My life in books

A random excerpt:

July 5, 1997
Dear Shawn (yes I have names for my diaries)

"Here I sit on a hard cement block, but it is the most beautiful place in the world right now as I write in my diary. I am on the beach, the sun is setting and the waves are gently rolling in.

Maybe it's the place, or m
aybe it's just being away from the everyday life back home, but I feel at peace here. Last night I fell asleep so fast. It was the best sleep I have had in a long time, despite it being in a cabin with 6 other girls and God only knows how many creepy crawlies.

The night was silent. The sky was black. The only sound was the calming rhythm of the waves along the Lake Erie shoreline. It was there that I slipped away."

After that entry I found several poems written in a foreign handwriting. Not mine, but that of Geoff Hunt, a counsellor at Camp Oneida. (I am glad he signed his name there because I never would have known that)

He wrote:

If I knew what I want,
Surely I'd go get it,
But once it was acquired
It would get boring in a bit

Like a baby boy inept in play,
Using different toys day to day,
One, two, three, or four
Soon he will be longing for more

So where does it stop,
Where does it end,
To draw the line,
A good question, my friend

Wen we aren't, then we'll find out,
What life was really all about
Whether the money or toys we spent
Or if our lives made a difference!

There were more entries I will share later. It was an interesting find and I have no recollection of having him write in my diary.

Comments

Feeding the fire

Buried deep within my soul is a fire. It burns slowly; smouldering inside me day after day. I long for the day when this fire rages again. Like it used to before I smothered it with life. Before kids, before mortgages, bills, illnesses and medical interventions, there was something else on my mind. It was fuelled by almost everything around me and grew stronger with every use. This was something that took me through dark spiralling tunnels, across cobalt blue seas with purple monkeys swimming and up mossy green mountains that whispered cool breezes. It sparked all my senses and tugged at my heart. It sent shivers down my spine and excitement in my belly. And sometimes it paid. My creativity was ignited by an imagination as unique as every snowflake that falls. The words came to me, the stories flowed and the imagery made sense. I created eloquent editorial and powerful prose. But somehow along the way I lost my creative spirit. I pushed it away. I pushed it down. I pushed d

In a perfect world this stuff wouldn't matter

As our family anxiously awaits Xavier's surgery date, we are struggling with the range of emotions associated with another hospital stay. Unfortunately, the sad and most stressful part of it all is the feeling of having to rush back to work. Not because we want to, but because we have to. Even with the latest addition to Employment Insurance for parents caring for critically ill child, it is restrictive and difficult to qualify (like most programs to get money from the government). And it is only up to 55% of our wage (although I would take what I can get). Then there is Short Term Disability through work. Again, very challenging to get and the constant inference from the insurer is almost not worth the effort of applying. Plus, it is not my disability. It is my son's. I am not sick. However, I could argue the emotional toll it has on my psyche affects my productivity at work. And the last option: to use up all of my sick days, all of my vacation days and all of my leui

Pondering death

“Mom, am I going to die?” Pondering this rather difficult question tonight. It’s something I often get asked about when I talk about pediatric palliative care, and more specifically how I responded to that question from my dying son, or what advice I could offer other parents who may also be confronted with this heart-wrenching question. What do you say when that child IS going to die? I wish I had a perfect answer. In the almost 8 years my son Xavier lived with terminal brain cancer, I don’t remember him ever asking this. Although he was only a baby when he was diagnosed, he lived a very fragile life in his later years. There were at least four horrific times when his death was imminent. There were days and months when I can only imagine he felt like death. But did he ever ask me if he was going to die? I can’t remember. I distinctly remember my daughter asking if her twin brother was going to die, but never him. Maybe I blocked it out-too painful to process or maybe he just nev

The Book of Me

Search This Blog