Living Life By The Ocean

Welcome 2019:  I chose the word Gather this year as my word. Last week I bought a handwritten sign that said:  Gather .  I hung it in my dining room, somehow thinking it might feel welcoming for new friends to come and for family to feel their presence is precious to me.  Living alone is an adjustment.  Living alone is......well, lonely.  This past week I came to the conclusion that my heart is fighting feelings of insignificance.  Who do I matter to?  Who would even know if I didn't wake up tomorrow morning?  I don't have a spouse or children who need me.  I have become fluent in the language of loneliness.  What to do with such thoughts?  What if there is no one to gather at the table with me.  Why choose a word for the year that causes pain? Everything about the "widow" banner I wear is difficult.  Adjusting to being physically alone is difficult but tucked deep down in my heart I know that I am not special to ...

It's been almost a month since I packed up and moved from our home to my new home.   The beginning of my story is much happier... Sam and I were married 32 years ago in a small restaurant by the Fox River in Geneva, Illinois.  All my friends were there and Sam's parents came.  I was terrified!  Sam was calm, as always, and I knew the moment I saw him that he was the one! We worked through immigration and lived  the first seven months of our marriage apart:  he in Vancouver, Melissa and I in Geneva, Illinois.  Eventually we packed a moving van and our new family moved to North Vancouver where Sam's mom, dad, sister and cousins helped us unpack and settle into a small co-op apartment.  It was beyond frightening moving away from my job, friends and familiar surroundings.  It's almost as if history is repeating itself with moving away from our home to this new place I plan to call home.  Fast forward to today... I've been asked by...

Coming up on the one-year anniversary of Sam's death on September 13, I began re-reading my blog to somehow grasp this monumental event that changed everything in my life and to glance back and try to see how far I've come.  Just about a year ago, we discontinued treatment with no idea of what was to come.  Sam and I talked the day treatment was halted and I asked him how he felt about stopping chemo.  He said he wasn't surprised, that he knew the chemo hadn't worked.  That was all we said about it.  It was this elephant in the room  constantly.....too emotional and delicate to talk about...but always between us.  So...how to take the past year and put words to paper on how I feel and what I've learned....precisely the purpose of this post.  With my house sold and my work resignation in, I've heard recently:  Bless you as you move forward in this new season of life  or Good luck as you move away and go forward .  The word "forw...

As I sit here almost 10  months since Sam died, it feels like just last week......and yet it feels like I've been alone for years.  Memories are vivid...and yet they fade.  I have a hard time remembering what our days were like together..and yet I don't.  Life is confusing.  Trying to make sense of it is impossible.  Nothing makes sense. What is worthwhile thinking about is the daily transformation each of us makes toward our future.  Today formed tomorrow.  The strength I gained today will hold me up tomorrow.  The courage I mustered up to do the hard things today will come back tomorrow.  Practicing courage enlarges courage; practicing faith and reliance on God's plan for me helps grow my faith. My short-term goals are still being formed.  Today my lawyer sent me the final papers to dissolve our chiropractic corporation.  I initially felt tears welling up and my throat tightening, but it seemed to pass, and I honestly j...

Coming up on nine months since I lost Sam, it feels like just yesterday...and yet it feels like a lifetime since our hands intertwined and I walked down into his office and leaned over for a kiss while he was sitting at his desk.  Going to the same building each day to work is very difficult.  I still can't bear to sit on the couch at home where he sat most of last year and although I've  adamantly insisted I was getting a new couch, I can't quite bear to let it go.  When I'm ready, that will be the right time. There are two directions in life: backward and forward. Looking back, I am conflicted about the traumatic experience of what happened versus seeing where I am today.  Fast forward to today:  Through what I believe was divine intervention, our family was protected. So many friends and family rallied to help with food and encouragement. Each need was met precisely when it needed to be.  I look back in amazement but mostly with gratitude....

