20 Years

Dear Dad;

Today marks 20 years since you left. It seems like a lifetime ago in some ways. I'm 40 now - not much younger than you were when you died. I think about that a lot. I remember vividly you and the rest of the neighbourhood parents turning 40. You had no idea that less than a decade later you'd be gone. I try to be mindful of that and appreciate every day, because it's true - we really don't know how long we have to do all the things we want to do.

You've shown up in my dreams a lot lately. That hasn't happened for years. The dreams are always present day and it always seems like you are just stopping by to see how things are. It's funny how I can't picture your voice when I'm awake but in dreams it's as clear as anything.

There is a day sometime this upcoming June where I will have officially lived longer without you than with you. I regret not getting to know you as an adult although I am sure we would have had some challenges and my life would be very, very different. I wish you had seen me emerge out of the awkward, self-centred clueless teen years. I'm not perfect but I think I've done a lot more of "living up to my potential" than I did (of didn't at all, lol) as a kid.

We're all doing okay. Jamie (who prefers James now) is smart, successful and has made a great life for himself in Texas. Sometimes in certain pictures he looks just like you, other times he's more of a blend. I think he got a lot of his drive and determination (stubbornness?) from you. He's good at figuring things out from a technical perspective and he's handy - other things for sure he got from you as well as both his grandfathers. I think you'd be super proud of how he turned out.

Mom is pretty good too. She's happy. She found love again which is important and I've always been glad it was with someone who was like a second dad to me, someone you liked and respected.

Of course there is the cancer situation. I hate the fact that Mom's had to fight cancer too. I think it was probably that much scarier for her having already watched you go through it. I can tell you I could have done without having to have the "I have cancer" conversation with both my parents but that's life I guess. It doesn't seem fait but I guess that's also how life works. I'm hopeful she'll be okay. She's really positive about things and I know that makes a huge difference - we saw that with you. Had you not fought so hard we probably wouldn't have had the three years we had after you were first diagnosed. So in some small way I think you've helped her with this battle by setting an example. Thank you.

And then there is me. I've done some cool stuff. Like moving to Calgary and the kidney thing. You wouldn't have approved of the kidney thing (out loud anyway, mostly out of worry and fear) but I think it would have been one of those things you'd secretly have been proud of. You know, hiding newspaper clippings etc. in your desk drawer or your car like you did with some of my school projects or stories/letters I wrote. We found some of those after you got sick. It showed me a different side of you I didn't really get to know. You weren't great at showing or talking about how you felt, and I feel like maybe that would have evolved if you had gotten to know the grown-up me. These are the things I think about. Sometimes, especially in the last couple of years when things have been tough, I've "talked thing out" with you. Pretty one-sided conversation (lol) but in my head, especially around some of the career stuff, it made sense. And it helped.

The fact that its been 20 years seems like some kind of a turning point. As though I'm moving into some kind of new era, moving on, moving further away from that part of my life and leaving it behind. I'm such a different person than I was when you last knew me. Part of that comes with age, I know. But I also know for certain that had you not died when you did, at that point in my life,  I would have taken a completely different, unrecognizable path. And that despite not being around anymore, you have influenced and shaped many decisions I have made as an adult - professionally, in relationships and in general.

We never know how things are going to turn out. I do absolutely wish I had the chance to know you longer in life. At the same time though, going through the loss of a parent at 20 taught me some valuable lessons that have made me a better, more appreciative person. A stronger, more compassionate person.  Everything does NOT happen for a reason, but life events do shape how you evolve and grow as a person. And even the worst events give you fresh perspective.

Happy Valentine's Day, Dad.

What would the ten year old you think of your life?

When I was ten, sitting in my mom's car while she ran into my aunt's house to get something during a snowstorm, a song was playing on the radio. I decided at that moment that it would be the song I'd dance to for the first dance of my wedding. The song? Chicago's "You're the inspiration". It gave me chills and was the most romantic thing I had ever heard.

I was driving home the other night, listening to the radio and that song came on. I smiled as I felt the nostalgia creep in. It still kind of gives me goosebumps and stirs the romantic in me. I thought about ten year old me, in love with being in love, believing in romance and dreaming about someday getting married. I felt a little sad; I wondered for a moment if I had let her down by not getting married. And it got me thinking - what would the ten year old me, think of the almost forty year old me?

Being ten is a cool age. You aren't a little kid anymore, but for most ten year olds, you have no idea about the angst-filled, possibly awkward years just around the corner. Ten year olds start to want a healthy distance from parents and family and gravitate towards their friends - and greater independence, but it is still pretty balanced. You have some pretty solid ideas and dreams about the future based on what you see in the world around you.

When I was ten, I knew for sure I as a grown-up I was going to be a journalist with a weekly column where I'd write about my life and anything I found interesting. It was going to be a funny column, similar to what syndicated columnist Dave Barry did (which I read religiously). I was also going to be married although the groom was undetermined and changed frequently, alternating between Toronto Blue Jays, actors and the occasional boy in my school (I had a phase where I loved any boy name Troy, followed by a similar phase where I loved any boy named Kevin).

