the post that *I thought* I'd already posted Sunday night... oops.

Growing up, Easter was a time of egg decorating, horribly frilly, lacy, itching, non-tomboy-friendly new pretty dresses (*hi, mom!*), pastel coloured everything, pretty baskets full of that shiny plastic fake straw stuff that would be loaded with eggs, chocolates and small presents (we'd often get new kites) during our Easter egg hunt, eating ham and scalloped potatoes, and -of course- going to church. There was a huge city-wide Good Friday service (held in one of the biggest auditoriums in the city) that was organized in part by the Salvation Army. It was always PACKED with people in a scary-for-little-girls-kind-of-way, and it always seemed sooooo looooooong. Sunday morning we'd head to church for the Easter service.

As an adolescent/young adult, some things changed while others stayed the same. The Good Friday service remained a big part of the weekend, although I preferred some of the smaller, darker, more intimate services I attended. Eggs were still decorated and hunted most years, although there were new sets of little hands to do the work. And always there was ham and potatoes. 

The church my family attended since the 70's was the one my parents attended until my dad's death in 2008. Sadly, the church died the same year that he did... sad, but also kind of fitting. Even though the church shrank in size with each passing year until only a handful remained, there was no place I would have rather be on Easter morning. At that church, Good Friday meant preparing and serving a huge meal at a local soup kitchen, with my dad at the helm. Easter Sunday started bright and early with a sunrise service in a park not far from our church, followed by a pot luck breakfast at some of the members' house nearby, then another short, simple service at the church.

(I just went back and re-read my blog entry from this time last year and am now typing through tears.) 

Below is my description of those services:

Sunday morning was always a scramble to get everyone out of bed, dressed, bundled up and out the door for the sunrise service in the park. Every year on the same little hill. A small group of believers, most of whom had known each other for years, huddled in the often FREEZING chill air to celebrate our risen Lord. A group that maybe didn't know everyone else's secrets, but who knew each other well enough to know how much they were each loved.

The love and the joy of being together on Easter morning was clear in each shining, shivering face. Gathered there together, we would listen as the story of that first Easter morning was retold.

And we would sing.

My dad had a lovely, strong baritone voice.

When I think of those sunrise Easter services on that little hill in the park, I can still hear his voice ringing out above the rest.

My dad loved Easter.

I don't know if it's something particular to western Canada, but at every church I ever attended Easter also meant being greeted with "He is risen!" which was always met with a chorus of "He is risen indeed!". Last year during our first Easter here in Gatineau, I really missed that.  It didn't quite seem like Easter without it. As I readied myself for church this Easter morning, thinking about how different Easter is now -out here, without my dad- I was feeling sad. I bit pouty. Near tears.


Not too celebratory.


And so, when a friend at church -a man who towers a good foot above me and outweighs me by about 80lbs- came and wrapped his big arms around me with a deep, rumbling "He is RISEN!", I felt the strong, loving arms of my Lord and felt the sweet joy of knowing I am loved. Without my saying a word, He knew my heart and knew I was hurting. And later during the services, when the worship team sang Hillsong's At the Cross (although in french) -the same song that we used in the video tribute to my dad- it was just another gentle reminder...

I am loved. And that Love was made real in the cross of Christ.

I am loved.

I'm going to post the At the Cross videos (in both languages) for anyone who isn't familiar with the song. It really is worth a listen. Before that though, here are some of the lyrics. Because I get shivers when I read them...

At the Cross

Oh Lord You've searched me
You know my ways
Even when I fail You
I know You love me

Your holy presence
Surrounding me
In every season
I know You love me
I know You love me

Chorus
At the cross I bow my knee
Where Your blood was shed for me
There's no greater love than this
You have overcome the grave
Your Glory fills the highest place
What can separate me now?

English


French

a decades-long love affair

As I mentioned the other day, we were without a computer for almost two weeks. Not being able to blog, I spent a fair bit of time thinking about blogging, and more specifically what my goals and motives are for this blog. As amazing as it would be to actually make money blogging, I am one in millions in this big bloggy pond and I'm no Heather Armstrong. More importantly, I started this blog as a place to record our life and store some of our memories.

Trying to "market" it kind of takes away from that. Plus it takes too much time (and I already spend enough time online). I want this blog to be a place where I can write for me and where I can tell stories that I think my boys will like to read someday. Stories about themselves, stories about our family, things we went through, events that got us to where we are, and the little things that will give them insight into who they are and where they came from.

Like the story of their grandpa and his love affair with Apple computers.

* * * * * * * * * *

My dad was a huge Mac fan. HUGE. Addict even. We often heard him proudly tell how, in 1984, he bought the first Macintosh computer ever sold in the province of Saskatchewan (That would be the original Apple Macintosh. The one with the 9" screen. NINE INCHES!). He lined up for it.

While it wasn't necessarily marketed as a "portable" computer, it did come with a carrying case. A carrying case that my 6 year old sister and I (at 4 1/2) could both sit in comfortably. Convenient, I suppose. Impressive at the time, I'm sure. Portable? Not so much.

This is the same computer that I took to college in 1997. It was a dinosaur even then.

In the early 90's, he bought a Mac PowerBook (I'm not sure which one), one of Mac's first professional line of laptop computers. This ergonomic breakthrough had -wait for it- PALM RESTS. And a track ball. Be still my heart. It was a heavy little beast too.

I have fond memories of driving through West Glacier National Park in '96, not starring at the beauty around me, but intent on making it to the next level of Tetris on my dad's PowerBook. And feeling rather cool to be playing a computer while driving in the van, no doubt.

The old PowerBook was put through its paces for most of a decade -my dad taking apart the tracking ball and rebuilding it several times- until he brought home one of the clamshell iBook G3s in 2000. Although the blueberry Bondi blue colour was somewhat less professional than what he was after, his three daughters were pretty mad about it. The fun shape, the bright colours paired with clear plastic, THE CARRYING HANDLE... what more could you ask for?

That same year, he bought my just-married sister one of the newly introduced iMac desktop models. The first all-in-one computer (it was the grape colour) with its matching keyboard and hockey puck mouse, he just couldn't pass up the deal he found one day on a floor model.

