The Truth is Stranger than Fiction

The “Easy” Way Out?

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

Today is Samson’s birthday.

In a couple of weeks, it will be a year since we put him down.  This random combination of thoughts came to me last week when a certain new item caught my eye.

Gloria Taylor is a British Columbian woman who lives with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). She was the face of five plaintiffs who went to the Supreme Court to strike down the ban on assisted suicide in that province. The grounds were that the ban discriminated against the disabled because, get this, they cannot commit suicide on their own.

The argument was that an able-bodied individual could end their own life without assistance. For those dealing with terminal conditions, there comes a point in time when this is no longer an option. It’s usually at this later stage that the idea of suicide is much more appealing than the years, months, weeks, days, the individual has left as a prisoner of their own bodies.

Now I toyed with the idea of not writing this column, simply because it falls under one of those contentious issues, like abortion, religion and hockey. But I feel strongly about this myself and to be honest, I was excited when I heard the news.

When Samson was suffering, we could tell. It was as obvious as if he could verbalize the pain he was in. Most people would say they would not allow an animal to suffer, they would have the “put to sleep.”

I have watched loved ones die. I have heard some of them wish for death to come. I have heard of people whose family members have asked them to help them bring their end to them. How is ok for a dog to be euthanized, but I couldn’t do it for a family member?

To be fair, there are differences between euthanasia and assisted suicide.

1. Euthanasia –

: the act or practice of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick or injured

individuals (as persons or domestic animals) in a relatively painless way for

reasons of mercy. The word is Greek and means “easy death.”

<PAUSE>

This can be a simple as someone withholding care or taking part

in the act of ending someone’s life. Notice how people and animals are lumped

together?

<PLAY>

2. Assisted Suicide –

: suicide committed by someone with assistance from another person;

especially : physician-assisted suicide

<PAUSE>

This is a specific plan where a doctor provides the means for a person to administer

drugs or an act that will allow the individual to end their own life. Something

they could not otherwise do on their own.

<PLAY>

Thank you Merriam-Webster.

Immediately the battle cries were out for an appeal of this decision.

How can we allow these people who have suffered so much the “easy” way out???

Well I’ve got a thought for you. If you are saying the Court will not allow

anyone to take part in an action that will result in the death of another person, then they better get a lot more vigilant about methamphetamine dealers and producers, because THAT, my friend, is how a lot more people are going to die at the hand of another person.

It’s not like I don’t have a grasp on the concept of suicide. It has come close enough to me to know that there are times when I can see it is not the right option. There is pain and suffering for the family members left behind. But when we are looking at cases like this, how can it be a bad thing? Instead of an indefinite period of time where your family stands vigil for you, watches you waste away, is forced to have their last memories of you be tainted by the ravages of the disease that will ultimately claim you, you can have your time, prepare and allow a more humane procedure take place. Less drugs. Less hospital time. Less drama. Less trauma.

This topic first came to light in a big way back in 1992 when Sue Rodriguez, also suffering from ALS and living in Victoria, B.C., challenged the ban. She was denied the right to an assisted suicide, but in 1994, she was successful in finding an anonymous doctor who would help and she was given her assisted suicide that year.

“If I cannot give consent to my own death, whose body is this? Who owns my life?” she asked. (cbc.com June 15, 2012)

Indeed. Who?

The Call of Nature

/ Sarah / 3 Comments

In honour of Father’s Day this weekend, and as a general Public Service Message to Humanity, I offer the following Skill Testing Question:

Which is Correct?

A)

 

Yes, this is a toilet. In my house. My parents are ever so proud of the education and training they paid for that has allowed me the skill to post a photo of the hopper on the internet.

That’s not the point right now. We’ll get on journalistic high ground another time.

For now, the point is – this is considered the Universally Acceptable Position for a Toilet. It’s also known traditionally known as “Ladies’ Choice”. This way the female user will not have any issue using the feature. And by issue, I think the women readers will acknowledge the “Splash Down” is to be avoided at all costs.

~ OR ~

B)

 

 

This is the Universally Accepted Position To Indicate That Only Men Live in this Abode. The lifted seat allow more area surface for the male user. Why does a male user require more surface area than a female user, you may ask?