Shannon a.k.a Shanny

As a ten year old, I loved animals. We lost our family dog that year, at the ripe old age of 15. I vowed to one day have many pets that I would love with all my heart and soul. I was definitely a kid who loved a lot of things deeply and felt a strong need to protect the things that I cared about, to make sure they were always okay. I had strong opinions about fairness, justice and people doing the right thing, being good to each other. I often shared my passionate opinions on current events with my mother and grandparents which frequently lead to my mother remarking that I had such a strong sense of right and wrong and views on justice and she wasn't entirely sure where those came from.

Nothing made me happier at ten than to be reading. If my mom told me to go play outside, I'd often bring a book and read outside instead (probably not what she had in mind). I devoured books, magazines and newsletters. I read books about serial killers (my mom was a little concerned), studied the criminal code of Canada (my mom was a little relieved) and read every Saturday Star from cover to cover. I loved politics, law, medical and lifestyle stories. I also enjoyed fiction and became quite emotionally involved with the characters.

A close second pastime to reading was riding my bike. I had an awesome sparkly blue ten-speed that I'd cruise around the neighbourhood on. I especially liked doing it after swimming as my hair, in the wind created by my super fast bike riding skills, would poof to epic, lion's mane proportions. Which I thought was super cool.

So what would this ten year old kid think of me and my life now?

Well she'd be bummed about the marriage thing. Although she wouldn't have wanted to be divorced either so she'd probably think a good thing I didn't marry any of my previous long term partners. That said, I think she'd be confused as to why I'm not "better" at love and relationships, given how much I care about the people in my life and how deep my feelings often are. She wouldn't want me to settle though, and she'd want me to keep looking for a person who loved me exactly as I am. Because ten year olds are both cheesy and wise.

She'd be over the moon about The Zoo. She's think two cats and two dogs are awesome and that I am very lucky to have them to love. Ten year olds have a knack for overlooking litter boxes, chewed things and would probably like the idea of getting a dog paw in the head at 7 am like I did this morning.

Ten year old Lauren would love the fact that I've lived downtown in a couple of cities. I know when I was a kid I always pictured being that independent career woman living in the city, working in an office building. She wouldn't understand my job, although with some explanation she'd approve given the writing element and the chance to "be in charge" and lead people. As a-super-ultra-mega shy kid, I always admired those who had the confidence to lead and be outspoken and I hoped someday I'd get over my shyness to do the same, as I knew I had it in me.



Other things she'd like? She'd think social media is awesome. And the Internet. I remember being in a music store mid 80s, the era of the mixed tape and thinking, why can there be a machine in the store that lets you buy all the songs you like off of albums and put them onto one or two cassettes. You know, instead of trying to make badly recorded compilations at home. I know; I could have been rich if I got that idea to market first. But I digress.

I think generally, ten year old Lauren would be okay with forty year old me. She'd think I'm really old, but that aside, she'd judge me a lot less harshly than I judge forty year old Lauren. When we were ten, we were more okay with mistakes and failure. Actually, while I knew what the word meant, I am not sure I really knew what failure felt like at ten. Making a mistake was more acceptable, because we were supposed to be learning and we weren't supposed to know everything about everything. We focused on that learning rather than dwelling on the errors.

When we were ten, we did things because they were fun, because we were interested in them and sometimes because our parents said you have to. We loved unconditionally. We had lofty dreams. We were excited about the future. We trusted. We thought going for ice cream was a fun night out. We were also a hell of a lot better at living in the moment and appreciating what we did have, rather than what we didn't. I'm not sure at what age we change the rules on ourselves or why, but it's kind of too bad that we do.

I think I'm going to make more of an effort to try to view some of life's ups and downs from the perspective of 10 year old Lauren. She might teach forty year old Lauren a thing or two.

From Jennifer to Lauren

Around this time, 40 some odd years ago, a series of events occurred that chose the path my life would take.

My Mom was out of town helping my Dad's sister, who had just had baby #3. My parents had been married a little over five years and were seriously challenged in the reproductive department. My Mom loved children and wanted nothing more than to start a family but it didn't look like it was in the cards for them. I know this had their relationship at a significant crossroads as they struggled with the pressure and disappointment of not being able to conceive.

Family legend has it that my maternal Grandma mentioned my mother's fertility issues in passing to her family doctor during a routine checkup around this time (my Grandma can be quite chatty so the story probably checks out). The story goes on to say that within the next couple of days, that same doctor was golfing (?) with a colleague, an OBGYN who happened to bring up the fact he had a patient who was looking for a family to privately adopt her soon-to-be-born child. Dr. OBGYN asked if Family Doctor knew anyone who might like to adopt. Family Doctor thought of my Grandma's story about my Mom and he made a call.

Within a day or so, my Mother got a call at my Aunt's house, from my Grandma, asking if she wanted to adopt a baby that was due any day. My Mother didn't know what to think - at first she thought it couldn't be real - adoption wasn't really even on their radar and this was coming out of nowhere (in some versions of this story my mother hangs up dramatically on my Grandma, thinking she is playing a mean joke). But it was their chance to have a family. So she packed up and returned home to get ready for the possible arrival of a new baby. They had nothing a baby would need and scrambled to get the basics together.

