m also happy that people are having good times and that my friends are inviting me to various events that I’m trying my best to visit. Having the options available mean more than people know. I’m excited to see my people when I’m finally done this stretch of work and unwind and do the Christmas stuff.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that the season is about love and time spent, not money and stuff. Some people don’t have money, some people don’t have ‘people’ but the community is always there. No one is an island. We are all a village and mine is watching out for me as I’m doing my best to watch out for them. I hope the same goes for you, gentle reader.

You are not alone.

We are not alone. Our people are there for us. Let’s go say hello and enjoy the warmth of a good time with people who matter to us. That’s the season I can get behind. That’s the Christmas spirit that will help me get past the funk.

Peace and love, everyone.

Pivot

2018-10-23T03:29:00.000-05:00

- Act of turning on one foot
(military) The officer or soldier who simply turns in his place while the company or linemoves around him in wheeling.

I’m pivoting. Changing direction in a short period and in quick succession, all of my plans and goals will move around me.

In the army if we turned left, we’d call it a left wheel and pivot on that foot. The inside soldier would be the pivot and all others would follow his or her lead.

The plans are changing and the landscape is now different. It’s time to pivot.

What does that look like?

I guess we will just wait and see...but it will be interesting, to say the least.

Pivot. It’s been on my mind all day. The direction isn’t working, it’s time to pivot. Change things. Be proactive instead of reactive... control what’s in my power to control.

So many sweet vaguaries for you, my loyal readers. Stay tuned.

Open Books

2018-10-17T23:29:00.000-05:00

...on my way home and the swirl of thoughts going through my head are a storm-laden mess.

I’ve always held to the belief of the golden rule- do to others what you want done to you ... I still live by that but it seems that my open book policy has failed.

Sometimes you have to write the final words to a truly epic chapter of life, long or short, and it’s a painful thing. This blog normally is an open book of my life and journey, sometimes vaguaries are required to protect identities...

Im not going to delve deeply into any of this.

It’s time to put aside my personal crap and prepare for a bigger situation, much bigger than me.

(And then I pity party hard... like Andrew W K)

I feel more and more like I’m cast adrift and foundering in the storms crashing waves, looking for something to hang onto.

I’ve realized one immutable fact. It’s time to start swimming for my life and my well being. No one else will get me through any of this

I’m not ready to leave some things behind, truly I’m not, but sometimes those options are taken from you.

Now it’s time to invest heavily in near term goals for myself. Busy myself with the things I love even though I don’t feel like I love them in this moment in time, with the waves hammering at me.

It’s time to focus on my Dad. My new Nephew who I can’t wait to meet, my friends, my family, My future goals...

and most importantly, to heal and to laugh. Fight for the good and find the bright sides of life.

There’s the book of my life that is open and there’s the book of my heart which unfortunately is no longer open. Such is life but we all learn right? That’s the lesson and the struggle.

...

Hug your family. Kiss your person on the forehead. Treasure them. Tickle your kids and pet your pets. Nothing is guaranteed and you want them to never doubt your book is open for them, for the doubt is a terrible thing to cause in your loved ones.

For now I hope. For tomorrow and the day after and all the way into the next chapter. It’s the hardest thing for me to do right now but I’m working on it.