Posted on Sep 10, 2020
Last month, I received the news that my former canine therapy
assistant, Elsa, died of intestinal cancer. This was a hard blow for a number of
reasons. One is that I had been thinking of her as she reached her tenth birthday—the
senior years in a dog’s short life—wondering if she was showing her age yet,
that sort of thing. Another is that I learned of her death via indirect
channels—which triggered dormant “divorce trauma.” Third is the bond she and I
had. I have missed that girl greatly. She was not only my office assistant, but
also my “therapist with four legs and fur.”
I’ve blogged about her in the past.
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/july-2012-inner-alpha/
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/october-2012-alpha-update/
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/april-2014-a-dog-story/
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/december-2014-winter-solstice/ http://www.thewindingpath.ca/january-2015-crazy-life-fresh-starts/ http://www.thewindingpath.ca/january-2019-fail-forward/
Mostly dealing with anxiety—hers and mine. We taught each other a lot. And she proved to be incredibly empathetic. A natural therapy assistant—instinctively knowing what each client needed—snuggle, kiss, curl up at their feet, keep a safe distance or a watchful eye. She knew the art of “just being” in the moment and of “just being there” for someone.
It’s also a strange experience grieving the death of a pet that you already lost in a divorce. I had not seen Elsa for 3 years; yet the news of her death hit hard. I think it was the finality of never seeing her again. There must have been a part of me that held out hope for one more visit. A strange silver lining to this finality is that it also slams shut the door on my marriage. I was about to write “failed” marriage; but to me that is inaccurate. While the marriage did not last until “death do us part,” I do not perceive it as a failure. It is by far more a success story that I kept working at it for 20 years.
I see it along the lines of a completed marriage. It served
its purpose. Its time had come. If I were to remain, it would have continued to
steal my soul until I was an empty shell, going through the motions. Elsa
played a significant role in those last 5 years. I think she preserved my life,
protecting me from the complete loss of my Self. Her behaviour issues demanded
I stay in the present and face my own. This is not to diminish the role played
by many concerned friends who witnessed my demise long before it surfaced in my
consciousness. However, the “daily-ness” of dealing with Elsa held me
accountable—I could not bury my head in the sand.
My first attempts at leaving the marriage all centered
around Elsa. I hoped to stay nearby to have “shared custody” as she was such a significant
part of my life and profession. However, in the end, I had to sacrifice that
bond for my Being. She could not be the defining factor in my preparations. It
also meant living with unknowns. I had no idea how my ex-husband would cope
with her behaviour issues on a daily basis. In my heart-of-hearts, I assumed he
would give up and ask that I take her. This was not the case. Somehow he
learned to manage; and she, by all accounts, continued to thrive.
As have I.
It has been a gong-show year for most of us. Yet we all hang
in there somehow. I have come a long way in the last 3 years—even if my life appears
in disarray at the moment with numerous projects on hold: partially painted
bathroom, tarp on my roof for winter, broken tooth, paused fence construction, persnickety
stove, and the latest—snow blower in need of repair before winter.
But if life with Elsa taught me anything, it was to live in the moment, always be curious, cherish the ones you love, be there for others, and deal with it when “life happens”—even if you’re learning new ways of doing that. And never take for granted the kind souls you meet along the way who make the journey worthwhile.
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Posted on May 24, 2019
I am conflicted about what to write this month. I began by writing about my Mother’s Day experience. However, that wormed itself into the abortion/adoption issue which morphed into human equality. I initially titled this blog Mothers & Mentors; but mentors were all but forgotten in my first draft. Then I took a meander down memory lane as I worked on crafting a 50th birthday card for my brother. And I realized how much I miss the relationship we once had, plus all the adventures we shared. The thread of all these musings? Attachments.
I went from sharing a personal experience, to sharing thoughts on a tender topic. However, as passionately as I believe in human equality, connection, and compassion, social media is not the platform for changing the world. And quite frankly, the world doesn’t want to change. So I considered my intentions for communicating. I get quite discouraged by the discourse, or lack thereof, in “popular controversies.” I cannot change people’s minds; but I sometimes think I can educate people into changing their minds. After all, education has changed my mind on several occasions. However, one’s mind has to be open to be changed. As long as we have closed minds, no amount of education will make a difference. Compassion is also a necessity for change.