Meeting my other Grandma
for the first time (not the chatty one)

A few weeks later, on a Monday afternoon, the phone rang. A little girl had been born. Adoption laws at the time stated that infants could not be placed with their adoptive families until they were at least seven days old. The doctor kept me "for observation" in hospital for that first week so that I wouldn't have to go into foster care (something that was important to my Birthmom). The nurse apparently were more than okay with this, because they had a baby that they could snuggle, hug and feed. It was always thought that they had named me (Jennifer) although I now know that my Birthmom did that.

When the week was up, on an unseasonably warm late October day, a "neutral third party" (the adoption lawyer's wife) picked me up from the hospital and brought me back to their home, where my parents were anxiously waiting. From that day forward, I became Lauren to all who knew me, although I wasn't officially adopted until June of the following year. On that day, the judge asked to hold me. He then stood up, addressed the court and said "I'd like to introduce you all to Lauren Elizabeth Herschel".

I always knew I was adopted. I don't remember being told. My Mom said when she was later pregnant with my brother (surprise!) and I was less than a year old, she'd tell me that while I didn't grow in her tummy, I was just as much hers as he was. I was always told that my Birthmom had made a choice to have me and that she took very good care of herself so I would be born healthy.  Adoption for me was always framed in a very positive way - that my Birthmom had wanted me to have the best life possible and that my adoptive parents really wanted me as well. I always had the sense that not only was I in a very loving adoptive family, there was also a Birthmom (and family) out there who cared deeply for me, hoping I was doing well and thriving. Sometimes when you tell people you are adopted, they initially look uncomfortable, uncertain if it is a good thing or not. I always thought I was lucky I was adopted and that I was truly loved and wanted by a lot of people, before I was even born.

My Dad was never okay with me looking for my birth family - he said the family I grew up with was my family and that's all I should need to know. My Mom always seemed to understand my curiosity a little more, and she knew that someday I might want to know more about where I came from. All I knew growing up was that my Birthmom had been in her early 20s, was a student and had nothing significant in her family medical history. That's not a lot to go on but in the 1970s, there weren't many rules around what information had to be collected in a private adoption.

After my Dad died, I decided to look, if for nothing else, updated medical history (watching a parent go through cancer makes you reflect on that kind of thing). In my mid 20s with the help of the Ontario government, I was reconnected with my Birthmom. It was pretty interesting to find out what we had in common (quite a lot) and see pictures of someone I look like. After a few months of letters and emails, we met. The following day, I was introduced to a slew of other amazing family members and family friends. They are all wonderful, kind people and I feel pretty fortunate to have a whole "other" family come into my life. They have always made me feel like I belong, like a long lost relative that just was away for 24 or so years.

I know not every adopted person's story is as sunshine and lollipops as mine. It's always been something I've had a deep appreciation for. Being adopted and all my experiences around it has definitely shaped who I am today, for the better. I was given a great start by a selfless, caring woman, and raised by a pretty awesome family. It doesn't get much greater than that.

P.S. Here is a letter the lawyer's wife wrote years later to my mother, after my dad died, remembering the day she picked me up from the hospital and brought me to them. I guess it was a special day for her too.

Yay Mom

Jamie, Mom and I, circa 1994 ish

Today is a good day.

My Mom has her last chemo treatment today. She's made it through six months of chemo every Tuesday for three weeks and then one week off. Rinse and repeat. She had a few hiccups along the way and a week or two that needed to be skipped but she did it. She's had some pain, a little bit of nausea and some pretty "off" days but has managed to keep up a regular schedule for the most part while going through treatment and also recovering from one of the biggest surgeries you can have done.

More importantly, she's remained super positive through it all. My Mom is generally a worrier and in the past has been known to be negative about  some things. But through her whole journey of getting sick, not knowing what was wrong initially and then being faced with a pretty serious diagnosis, shes been passionately optimistic. She wants to do everything she can to beat this and be around as long as she can. I know from past experience when my Dad was diagnosed with cancer, that attitude is everything even when your odds aren't great by medical standards.

My Mom said recently she is looking forward to being done. She and my step-dad can get back into going to the cottage, which they love, more often. She obviously won't have to deal with the side effects of the chemo and the PICC line she's had to have changed and protected for the last half a year. They won't be planning their weeks around treatment, blood test and recovery days.

She's also a bit afraid of being done. She said that as long as she's been doing the chemo, she feels like she's actively doing something to fight the cancer from coming back. I had never thought of it that way and I can see where she is coming from. I am hopeful that this course of treatment is all that's needed to keep things at bay for a long, long time. We are all cautiously optimistic - and there is a lot of hope. Given the potential prognosis last Fall, we are much further ahead and better off than I think we thought we might be. So here's hoping.

Today is a good day.

My People

I haven't posted in awhile. I wish I had a good reason for it - like jet-setting vacations or some other fantastical series of events. Truth is, 2015 keeps giving me little jabs and kicks (and some bigger punches) and I've had trouble figuring out what to write about without sounding overly negative. I'm generally a very positive person but this just hasn't been my year. And the more I try to think about something good to write about, the bigger the block has become.