Sometime in '03, after unsuccessfully attempting to replace the keyboard himself -and frying the motherboard in the process- the iBook G3 was succeed by a gleaming white iBook G4. My dad opted to have an AirPort card installed, and thus ushered in the era of wireless internet for our family.

With its happily glowing white apple logo on the back of the case, this laptop drew high praise from the then-toddlers in the family. This was also the Mac that introduced our family to two of the boys' now-favorite games: Gold Miner Joe and Tasty Planet (or "Grey Goo" as it's known around here).

In 2006, my dad purchased the last Mac computer he would buy before his death in Dec 2008. It was one of the original MacBook Pro laptops. This was Mac's first laptop designed with an aluminum body and it's sleek design seemed lightyears away from that old blueberry clamshell. It's a shame that he only got to use it for, really, a year and a half before he became seriously ill. Four years after its introduction, it still seems impressively brand new. Great design never gets old.

In the last 25 years of my dad's life, he bought and loved six Mac computers (there might even be one I missed somewhere in the '90s... I seem to remember one with a little green rubber button thing between the 'G' and 'H' keys in place of a mouse? Anyone remember that?).

Quite the love story. A boy and his toys. A man and his Macs.

* * * * * * * * * *

So now after almost 10 years of marriage and two PCs ("slumming it" as my dad would say), this iMac purchase feels like I've come full circle. Back to my roots. Back to that happy little apple with the bite taken out of it that was daily a part of my childhood.

And I'm pretty sure that, where ever my dad is, he's smiling a little bigger right now.

a year ago

A year ago tonight, I was waiting for my dad to die.

A year ago tonight, I was lying in bed curled up around my eight month pregnant belly, with the phone clutched to my chest, waiting for it to ring with the news that he was gone.

A year ago tonight, I was crying hot, angry tears as I tried to understand how the doctors could go from planning my dad's long term care one day, to telling us he wouldn't live through the night the next.

A year ago tonight, I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I would be fatherless by morning.

A year ago tonight, I was second guessing our decision not to wake Liam and Simon to talk to their grandpa and say one last goodbye.

A year ago tonight, I felt so far away I might as well have been on the moon. The distance -the space between me and my dad- felt like a crushing weight. I have never felt such an intense longing to BE SOMEWHERE ELSE. With my dad.

A year ago tonight, I had to accept a "new normal". One in which my dad was forever absent. One in which I would never again be able to call him up at any hour of the day to tell him a story about the boys, ask his advice, check up on his work projects, or receive whatever recipe/tip/challenge/encouragement/laugh/love I needed.

A year ago tonight, my dad died. I lost my father and my friend.

I miss you, dad.

I cried right along with him

Back in September when we first decided to do school at home with Liam -the week before school was to start- I found myself somewhat unprepared in regards to materials and curriculum. Our decision was made, however the logistics took a few weeks to fall into place. In the interim, I decided to just start reading with him and settled on The Chronicles of Narnia as a starting point.

After breezing through The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in less than two weeks, we borrowed the film version to watch together. I waited until an afternoon when Simon was sleeping and settled onto the couch with Liam.

While the book starts straight into the story of the Penvensie children's arrival at the Professor's house in the country, the movie sets the scene more, with bombs dropping on London while the children and their mother narrowly escape to their bomb shelter. The next scene sees them on a crowded train platform (among hundreds of other children being sent away from London) while they say goodbye to their tearful mother.

At this point in the movie, I turned to find Liam with his face buried in the couch cushions, choking back tears.

WHAAAA???

His reason for crying? IT'S JUST SOOOOO SAAAA-A-A-A-A-D. So sad. The opening credits weren't even finished and he already wanted to shut off the movie. And he knew the story! We'd just finished reading it the day before!

Fast forward a few weeks, we'd read through the second book of the series, Prince Caspian, and decided that the movie version would be a good choice for a family movie night (minus a few scenes that we skipped). And it seemed to be going splendidly. ALL WAS WELL.

Until the end.

At the end of the movie, as in the book, the older two Penvensie kids, Peter and Susan, are told by Aslan that they won't be returning to Narnia. They then say goodbye to their Narnian friends and proceed to walk through an opening in two trees, back into our world. During that scene, there is a song playing. A song by Regina Spektor entitled "The Call".

Here it is, if you'd like to listen:

This song absolutely WRECKED, Liam. My poor boy. I looked over with a big smile on my face, ready to say, "What did you think, Liam? Wasn't that GREAT?". What I saw first was the quivering chin and before I knew it he was sobbing in my arms, his whole body shaking. IT'S JUST SOOOOO SAAAA-A-A-A-A-D.

This boy of ours, he feels things deeply. He FEELS things DEEPLY.

You may ask yourselves then, as I later did, what exactly I was thinking this morning when I casually mentioned to Liam that today was his grandpa's birthday. Rather, it would have been his birthday because my dad died last December.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when, shortly after my off-handed remark, I found this deep-feeling boy of mine curled up in a ball with his head buried between my back and the couch cushions. When I asked what was wrong, I was met with a muffled, "I miss graaaaandpa!"

After extracting his head from the couch, I was able to calm him down enough to ask if he'd like to watch the video I made for my dad's service. Grandpa's video. Yes, he responded, he would. But without the music.

So we settled into the couch, Liam on one side of me and Simon on the other. We did, infact, watch it with the sound ON, and Liam did very well until the very end when we got to the pictures of my dad when he was sick in the hospital, accompanied by this song,

As I held my little boy, who loved his grandpa so much, I found myself fighting back the tears that I was telling him were okay to let fall. Not because I didn't want my son to see me cry, but because I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop once I started. So we sat there and had a good cry together. I reminded him of the love he shared with his grandpa, and how that love won't ever change. How it's always going to hurt a little bit when we think of him, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't think about him. That grandpa would want us to think about him and want us to go on loving him and loving each other.