Which brings me back to attachments. If we adhere more strongly to our beliefs then we do to people with, compassion and empathy, we completely miss the point of life: connection. We cannot connect if we are judging, focusing on right versus wrong. Life isn’t black and white. But one can never go wrong with putting people ahead of agendas. And if you do think in black and white, then you are missing out. I know. Because I have been there—on both sides of the coin—the judging and the judged. It does not bring people together or ease anyone’s suffering.
So, in the spirit of sharing for supporting those who
suffer…
I had a surreal yet visceral experience this past Mother’s Day
during a walk in the woods with two fur babies: I talked to my two miscarried
children. I have never done that before. Oddly, a Mother’s Day first for me.
Even asked them to say hello to their grandmother for me.
As profound as the experience was of connecting with my
somewhat imaginary children, it was very peaceful and soothing. I didn’t want
to have children; so I was very conflicted about being pregnant. And yes, I
will admit relieved when I didn’t carry to term. However, there is an
unbreakable bond that forms when one conceives (knowingly or unknowingly). On
Facebook I posted: Whether you have lost children by choice or by tragedy, know
they are caring for you from the other side and you are loved.
These unborn souls have no resentments. It is like they are
still in their purest form. The world hasn’t had a chance to twist perfection
yet. And I believe they understand that they were not meant for this world.
They do not hold a grudge about being aborted (forced or natural). Now, this is
where my blog goes awry; and I veer off-course by going cerebral instead of
remaining personal.
When I stay with my own experience, I sense deep sadness and
grief; not for my miscarried children, but my own insecure childhood. I wish I
could glibly “move on” into adulthood; but it is much more complicated than
that. Education and compassionate presence from caring souls have helped me understand
my lived experience and find ways to cope; but it’s a struggle to know that it
will always be a struggle. All because of the lack of healthy attachments as an
infant, child, adolescent, and young adult. This is why I am passionate about
human equality and connection. I do not want others to struggle like I do.
I also understand today’s sadness a bit better as I miss the
inexplicable bond I once had with my brother. In our culture, we take bonding
for granted and/or are ignorant of its importance with its long-lasting effects
of both secure and insecure attachments. And what it means when we lose those
attachments. My most secure attachment was with my brother. The second was with
my dog, Gracie. I am grateful for the bonding that has developed with my (half)sister.
I do not develop bonds easily; and when they are lost, it is truly devastating.
If I could have a single wish granted, it would be for the
world to grasp the importance of human bonding and connection. I would like to
think the world’s ills would be greatly reduced by that subtle change. In the
meantime, I will continue to pursue spreading compassion and connection in
whatever ways I can, and live with the disappointments. For that is the nature
of Life: an intricate dance of joy and sorrow.
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Posted on Mar 16, 2019
Friday’s session with my trauma therapist ended on a
bittersweet note. It was a celebration of not only my therapy journey but also
the role he played. I could not have gotten this far without his gentle
guidance. In return, he felt honoured to join me on my journey and to bear
witness to my recovery and growth. As a therapist, I have also been privileged
to bear witness to my clients’ success and be the recipient of their deep
appreciation.
These conversations usually mark a transition from an ending to a beginning: the ending of counselling therapy overlapping with the beginning of the next phase of a person’s courageous journey of self-discovery and growth. What made Friday’s conversation different was the likelihood of a final good-bye.
You see, my therapist has been fighting cancer for a while now. And what seemed like effective treatment has taken a turn for the worse. Hence the bittersweet moment: a celebration of my success and the therapeutic alliance we formed coupled with a permanent ending—not just the usual “ext interview.”
Part of the ending process for therapy includes the reassurance that they can always re-access therapy if/when needed. I am glad that I am doing really well compared to when my therapy journey started and was steering toward the “exit” process anyway. Simply put, it is always hard to say such a weighted good-bye with the hint of finality—especially to someone who has had such a significant impact on your life.
In an interesting cosmic twist, my therapist’s legacy will endure
in my counselling room as I continue to pass on to my clients what I learned under
his guidance: to manage my anxiety, to dive deep, to come up for air, and to
not only persevere but thrive. His influence has been present in many a session
already. Now it will be with more poignancy.
As a trusted friend said to me, at least you had a chance to
say good-bye. Which is very true, and for that I am extremely grateful. How
many times to we say a final good-bye without knowing it? How often do we wish
we could have said good-bye, but didn’t have the option or opportunity?
So in an effort to honour the legacy and the final journey we all must make, transitioning from this life to the next, may the words of this Irish blessing go with him.