However some recent no-so-great events have got me thinking a lot about some of the really special people in my life. I'm lucky to have some pretty great individuals in a few areas of my life but one group of these awesome people in particular, are on my mind even more as of late.

As most people know, I am adopted. I grew up after the 8 day mark in a really good family. I was (and am) loved and was given opportunities to learn and experience many amazing things. Despite all this, I was always curious about "where I came from", which is a totally normal thing for us adopted folk to, at the very least, ponder. When I was in my mid 20s, I was fortunate to be able to track down my birth mom. We exchanged letters and emails and one Friday night met at an East Side Marios for the first time. I was very nervous (and she was too) but after a few minutes of looking at the face of someone who actually looked like me (a first for me), I felt oddly at ease.

The next night, I attended a BBQ where I think I met half of southwestern Ontario including most of the rest of my birth mom's side of the family. Most of the people in attendance had no idea that I even existed until just weeks before the "unveiling". Yet family and friends alike welcomed me into their community like someone who had just been away for a little while. That's where I truly got my first taste of how amazing this family (and all their people) were.

Over the years I have gotten to know them all better. I know who I share mannerisms with. I see where my love of animals might be a genetic thing. I know where I get my shyness and my creative clutter tendencies from (I won't name names). They have told me the story of all the things that lead up to my adoption and are always candid and open when I've had questions. They've let me into their homes on numerous occasions, and into their hearts too.

And I've learned so much from them. My birth mom and her sisters and the "kids" all seem to know when each other needs help - whether it be a ride or something from the store or a pet taken care of. They come together frequently and genuinely enjoy being together as a larger, extended family. They plan great dinners with everyone helping out in some way (and for the record I ave never eaten anything less than amazing at any of these meals). They step up without any effort or complaint and they make sure everyone around them is okay. They are fiercely loyal and supportive of their clan. I felt this the very first time I met them all, and it has only become more clear over the last 12 or so years I've known them. In short - they are awesome. I am a better person for knowing them all.

For the record, that's not to say my adoptive family doesn't share some or most of these traits. I think we were always just more spread out geographically and maybe didn't gel in quite the same way across all the family ties. It is simply a bit of a different family dynamic.

I remember when I was considering moving to Calgary, my boss at the time warned me "Sometimes, you are going to feel really far away". The last six months, with what my Mom has gone through, as well as my Grandma and now some things that my birth family members are facing, has made me really get what he meant. I feel far. Very far. I want to be able to step up and help them out the way I know they would for me if I needed it. Because my birth family, just like my adoptive family are my people.

For now, all I can do is think positive thoughts, and do the best I can to be there for them - because that is exactly what you do for your people.

My Champion

I had no idea when I first got the idea to do this blog late last summer, that this year was going to be as much of a roller coaster as its been. In my naive "everything goes relatively okay for me" way of looking at things, I was going to write a list of things I wanted to do, some frivolous and some with a lot deeper meaning, and I was going to do everything on the list. And that life as I knew it would be life as I knew it, with maybe a few list driven twists.

Instead, there have been a heck of a lot of ups and downs. And by ups and downs I mean mostly downs. I've taken a lot of deep breaths, re-adjusted the plan and forged ahead.

One of the "downs" has been weighing on my mind a lot, for quite awhile. Probably because there isn't anything I can adjust or do to make it better. It is what it is. And its really tough for me to wrap my head around. My 90-almost-91-year-old biggest fan, my grandma, is starting to fail. Among other things, she's having some memory issues and is beginning to have difficulties caring for herself without a lot of assistance, which is a big change for her.

Most people who know me even in the slightest know how awesome I think my grandma is. And I have so many reasons why I think that.

Grandma, know to other humans as Vera, was a young and fun 51 years old when I randomly appeared in the family via private adoption. Legend has it that she essentially (somewhat accidentally) started the ball rolling on the matchmaking process between my birthmother, her doctor and my adoptive parents in the two weeks leading up to my birth. I was the second grandchild and the first girl. From my earliest memories, she has always been my champion, excited and happy to spend time with me. She's delighted in my accomplishments, no matter how small, and has encouraged me endlessly when I haven't been sure I could do something.

There is an affectionate eye roll I get from my other cousins when Grandma (or anyone else for that matter) tries to suggest that she doesn't have a favourite. I know she loves all of her 8 grandkids very much - but she and I have always had a really strong connection. She always seemed to get me, and saw things in me I couldn't even see yet. She made me feel like I was extra-special and still does. I think everyone needs that in their life.

When I was seven or eight, she gave me an old typewriter she had. For those of you in the under 30 crowd, it's what people used before computers came along to write correspondence, or in my case, short stories, commercials for my tape recorder radio show, newspaper stories for my imaginary newspaper and poems. I had always liked making up stories, fictional or otherwise, but this typewriter put my love for writing in a whole new realm. I would sit for hours, clacking away at the keys, dreaming up character, expressing my feelings and writing dozens of first-pages of what would (never) be the greatest novel ever. Whenever she saw me, she'd ask to see what I had written. I often hid my written ramblings from other people, embarrassed and unsure of what they'd think. But I always showed her. And she always loved every word. I really think she helped me see the value in this love of writing I had/have, and she helped me gain confidence in the talent that I had. I've always felt safe with her.

