First Born Son

Chalk Up Another Year

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

The Big Guy and I recently celebrated a wedding anniversary. We don’t tend to trumpet this news – it’s about us, and we usually keep it between us.

But the children are old enough to understand this milestone, apparently. The conversation came up with my Mother as to any possible plans we might have as she was pulling out of our driveway. When she was safely off the property, Second Born Son’s head spun around.

“Why didn’t you TELL me it was your anniversary?!?” he demanded.

“Uh, I dunno, I didn’t think it was anything to worry about,” I replied.

“MOM! We should CELEBRATE this – after all, it’s another year you made it with Dad!!”

*crickets*

I recounted this tale to my Mother, and First Born Son was within earshot.

“Oh MAN, it’s your anniversary? You should have said SOMETHING!” he said with great urgency.

“Again, I didn’t think it was anything that involved you guys!” I pointed out, “And besides, it IS on the calendar!!”

“I don’t look at THAT!” he replied. I resisted the impulse to state his father ignores the calendar too.

The conversation continued and within this context, it came to mind that there was a reason why my kids reacted so strongly. While my Little Sister and I rarely if ever acknowledged our parent’s anniversary (until it came to milestones much later on), for my kids, parents who mark anniversaries are rare. As a matter of fact, just the day before we found out that another couple “bit the dust” – two kids now live a life with two households.

For me, it’s not a biggie. For my kids, it shows them that their parents are becoming part of a minority – and their lives can continue with some level of “Normal”; even though the new “Normal” for their peers is drastically different.

I shared my revelation with The Big Guy and he agrees. Perhaps we need to review our stand on anniversaries and make it something to celebrate as a family!

IN OTHER NEWS

How we actually celebrated our anniversary…..me with a camera, he with a project outside with the pup….. Feel free to laugh at will.

These are The Big Guy’s legs. Note the work boots – safety first people!! Yes, he’s in the Dog House. He’s actually repairing it so Roman can have a warm, dry place to sleep while we are away. Right now he is measuring for some insulation he wants to install.

Here he is trying to get out – Roman has found him and wants to play.

See the size of the knife in his hand? It’s a carving knife, lifted from the kitchen years ago – another beef for another column….. Roman is very keen and wants to help but fails to possess the opposable thumbs required.

The Big Guy goes back in, and Roman thinks he should be able to as well.

Persistence pays off. Roman is ready to launch!

Tee hee – sorry, that’s all I’ve got for this one – hahahaha!

Whew – it’s still “fun” at this point! That was one full dog house.

…and Roman knows as long as The Big Guy is smiling, it’s PLAYTIME!!!

Out comes the knife again! Roman looks worried and wants to get back to the playing.

…and that’s when I’m ordered to remove the pup before he gets drawn and quartered! The Big Guy doesn’t look amused, does he? Probably because I’m snorting AND laughing at the same time…

About A Boy

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

I have just experienced a rather profound moment. It happened shortly before I took this photo.

I had been listening to the Weather Network, where, in true media fashion, they sensationalized the rash of tornadoes that ripped across my region two years ago. Footage of uprooted trees, destroyed buildings and rescue workers made me anxious when I looked outside. At that moment I immediately identified with two people who lost their son in that storm.

Ironically, I knew The Boy’s parents when I was about his age. His mother rode the bus with me in elementary school and was like an older sister to me, in spite of the fact that she was already the eldest sister of several other siblings. His father rode the bus with me in high school and was someone I could relate to, with his dry sense of humor. I never met The Boy but years after I lost track of his parents, we found ourselves across the room from each other at Prenatal Class. His parents were, like The Big Guy and myself, expecting their first-born child. We spent a summer of excitement and anticipation. We joked about the scarier aspects of childbirth as a coping mechanism. We cheered each other on with our little milestones and marvelled at how our lives continued to be intertwined.

Then lives got busy with babies: ours with First Born Son, theirs with The Boy; and eventually, second babies. It wasn’t until I was on facebook years later that I was able to see what a gorgeous child The Boy was. Dark thick hair like his mother, eyes like his father, and by his mother’s description, a true blend of the both of them. He was more than clever; he was kind, insightful and generous. He had a wisdom beyond his years and after his passing, triggers and memories haunted and comforted his family – the beauty of a butterfly, the surprising reaction of the family pet, the generosity of his classmates.

