What I Learned from My Mother by Watching Home Videos

As I move further along in this parenting journey (I almost have a teenager, folks) the more I wonder how my parents did it with five daughters in eight years. I recently spent several hours watching old home videos of my childhood and found it interesting to see my memories from a different lens – that of a parent now myself. There was one major realization that occurred:

My parents were so relaxed. 

What We Need to Hear When Life Is Hard

When life gets tough we hope that our family and friends will be there for us. I know when I lost my mom I appreciated all the support through meals and kind words; it is often easier to know how to support a grieving friend than someone whose life has been made difficult through an intentional choice. Let me explain.

I Just Want to Be a Grandma

When asked what goals I hope to achieve in life, career and travel are not at the top of the list – and I love my travelling. What do I want more than anything when I look to the future? To be a grandma. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I am in any rush and I don't even love the baby stage and all that comes with it. I want to be a grandma because that means that I will be alive whenever (if ever) my kids have children of their own. I will make it to my 50's and hopefully through to my 80's but I'll take 70's if I "have to".

What I've Learned Over the Years

Yeehaw! It's my 39th birthday today. What does that mean to me? First, it makes me think of my mom. Anyone else really feel that connection on their big day? I was not the easiest to birth but she did go on to have four more. Thanks, mom. 

In some ways I still feel 26 where I think I'm young and hip (do people say "hip"?) and in other ways I'm definitely feeling my age (turn down that TV so I can think, but wait, turn it up so I can actually hear it).  I'm looking forward to the big 4-0 next year and feel that 40 isn't actually as old as I always pictured it–I feel good! 

Life has not gone as I expected; it's even more complex and meaningful than I imagined. It has been a great learning journey and I'm thankful for the knowledge that I have – not the academic information which has sort of faded and gotten jumbled, but all that I have learned about life and family and love.  For this birthday post, I would like to share some things that I would tell my 20-year-old self. Well, I wouldn't really tell myself half of these things ahead of time because I do learn best through experience but oh do I wish I knew #3 and #23.

What Do You Want Your Life to Look Like?

I am well aware of the fact that life is short. You might say I am pessimistic but I say realistic. My mom was a healthy and fit woman until she was diagnosed with breast cancer at 48 years of age and passed away at 53. I am turning 39 in just a few short months. If I were to live as long as her then I have less than 15 years left. I don't live my life as though I'm dying soon but I understand that it is a possibility as both of my parents have had cancer (with a heart attack thrown in there).  I want to live the life I have well; I don't want to just get through my days or wait for Gary to retire.

So if I have 15 years left, what do I want them to look like? 

Mother's Day After Miscarriage

Sharing our stories is a way to connect with others who may be on the same journey or to widen the perspectives of others willing to listen. I believe that story telling can only increase our ability to empathize. I would like to thank Shannon for reaching out to me in order to write a guest post on her very personal journey over the past year. Mother's Day can be difficult for so many reasons and this is hers...

Mother's Day is hard this year. Last year I was pregnant on Mother's Day (May 8, 2016) and today marks one year since my second confirmed miscarriage (May 14, 2016). What a sad, lonely, scary word miscarriage is. When I first said it to others I said it at barely a whisper. We tend to rarely speak of IT - like Voldemort for all my nerdy friends - we do not say IT for fear of IT happening. I've been told that women are scared for a lot of their pregnancy; the baby they carry is so precious and life as I am only too painfully aware can be so fleeting.

Mixed Feelings on Mother's Day

When I was a kid, Mother's Day was exciting because we would make a card, hide it under our pillow, and deliver it to my mom with breakfast in bed – toast with jam, every year! One year I remember making a muffin at school and hiding it with great anticipation that she would just love it. It was simple, happy, and just easy.

Thank You, Oma

My oma passed away yesterday.  We knew it was coming and I'm thankful she is rejoicing in heaven–she made a great entrance, I'm sure.  After losing my mom at the young age of 53, there is something "right" about loss in old age; it's sad but it makes sense and is expected.  There are so many characteristics about oma that I appreciate and I see some of them in my own daughter. Oma loved to chat; she would grab my arm throughout our conversations as she needed that physical connection.  She was animated and I always felt like we had a private inside joke going on with her winks and smiles.  She had wonderful dutch terms of endearment that she used for us frequently like lievy (dear) and every conversation was full of "Ja ja" and "Niet niet" (yes and no). 