Being the adopted kid in the family, while I felt completely accepted as one of the gang, I didn't look like anyone, which sometimes made me feel awkward. On more than one occasion, throughout my childhood and well into my adult years, I'd be out with my grandma and we'd inevitably run into one of her many friends or acquaintances in her community. She'd proudly introduce me as her granddaughter and sometimes her friends would comment how much we looked alike. Without missing a beat, she'd wink at me, agree with them and would say something about the good-looking family genes.

When we were kids, she was the cool grandma. She'd go on the bumper boats at Ontario Place with me and would take me for picnics. She'd have me for sleepovers and take me to see grown-up plays at the Royal Alex. Grandma talked to me about current events from politics to religion to the news and helped me how to critically think about issues in the world while respecting other peoples beliefs and values. As we got older and the Internet came along, she learned how to use it to better stay in touch with her grandkids. She even coordinated a Sunday brunch with most of the adult grandkids, using MSN Messenger. No phones required.

When I decided to move across the country to Calgary and everyone I knew thought I was crazy, she was in my corner. She wasn't naive about the challenges I might face - she herself had flown from England to Canada two years after World War II ended to reunite with my Canadian grandfather who had mailed her an engagement ring. He had been in England briefly as part of the Canadian Firefighters Brigade and they had met and fallen in love. She knew that taking a chance like that can be life-changing and it could pay-off. It had for her. And as it turns out, it really did for me.

My graduation message from Grandma

Grandma has always made me feel okay with who I am - no easy feat when you are the awkward, shy smart kid She has always had an unwavering confidence in my decisions and has never hesitated to express how proud she is of me. She has always encouraged me to be brave, try knew things and appreciate what I have to offer the world. She is quick to promote me and my accomplishments to anyone who will listen (I think her entire retirement village and possibly half of Etobicoke knows about the kidney thing).

It's hard for me to imagine a world that she's no longer in. I get it, she's old and she's had a long, pretty good life. She's not going to be with us forever (in person anyway), and as the recent months have shown us, she is going to face challenges as she enters the "end of life" stage (as my mother calls it). While I can accept on some levels that that's the way life goes, it's scary to think about losing her.

I know I'm lucky. A lot of people don't have their grandparents around as long as I have (hello! I'm almost 40!). Many people don't get to have the relationships with their grandparents I've been able to have with her. She knows how I feel about her, and the impact and influence she's had on who I am. And I will continue to tell her for as long as I can what she means to me.

Childless Women

Recently I've been watching House of Cards on Netflix. There was an episode in the second season that really made me stop and think. And get a little annoyed.

In the story line, the United States Vice President's wife (played by Robin Wright) was being interviewed by a news agency. Now I will preface this by saying that her character and that of her husband Frank Underwood (played by Kevin Spacey), on this show are lacking in moral character by some people's standards. But that isn't really relevant to what in this particular story line had my knickers in a knot.

In the interview, the questions quickly turned to the fact that Mrs. Vice President (and her husband) did not have children (they are in their 40s). The reporter asked her a lot of really hard questions about not having kids. She used words like "sacrifice", "unusual" and "uncommon". Her tone was dripping with the idea that by not having children, the Underwoods were somehow "unnatural" as human beings. She even went as far as to ask her if she "lacked maternal instinct".

I'd like to pretend that this was a far fetched dramatic scene, something conjured up by an overly imaginative Hollywood writer. But the thing is, despite how advanced we think we've become with equality and being politically correct, a lot of the questions asked and things implied on the show, are asked and implied to everyday, real, childless women.

I don't have kids (that I know of). And I probably won't. Does that make me less of a woman? Hell no. Does that make me a less compassionate, less giving, less responsible person? No. When did it become okay to ask childless women countless questions about why they don't have kids? And then go on to judge them?

I have never once asked a person why they decided to have kids. I haven't asked them what the rationale was behind their choice to have them at 30 instead of 40. Its never occurred to me to ask someone what value was there (to them) in having three kids vs. two. I have never judged someone's ability to do a task, hold a job or be effective in a government position (or position of power) based on whether or not they've procreated or how many times. Because it doesn't matter. Just like their race, gender, sexual orientation or breakfast selection or eye colour doesn't matter.

There are a lot of reasons people don't have kids. And a lot of reasons people do. One isn't better than the other. For me, I never really knew either way if I wanted kids. I was totally on the fence. Then I had a couple of relationships in a row where my partner did not want more kids (for the record, being a stepmom was great though). So I didn't have kids. And now I'm single and almost 40 - so I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed. And I am okay with that. But it certainly doesn't make me less of a person or a weirdo or not able to understand the ups and downs of being a parent.

Choosing to be a parent (or not) is very personal. It's not black and white or as simple as "you want kids so you have kids". It can be a can of worms to open for a lot of people, yet well meaning (and/or judgey) people think its okay to open that can of worms whenever the mood strikes them, even if they don't know a person well.

