First Born

It was during my first pregnancy that I learned out about my mother's first pregnancy. 

We were talking about the magic of being pregnant for the first time.  It was that day, that my mom felt she was ready to share with me about her first pregnancy.   In the spring of 1965, when my mother was eighteen years old, she became pregnant.  I'm not sure of the details, but during her pregnancy, Mom went to live with another family.  In December, my mother gave birth to her first born, a son that she named him Kurt.  Not being able to take care of her son, but wanting the best for him, she made the decision to give him up for adoption.

Remember that at the time of this revelation, I was pregnant with my daughter.  My first born.  I was shocked at my mother's news, but immediately I felt a pang of grief for her.  A woman's first pregnancy should be a happy time.  One of beautiful firsts.  I couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been, to be away from your family, scared, ashamed and alone.  Growing a little human being, knowing that you would not get to know this little person. 

I've thought of Kurt often.  It's not like I think about him every day, but I would often wonder what he looked like.  I wondered if I passed Kurt on the street, would I recognize a stranger as my brother.  Did he look like us? When I would meet men who were adopted, I would casually ask how old they were, to see if they were my long lost brother.

The years went by.  Mom never gave up hope that one day she would get the chance to meet her son. In December Kurt was on my mom's mind the most (or at least I could count that in December that she would talk to me about him.)  On the years that she could afford to do so, Mom would take a classified ad out in the Toronto newspapers, wishing her birth son a happy birthday.  Mom registered with an adoption agency, and hoped that Kurt would one day register as well.

Last week, I had a call from my mother.  She was crying.  Between sobs, she told me that she had a call from the adoption agency.  She had been found: her son had found her.  The lady from the agency was 100% sure it was a match.  Kurt's name was now Jon.  He grown up in Toronto and had a large family of three brothers and a sister.  Jon now lived in the London area where he owned his own masonry and stone work business.  Mom was waiting for Jon to contact her by email. 

In the days that have since passed, the family have all had Facebook contact with Jon.  We've had a chance to browse through each other's family pictures.  It's been a surreal experience spotting family resemblances with a stranger - my new brother looks A LOT like my grandfather.  It's been an exciting time for us, but most of all for my Mom and Jon.  Soon - in just a couple of days my sister, brother and I will get a chance to see our mother reunited with her first born.  I can't wait. 

Just before I received my Mom's phone call last week, I was outside with my camera and spotted this heart shaped icicle clung to a bush in my backyard.  I was inside editing, thinking about how you just don't know when or where you will find love when my phone rang. 
Trust the universe.

Happy Birthday Grandma.

 My daughter and I were chatting the other day about how often you should brush your hair. We both agreed that even though it's not recommended brushing 100 strokes a day, it just feels so good.  I was reminded of a time where my hair was brushed over and over again.

I remember sitting on my grandparents front porch.  It was coffee break on the last day of my week long stay with Grandma and Grandpa. I sipped my lemonade from the orange plastic tumbler, while she and Grandpa drank their coffees.  I sat one step down, between my grandmother's legs, while she brushed my hair dry in the summer sun.  I didn't have what you would call pretty hair.  My hair was wavy and coarse, a mousy shade of brown.  To top it off, literally, I had a double crown, so it looked like I had a small squirrel on top of my head.  Anyways, that day sitting in the sun, sipping lemonade, with Grandma, I felt pretty.  I don't know if I have ever felt more loved. 

I think about Grandma a lot but especially at this time of year.  Yesterday would have been her 88th birthday, but that's not why autumn reminds me of her.  Fall was Grandma's favourite season.  Thinking of the fall, without thinking of Grandma would be like fall with out the brilliant colours, or fall without the crisp cool temperatures.

With apologies to all the rock stars in my life - my husband, my parents, my children, my best girl friends, I am going on record as saying my maternal Grandmother is my all time favourite person.  If you met her, you'd know why.

She was born Angelina Tibando.  Being of Italian descent during a war where Italy was your enemy, couldn't have been easy.  Not one to hang her head in shame, Grandma signed up to help the war effort.  It was her army girlfriends who renamed her Cora - but I'm not sure why.  The army was where my grandparents met. Grandma had slipped and fallen into a mud puddle, and Grandpa helped her up.  They were married six weeks later.  