As the year turned over, I began reading a lot about choosing a word of the year to concentrate on.  So many words came to mind, but Gratitude was the recurring word I wanted to claim as my own this year.  There are so many negative words to define my last year, heartbreak, loss, deconstruction of my life, disagreements, misunderstandings....Cancer.  Why does gratitude continue to force its way into my soul?? Last year when Sam was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, I went into survival mode.  I tried to explain to family and friends how I felt about losing our livelihood, businesses we built while we were just kids, young parents, 30-somethings, but I am confident it can't be understood.  Even I have trouble grasping what has happened to me.  The depth of loss is just now seeping into the hollows of my heart where so much has been stripped away already with the loss of Sam.  I realize now that losing Sam was so much more than losing my part...

  Exactly one year ago tomorrow....life crashed.   How can two perfectly fine adults, one in pain, of course, but holding hands, walking upright into the medical clinic at 1:15 on December 15, 2016, possibly be prepared for the kind of news we were about to hear.  I picked Sam up at work and we went to the doctor's office to hear the results of his CT scan.  We knew it could be serious -- our daughter was recently in remission for lymphoma, and having lived through her chemotherapy treatments, we were prepared to hear that this pain Sam was feeling was something serious.  We were not prepared to hear the words that came tumbling out of the doctor's mouth without emotion:  "You have cancer .  It's pancreatic and it has spread to the lungs, bone," (other places I can't even remember due to my fogging out), and the worst -- "it has collapsed several vertebrae and that's where the pain is coming from.  It's the worst of the worst that I'...

When I hear the word "second," I tend to think of something that isn't as good as what is first, not meeting expectations of the best, a sort of failure.  But "second" can also represent a second child (which is a wonderful thing!), taking a second look can save yourself from making a wrong decision, a second chance at a relationship when things have deteriorated or of building a new life when divorce or death strikes. It is easy to become bitter and angry that life has turned out this way.  Anyone who has been through a tragic event can understand the rage and deep sadness that seems to envelope your heart.  Some days I feel paralyzed to even begin to know how to create this second chance I am facing.  I've spent the last few weeks in agony wondering why Sam?  why us?  How could this have happened?  Was I proactive enough with treatments, should we have gone to Europe for treatment, and did I do enough.  Why did he die?  I was in su...

Recently a friend gave me a CD to play in my car...she gave it to me right around the time Sam died but just recently I began to play one song on it that touched me in a way that I wasn't expecting.  One song in particular talked about Yahweh.  I've heard God called Yahweh before, but after listening to the song several times, I really wanted to know more about why this word Yahweh is being used. Yahweh is actually Hebrew for LORD...meaning "I am."  Sam and I have always told our kids that God is constant,  He never had a beginning and He will never end.  He is the ultimate standard of goodness and fairness in our lives and He is the standard of everything that is beautiful and right. This weekend my daughter and I met in Vancouver and spent time together.  We went to a craft show, ate dinner, shopped....but more importantly, we walked with arms linked....together.  We ate breakfast this morning and talked about her dad, my Sam, how he an...

Some of my most pivotal aha moments have been while waiting in a lineup at Starbucks.  Since this is my first post since Sam's celebration of life service, let me explain. The last 6 weeks have actually been brutal. When I first lost Sam, I actually felt that with time, I could face this uncertain future alone. Lots of friends surrounded me and I had tons of food in my freezer.  I barely thought about the nuts and bolts of life...Grocery shopping, cleaning and scheduling my day.  As time passed, family left, food was consumed and I found myself back in reality -- except Sam was still gone. I needed to get back to work, I needed to buy a snow shovel for the upcoming winter,  my Telus Optik tv blew up and I had to fix it. All the nuts and bolts jobs Sam did were now mine. I took a week to go to Illinois to visit my 90 year old father and once again, the reality of his dementia and deteriorating body took a toll on me. He has limited time left in life and here I am co...

Yesterday was Sam's Celebration of Life service.  It was a day of overwhelming feelings, great fear, physical and emotional waves of weakness and pain and yet, the day unfolded as it was meant to. Many wonderful friends and family came to honour the one man who turned my world upside down 31 years ago. I've had to actually start thinking about the physical reality of him never coming back. My brain played a few cruel tricks this past weekend, trying to convince me he was maybe away at a Rotary meeting last Thursday or gone to a chiropractic conference on the weekend. There just couldn't be a possibility he might never come back to me.  But facing the truth is necessary.  Thanks to my boss and dear friend, over the past months of Sam's illness, I've had work flexibility and I wanted to get back to work tomorrow in fine form but....I know I'm not ready.  I ask myself when will I be ready to start life again.  That question and many more questions are waiting pat...