It’s simple really. Every since young boys were taught about writing their names in the snow, light sabres and Cheerios, they have required more surface area. Something to do with “creativity”. I’d it has more to do with poor eyesight and altitude.

I doubt our forefathers were caught “doing battle” in outhouses, however I’ve been wrong more than once this week…. But you have to admit, it is hard to imagine Great Grandma Ethel losing her load over the mess left out in the two-holer.

“CECIL! CEDRIC! How many times do I have to tell you that if you are going to make at the same time, you need to use the Hudson Bay catalogue to clean up after yourselves!!!!????”

It also has to do with the less fair of the species having the luxury of being able to use the World as their private urinal. Think of it like you would a cat. When you have a house cat, it uses the litter box and understands the niceties of indoor living. Once that cat goes outside, it reverts back to its most primal instinct and will be spraying all over the patio doors.

Just like men.

Once they get a chance to void in Wild Open Spaces, trying to get them to contain and restrain themselves is almost futile.

Because of the mess male users leave behind (again think of trajectory here, people) I have suggested these users assume the effective and tidy method of use that requires one to SIT on the potty. The negative feedback to this suggestion can only be the result of fear. Fear of falling off, that is. Which is why I’m working on copyrighting a toilet seatbelt.

In all seriousness, as the sole female on this property (Second Born Son wanted a female dog, but I told him I was the only bitch girl in the family.) I have had somewhat of an epiphany.

Is it fair for me to expect three males to keep the seat down on the toilet solely for my use and comfort? Whatever happened to Majority Rule? Being the truly democratic individual that I am, I felt that it was only fair that we find a common ground.

But no one liked the idea of the boys using a Port-A-Potty, so I had to come up with another solution. Which, if you will permit me, IS the correct answer….

 

C)

 

When you think about it – THIS IS HOW THE MANUFACTURER DISPLAYS IT! You don’t walk in to a show room with a stunning four-piece washroom set and the throne is sitting there with the seat up!

I hate walking in and seeing an open toilet. Call me crazy. To me, it’s just a big gaping hole filled with questionable water waiting to catch my earrings, cell phone, keys, infant child.

There should be no battle of the sexes over the loo. It’s a case of common sense and practicality. Both men and women would have to “close” and “open” the appliance to use it, so there is no discrimination!! I know – BRILLIANT, right?

Now that I have saved Humanity from this conundrum, I’m off to create World Peace.

 

 

Blind, Deaf and Dumb Justice

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

I realize I don’t usually post this often, but I had to comment on this. 

What if you were told you had to give up 10 years of your life? There really isn’t a “great” decade to give up, but I can tell you the 10 years I know I couldn’t live without – 16-26.

During this time, I completed my college education, met my husband, married him, got my first job, first car and first house, along with my first child. I made friendships that have lasted to this day, and said goodbye to people who passed away. These were all significant events that led to me becoming the person I am today.

Now, imagine those years were taken from you for no. good. reason.

That would mean you are Brian Banks.

 

Brian’s story broke yesterday and today. It is chilling.

In 2002 he was a 16 year-old high school student who had a promising career in football. He had a full scholarship to USC and had no reason to believe he wouldn’t be playing in the NFL. He was going to live The Dream.

But 15-year-old Wanita Gibson had other plans. She told authorities that Brian kidnapped and raped her. He was brought up on charges and thanks to a brutal “Justice” system, and the joke that is “Innocent Until Proven Guilty”. On poor legal advice, (he was told he’d get 18 months instead of 40 years a finding of guilt) he pleaded No Contest, which meant he could take a plea deal. His lawyer felt the court would throw the book at a big, black teenaged male. Except it wasn’t 18 months…..

The kicker is – there was no evidence. This was strictly a He Said – She Said. Why did she level the allegation? All that has been revealed is that it was something he said, that she didn’t like. Certainly not anything worthy of what he received.

So he went to a State Penitentiary. Adolescence over. Dreams evaporated. Life on hold.

Until now. He is 26.