And Simon? Well he insisted on sitting with us the whole time and "cried" right along with us. Completely fake and completely forced, but very sincere and genuine in his desire to sit and cry and be sad with us. As he said to my mom on the phone not too long later, "We're crying. We're crying cause the song made us sad." WE. WE're crying. Solidarity!

Romans 12:15 says, "Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn". I'm amazed and impressed and thankful that I have such feeling little boys. Children who not only have strong emotions, but who also feel free to express them (for better or worse!). It's humbling and a great responsibility to properly nurture that in them. Empathy. To understand and share another's emotions. This is one of my greatests desires for my children.

I know that my dad would be proud of them.

We miss you, dad. Happy Birthday.

broadsided

Last night before bed, I decided to look back to see what I'd blogged on Nathaniel's birthday last year. It turns out we didn't do much to celebrate or otherwise mark the day. The boys and I had just returned from a visit to Regina, getting in at 1:30am, so we hung out at home as a family and played in the leaves.

When I crawled into bed last night (much too late as usual, but this time due to a certain 9 month old who decided that he'd rather cry from midnight til 1am rather than sleep), I was still thinking about last year and trying to decide what we would do this year when it hit me...

That trip was the last time I saw my dad alive.

I did talk to him many times between that day and his death, but that was the last time I saw him. It's been A WHOLE YEAR since I looked in his eyes. A YEAR since I hugged him. A YEAR since I looked him in the eyes and told him I loved him. And as that realization hit me last night, I felt... it's hard to explain. My head felt heavy and my chest ached. I felt dizzy and a bit out of breath. Sometimes I'm still taken aback at what a physical response we can have to emotional pain. I. Miss. My. Dad.

The night before we left Regina  was also the night of my dad's first kidney dialysis treatment. After months of me saying that my dad was being over medicated, he was finally transferred to a doctor WHO AGREED. He discontinued half a dozen meds and arranged for the dialysis to help flush out  the medication and toxins that had been building up for most of a year (if not longer). I remember walking into the room with my mom half an hour or so into the treatment, to find my dad with his eyes open, alert, and responsive. Talkative even! This was amazing. For weeks he'd been sleeping all the time, not able to hold a conversation, barely even able to keep his eyes open long enough to answer a simple yes or no question.

During the hours we spent with my dad that night, my mom and I were able to ask him some of the questions  that he hadn't been able to answer in the weeks prior. There were so many decisions that had to be made in regards to his care, many of which my family was collectively feeling the burden of having to make without knowing his wishes. He still wasn't ready or willing to discuss funeral arrangements or anything to do with a memorial service, so we didn't push that matter.

I remember so badly wanting to ask him about death. I needed to know how he felt. Was he scared? Did he still stubbornly refuse to even consider the fact that he might, in fact, be dying? Had this last year, with its multiple surgeries, infections, pain, loss of dignity, etc, etc, ETC, changed his faith? What where his thoughts on God? Standing by his bed, trying unsuccessfully to make the words come -willing them to ask themselves- my mouth and mind refused to cooperate. It was one of those moments like in a dream, where you try to talk or scream but can't. The words wouldn't come. When I was finally able to choke down the lump in my throat, I managed to ask him whether he'd been thinking much about death and his response was a clear and articulate, "I'm not afraid to die." And when asked about his illness and God, my dad responded, "God doesn't change, and my illness doesn't change anything."

* * * * * * * * *


I'm not sure why I feel so compelled to share this part of my dad's story on this, what would be my baby's fourth birthday. Partly I think it's due to being able to see Nathaniel's birthday from a long way off. As early as the summer months, I see it coming. June holds the memories of all the initial testing we had done and the news of the Trisomy 18 diagnosis. With July (which always seems to go too fast) comes the knowledge that August is quickly followed by September, and once September hits, it is impossible to ignore October close on its heels. It doesn't sneak up on me anymore.

But this whole thing about not having seen my dad FOR A WHOLE YEAR, well it came out of nowhere. These two great losses -the loss of my dad and my son- have come together in a not exactly pleasant kind of way. Grief has a way of compounding. Compounding in a way that those who have not experienced wave after wave of intense, crushing pain that are the result of a great loss can ever truly understand.

So this year, thoughts of my should-be-four-year-old boy are entwined closely with memories of my died-too-soon father. I hope it doesn't sound too contrived to say that I am who I am, in part, because of theoe two. My relationship with them and the loss of them profoundly shaped and changed me. I am so proud to be my father's daughter. I am so proud to be Nathaniel's mum.

I hope they are proud of me.

low rider

Thursday, October 1st, marked the 10 month anniversary of my dad's death. The rawness of emotion when I think of him and how he died are somewhat passed. The grief is still very much present, but the sting has gone out of it. Yet there is still so much that bothers me about the circumstances that lead to his death and everything he endured during his last year... and everything we (and my mom especially) endured along with him.

I still think about him daily. It seems that there are memories and reminders of him every way I turn. So in the hopes of sharing a little more of him with you -and preserving some of these memories for my children- I'm going to let you in on some of the things that make me think of him:

• Orange juice. When making orange juice, my dad used to always sneak me a spoonful of the frozen concentrate before dumping the rest into the pitcher. I still think of him when I do this and when I give a bite to my boys.
• Lemon meringue pie. Since discovering that Simon can eat 2/3 of this (the meringue and the lemon filling), we've bought it a couple of times. It was always my dad's favorite and, by extension, my own. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about equal opportunities for ALL PIES, however lemon meringue holds a special place in my mouth stomach heart.
• As the weather gets colder, my thoughts turn towards warm comfort foods. Specifically Chili. My dad made The. Best. Chili. Although he passed his knowledge on to me (and I do make a mean pot of chili), his was clearly the "King of Chilis" and he was the Chili King.
• Corn chowder. For as long as I can remember, my dad would make a huge pot of corn chowder on Christmas Eve. From scratch. With lots of butter. And real bacon bits. After his death last December, I tried to take up the torch, however it just wasn't the same. I know that this was in part due to my restrictions because of Simon's allergies (ie, no onions, rice milk in place of cow's, and NO BUTTER *gasp*), but I don't know if I'll ever be able to match his version. He would wake up early in the morning and have it simmering all day, tweaking it as he went. It was full of his care and attention and love for our family.
• My camera. My Nikon d40 -my first DSLR- was a gift from my parents, given to me the day before my dad was hospitalized Dec 26th, 2007, (for pneumonia, then they found two brain tumors ,and subsequent surgeries that lead to a slow and awful decline until he died last Dec 1st). It was our last Christmas with him. I think of him often when I use it, and every time I consider upgrading. It will be very difficult to get rid of one of the last gifts he gave to me, even though I know I'll eventually have to. 
• Flannel shirts. After my dad's liver transplant and all of the weight he lost -both muscle and those insulating layers of body fat- he was always cold. Always. He took to dressing in layers, one of which was invariably a plaid flannel shirt of some kind. Last year, my mom and I cut up all of his shirts and made a quilt for my younger sister. It screams "him".
• Eagles. My dad had a thing for eagles. He had paintings and statues of them in his office.
• The book of Job and the musings of Madam Guyon. All of my dad's struggles and trials lead him to feel a kind of a kinship with Job. As I read some of Job to Liam this week in our school lessons, I couldn't help but be reminded of my dad, his love of God and God's word, and his faith.
• Native American culture. My dad had a deep respect for Native American culture. In his last project (a biomass ethanol plant in northern Saskatchewan) he worked closely with three of the Indian bands in the area. He always looked forward to his dealings with the various chiefs and each time came away with a great appreciation for elements of their culture. We often joked with him that we needed to christen him with a "native name"... something to do with eagles.
  

 And then there are the TV shows my dad liked to watch. Here's a snippet:

• Medium
• The Ghost Whisperer
• anything Star Trek
• old Law & Order re-runs
• Roughriders football
• the original Iron Chef (not so much the new Iron Chef America)
• Mythbusters
• Dancing with the Stars
  

The first two shows kind of give me pause to think. What's with the shows all about death and taking to the dead? In retrospect, I'm sure he thought about death a lot. Having been as close to death as he'd been in the past and being as sick as he was, it's not surprising. But I don't think he feared death. In a few of his more lucid moments (during his first dialysis treatment after months of being chronically over-medicated when they toxins were finally being cleaned out, and also the night he died) he clearly articulated that he was not afraid to die. I take comfort in that.

Some of the others -Mythbusters, Iron Chef, Dancing with the Stars (Dancing with the Stars??)- make me laugh. I certainly wouldn't consider any of these shows to be favorites of mine, but I do watch them on occasion and think of my dad. And smile.

This picture was taken when my dad moved from Missoula, Montana, to Regina, Saskatchewan. I looooove this picture. From the enormous shades and biggest-mutton-chops-possible, to the car so long it wouldn't all fit in the shot, to the discoloration-from-no-one-knows-what.

(This post was begun yesterday (Friday) and was meant to link back to Tia's Flashback Friday and Alicia's Flashback Friday posts, but the day got away from me and I was just too tired to do it before bed. Better late than never.)

thoughts on my first Father's Day without a father

Yesterday was good. And sad. And a bit strange.

It was my first Father's Day without my own dad. I didn't see him or talk to him on the phone. I didn't get to tell him that I love him and how blessed I am to have him as a father. I spent most the day purposely NOT thinking about him and his absence from a day that, for the majority of my life, revolved around him.

my daddy and baby me

I didn't write a post last year at this time (I was totally new to this whole blogging thing... starting my blog in May and then not posting again until near the end of August! Blog FAIL.), so I don't remember when I talked to him that day or what exactly was said. I don't remember if it was a good day for him or if it was day where he really struggled with the effects of his brain surgeries from earlier in the year.

I wonder if I would have made the effort to remember all the details if I had known that it would be his/our last Father's Day.

Probably, he talked to Liam and Simon for longer than he talked to me. It's fun to listen to the nonsense of a 1 1/2 year old and the Lego-filled ramblings of a 5 year old. Little boys who didn't have any expectations or judgments. Little boys who didn't worry and didn't have to hide the fear in their voices.

When it was my turn, I'm sure I did most of the talking. I think that he was still having a hard time speaking and finding his words at this time last year. Once so articulate and eloquent, the surgeries that were performed (and the infection that followed) greatly impaired the language center of his brain. So I likely talked while he listened.

And I likely cried a little after hanging up.


**********

Of course we still celebrated here, but we were celebrating Peter, my children's father. One of my reasons for starting this blog was to be able to document the little things that happen in our lives. I know my children will remember the big events, birthdays, Christmases, getting their drivers licenses, graduation, weddings, etc. I wanted this to be a record of the little things that go on in our lives. I hope that they will be able to look back and see -through the fights and mistakes and any misfortunes that may fall- how much they were loved.

How much they ARE loved.

My boys are so blessed to have the father that they do. Their heavenly Father did a great job in picking Peter out for them! He may not be the perfect parent (neither of us are), but he loves them with the kind of love that moves mountains. I know that sounds like a bit of a cliche (it definitely sound like a line from a cheesy song!), but there really is nothing that he wouldn't do for them.

He's the kind of dad who will learn the words to a specific song that his boys insist be sung each night before bed... even though he doesn't really like to sing.

He's the kind of dad who will spend HOURS sitting on the hard floor, bent over bins full of Lego, because his son wants him to build a catapult... even though it's supposed to be his day to relax.

He's the kind of dad who will play silly games and make strange noises in order to coax a few more bits into his toddler... even though on the inside he's screaming, "Just. Eat. It. Already!"

He's the kind of dad who shares his bed with his infant sons and endure kicks and punches all night long... even though he'd rather said infant slept in his crib.


So thank you, Peter, for loving these boys so perfectly and for loving their mom, too.

Happy Father's Day... a day late, but I know that doesn't surprise you!

even when days are long, time flies

I meant to post this yesterday, but life got in the way.

Yesterday marked six months since my dad's death. It still seems impossible that he's gone, but at the same time it feels like years since I saw his face, heard his voice, or felt one of his strong hugs.

I miss you, dad.

he loved Easter

As many of you know, my dad died this past December. Even more than Christmas, I've been missing him this Easter.