May you see God’s light on the path ahead
when the road you walk is dark.
May you always hear,
even in your hour of sorrow,
the gentle singing of the lark.
When times are hard may hardness
never turn your heart to stone,
May you always remember
when the shadows fall—
You do not walk alone.
I also wish you all a Happy St Patrick’s Day this weekend. May you wholeheartedly celebrate the love of life, family, and friends! Sláinte!
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!
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Posted on Feb 25, 2016
My maternal grandmother passed away in the wee hours of this morning. And I’m not sure how I feel about it—if anything at all! It seems horrible to admit that I feel nothing. I have at times wondered what it would be like when she died. Especially during my years of bitterness and resentment towards my grandparents for the roles they played in the development of my mother’s mental illness (and subsequently mine). The illness that eventually took her from me.
I was never close to the mother of my birth mother. In fact I found her intimidating. We had a relationship of sorts until I moved across the country. We kept in touch via letters and the occasional visit. It was more a relationship of obligation or duty than of true connection—for both of us I think.
I have always felt like an outsider in that extended family. Strange to look back upon it now. It was a very complicated family dynamic. And I was a very vivid reminder of my deceased mother—someone I sensed they wanted to forget.
As I type this, I do feel sadness welling up within me—but not for the loss of my grandmother. It is for the family brokenness, for the loss of my mother, and my lost sense of self. My life is forever impacted by generations of abuse and disconnection. I came to terms with the ancestral patterns at an earlier juncture on my healing journey. This keeps my current sadness at tolerable levels. It does not overwhelm me as any death used to do. As well, I did a lot of painful grief work after my dog, Gracie, died in 2012. Some of that journey is recorded in this blog.
And I am quite aware that my perception of the extended family is very different from those who lived and breathed it on a regular basis—either those living close by or just feeling “this” was their family. That sense of inclusion. I never felt I belonged for some reason. Some may even be surprised if they read this. Most would likely tell me not to ‘go there.’ Don’t dig up the past, rock the boat. Leave well enough alone.
Family secrets. My story is laden with them. I have begun to tell bits of my story to various trusted people. It takes a lot of courage to open up and share what is buried, yet at the same time lies just beneath the surface. It is my personal and professional experience that storytelling is in fact very healing.
Confrontation is another matter entirely. And something I fear by even writing this blog. I wonder why I am doing even this amount of sharing. What’s in it for me? Will any of my readers benefit? Is there healing to be found for me or anyone else? Do I dare say aloud what “no one” wants to hear? What would my family think?
I likely won’t know the answer to any of those questions besides my own healing. And the more I ponder, the more questions arise. I have never known my “place” in the extended family (I realize that is the third reference). And now that Grandma is gone, what will happen? Will even tenuous connections be lost? I remain connected by blood. And they say blood is thicker than water. But is it enough to keep families connected? With Grandma gone, is my tether to the family frayed or severed? Strange questions, I know.
Obviously I remain part of the family tree. Grandma’s death doesn’t change that. She lived to 95, by the way. And it wasn’t the easiest of lives. Her story begins in Mennonite Russia (Ukraine) and is filled with trauma. Grandma has a good deal to be venerated for. She kindled my love of reading and was an exceptional cook, baker, and seamstress. I have much from her that I treasure, as well as what I deplore. Holding these in tandem is part of life and love—and telling the story.
The “middle” of the story is that I had a complicated relationship with my maternal grandmother. There is much that went on before and much more that will continue after. Thankfully the story doesn’t stop here. It may be the end of an era, but it is not the end of the story—my story.
The journey of healing and growth—part of my story—will continue. I am sure it will take some time for me to fully process what my grandmother’s death means to me. I sense there is something shifting deep within. It will be interesting to discover what surfaces.
May you find the courage to tell your story to someone you trust as you continue on your journey of healing and growth.
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Posted on Jun 19, 2015
As I begin this, I am not sure what to blog about this month. There are always thoughts percolating in my mind, but nothing has jumped out demanding to be put into writing which leaves me in a bit of a spot. So this may be more a collection of jumbled thoughts than a cohesive entry.
As this quote has been occupying my mind quite a bit lately, I will start with this:
“Sometimes you just have to stop worrying, wondering, and doubting. Have faith that things will work out. Maybe not how you planned, but just how they’re meant to be.”