It makes me sad that women can be hugely successful in so many areas of life, but their choice whether or not to be a mother can be something they are evaluated on and that so much importance is still placed on that. Don't get me wrong - being a mother is a wonderful thing and it can be both a tough and rewarding thing to do. But there are a lot of women out there who have chosen not to be mothers (or can't be!) who do many tough and rewarding things too. Maybe it needs to stop being something we use to measure a woman's value.

Not Being a Stepmom

On July 1, 2008, when I moved in with my boyfriend, I officially became a stepmom. A little over six years later, in September 2013, my relationship ended, I moved out and I stopped being a stepmom.

Being a stepmom was probably the hardest and yet most rewarding thing I have ever done. I've never being a "regular" parent so I can't make a comparison first hand. There are probably a lot of things that are the same but there are definitely some differences.  For example, you almost instantly have all the roles and responsibilities as a parent (feeding them, taking care of them when they are sick, the discipline etc.) but you haven't formed a relationship yet (really). You don't know how they feel about you, and you don't really know how you feel about them. There are often other parent(s) in the picture and you need to figure out where you fit in to all of that - which part is yours to play in the raising of the child. And that child may or may not resent you for a myriad of reasons from the change in household routine to jealously (although I thankfully didn't experience much of that).

But once you get through that, and you settle in, there is a lot of good stuff that can come with being a step-parent. In my case, "The Child" often would speak more freely with me than he would his dad, asking me a lot of great questions about how things in the world worked. We could have some pretty interesting conversations in the five minutes it took to get him home from daycare after school. I got to do things with him that I loved like making cookies or teaching him how to cook. I was able to share some of my family traditions with him, whether it was trick or treating Halloween, or creating some pretty awesome memories at Christmas. Every year, regardless of if he was planning to be at his mom's or his dad's for Christmas, we'd set a day to decorate the tree and house together, Christmas music playing in the background. One of my favourite Christmas memories from my childhood was the year my parents gave me a Smurf themed Christmas (because I was totally into Smurfs). All the gifts I got from Santa were Smurf related and I was thrilled. So it was pretty cool when decades later I got to do the same thing for The Child, although his was a "Nerf" themed Christmas.

Activities and traditions aside, if you are lucky (and I was), a bond forms. And they learn to love you and you learn to love them. Not because you have to, but because you want to.

When I broke up with The Child's dad, he was at his mothers for the week. He had left, on the Monday, for his usual week on/week off custody arrangement. Because the breakup was somewhat unexpected, he left not knowing that I wouldn't be there when he returned. I didn't know that either. So I didn't get a chance to talk to him or say goodbye. His dad, wanting to protect him, asked his mom to keep him a little longer until I could move out. When he eventually came back, I didn't live there anymore. And his dad didn't want me to see him.

I think - actually I know - that this was probably the hardest thing I've had to deal in my life (with perhaps the exception of my dad dying). In the first few months after the break up, it was soul crushing. If any thoughts of him or memories came bubbling to the surface I had to shove them away with everything in me in order to keep it together. I couldn't look at pictures or I'd cry. Ugly cry. I thought about writing him a letter but couldn't figure out what to say, and wasn't entirely sure (at the time) his dad would let him have it anyway.

There are a lot of articles and tips out there about the end of romantic relationships. There are a ton of blogs and resources about becoming and being a step-parent. What is surprising though is that despite all the blended and re-blended families out there these days, there isn't much about what happens with step-parents and step kids when things don't work out. And there really should be. Because you are grieving the loss of something real.

At first I didn't think I was justified in being sad. I mean, I was partially to blame for the end of the relationship with his dad and this was a consequence. And I wasn't the "real" parent so I didn't have any rights to anything. And The Child wasn't gone, he just wasn't in my life anymore. So I didn't talk about it much with anyone and I tried not to think about it. I wondered how he was doing, how school was, if he was eating his lunch or letting it go bad in his backpack (a six year, ongoing battle we had) and if he knew how much I cared about him. I wondered how soccer was going, how he was doing with homework and what he thought about all of this. Every once in a blue moon I'd see a picture of him on Facebook courtesy of his aunt or uncle and I'd be both thrilled, and then sad all over again.

About a year after the split, this past Fall, my ex wanted to borrow one of the dogs for a hike in the mountains with The Child (we had barely been on speaking terms until that point). They came by my new house to get the dog and I got to see The Child for the first time. We just exchanged hellos in the driveway for the briefest of moments and off they went. My brain went into overdrive trying to process everything. I couldn't push it away as much as I wanted to. It was so good to see him and at the same time so hard. Later that day, after the dog was returned, my ex sent some pictures from the hike of The Child and the dog. And it was like things shifted a little - maybe some healing began.

Today the three of us had brunch together - our first visit since the breakup. It made my heart so happy to see the The Child, to hear about school and the gifts he got for Christmas. To know he is doing well, making good choices and becoming a great young man. Losing our relationship (the one with The Child) will probably be one of the very few regrets I have in my life, but I feel like today I got the start of a bit of closure on grieving what our relationship was in the past. Hopefully I'll still get to know what is going on in his life as time goes on. I'd like that a lot. I'm really proud of who he is becoming and where his life is heading and I'm glad I had the opportunity to be a part of it for six years.