Wanita reached out to her “attacker” through facebook. It’s remarkable that she had the nerve to do this after her deceit, but the depths of her reprehensible behaviour were not limited to this. Amazingly, Brian accepted her friendship request. She then told him that she had lied about the attack, and hoped they could move past it. “Let bygones be bygones.”

*crickets*

What.

The.

HELL?!

It would seem that the “victim” in this crime had fared well. Follow Brian’s conviction and incarceration, Miss Thing decided to sue the high school where the “incident’ took place for lack of security (methinks cameras would have been helpful to prove Brian’s innocence – do YOU see the irony?) and was awarded $1.5 million.

Yup – that my friends, is rock bottom. Money taken out of an already taxed education system to reinforce the lie that ruined a man’s life.

While Brian Banks’ case was immediately taken on by California Innocence Project. Regardless, Brian was branded a convict, and a sex offender. He missed his prom, his chance to be a college star and what most likely would have been a promising career in the National Football League. I don’t want to think about the experiences he did have, thanks to the education he received in jail.

The first injustice is what has happened to Brian Banks. The second is to women all over the world who actually have suffered through kidnapping and sexual assault. It takes a great deal of strength to stand up to someone who has violated you and this woman has added insult to injury.

So what should happen to Wanita Gibson?

In a perfect world, an eye for an eye would apply. She could sit in a jail for the better part of 10 years. She could miss out on the life experiences and day to day existence she has enjoyed while Brian Banks was holed up in a cell. She sure as hell needs to pay back the $1.5 million she obtained fraudulently.

But we don’t live in a perfect world.

As a mother, I’m horrified that my son, only two years younger than Brian was when convicted, could have his entire future hijacked by a vengeful girl. As a woman, I’m embarrassed to think that others of my gender are capable of such hateful and destructive behaviour. We cannot be so naive to think that this scenario would never happen. Gender blackmail is an ugly concept that is employed far too frequently.

Brian Banks says he has no ill will toward Wanita Gibson. He seeks no revenge. He is a better person than I, and a saint compared to her. He has said he would like to attempt a career in professional football, but the odds are against him.

I would hope one team would take a chance on him, and give him the chance. After all, doesn’t he deserve it?

 

The Shroud of Mystery

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

As I mentioned before, The Bowery Girl is the latest version of The Bowery – a column I wrote for a community newspaper a lifetime ago.

Back then, as today, I wrote about pretty much anything I chose to. I think the editor was simply glad to have one less thing to assign me.

Regardless – I have always found humour in the damnedest places. Which is where one of my Mother’s favourite column came from. Since she learned I was “live” with my writing, she’s asked when I would share this one. I actually dove into the tote I stored my newsprint life in, but couldn’t find it.  So….for my Mom, I’m rewriting it….sheesh….

My Granny was my Dad’s mother. She was a tiny, tough, Englishwoman. Around her you WOULD drink tea (hence my life-long aversion to the beverage to this day), and you would be scolded for eating HER chocolate covered graham cracker cookies. Why she would bring these around two young girls and NOT think we would inhale them is beyond me. I’m sure she was distressed that my sister and I were not orderly and well-behaved as young ladies should be. We had the run of a farm with neighbours far enough away that they’d never hear your sister scream when you pounded the crap out of her……..ahem.  Around Granny you did NOT shout and you certainly did not use profanity. There’s a whole other entry on the time she heard my father in the barn over the intercom during a particularly stressful morning of chores…

When I was a teenager, Granny died. It was a blessing since she was suffering from a dementia and the last few years were difficult, especially for my father. Now organizing a funeral for a parent is stressful, but this funeral was becoming BRUTAL. Aside from the regular bureaucracy one has to go through when a hospital and nursing home are involved, there were the stipulations laid out by my Granny. We had to get her in the ground ASAP!

Let me explain….

When my Granny was a younger woman, her mother (my great-granny) would tell her daughters that when she died, she wanted to be buried in nothing but a shroud, “Just like our Lord Jesus.” What ever possessed her to decide this was never fully explained, but it was simply understood that these are her wishes. When Granny’s mother died, her sisters refused to bury the elderly woman naked, in a shroud, pointing out it was not “proper”.  So their mother was buried in a “proper” dress and “proper” pearls. Likely with appropriate shoes that had a modest heel. This outraged my Granny.