Five Ways to Support a Grieving Friend

It was ten years ago that my mom passed away at the age of 53. Although I do think of what might have been almost every day, grieving throughout her illness and then after her passing has allowed me to move through the pain. I can still feel sad but it doesn't hurt like it used to. I'm thankful for all those who supported throughout that time until this day. Each person is entitled to their feelings when going through loss or struggle or pain and we can't decide who deserves to feel what amount. When you have a friend that has experienced loss – whether it's the loss of a hope/dream of physical loss  – what do you do? I'll tell you what I appreciated.

Not Just a Stroller

Yes, I'm sentimental. I have memory boxes and journals and way too many photo albums under our basement stairs. However, balanced with that sentimentality is practicality. I don't hold onto everything, it must be useful–clutter makes me unsettled and our house is full enough with six people.

Recently, our stroller recently went missing. We have a a few strollers–a cheap one to leave in the back of the van "just in case", one quality single that's easy to maneuver in small spaces if need be, and then, we have our very favourite one: the double jogger. The double carries two kids comfortably, takes almost no effort to push, can be used for jogging (obviously), folds up easily, and has a great basket underneath to carry whatever we need to bring along. It was our most-loved one that went missing. I realized immediately where we had left it–on our last family walk and picnic. We must have left it behind in the chaos of cleaning and packing up.

I drove the park and looked around but a few days had passed and it was nowhere to be found. I put up a notice and I left posts online for people to keep an eye out for it, and then, we waited. I was very surprised at my reaction to the loss of this stroller.  I sobbed. I haven't cried like that in months–maybe even years. Why was I so upset about a stroller? It's replaceable! It's just an object! What was my problem?

When I looked at that stroller, I didn't just see wheels and buckles. I saw years of memories.

We bought that stroller, second-hand for $125, when our boys were little and therefore have had it for six years. We used it to participate in the Run For the Cure as a family every year which  is a special time to remember my mom. When I've needed a break from the teething children over the years, Gary has taken one or two in the stroller for a 5 km jog. They eat snacks, look for horses and dogs, and I am given a half hour of much needed peace.



When I looked at the stroller, I saw adventure.

We have done numerous local walks with it. Sometimes the kids sat in it and sometimes it was just used to hold cameras and bird seed.

When I looked at the stroller, I saw family time.  

We used this double jogger to walk to get groceries at least once a week. It's a twenty minute walk each way and the kids would get a cookie from the bakery as incentive. We talked, we raced, we were together.

When I looked at that stroller, I felt peace.

We have two rambunctious boys who have inherited my dad's "pest" genes. They are loud. Our youngest two are busy, and sometimes on hard days when the crying or tantrums are too much, we need to escape the confines of our house. Once they were in that stroller (with a snack) peace returned. Happiness. Contentment. Freedom.

Four days after it went missing, I got a phone call that our stroller had been found and was being safely stored for us. My immediate response was "I love you!  I love you! Thank you so much!". I went and picked it up right away (handing out hugs along the way...with an "I love you" or two) and my heart was so happy.

This jogging stroller isn't just a way to get kids or groceries from point A to B; it's a vehicle for togetherness and peace and exploration.

Welcome back, Stroller.

Love,
Louise

Tell me I'm not alone!  Do you have something that's special to your family and sanity? 

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Bittersweet Moments

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” ― Anne Lamott

After spending a fun week with my extended family, there were some bittersweet thoughts.  Someone was missing and yet so many new wonderful people have been added to our lives through birth and marriage.  My sisters joke that I am always the one that will cry when we start talking about Mom, but I'm okay with it--it is sad that she is gone. I'm glad that I've made it through the hardest part and that I've learned how to "dance with the limp."  I'm thankful for each day that I get to speak into my own kids' lives and hopefully there will be many more.

"The cycle of grief has its own timetable. Until that cycle is honored and completed we are moving along life's path with an anchor down." — Ann Linnea in Deep Water Passage

Love, 

Louise