This Easter was the first Easter that I didn't spend in Regina with my family. Easter in Gatineau -in French- was very different. Not at all bad, just not at all similar to what I've known my whole life.

No service in the park. No "He is risen!" and the heartfelt "He is risen indeed" in response. No church breakfast at Karen and Adam's house. No "Up From the Grave He Arose".

No dad.

Even though Christmas is a wonderful time when we celebrate the birth of Christ, Easter -the death and resurrection of our Lord- really is THE religious holiday. Without the craziness of the Christmas season, Easter seems to offer more time to be still and reflect.

More time to reflect on what Christ did for us, giving himself as payment for our sins. Time to ponder sin and death and life and love. Time to be thankful. Time to grieve.

My memories of Easters past are full of my dad.

He loved Easter.

Fridays were always spent preparing to serve dinner at Soul's Harbour (the local soup kitchen for which he'd been spokesperson for several years), on his feet all day slicing hams, mashing potatoes, buttering buns, and serving the city's hungry. And doing a mountain of dishes.

Saturday was spent in his Lazy Boy recliner, alternating heat and massage on his cramping hands and forearms. Or napping. And watching golf.

Sunday morning was always a scramble to get everyone out of bed, dressed, bundled up and out the door for the sunrise service in the park. Every year on the same little hill. A small group of believers, most of whom had known each other for years, huddled in the often FREEZING chill air to celebrate our risen Lord. A group that maybe didn't know everyone else's secrets, but who knew each other well enough to know how much they were loved.

The love and the joy of being together on Easter morning were clear each shining, shivering face. Gathered there together, we would listen as the story of that first Easter morning was retold.

And we would sing.

My dad had a lovely, strong baritone voice.

When I think of those sunrise Easter services on that little hill in the park, I can still hear his voice ringing out above the rest.

My dad loved Easter.

At Christmas, when Liam was especially missing his grandpa, we talked about how wonderful it must be to celebrate Jesus' birthday with Jesus. Imagine the celebration! But I believe the real party must be on Easter Sunday. Easter is the culmination of the story, of God's plan to redeem this fallen world. At Easter, we celebrate Christ's victory over sin, and death having been overcome. THAT is reason to celebrate.

I'm sure that my dad is loving it and that his voice is once again being lifted up in praise for our risen lord.

(But boy, do I ever miss him.)

I first heard this song on the radio a few weeks ago. I had to pull into a parking lot to bawl my eyes out and then take a few minutes to compose myself so I could drive the rest of the way home. It's Chris Tomlin's "I Will Rise". Take a few minutes to listen.

And be blessed.

Happy Easter.

who do I call now?

Peter and I are in the process of priming and painting the guestroom. This has meant repairing some small holes in the walls. I got them mudded and was ready to sand when I realized I wasn't sure if I was using the right grit of sandpaper. Normally, I would pick up the phone and call my dad. Of course there are other people who can answer questions like that (ever heard of the internet? Wikipedia? Holmes on Holmes?), but my dad was always there. He worked from home. He was never too busy to stop what he was doing to chat or answer any questions I had or listen to Liam ramble on about Star Wars and lego.

He was my go to person for questions related to home improvement, computers, letter/proposal editing, bbq-ing, chili-cooking, and a number of other things. It helped that he was always easy to get a hold of... and always had an opinion.

(sigh)

I miss you, dad.

a tribute to my dad

I finally got around to redoing the video from my dad's service. I'm still not 100% happy with it... the date at the beginning isn't readable and the second song leaves something to be desired. Besides the fact that Heather and Lynette stopped just short of laughing AT THEIR FATHER'S FUNERAL, it's a bit too country for me. But with the deadline I had to finish this, and the fact that I was up past 2am the night before his service to get this done, my options were few. Even though I've had over two months to think about it, I haven't found anything that fits the specific amount of time I have without cutting out at an awkward spot.

So if you know of a song choice that expressed a father's love for his daughters and can be condensed into 1:44:33, let me know. Also, if you know of a site that can host this video in larger-than-thumbnail size (other than YouTube cause it takes issue with me using copywrited songs... pfffft) pass it on.

"...but I have overcome the world"

I read a blog post yesterday that was exactly what I needed to read. Here's what really struck me,

...I welled up with tears of helplessness and doubt.

The doubt was never about whether God was powerful or in control. It was always about whether He was good. So today, when I heard from my sister [...]I cried helplessly again about His goodness; and I wondered where it could possibly be.

But this is what I am learning. I am learning that our Heavenly Father protects us from the dangers that are real. He worries over the destruction of our souls, the separation from Him, the eternal dangers that so many of us ignore like naive little children.

But He does not protect us from the living of the bad dreams and from feeling we are lost. He whispers to us through our pain that there is a life beyond the present suffering. He sits silently with us in our anguish--in the nightmares so real and heavy and terrifying, the ones that we cannot escape or blink away. He reminds us that the seemingly endless grief is but a moment that will fade in the vast expanse of the Life to come.

He promises, There is Goodness. There is More. But it is not often in this suffering world that we find it.

I think that maybe this is really where my struggles lay... in seeing and believing in the goodness of God.

So when I said the other day that the only options were that God didn't exist, or that He did exist but didn't care to help and save, I was wrong. The other option is this: He exists and cares enough to save us from that which we really need saving from. From self-destruction and hopelessness and sin.

THAT is His promise.

Through all of the suffering and hardships and disappointments that my family has endured, my dad was firm in his in faith in the sovereignty of God. It's somewhat ironic to me that when I miss my dad the most -and when I question and doubt God the most- is when I'm always brought back to my dad's words prior to his first brain surgery a year ago... that our trials and problems don't diminish the promises of God or change who He is. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end.

I'm going to end this post with a copy of a poem that my dad wrote, and that was printed on the back of the program at his funeral service:

Rising from bended knee, my Lord grasped my shoulders and, looking deep into my eyes, declared that the years of despair were over. Turning me, in order to look beyond the crowd, I saw...

...I saw my mission field. And I knew that the arm still on my shoulder would never be removed. It was time to work.