When I think of what love looks like, I think of my grandparents.  They loved each other beyond words.  You could feel their love when you were in the room with them.  When Grandpa died, Grandma slipped their love letters in his front pocket.  "Grandma," I said to her, "Why are you sending them with Grandpa?  Don't you want to read them?"  No, she wanted to send them with Grandpa, that way when she's gone, none of us would be able to snoop. I assumed that the letters were filled with cute little I love yous, but the way Grandma blushed told me I was wrong.

The other thing I remember about Grandpa's funeral, is that Grandma asked us not to wear black.  She herself wore a yellow dress, the exact same shade as a Black Eyed Susan.  Grandma was sad, but strong.  I knew that she would miss my grandfather, but I also knew that she was going to be okay.

Of course she would be okay. She wasn't about to sit around and wait to die.  Seriously, this is what she said to me when I remarked one visit that I thought it was neat that she was trying to root a rose she had been given.

I don't usually remember Grandma with sadness.  I miss her, but I know she would want us to remember her in her yellow dress, laughing, trying new things and exploring her world.  

me and my pet squirrel.

grandma and I at the "falls"

a love beyond words.

Five Years.

I got off my bike and looked out at the vacant picnic area.  

A family should be here, enjoying the last days of summer, laughing, playing, making memories.

Once upon a time it was our family that would have been here. Once upon a time. When we were whole.  This weekend marked the fifth anniversary of my mother in laws passing. 

There could have been 100 families here, it wouldn't have made a difference to how I felt- Empty and hollow, missing her so much.

Because my daughter misses the sound of her slippers scuffing across the floor.  Because amid the clutter on my teenage son's dresser is a picture of his Grandma.  Because a little boy holds on to the memory of a Grandmother who would give him treats in a Ziploc baggie each time he left her house.  Because another little boy doesn't remember her at all.  Because Charlie sleeps with the Bunny she gave him for Easter.  Because her grandchildren have missed out on one of life's great treasures, but holding on to the few memories they have as tight as Charlie hangs on to Mr. Bunny.

Because Because Ray is now a widower.  Trying to fit into a world of couples.  Because he goes to the cemetery on Sunday mornings.  Because he's alone.


Because her kids had to grow up in an instant.  Because living without your mom, your cheerleader, your guide and compass is hard.  Because time makes it easier, and then it hits you just how long it's been since she called your name or you heard the sound of her laughter. 

 Looking at where we once played, I felt so alone, and missed her so much.  

Remembering Gary

At Uncle Gary's ten year memorial, the family released balloons sent to heaven with messages for Gary.  So many words left unspoken, what did I want to say.

   

Gary was my husbands uncle.  I had been with John for nine years when Gary was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  At that point in my marriage, I had established close relationships with my immediate in laws, but Gary was part of the extended family that I didn't see often.  When I did see Gary, it was in a group setting, a family dinner or birthday party where there was little opportunity for a heart to heart that would allow me to know how special this man was.

Gary will always hold a special spot in my husbands heart.  John's father passed away when he was only eight.  Gary was one of three men who stepped in and acted as a male role model for my husband.  When his uncle was sick, it was important for John to be there for the man and the family who had given him so much support in his grief.  We both wanted to be a safe place to escape when the hurt was overwhelming, just like they were for him years earlier.   

This is how I know Gary.  I got to know Gary through his illness and his fight.  From how he touched other people. From his legacy. I know the huge gaping hole he's left behind.  A hole that time will never fill.  But it makes me sad, I didn't know the man during the best part of his life.

The message on my balloon said "Dear Gary, I miss you and think of you often"  but, I hope he knows I meant so much more.

a letter to my mother

This post is an excerpt from the love letter I gave my mom on her birthday:

Dear Mom, Today as we celebrate you I wanted to let you know how important you are in my life. Happy Birthday. Just like it is hard for me to believe that my kids are growing up, it's hard for me to believe that you have reached this milestone. You have traveled sixty five times around the sun, and with each passing you have learned a little bit more about yourself, with each time around you have grown more beautiful.

There are so many moments in my life where I felt your love and pride. Moments where you made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. And today, I am wondering did I leave you with the same feeling? Do you know how much I love you, how proud I am of you?

I am proud that you let your emotions flow so freely. I am proud that you are the kind of lady who  laughs so hard she pees her pants.  When something sad touches your heart, you cry just as easily.  You live out loud.  Experiencing your life to its fullest.   