The first year goes by, and with it, the first Christmas, birthday, school year and other milestones a family celebrates all without The Boy. His family healed, but is still wounded which is why I was so upset with the television coverage today. In the aftermath of the tornado, The Boy’s family refused to talk to the media. They didn’t want their personal nightmare played out like some cheap entertainment for mass consumption. I respect them for that – and wish more people would do the same. They never gave permission for his name to be released, which is why I’m respecting their privacy now.

I have looked at First Born Son and felt a twinge when I think how tall he is getting and how he will enter high school in a couple of weeks – all things The Boy would be doing too. I cannot imagine the pain of losing my child, but I can appreciate the loss. No one wants to live it, and those who live it, will never escape it – and from what I understand, they don’t necessarily want to.

But back to the sky. When I saw it, I felt overwhelmed. I know how the family dreads storms, especially those with high winds. There was definitely something brewing.

Do you see that slice in the clouds? It’s almost as if your arms were long enough, they could pull back the layers and reach into heaven. Or perhaps, if you were in heaven, you could see what was happening down below.

And it occurred to me; The Boy’s family was marking this year’s anniversary this very day with a barbecue. They wanted to celebrate, rather than mourn. And so I looked at the clouds one more time with rose-colored glasses.

There is a silver lining in those clouds – do you see it? The Boy is there, looking down at his family; celebrating with them. He can’t keep the storm away but he was a Glass Half Full kinda kid, therefore the beauty inside that angry cloud could be nothing but happiness. The Boy was full of joy, his mother said, and suddenly the trepidation I felt early was replaced with peace.

While I couldn’t be there for the barbecue today, I was very present in spirit. And I believe The Boy was too.

The Graduate

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There is pride, and then there is PRIDE! First Born Son graduated last night. Aside from Kindergarten to Gr 3, I’d like to think that Grade 8 was his best to date. And while I’d like to take credit –

…this lady deserves the pat on the back. She rocked FBS’s world.

 Which in turn, rocks ours! There are some awesome teachers our there. THANK YOURS!

 ~ One Very Proud Mom!

Citius, Altius, Fortius! or in other words – Track & Field

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These past two weeks have been a flurry of athletic endeavors in Boweryville.

Between the ball games, the lawn cutting and Track & Field, we have been at our maximum physical output. (Those of you doubting the lawn cutting have yet to see our far from manicured yard.)

This is a big deal in our house, especially for Second Born Son. He anticipated his inaugural season of Track & Field last year, but was thwarted by a little event we refer to in these parts as The Royal Wedding – Part II. Little Sister’s wedding landed on a Friday which was the same day as the boys’ school meet. After all the shoe scuffing and head lolling was over, we vowed to come back bigger and better than ever for the 2011 Season.

SBS signed up for all the events he could and eagerly anticipated the day. Would I come to watch him? Does a Polar Bear have frost bite??

Packing the trusty Nikon, I headed to the field and waited for him with eager anticipation.

To be brutally frank, I hadn’t expected too much from the lad, since he has proven to be more of a morale booster than a tightly wound competitor. But something was happening…

and then….

That, my friends, is called a photo finish. Which led to this…

In the end, he got it by the hair of his chinny chin chin. Two firsts, a second and….

one of these for Standing Long Jump. Boyfriend would have done better in Ball Throw with his wicked arm, but there’s a little thing called “accuracy” that trips him up every time.

First Born Son participated too. But I was forbidden to be anywhere near him during his events. I get it. I’m cool like that….I know what it’s like to be a young teen and not want to be saddled with the presence of a parent, especially when other equally cool punks teens are in the area.

So I did what any other mother would do. I broke out the long lens.

This is from one side of the track to the other. He never knew I was there, until that night when he bemoaned the fact that I had photos of his brother, but none of him. Tee hee.

While FBS didn’t perform as well this year as in the past, mostly due to the fact that when you are pre-pubescent, your buddies are as tall as your Dad and can whup your arse in most sports. I told him to buck up and try again next year. SBS, however, qualified to advance to the County Meet which, ironically, takes place at his school this year.