My 39th (or 40th?) Christmas Eve

Here we are on Christmas Eve. The dogs are bathed, the house is pretty clean (and not just by my standards either), I have a giant turkey defrosting in the fridge and I'm enjoying a glass of wine by candle light.

I have to admit that a week ago I was starting to doubt my decision to not go home for Christmas. Or my decision to be alone at Christmas. I am not sure which actually. I'd hear a Christmas song and get overly emotional. When people would talk about what they were doing for Christmas, I'd sneak away - partially because it made me sad and partially because I was beginning to get tired of the pity looks I'd get if I said I was hanging out with the dogs over Christmas.

I'm back on track though. It's my last Christmas of my thirties (someone so kindly wrote that in a Christmas card - thank you!). And this is the only one I've spent alone. There are a lot of people who have never had the big family Christmases I've been so fortunate to grow up enjoying. A lot of people haven't had Christmases with fun (and quirky) in-law types either. I've also been able to have several Christmases with a child in the house, in a parent role. I had the opportunity to help make his childhood holiday memories something special. Not everyone gets to do that either and I'm really thankful that I had that chance. Or to have a Christmas, like my special one last year, where I got to spend time with both my amazing adoptive family AND my wonderful birth family, reminding me that I was not only raised by good people, but I come from good people as well.

The last couple of years may have been a bit bumpy for me in spots. But I'm tough. And more importantly I am lucky. Because I have a life that is full of love, opportunity, health and good people. We can never plan how things are going to turn out, and sometimes we need to roll with the punches more than others, or more than we might want to. When we focus on the good in ourselves and the people around us though, we really have everything we need to keep on keeping on.

Merry Christmas and thank you to all my funny, compassionate, supportive and loving family and friends. Even if we are miles apart, I always feel like you are with me.

Remembering...

Today is Remembrance Day. Every year on November 11, commemorate and remember the men and women who have served, and continue to serve Canada during times of war, conflict and peace. We remember the more than 1,500,000 Canadians who have served throughout our nation’s history and the more than 118,000 who made the ultimate sacrifice.

I also think about people like my grandparents on my mom's side. My Grandpa S. wanted to serve but due to crummy knees and bad eyesight, was unable to join up with the army or airforce. So he did the next best thing and became a volunteer firefighter, travelling over to southern England to fight fires created by the frequent German bombing raids. He wasn't on the front lines, but he was helping save lives and homes in and around Plymouth. It was there that he met my grandma.

My Grandma was a teenager when World War II started. She lived in Plymouth, which was a heavily bombed area of England because it was a major port. She did what she could to help raise and care for her siblings. She didn't have a lot to say about what went n during the war, but I know he did what she could to try to protect her siblings. I know she lost a good girlfriend who was killed by a bomb while walking home from school or a social event shortly after they had parted ways. I can't imagine what it was like for her, her family and other people who had to live through day after day of rations, bombings, death and loss. To tho day she's a strong, positive person and I'm sure thats what got her through what must have been some very difficult times.

At some point during the war, she started helping out at the local mess hall where volunteers like my grandpa would go to eat. Now my Grandma is a great cook. But one thing she's never been able to do is make toast. Even with modern day toasters on the lightest setting, she absolutely has always burnt toast to a crisp. Somehow, at the Mess Hall, she was put in charge of making toast.

Family legend has it that a young Canadian firefighter liked the burnt toast so much, he kept going up for more helpings, eventually asking to meet whomever was making such delicious toast. And the rest, as they say, was history. They courted for a couple of months before he had to return to Canada. He mailed her an engagement ring (don't try this in 2014) and she responded (likely also via mail) "yes". Two years later after the war was over, she boarded a hollowed out Lancaster bomber, left everything and everyone she knew behind and flew to Canada. They were married for over 50 years.

Our armed forces (and those of our allies) throughout the years have been so critical to helping to protect and maintain our freedoms. I think its also important to recognize the millions of strong, brave and determined people who keep up their morale while facing war on their own soil. They courageously kept their families and communities together during hardships most of us can't even begin to imagine. They lost so many loved ones and friends. And when it was all over, they all rebuilt and moved on, teaching us what it means to be resilient, and reminding future generations to appreciate the sacrifices made to give us all that we have today.

Mom's Big Day

This blog has taken a whole different direction than I initially planned. That's life, I guess.

The good news: my Mom made it through her 6-8 hour surgery today with flying colours. My brother said she was quite lucid when they finally got to see her. I'm really glad he's there, not only to check in on her, but to make sure my Stepdad (Stan) is doing okay too. I worry about him (Stan, not my brother, although I do worry about him too a smidge. I worry about everyone). Stan is such a good man and he loves my Mom so much. He's always been like a Dad to me and I hate knowing and seeing how this is affecting him. This has to be so hard for him to watch my Mom go through this and not be able to help, have their future be so uncertain. I wish I could change that for them.