I admire how courageously adapted to the stages of your life.  Whether the changes of your life were new and exciting or challenging and difficult, you have met them with an open heart.  Always remaining optimistic about what the future may hold.

I am thirty seven years old.  An adult.  Gone is the mouthy child who thought she knew it all.  In her place stands a woman who still looks to her mother as a compass when making decisions.  A sail when she needs encouragement.  And an anchor when she needs comfort and stability.  Thank-you for these gifts.    I love you so much, xoxo.





Almost everyone...

  A few weeks ago, we were able to have a family barbecue at my sister in laws home.  She lives on a rural property just outside of the city, so barbecues at her home definitely have a country charm.  I mean, I can have chicken at my barbecue, but it would be on the grill, not running around the backyard.

  I planned a sleep over, because hubby was on call and I didn't want to drive home in the dark.  Okay, let's be honest here, I didn't want to drive in the dark AND, I wanted to drink - what's a family barbecue without alcohol?

  Everyone hoped that John would be able to make an appearance.  It turned out that for some reason, his on call was super busy, and he was only able to pop in for an hour or so, get some food, and head out again.  But for an hour or so, we were able to have almost everyone together.

  Almost everyone.  Missing was the family that started it all.  Gramma and her family.  Gramma's daughter, Gail, my mother in law.  Gramma's son, Gary, and of course her husband, Grandpa.  I looked out the window while I was washing up some dishes, and felt an overwhelming pang of sadness.  I couldn't help but think how much the "original" family would have loved to be there, and how proud they must be of the family they have left behind.

Playing House - the reality.

The ache for home lives in all of us,

the safe place where we can go

as we are and not be questioned.

-Maya Angelou

  

Like many little girls, my favourite game to play was house. Taking care of my family of Cabbage Patch Kids, brought me such joy. I spent many hours imagining what my home would look and feel like. My reality - my grown up home, is so much sweeter than anything I could have dreamt up in my childhood games.   I have been blessed.  Hopefully for many years to come my reality will be better than my dreams, but life moves on.

Yesterday, we moved Gramma into long term care.  My head knows that this is what is best for her, but my heart aches for her.  

My heart is breaking for the little girls inside all of us women who played house and dreamed about our futures. 

This wasn't part of her dream.  It's not part of any of our dreams.   

This is what I've been thinking about as I strip the wallpaper in her apartment.  I am stripping away the layers of her dreams.  Crazy, I know - but still part of me feels guilty.  I don't think that the guilt is a bad thing. I believe that my feelings of guilt are there for a reason.  The guilty feelings sit on my shoulder like a conscience.  Not heavy or too much to bear, but a comfortable weight, just enough to help keep me in check.  The weight reminds me to give the job, Gramma, her apartment and her possessions the respect and consideration that is deserved.   

My hope is that Burloak will soon become more than a residence for Gramma.  A safe community where she has all she needs to thrive.  My hope is that Burloak becomes her home - maybe not one that dreamed for herself, but one better than any of her wildest dreams. 

Our home

Our current home is the  fith place we have lived together.

I wonder where the future will take us?

Dad's Birthday

Saturday,  the whole fam damily celebrated my dad's 70th birthday. Recently my father remarked to me that if he lives to see ten more birthdays he would consider himself lucky. Seventy. Ten years. The thought of it takes my breath away, and not in a good way.

I wouldn't call myself a daddy's girl, but I suppose I am.  Even though I can't remember the last time or even a time period where I ever called him Daddy.  Athough I'm sure I did when I was little.

It's hard to put our relationship into words. Maybe because there hasn't been too many words. Neither one of us are very good at laying our hearts on the line. To be honest, we haven't needed a lot of conversation.   He loves me and is proud of me.  I feel it, no need for words.

 

i love this picture.

blowing out the candles with his grandsons.

the joy of LOVE - day 07

day 07: generations

"if nothing is going well, call your grandmother" - Italian proverb

the joy of LOVE prompt asked us to take a generation picture.  instead, i am posting pictures of my favourite grandmas.  i can't think of a more special bond than the bond between grandmas and their grandchildren.  grandmas have the ability to make you feel like the most important person in the world.  grandmas rock!

 

my Grandma and I at the falls

Kenzie, Mom and Shamir

my mother in law, Josh and Kenzie

three generations - mom, me and kenzie

grandma up the hill