Your Funeral

Dear Mom, 

We had your funeral this past Saturday, but you already knew that. Even though the day was filled with soul-wrenching sorrow and tears, and I knew you were gone, I still found myself wanting to turn to you and tell you things about the day, just as if you were right beside me and it was someone else's funeral. 

I wanted to tell you about all the people who came. So many friends, old and new, colleagues and of course, family members came out to say their final goodbye to you. You would have been surprised at the old friends and neighbours who showed up. Hearing your colleagues talk about you was really special to me.  I've always been proud of the work you did. 

I wanted to tell you how Michael delivered a beautiful eulogy. He delivered your story and a message of love and living life to its fullest- everyday, with no regrets. 

I wanted to tell you they should have gone with the rose coloured lipstick, and not the peach, but of course you were beautiful anyway. 

I want to tell you everyday from now until the day *I* die how much I love you and how much I will miss you. But like I said before, you already know that.

Love always,

Kristine 

My Grief

My grief lays like a thick blanket on me. Sadness has settled into my bones. Despair weighs me down. I move through life dragging my heavy limbs. I'm underwater. My back hurts. My head is a fog. I want to lay down and sleep. I want to sleep for days. 

I push through most of the time. Kids need to be fed, and loved and I'm afraid if I stop moving now, I'll never start again. Sometimes though,  the thick, muffled hands of my grief reach up and pull me down. I am overwhelmed with thick sleepiness. I am engulfed. 

Still Waiting to Wake Up

Do you ever have dreams that seem so real that when you wake up there's a moment or two where you're not quite sure if what just happened during sleep is actually reality? 

I do. Something terrible happens to my kids, or my husband, and I wake up panicked.  A flood of relief follows when it turns out to be all a dream. 

My mom died on Thursday, January 29.  

My sister called me around four in the afternoon with the terrible news.  A car accident.  Immediate death. 

Since that call, my life, the lives of my siblings and my family have been turned completely upside down. No time to breathe, we ran a metaphorical marathon last week toward her funeral. So many details and so much work.   And the work doesn't stop now. There is a long, long painful road ahead of us. 

I just keep waiting to wake up.  

Something Out There

Do you ever get that feeling in your gut that something is terribly, terribly wrong?  I do, and my gut has proven itself so many times in the past, that I can't help but trust it.

Last Thursday I was snowshoeing in the bush.  I'd gone through the lower field and then up the old ski hill into the woods.  I hiked along the edge of the upper field and continued deep into the trees.  Soon, I was following the river up toward Martin Lake.  Last winter I happened upon a sweet little waterfall and rapids and wanted to find the spot again.

Going in, I was slightly apprehensive as it's about an hour hike in, which is putting me at a distance from home that I'm not entirely comfortable with while alone.

I was following my old tracks when I came across a big moose track.  Moose punch deep holes in the snow with their long, long legs.  I saw where the moose had stopped to munch on some hemlock, then veered off my track.

Next, I came to a wolf or coyote track.  They are everywhere in the fields, and don't often give me pause, but this far out, I was a little concerned.

Hearing the rapids, I pushed on.  I was winding my way through the thick hemlocks, trying to figure out how I'd made it down to the riverbank the last time I'd been out here.  The trees seemed impenetrable.  I said out loud, "how in the world did I get down there last time!?".  And then, I heard a "WHOOOOOSH" sound, and it filled the silence all around me.  I don't know what it was,  and I'm not even going to make any guesses, but all of the tiny bits of apprehension I'd felt up to that moment hit me HARD.  My heart was pounding and I turned and followed my path back as fast as I could move.

I feel there is something out by those rapids.  There is definite and obvious animal activity - big animals.  It is something I don't want to meet face to face and I'm certain it wants nothing to do with me.

There have been two other occasions I've been out that way and felt a presence.  Once last winter and once last spring.  I get a feeling in my gut that something isn't right every time I'm there (and yet, I keep returning...).  A feeling in my gut that makes me move away, turn back and not linger.  Like I said, I'm not making any guesses, and it could be lots of different things, but it's something.

 

 

 

Into the Woods

Today I walked into the woods in the blowing wind and snow.  In the field, the wind was wicked, but upon entering the woods, everything was hushed and the snow feel thickly, but gently, all around.

 

 

When the snow is falling heavily on the trees, everything is lovely.  Everything is art.

 

 

 

Tall trees arch like cathedrals.  Snow nestles on pine and spruce branches just so.  Everywhere I look, all I see is something perfectly beautiful.  It's more than I can describe in words, these perfect hikes.  Days like these feed my soul.

 

 

Keep Your Chin Up

I hope you know what if feels like to have someone be consistently proud of you.   I hope you have someone in your life that can always impart a quiet wisdom, that can bolster your confidence and build you up from the inside out.  I hope that there is someone in your life that can make you feel better just for having been in their presence.  A person that affirms what you know in your soul to be true.

 

I know what that feels like, and I am grateful everyday.

 

I have been feeling particularly defeated lately.  My saving grace has been my Grandad's voice in my ear -

 

"KEEP YOUR CHIN UP".

 

I am.  And I will.  Because his pride in me is a light that I refuse to let be extinguished.

 

 

My Grandad and my daughter, Clare on Christmas Eve 2014.

 

Christmas Tree

Christmas trees are magic.

There is comfort in the glow of the light,  and wonder held in its branches.

I love our tree. Years ago I decided on a white, glass and metallic theme and haven't looked back.  Before kids, I was known to decorate and redecorate the tree twice, and once THREE times.  I don't think I've ever told anyone else that but for my husband.  I was that set on perfection.

Now I am just happy to get it up in a timely manner, and you know what?  It doesn't look that much different or any less perfect that the years I redecorated it multiple times.

I hope my kids get from our tree what I do.  Hope and light, mystery and magic.