Therefore, she took on the concept. SHE would be buried naked in a shroud, “Just like our Lord Jesus.” This would honour her religious convictions, as well as her mother’s legacy.

<PAUSE>

Can I point out here that my Granny was ANGLICAN? In anything I have come to understand about religion, there aren’t too many Christian-based beliefs that required wrapping one’s dearly departed in a sheet to honour God. Judaism requires a quick burial, but I am aware of that rule being stretched to 48 and even 72 hours after death. But I only took Religion/Cult/Occult in college as an elective, so I don’t pretend to be an expert…

<PLAY>

When the time came to plan the funeral, my Dad was working as quickly as he could to ensure it was a quick turnaround. My aunt was trying to get back into the country, therefore the little “details” of the funeral were left to my Mother. And she was having some issues. We all knew that Granny wanted to be buried in a shroud “Just like our Lord Jesus”, but was having a really hard time envisioning this tiny frail woman being in the ground with nothing more on her than a bed sheet.

This is when “logic” kicked in.

Mom decides to dress Granny in one of the cozy track suits she wore in the nursing home. She picked the pink one, well, because, well, it’s a visual thing right? She can LOOK like she has nothing on. Then she comes into my room.

“I need a pair of socks,” she said.

“Oh, ok.” I said.

“Make sure it’s a pair you don’t plan on getting back,” she adds.

I give her a couple of pairs, which are deemed unsuitable. Finally I give her a pair of “pom-pom” socks. She picks a pair that are white with pink pom-poms. Even through my Granny is yet to be in the ground, I’m fairly certain she’s spinning.

So with the socks in hand, my mother collects the other items and they are delivered to the funeral home. Oh to be a fly on the wall when the undertaker saw what he’d have to put his latest client in. Thankfully, the casket is closed. Granny is in the ground JUST under the time frame allotted and we are all taking license with the “shroud” concept.

I have since told my mother that her mother-in-law would come back to haunt her for failing to deliver on the final request, and even suggested that she, herself, take on the idea. She’s not interested in being buried “Just like our Lord Jesus.” Guess that takes me off the hook!

We’ve all heard stories young women taken tragically and buried in their wedding dresses, or perhaps a teen who was a cheerleader being laid to rest in her uniform. Men can be buried in military or sport uniforms, or other apparel that has special significance to them.

So I can only imagine what someone might think, years later, if they ever had to open my grandmother’s coffin.

“Look Joe, this one was a GYMNAST!”

Letters That Need to Be Written – Part III

/ Sarah / 3 Comments

Dear Ashley Kirilow, Dina Perouty-Leone, Keele Maynor, Jessica Vega, Christopher Gordon and Jessica Leeder,

I would like to say you are isolated outcasts of society; that you are loathsome examples of humanity. But the sad fact is, when I type in “cancer patient hoax” you are but six of more than 6.2 MILLION possible internet hits.

I wish I had the vocabulary to effectively articulate, without resorting to profanity, the disgust I feel. Between you, you have duped friends, family, spouses, and kind-hearted individuals, many of whom sympathized with you because they themselves have had Cancer touch their lives.

Repulsive.

What kind of self-centred egomaniac looks to draw attention to themselves in this way? Do you honestly feel the love and support given to someone battling Cancer is something to envy? Covet? You can’t accomplish something positive with the health you are blessed with?

Obscene.

You have used the title of leukaemia, stomach cancer or breast cancer, to justify your crimes. You have lied through word and deed. You played on the heart strings of good people. One of you even convinced your boyfriend you were dying to get him to marry you. Flowers were donated, the wedding was paid for by family and friends. Your honeymoon was free.

Evil.

Back in the day, charlatans travelled from town to town, duping innocents into buying miracle cures and snake water. They would take money and flee, leaving their victims disillusioned and poorer. You are no better. In fact, you are a couple of rungs lower on the ladder, because you actually feel you can pass yourselves off as victims.

Reprehensible.