It's been 7 days since Sam left me. My beautiful cousin wrote me this week and reminded me that God created the heavens and the earth in six days...and on the seventh He rested.  Maybe I should do the same. The past week is a blur.  Food, flower deliveries, friends stopping by with love and messages of sympathy.  I have been the recipient of more love and care than I feel I deserve.  The past year has been my "six days."  I've  been creating our treatment plan with the doctors, figuring out what to do with our businesses, keeping our vehicles running and the house bills paid and most importantly, caring for Sams physical health.  The fact that he chose not to talk much during his illness leaves me in a confusing spot.  I feel stuck moving forward even an inch.  Would he want me to move forward into life...should I give his truck to our son....should I sell the house?  Everyone says not to make any sudden decisions, and I agree, but eve...

I want readers of my blog to know why I write.  I am a complete novice at writing.  I've never had a diary as a child, never written in a journal, and I haven't felt the need to document my life.  When life became stressful beyond what I thought I could manage, I began writing down my experiences. It wasn't to be some fake look into how wonderful we are doing and all the beautiful lessons it has taught me. I started writing to be able to look back at my experiences from my viewpoint. I didn't view this blog as a way to keep anyone informed as to the progress of our disease; I assumed anyone who wanted to know how things were going would call or message me and I've always been honest with what is happening.  I haven't spent every night on the phone updating people, because frankly I could barely get the words out some days and most days things were stable and we were in treatment, following the course set for us by our oncologist. Every post I've written ha...

This has been a rough week.  No sugar coating, no pretending.   This cancer journey is an overwhelming experience. As the months have gone by, dealing with the increasing physical needs of our life is challenging. Home and garden maintenance has been managed by our son who takes on so much to help but it's time I learn what needs to be done and to make a plan to take over. Our master bath has been gutted and remodelled this week and as with any reno, it causes angst and upset. Lots of dust, extra people in your bedroom, crap everywhere and the crap you actually need is under other crap and inaccessible. Power tools are going strong and every noise seems magnified. I've been taught well by my boss at work to have a spreadsheet for each task in life and being organized helps me manage what needs to be done.  Now if I could muster up the energy to create a spreadsheet. 😉  I know as the home repair and garden maintenance needs arise, I'll meet them and do my best. ...

I recently read a story about a young woman who suddenly collapsed and was eventually diagnosed with a brain tumour. After her successful surgery and recovery, she likened it to living in black and white before her surgery and all of a sudden, she was living in colour now that she was well. Facing mortality is life changing. A year ago we were preparing to go to Ireland to celebrate our 30th anniversary. Sam was planning his Christmas light show and life was bursting with all the colours of love and joy.  These days I see more of a flat, one dimensional scenery.  It truly feels as if I have become colour blind over the last few months.   How to find colour again and get my groove back. --  these are my ramblings: ACKNOWLEDGE Remembering where I've come from these past few months and to see the way our family has been sustained is encouraging.  Remembering God's faithfulness to us and His provisions reminds me that we are on track and that our story is stil...

It seems unfathomable that life can change so quickly, but I suppose I am living proof that it can happen. Looking back over the past 8 months and 7 days, I survived a swim through shark-infested waters and although the cancer shark is still circling, we are working through all of the decisions and emotions that come with a cancer diagnosis.     One of the hardest emotions to manage these days is the feeling of isolation.  Before cancer, we had such a rich life of friends, dinners out, serving at our church, and Sam's greatest love, his Rotary club.  He was an assistant governor over the Rotary Clubs on the Sunshine Coast and his days were filled with looking forward to traveling to the club meetings, and taking on the duties of that position with such joy.  He loved going to Seattle to training meetings and seeing new members come into the club with the intent of showing them about Service Above Self.  Although I wasn't a Rotary club member, I loved...