"But I have been so weak." I protested. "I am unable."

Yet even as I spoke this protest, I knew that my weakness was swallowed up in His perfect strength.

"But I have been unfaithful in the small things", I continued in my fear. "I am unworthy to be given more."

It was then that a deep sense of eternal Truths converged in my soul, and faith became defined, not in terms of an exit door from troubles, but as a mirror that reflects only two images: me- small, weak, and afraid; and the all-consuming presence of God, my refuge. No problem or surroundings can find its way to the surface of the mirror - all it reflects is me and God!

Faithfulness is not dependent upon how I deal with my circumstances, but on seeing only God.

~ Bill Russell, written 7/29/93

A bit of a departure from yesterday's post, eh?

Welcome to my world.

in this world you will have sorrow

This post has been building in me for a few weeks now. Usually I think about it while I'm driving which isn't really condusive to getting my thoughts down "on paper".

I'm still struggling with many aspects of my dad's death. I hardly even know where to start! I think that death in general makes people question their own life and faith and beliefs, even moreso when it's an unexpected death. My dad's death is really making me re-evaluate my faith, even more than after Nathaniel's death when my emotions were just way too raw to do anything other than get through the day.

I really don't think this is a bad thing. Introspection is good. I'm hoping that by putting some of it down and getting it out it will speed up the process. We'll see.

I find myself really struggling with doubt lately. I'm not sure if it's doubt in the existance of God, or doubt in His love (for me in particular) or perhaps a combination. Either God doesn't exist, or He does BUT DIDN'T DO ANYTHING. See, if God exists and is omnipotent, then He's the only one who could've healed my dad (or at least let them discover what was going on soon enough that I could be there to say goodbye). And I do -I think- believe that God exists.

So why didn't He heal dad?

Was it because of a lack of faith? My dad believed right til his very last few hours that he would be fine. Even once he accepted what was to come, he was steadfast in his belief that God continued to be true to His promises, and that He had not and would not abandon him. My dad was faithful til the end.

Was it us, his family and friends, who lacked faith? Didn't we pray often enough or hard enough? I know that we certainly didn't pray that his small intestine wouldn't die and poison him! How could we when we didn't know that was going on? No one knew. So how can we be held accountable for those omissions in prayer??

Was there some lesson we needed to learn out of his death? If so, I'm really tired of learning lessons through suffering. I think I've suffered enough... maybe I'm just really thick skulled.

I know that my dad believed (and was even working on a book about) how there is nothing that we can add or subtract from God. He is 100% perfect and able to do all and everything that needs to be done. But here's where I start to stumble.

The Bible says not to worry about tomorrow, that God will provide and care for us, that God loves us, that He is our loving Heavenly Father who wants to bless us, etc, etc. Now that I'm a parent, I know what it is to love your child. I know what it's like to sit helplessly by and NOT BE ABLE to take away your child's hurt. I know that in those instances, I'd do ANYTHING IN MY POWER to comfort and care for them.

Well if God exists, then there's nothing that's NOT in His power to do! So why doesn't HE DO IT??

Clearly, God can not keep every Christian from dying or keep anything bad from happening to any of them. I know that the Bible also says that in this world WE WILL have sorrow. It's not even so much the FACT of my dad's death that troubles me, it's so many of the details. From all the surgeries and daily struggles of this past year, to his last few months being mostly out of it in the hospital not even able to make the most of that time with his family and his grandsons, to the end coming so quickly -in a matter of hours!- that I wasn't able to be with him.

I'm trying not to let this be all about me, but I really can't get passed this bit. Why couldn't they have found out what was going on sooner? Even the day before?? In that time I could've been on a plane and by his side. Even if the final outcome and all the other timing had been exactly the same... to be with him would've made all the difference for me.

This one detail, this one thing, should've been SO EASY for God to arrange... if God exists.

I feel like I'm talking myself in circles. Likely this is why it's taken me this long to try to write it all down. I don't feel like I'm making any sense.

I guess I'm just hurting still.

I miss my dad.

So when I hear people talk about others who have been healed or recovered from life-threathening illnesses, or even just people praising God for his goodness, if find myself either rolling my eyes or fighting back tears.

And I'm not really sure where to go from here.

I do know I'll get passed it. I'll survive. I've done it before.

I'm pretty sure that this post lack flow and a clear direction, but I'm not going to bother editting it. Sorry internets.

more of the same...

Grief and raging hormones are never a good combination.

You know that song by Sting... All Four Seasons? (click to hear it) Well it doesn't quite do my mood swings justice. Maybe "mood swings" isn't quite the right phrase, but I sure feel like I bounce around a lot. I go from being stressed out about this baby and everything we still have to do, to being excited, to crying cause this is the first grandbaby whose birth my dad won't attend, to being in total disbelief again that he's gone... all within the span of 2-3 seconds.

The grief over losing my dad isn't quite as intense as when Nathaniel died. It's different. For over half the time we knew about Nathaniel, we knew that he wouldn't be with us long. But my dad has been a constant for me for my entire life. Life without him in it doesn't seem possible. There had never before been a day where he wasn't available to me. It's so strange now.

It's a completely new reality.

Even though I often thought over the last few months that he would be better off if he weren't living in that reduced state, I don't think I even once really thought about what that would mean. What it would mean to never see him again, never hug him, talk to him, hear his voice. Sometimes I find myself calling the house when I know everyone is gone - just to hear his voice on the answering machine. Although it makes me feel a bit like a stalker, it's so, so good to hear his voice on the other end of the line. I've thought about asking Liam if he'd like to listen, but haven't decided yet if that's a good idea.

Many of you have asked how Liam is doing these days. He still cries at night sometimes and has been having more night terrors recently. He prayed at diner last night and there was a noticeable pause where he would normally have asked that grandpa get better (so he could be here for Christmas). He'd been so used to praying for grandpa that I could tell it threw him for a bit of a loop to not be able to.