Aside from the vitriol you so richly deserve from the media exposure that has now turned on you, I hope you are haunted for the rest of you life by the images of truly sick people. Cancer has a legacy of pain and loss for those left behind.

You deserve no better.

Letters That Need to be Written – Part II

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

Dear Joseph Cordes,

I’m sure you are hiding out following the embarrassment you have heaped upon yourself, your daughter, your family and your community at large.

You should.

Perhaps you have no grasp of what you did, and attempted to do, and refuse to hold yourself in any other regard than a passionate parent.

But as the mother of a goalie, I cannot imagine anything lower than aiming a laser pointer in the eyes of someone playing this position. Aside from the stigma most goalies wrestle with regarding their role in “losing” games, there is the simple fact that the goalie is the only person facing the rush of on-coming players. They have to handle frozen rubber pucks being fired at them at tremendous speeds. They have to be flexible to shut down rebounds; employ cat-like reflexes; possess the ability to see through well-meaning defenseman; be the fastest skaters on the team. Goalies need the mental strength to pick themselves up when five other players on the team make mistakes without consequence, but the third rebound on him/her gets posted on the score board.

Now they have to be able to deal with distractions from the stands from asses like you. Massachusetts must be so proud.

Hockey has a dark enough reputation; what with the legacy of debilitating concussions, gratuitous violence, sexual deviance and questionable team spirit. Did you really have to go and make hockey parents look like half-wits?

I hope you realize the message you are sending your daughter is that A) cheating is completely acceptable; B) adults don’t have to act any better than punk juvenile delinquents; and C) you didn’t have faith in her team to win without your intervention.

It’s like the Perfect Storm for Least Sportsmanlike Conduct.

You are damn lucky that your antics didn’t result in injury. The vision in a goalie helmet is limited at the best of times, and now you want to fry the player’s retinas??? What if she’d lost focus on a rush and ended up with a broken neck, slit throat, snapped collar-bone? Would that be worth it for a championship?

In the end, your team won 3-1. I’m sure the embarrassment of your actions has tempered any sense of accomplishment your team could have enjoyed. Your daughter will likely have to bear the burden of your deeds. I’m sure she would have preferred you to simply cheer for her from the stands.

I hope the competing team is successful in its appeal of this game. It takes very little to change the momentum of a game, and this low-brow discovery was made when the game was tied 1-1 in the third period. How shaken was the goalie following your ejection? How much focus was lost by the team as they realized they were competing against parents as well?

I also hope the authorities are successful in filing Breach of Peace charges against you.

It’s too bad there wasn’t legislation against being a Jackass.

Emphatically,

Sarah

What He Said…

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

After a particularly exasperating exchange with Second Born Son, I exclaim in frustration,

Me: “LORD help ME!”

SBS: “I think he’s busy with someone else right now!”

TBG

We are watching First Bon Son’s hockey team. He’s the goalie, and it’s been a particularly busy night for him. Second Born Son’s only interest in the game is the fact that his brother is playing. He spends most of the time biting his tongue as we watch FBS stop second and third rebounds while teammates stand back in admiration.

One of mothers on our team is sharing her personal opinion of the official’s call, or rather lack there of. The word she uses rhymes with luck, truck, duck and schmuck.

SBS: Really…was that necessary? (Shakes head in disgust.) ADULTS!

TBG

SBS: “We played The Game of Life at school today. I love that game.”

Me: “Oh ya?”

SBS: “Ya, I saved all this money, because I didn’t get married, didn’t have any kids and I lived in a house trailer.”

Me: “Oh – that sounds kind of lonely.”

SBS: “It was AWESOME! I had the most money!!!”

A Tale of Two Paths

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

In the work that I do now, I get to witness people at some of their lowest points. The biggest observation I’ve made is my internal response to these experiences.

I have found these intense events fall under two categories: people who have bad things happen to them; and people who bring about bad things to happen to them.

There are people, who at this very moment, are finding out a loved one has died, that their house has burned down, that their car has been broken into and stolen. These people woke up this morning and had no clue what their day would end up like. They figured it would be another Thursday in a lifetime of Thursdays. And at breakfast, it was just another Thursday.