The not as good news is that the surgeon is pretty sure its cancer. They will know better in a couple of weeks once the pathology is back, but the science and statistics don't leave a lot of room for alternatives. And that's okay. I'd rather know what we are up against, and be part of forming a plan of attack, be ready to deal with Cancer than to pin all my hopes on something that is statistically almost impossible. I know not everyone thinks this way and that's fine, but it helps me work through things, find solutions and be as ready as I can be to help my Mom through what's ahead. Being positive and optimistic is one thing, but I like a good dash of realism too.

So yeah, they caught it early, so that's good. But she still has a long recovery ahead from the surgery alone and then whatever additional treatment she'll need. And Pancreatic cancer is still mean, even when its stage one or two. Mom is ready to fight though and that is important. I believe its that same kind of fighting spirit that gave my dad three years when he got sick, when so many who are diagnosed with his type of cancer don't make it a year. I am hopeful her attitude will take her everywhere.

Things are okay. I'm okay, today, with not being there physically. I''m okay with taking things one day at a time and jumping the hurdles with my Mom and family as they come. I'm okay with my role in things right now. I feel like things, at least for now, are less in limbo.

Support

I am a little overwhelmed by the response I got to yesterday's post about my Mom. From people who offered ideas on how to support her from afar, to others who shared stories about their own experiences with cancer, prayers and everything in between - it was all pretty amazing.

At my cousin's wedding last weekend, there was much discussion about what was going on with my Mom. It was pretty emotional, although it was beautiful to see how loved she is by my cousins, aunts, uncles. It helped to know that people who live so much closer to my move would go and visit her, check in on her once she is out of the hospital, and do what they can to help. I left the wedding feeling a little bit better about being so far away.

One of my relatives asked me a question no one else did though, that really got me thinking.

"Do YOU have support. In Calgary. People that can help you?'.

I wasn't sure. I hadn't thought about that. I live alone (minus my zoo of cats and dogs). My family is far away. It's easy to think and feel sometimes that you don't have that safety net of people around you. Sure, I have friends, but I wasn't sure if I had people that needed to be burdened with this (or frankly any other problems I might have a long the way). I realized last night and today as I heard from so many lovely people, that not only do I have some pretty awesome people here in Calgary to help me, but I have a whole lot of people looking out for me all over the place.

On another note, my Mom is feeling a lot better today. Many of the symptoms that had been given her such discomfort over the last two months seem to have faded in the last 48 hours. I'm hoping she has a peaceful weekend before her surgery. And I'm feeling a lot better about things, knowing that not only that she has so many people in her corner, but I do too.

Onwards!

Call Mom

When I started thinking about this list a few months ago, there was one thing I definetly thought about putting on the list - call my mother every week.

I get for some people this is totally normal - in fact they may talk to their mothers more frequently. I go more in phases - sometimes its every week, sometimes its once a month. My mom and I have always had a strange dynamic - she loves me more than anything and at the same time, the differences in our personalities have often caused tension, especially with too much "togetherness". The distance between Alberta and Ontario has helped us both appreciate each other more and I think as we get older we all mellow a bit and our relationships with our parents often change for the better. Because of that, I wanted to make sure I made more of an effort to check in "just because" more frequently, so on the list it went.

I had no idea what was lurking around the corner.

After a month of sudden health issues and numerous tests, my mom has been diagnosed with early stage pancreatic cancer. She has none of the common risk factors. She is not a man, she is not obese, she doesn't smoke (never has even tried it) and drinks only socially. She eats well and has always been healthy. Yet here we are.

Pancreatic cancer isn't good, even in early stages. Not that any cancer is good. This though, is one of the truly ugly and mean ones. to get. She's lucky that its early enough that they can attempt a massive operation that has a moderate success rate from a surgical perspective (the surgery is dangerous). But her risks of the cancer spreading elsewhere or recurring even with the surgery are high. And quite frankly that's crappy.

I have just come back to Calgary after a week with her in Ontario. My cousin was getting married and this trip was planned well before this cancer thing showed up. It was hard to see how weak my mom was. How tired she is. How much her symptoms were getting to her. She couldn't go to the wedding, which she was really sad about. My step dad needed to go and close the cottage, so I stayed with her to make sure she was okay while he was away. It was tough on so many levels.  I kept pushing away the idea that this could be the last time I'd see her. That the birthday I celebrated might be the last one where she sings happy birthday.

I have felt like everything (the "list" and beyond) has been in limbo this last month. I think for me, the uncertainty has been the worst part, along with being so far away. But I realized in the last week being in Ontario, that I didn't feel more useful there. And without having the usual routine stuff to keep me busy (dogs, cats, work etc.), it seemed a lot harder to deal with. I know the situation isn't about me, but its still a hard thing to wade through. We went through this with my dad, but somehow that doesn't make it easier either.

Last night I told my mom about the idea for a list. She thought it was a great thing to do and told me she hoped I got everything on it done. Right now I am not sure where to even start, to be honest, with all that is going on. These turn of events though have made me appreciate even more how important "seizing the day" is, and connecting with the important people in your life.

And as long as I can, I will call my mom every week. I hope that is for many years to come.