Simon, for the most part, is blissfully clueless. He insists on calling any older, slightly greying man with a mustash "Gampa". Most recently it was the shuttle driver who drove us home from dropping our car off (to have the winter tires put on). He rambled on and on to "gampa" all he way home and seemed a bit confused when he left and drove away instead of coming in with us.

I guess we're all dealing with missing grandpa in our own ways. Although this is a journey I knew would come sooner or later, I just didn't think I'd be starting on it so soon, and so close to the arrival of this new one.

thoughts, venting, disappointment, etc.

For those of you who were on our mailing list while I was pregnant with Nathaniel (and afterwards) you'll be familiar with my style of writing. I'm a big believer in sharing both the good AND the ugly. I figure that God knows my heart anyways, so there's no point being anything but totally honest... and why not share it all with the blogging universe too??

Other than shedding some major tears in the hours leading up to, and immediately following, my dad's death, I've managed to hold it together quite admirably. While in Regina there were many things to do to get ready for the service and, even though the circumstance were far from ideal, it really was great to visit with friends and family. I love my family - both the immediate and the extended!

However, while we were driving home from the airport yesterday, I was jus totally overcome with sadness. I really can't believe that I'll never see my dad again. I know, I know, it's only for this life... but this is the life I'm living right now, so it's the one I'm focused on! I don't think I'd agree that this is just the "denial" stage of grief, because clearly my dad is dead and there's no denying that. It's just so hard to imagine life without him in it.

I'm really struggling with the "how" of my dad's death. Why he had to go through such a hard year for it to end like this. It doesn't seem fair.

Harder still is that I couldn't be there with him. Even if the outcome were EXACTLY THE SAME -same timeline, etc- had the doctors done those same tests even a day sooner, I would've been able to be there. I wouldn't have to wonder what his last hours were like, what his last words were, what he looked like, etc, etc, ETC. Yes, my family was there and they've told me about it, but it's not the same. I wanted to be with him.

It's like when Nathaniel died... Couldn't we have been given a couple days with him? Or even a few hours? The outcome would've been the same.

I feel like I was robbed of that time - with both of them. I was denied it. And I don't understand why. The variable is obviously me in both these equations.

I know that to the end my dad believed that God never would leave him and never HAD. If he were here, he would remind me of that promise. The thing is, I feel like I can no more easily talk to God as I can talk to my dad. He's just as far removed and just as hard to reach. Or maybe His promises stopped one generation too soon...

I know I'm feeling terribly sorry for myself, but it can't be helped. And really, I don't apologize for it.

I'm mad.

I'm hurt.

I'm disappointed.

I'm heartbroken that my dad won't be here when I give birth in a few weeks, and that my kids will have to grow up without him in their lives... Without his love and care, his challenges and encouragement. Without hearing his laugh and knowing what his hugs feel like. Without ever tasting his corn chowder on Christmas Eve and experiencing him handing out gifts on Christmas morning. Without hearing his terribly lame jokes (over and over), and listening to him ramble on about Montana football. Without getting to about him and learn from him.

When ever I think about him being gone, I just can't believe that I don't have a dad. I'm now one of those people without a father. I'm too young to not have a dad! Sure, it was bound to happen and I never expected him to live as long as is normal for everyone else, but I honestly thought he'd get through this and we'd have a few more years with him. So I guess the joke's on me.

No, I wouldn't want him to be suffering, but I know that he would gladly endure a bit of pain and discomfort in order to be with us. It was only in the last few hours of his life that he came to accept that he was actually going to die. Up until then, he wouldn't consider it. Yes, he was stubborn and, yes, he was often confused these last few months... my point is that he had no intention of dying. He didn't want to and wasn't ready to.

I know that he was ready spiritually. He was right with God... but he didn't want to leave us. I know he wanted to be there to see his grandkids grow up. To see Lynette married and start a family. To see where life would take us all. I know he can still see it from where he's at, but he wanted to be HERE for it.

It doesn't seem fair.

Just so you know, I intend to wallow in this place of being angry and sad until I'm good and ready to move on, so please don't try to talk me out of it...

what else can I do?

My dad's service is tomorrow at 2pm. So less than twelve hours away.

I spent the day working on the order of service, designing the program/bulletin, and finishing the slideshow. It's all done now. And now I feel like there's nothing else I can do for him...

my dad - part VI

Dad died just after 4:30am Saskatchewan time. So from the time they first noticed some blood in his ileostomy bag til then was just over 12 hours. It was quick.

After talking more with the nurses and the rest of the family, he did clearly understand what was happening. They were able to talk some about what he wanted at the funeral. He understood and was able to say goodbye. I'm so thankful for that.

Around 1:30am here in QC, I wasn't sleeping so I got up and called him again. Mom said that he'd started to get a bit agitated and jerky (as in twitchy) and was seeing things. But when we talked, he made the most sense he has in weeks! It was so good to be able to tell him how much I loved him and would miss him, and how thankful I was for everything he'd done for me. He knew how much I desperately wanted to be there with him and see him again.

Heather said he continued to twitch and jerk a lot even after he fell asleep, but that for the last hour he was completely still and peaceful. I know it couldn't have been easy for them all to just sit there, but it's a comfort to know that he left this world calmly and without a terrible struggle at the end, surrounded by people who love him. And to know that there were two lovely, eager little boys there to welcome their grandpa and show him around.

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Even though I know they talked quite a bit about the funeral, I don't know that a date and time have been determined yet. I'll let you know.

Love, Amy

my dad - part V

I really wanted to spend tonight working on Simon's 24 month letter, including all the fun details about his party yesterday. Instead I'm posting another possibly grim update about my dad. Not sure how I feel about following this up with a happy, feel-good birthday post, so it might have to wait til tomorrow...

I spoke to my mom about an hour ago. My dad is not doing well... again.

Yesterday, he seemed to be doing quite well or at least "normal" for him. This morning my mom was up around 9am and thought he was doing well cognitively, however he was complaining of abdominal pain. The staff had emptied his ileostomy this morning and it was fine. Around 4:30pm when they were to empty it again it was ever so slightly pink, then by 5pm it was BRIGHT red. He also started vomitting and it was very dark brown.