But by dinner tonight, not so much.

Then there are the other people. This group is not blind sided by the events of their day. They are aware of what their reality is, because they helped build it. They have spent their lifetime of Thursdays exposing themselves to people and events that are not healthy for them. They have made choices every day that have helped them get to the chaos they exist in.

They stay with their husband/wife when they should probably leave; especially when he/she has beaten them, again. They sneak out a window when their parents have forbidden them to leave the house, to meet someone who does not have their best intentions at heart. They have one more drink, one more joint, more, more, more. And finally, they sit up and question how they got to where they are now. What did they do to deserve this? In a word – nothing. But they are the authors of their own horror story. What they don’t realize is that they have laid every brick in the wall. They could choose a different way. It’s one step at a time, but it might as well be a 10 foot stair.

My heart bleeds for the people who get a phone call and find out their world is upside down. I want to reach out to them.

For the person who is angry at the world and doesn’t understand why their 18-year-old daughter is a drug addict when she’s been getting high every weekend since her children were born…

Well, I guess I’ll just have to work on that level of compassion.

Top 10 Things You Should Never Say to Someone with Cancer

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

As you now know, my father was diagnosed with Cancer earlier this year. Over these past 8 months, it has been a battle that too many people have become familiar with. My mother-in-law lost her fight the day after Dad’s surgery and within the past three years we’ve also lost an uncle and a cousin.

Suffice it to say, we have A LOT of experience on what is helpful and what is not when it comes to support. I consider it my service to humanity to offer the following:

10 THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER SAY TO SOMEONE WITH CANCER, OR THEIR FAMILY

1. “Don’t do the surgery. They’ll open you up and it will spread!” – I’m pretty sure that’s not how Cancer spreads, and your paranoia will only incite further paranoia. How is that helpful?

2. “There’s no point in doing the Chemo/Radiation/treatment.” I’d love to see your credentials in the medical field, or anything other than hearsay, because, again, putting the Fear of God in someone who is already stressed, isn’t really a great idea. The suggestion is that treatment is in vain, that the Cancer will return anyway. How is this productive? Millions of people beat Cancer every year. Don’t you want this person to be one of those people?

3. “Have you heard of the Broccoli/Sunshine/Herbal treatment?” You know what, just see Number 2…..

4. “My mother/father/uncle/aunt/son/daughter/dog/mailman had that kind of Cancer and two weeks after they saw the doctor, they were gone.” What exactly are you trying to accomplish with a terrifying statement like that? Cancer isn’t scary enough, you need to worry them that they have less time than they think they do?? I mean, come on.

5. “Jane Doe is suffering from Cancer.” My issue with this is the word “suffering“. When you are told to be strong, fight, find the courage and stay positive, the word “suffering” is one of the most damaging words you could utter. Try, “Jane Doe has been diagnosed with Cancer.” or  even, “Jane Doe is battling Cancer.” So much more empowering, don’t you think?

6. “You look so GOOD!” I have yet to see someone battling Cancer who actually looks “good”. If anything, you make the individual self conscious and the internal conversation is something like this….

“Dear God, they think I look good when I look like THIS? I looked good when I had my hair, my eye lashes, my appetite, 40lbs more. I look like shit and now I feel even WORSE.”

7. “Oh my, you don’t look so good today!” It’s better to say nothing at all than to make a statement about personal appearance. This is someone who is walking through Hell for their life – are they supposed to have a “good” day? I mean, really…..

8. “Oh you poor dear!” This gem is usually reserved for family members – and when its the kids, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. Try “I bet you are a great help for your Poppa!” or “I will keep all of you in my thoughts and prayers.” Conveys the same intent without the implication of hollow sympathy.

9. “What can I do to help?” I bet you don’t see the issue with this one, do ya? The problem is that the person you are asking this of has a tornado of stress, drama and information swirling in their heads. They are grateful to remember to bathe, never mind make a To Do list. You are asking them to sort through their upside down life and come up with a custom list of tasks you would be suited to do. Why not say, “Can I help drive?” “May I drop off a casserole?” “Can I cut your grass?” These are specific tasks that the care giver or patient can look at and say “yes” or “no” rather than generate a task to assign you. Don’t be offended if they don’t agree to your suggestions. You have opened the door with a genuine offer, and in a still moment, when they have collected their thoughts, they may remember your kind offer. Then your phone may ring.