Some of you know that the past three years have been particularly difficult for me since the loss of my dog, Gracie, in March of 2012.
Her death triggered so much pain to surface—basically any unresolved grief bubbled up, insisting to be dealt with. For the first time, I truly grieved the death of my mother that happened when I turned 5. Along with that came many childhood issues that required attention. Inner child work became standard for me. All aspects of my life came into question and under introspection.
With all that grief to attend to, I have felt a heavy weight upon my soul for the past three years. Until this past week that is. I wish I could articulate the shift, but a shift certainly has taken place. From feeling like the world has been off its axis a degree or two to feeling stable and sure of myself. It’s been quite the shift.
I refer to it as shifting from living in a whisper to living out loud.
That’s quite a switch from “please don’t notice me” to “be all that I can be.”
In a journal entry from earlier this week, I wrote that God wants far more for me than I can even imagine. Not to push or to pressure me, but to live out fully who I’ve been created to be. Not to meet a quota of souls saved, missions accomplished—but to just be me with all my gifts & abilities, joys & sorrows, dreams & disappointments.
In other words: to live out loud.
I’ve tried to hide myself my entire life (for a whole host of reasons but primarily from non-existent self-esteem). I didn’t think I deserved anymore than the pain and suffering that was all around me. What happiness I eked out of life was short-lived, shallow, and results-based—and always with a tinge of sadness to it and/or self-deprecation.
My efforts to retrain my brain apparently are beginning to pay off. I am seeing light at the end of the tunnel, brightness within me, and a new self-appreciation. I can honestly say, I have never before felt good about myself—my accomplishment, certain traits, that sort of thing, but never “just me.” It is such a wonderful feeling.
It feels good to feel good about myself.
It’s certainly been a stormy stretch of sea, but within the current calm waters I can agree:
“Sometimes you just have to stop worrying, wondering, and doubting. Have faith that things will work out. Maybe not how you planned, but just how they’re meant to be.”
May you take a break from the worrying, wondering, and doubting—and just ‘be’ in all your personal brilliance. Shine on!
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Posted on Dec 20, 2014
WINTER, a sharp bitter day
the robin turns plump against the cold
the sun is week
silver faded from gold
he is late in his coming and short in his stay
Man, beast, bird and air all purging, all cleansing,
earth already purified awaits the rite of spring
Her bridal gown a virgin snow and frosts in her hair
A snowdrop by the road today bowed gracefully
and high upon the wing up in the sparkling nothingness,
a lone bird began to sing
Can gentle spring be far away?
~ Winter by Tommy Makem
I am always glad for the turning point in the year when the daylight returns. Even though these are considered the shortest days of the year, they feel like the longest–especially when the skies are overcast; and what daylight we do have is dim. This is a time to celebrate the changing of the seasons with brightly coloured lights strung upon evergreens. Life and Light continues even in the midst of bleak darkness.
This is also a season to clean out the darkest corners of our minds. This concept is sparked by a conversation yesterday about the reasons we have to face addictions (behaviour and chemical). We seldom do that for ourselves, but rather are motivated for some other reason—usually another living being or the risk of losing said being. We generally don’t have the self-worth to embark on such a hazardous journey for our Self.
The addictive behaviour or substance is what is for our own benefit—letting go of that coping strategy is for someone else. We weigh the risk of losing someone important to us, as heavier than the risk of losing what we think is holding us together, in order to salvage a relationship or lifestyle.
We might be about to lose a job or home—but that loss is tempered by what it will mean to others such as our families. It is one thing to create a homeless, jobless life for ourselves. It’s quite another to do that “to” people we truly care about. And sometimes we push away the people who care about us as we patch together some sort of life that supports our addiction of choice.
For me, I didn’t come face-to-face with the patches of my life until my dog, Gracie, died in March 2012. And I didn’t find the courage to face some of my many anxieties (especially social ones) until Elsa came along three months later. It quickly became apparent that to help Elsa with her anxieties, I’d have to face and deal with my own.
And as we have a few successes along the way of dealing with our patches, our coping strategies, we build the self-worth to tackle the hazards on our healing journey for our Self—when we finally get that we are worth the effort and want to make our own lives better.
Reminds me of Winter Solstice—we have to get through the darkest days in order to appreciate the new life Spring brings. May you find your own reasons to get through these darkest of days (and clean out the darkest corners) until we can awaken in the Spring.
“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person.
Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”
~ Albert Schweitzer
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