A critical care doctor came up to see him and ordered a CT scan which they just finished around 8pm SK time. He's currently on the way down for a scope of his stomach.

As I said in my last email, there was a conference scheduled for this last Tues to decide whether he would be moved to a long term care facility. The move was approved, but only once a new infection in his incision had healed. This infection was discovered either Tues or Mon. They wouldn't move him until he was done with the course of antibiotics, as this infection put him back into the acute care category.

It seems that this new issue could be as "simple" (although nothing is simple in my dad's case) as an ulcer in his stomach or as serious as a problem with the initial colectomy having not healed and having been rotting this whole time. If it's the latter -or anything else that may require another surgery- they've told my mom that there is nothing they can/will do for him. He has too many "strikes" against him, and just honestly wouldn't likely survive another major surgery. At that point, they'll do whatever they can to make him comfortable, but that's it. He's currently in quite a lot of pain, but they haven't given him anything at this point because I guess they needed him somewhat lucid for the CT scan.

So my other emails about "barring some sort of new life-threatening infection or illness"... yeah, well, looks like there's a possibility of yet another fatal complication. It's almost laughable. Almost. But also makes me want to cry and scream at God and ask Him what the heck He's playing at.

To be completely honest, it's almost a relief that they've taken away the options should another life and death decision need to be made. It's also a relief that my dad is conscious enough now to understand what is happening and make his own decisions (should any be offered) and plans for how he wants things to play out from now on. I hate that we're at this point (again!) and I'm mad about this whole year. I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that all this started around this time last year... with a simple cold! And while we've tried throughout everything to try to somehow rationalize things and to see God's hand in it all, it's getting more difficult. I hate what this is doing to my mom and the rest of the family, and more than anything I hate what this has done to my dad.

So please pray. I honestly don't know what to ask you to pray for... that it would "just" be an ulcer OR that he'd go quickly. In the same breath that I say I want this all to end, I can't imagine life without my dad in it.

Love,
Amy

P.S. Sorry these are always so long and rambling. If nothing
else, it helps me to write it all out. So thanks for reading.

my dad - part IV

I just sent this email out to family so I figured I'd just re-post it here. Plus I'm lazy.

Wow, has it really been almost a week since I last wrote??

Hopefully my lack of constant communication has lead you to believe that my dad has been relatively stable throughout this last week. While his various levels continue to fluctuate and effect him in different ways, he thankfully has not contracted any other major, life-threatening illnesses, diseases or infections! I say that somewhat tongue-in-cheek.

His mental state seems to be clearly effected by certain blood levels being out of wack. His potassium and magnesium (I think??) were seriously low the other day... he was asking my mom to "move those noodles" (his bed rails) and to get him his medication from out of the clock! After receiving two units of potassium, he was making much more sense. There are also some issues with his electrolyte levels that I don't really understand. I'm not sure if things get unbalanced following dialysis or if it's after he hasn't had dialysis for a few days or if it's mainly to do with how little he's eating... likely it's several things combined.

In regards to his eating, he still has very little appetite and is only able to eat very small amounts, no more than 6 or 7 bites. It frustrates me that the staff at the hospital isn't more proactive in that department. They seem content to bring him his three meals a day and have him eat his 6 or 7 bites - and THAT'S IT. I don't know why they wouldn't/couldn't arrange for small meals to be brought up every 2-3 hours.

At any rate, this might all be changing soon...

Today around 3:30pm, my mom (and Heather and Joel I think) will be meeting with a social worker at the hospital to discuss plans for my dad's care. I'm assuming that they're planning on moving him from the hospital, although not home yet. He's no where near ready to be home, but it doesn't seem like he needs the acute care that a hospital is designed for. I'm anxious to hear what suggestions and options they have, what they consider to be realistic goals for him, and what he'll need to do to get there.

Personally, I think that barring some other catastrophic illness AND assuming he remains stable AND assuming he's able to get back to eating like a normal person AND assuming they're able to figure out what needs to be done in order to keep his various blood levels from wildly fluctuating and making him act like a crazy person... ASSUMING all those things, I don't think that it's unrealistic to hope/pray that he'll be able to return home at some point with some home care services in place. BUT he's still not eating enough or anywhere near strong enough for that to happen right now.

So please pray for strength for him, both literally and figuratively. Pray that the meeting today goes well and that he truly is ready for some sort of transitional care (and that this isn't motivated by the need for beds, etc).

Thanks again for all your care and support.

my dad - part III

Good Sunday morning to you all.

Dad's nurse said he slept better last night than the one before. He even moved himself onto his side, where he slept for several hours. That might not seem significant to most, but he's spent 90% of the last two months flat on his back unless the nursing staff (usually two of them) turned him onto his side. So it's encouraging that he was able to do it on his own, inspite of his weakness and recent major abdomenal surgery.

He still seems confused much of the time. Not so much that he doesn't know/understand what's going on or being said, but more of him having great difficulty articulating his thoughts (from what I understand). Sometimes you can kind of figure out where he was going with something and see that it just came out wrong, other times he makes no sense. I have no idea how aware he is of what's coming out of his mouth. I imagine it must be very frustrating for him to know what he's trying to say and to know that it's not coming out right.

As for his mental state, he'd been doing significantly better between the time that the dialysis started and the days following the nasal surgery when the c. diff infection started taking over. In this case, it seems to have been the obvious variable. My question is about whether or not the effects of c. diff and the systemic infection/toxicity that went with it (remember he was basically comatose last Sunday night!) produce permanant damage or if we can expect this to "wear off".

Also, with the feeding tube being out, he's currently getting no nutrition at all. I thought the TPN (intravenous nutrition) was still being given, but it's so hard on the kidneys and liver that they removed it. So without the feeding tube, he's only getting what he'll take by mouth. Yesterday he gagged a bit on one of his pills and then threw up, so they've restricted all his food/fluid intake until a swallowing test can be done, which will hopefully be tomorrow - if there aren't too many people in line ahead of him. For a normal person, a day or two without food wouldn't be the end of the world, but he has ZERO reserves left.

Hopefully I'll get to talk to him today.