10. “You better get checked out!” While this comment is likely to be well intended, it’s usually unnecessary and if anything, causes more anxiety. When my mother-in-law was ailing, the last thing her sons needed was to be reminded that they might face the same fate. Don’t get me wrong, they were more than aware that the Cancers she battled can be passed genetically, but they didn’t need that stress adding to the concern they already had for her, and their father.

In conclusion, while many people think they are showing concern and empathy by asking these questions, it’s a case of the void between what is being said, and what is being heard. Remember that the best way to show your interest and support is to ask simple, short questions, void of overt emotion. Perhaps you’ll catch them in a moment where they will want to share their thoughts and feelings. They aren’t looking for answers. They don’t expect you to have a solution. The fact is, their reality is overwhelming in that moment, and they need to release the backlog.

Be an ear. Not a mouth.

Letters that Need to be Written – Part I

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

Dear 2011,

I thought this letter would be really hard to send you, but I think this is really going to be the best thing for the both of us.

We’re done.

We started a year ago with a lot of promise. I was hopefully for what you had in store for me and excited with what lay ahead. When January finally arrived and I was laid off my job, I was disappointed, but chose to take the high road and make lemonade out of lemons. The Big Guy was happy with his new job, and I figured, it was time for me to re-evaluated some things. Everyone around me was so supportive – “It’s just a matter of time,” they said, “You’ll be back to work before you know it.”

But I wasn’t.

I worked my butt off. No job. I stuck with you because it was early in our relationship. How bad could it be?

Silly me.

In February we found out The Farm was sold. A part of my heart died and my soul has ached ever since. We had two months to get used to the idea but with each passing day it was just more painful. Next my father was given scary news. The Big C had come to his little world and surgery was needed.

Easter came and we received more bad news – The Big Guy’s mom was very ill and it wasn’t going to get better. The following week we said our first good bye to The Farm. The next week, my father went under the knife. Four hours later, he was conscious and as sarcastic as ever, and I went home to pass out after the stress of  the day. Within three days, my sons buried their granny.

In the summer, Samson failed and we were faced with the incredibly difficult choice of letting him go. At this point there was so much snot and tears that I started getting the feeling that you and I might not be the best fit.

I gave you some slack when we found Roman. There was a glimmer of hope there. I was willing to give you another chance.

I was so distracted with freelancing and looking for work that the weeks flew by. We found ourselves wrapping up our long goodbye to The Farm. The pain of this was eased somewhat by the fact that I now had a freakin’ job. While the training for the new position had me questioning my sanity, intelligence level and the ulterior motive of my new employer, I was successful.

I was ready to be positive, honestly, I was, but for some reason it was too hard. My Dad, who appeared to be doing well over the summer, started to fail. It was getting very scary and by October, he was in emerg almost as much as he was at home. I knew I had it with you when November rolled around. The scare we had with him was profound and life altering. We nearly lost him. I decided I couldn’t find a glimmer of hope in our relationship, 2011. You and I needed to take a break.

I know you were trying to extend an olive branch to me last week, when doctors gave  Dad the news that he was Cancer free. However, he is far from healthy and we are doing everything we can to get him stronger.

I will look back on the afternoons under the trees with family and friends. I will cherish the warm weather we had while I worked outside. I would have liked a day or two at the beach, but I think I’m going to try that next year.

That’s right. I’ve found someone new. I’m excited about the opportunities that are presenting themselves again. I’ve learned a lot in the time you and I spent together. I will not ask myself “How much worse can it get?” because the answer is chilling. I will take it one day at a time. I look forward to feeling positive again. The next 12 months have made no promises to me, and I’m okay with that.

So, I hope you can let me go and allow me to move one. In time I’m sure I’ll recall more fond memories, but for now, I need time.

And his name is 2012.

Sarah