In typical SBS style, he had a classic quote last night for his impending athletic endeavor.

“I’m really nervous about tomorrow,” he said.

“Why? You did really well at the last meet, just do your best,” I reply.

“But we are going to be running against the Mennonite kids,” he stated.

*crickets*

“They can RUN!” he said. “I don’t know how they do it – and they are in their bare feet – you’ve got to watch out for them!”

I didn’t tell him that the Mennonite religion and culture forbids the use of Wiis, iPods, or even Nike shoes. I was compelled to use religious conviction, but that seemed a little far fetch – although some theme music did pop into my head.

The Aftermath of a Funeral

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I know the calendar has May as a full month – but I can say with all certainty that the last time I looked at the calendar and processed the date, it was May 6.

And here we are now in the last full week of the month.

In a nutshell – life in Boweryville exploded about two weeks ago. The Big Guy’s mother passed away. While it was not unexpected, it was sudden. We knew her end was in sight, but certainly not within days. He and I found ourselves in the position of aiding his father through the demanding and emotional pitfalls that planning a funeral can be.

Throughout this experience, I found myself faced with huge ironies that I would like to share – in no particular order.

1. People forget who the funeral is for. Firstly, the deceased and secondly, the surviving spouse or offspring. Any decision that we were faced with making was filtered this way – Would she have wanted this? Does my Father-in-Law want this? Does TBG or his brother want this? Anyone outside of that pecking order was simply not considered. There was a person or two who would make comments about decisions that were made – and I would refer to the Pecking Order. I don’t think you have to apologize for that.

2. Funerals bring out the worst in people. While it’s lovely and romantic to think of loved ones clutching Kleenex to their chest and gently weeping, so great is their pain, the cold hard truth is, there will always be one asshole individual who will try to make ANY situation about themselves. This is not the time for drama. This is not the time to lay a claim. This is not the time to purge yourself of your past regrets. Get. Over. Yourself.

3. There have been many times in my life as a Mother that I have been proud of my children, but never more so that during the day of visitation and the next day at the funeral. My boys stood and shook hands with hundreds of people they didn’t know. They watched people react emotionally and they handled themselves brilliantly. My heart swelled when I was paid a very sincere compliment from someone who appreciated how well the boys conducted themselves. They made eye contact, they smiled when appropriate, they answered questions – usually the same ones – sincerely and politely, for hours. While it made my heart full to see them do that, it nearly made me burst with pride when someone else actually noticed it too.

4. Have I mentioned yet that people are assholes inconsiderate? One person who came to pay his respects actually said to my boys “Well, you’d better get used to being in this line-up because with the age of the people around you, you’re going to be doing this a lot more often!” While First Born Son and Second Born Son were busy picking their chins off the floor, I wondered to myself what his ride home was going to be like – as his wife looked ready to put him in a box herself!

5. For all the times people have thought us crazy for buying shirts, ties and suits for our kids, it totally pays off at a time like this. Second Born Son is not naturally drawn to the button shirt and tie like his brother is. But when I advised he would be wearing a tie for two days – as well as his suit for the funeral, he merely nodded – he knew it was not only proper, but required. I loved him even more for it.

6. A part II to that thought….we realized that we needed to buy SBS shoes – and ended up getting him a pair of MENS SIZE 7 DRESS SHOES. I’m in distress over this! My baby is wearing MENS SHOES! The only thing that saved my breaking heart was his humor. When presented with several Oxford styles as well as a pair of more on-trend slip ons, he replied “I don’t care what dress shoes look like, as long as they are comfortable. I only care what my running shoes look like.” Good to have your priorities Little Man!

7. You truly find out who your friends are in times like this. People you would never anticipate hearing from will show up at your door with a pie, cheese tray or other gesture of kindness. This gives you faith in humanity, not to mention about 10 extra pounds. I think I have to avoid lasagna and funeral sandwiches for a couple of weeks.

8. Regret is a useless emotion. The first time I heard it was in college, but this saying has become my motto. I want to live my life without regret, and I feel,  so far, I’ve done well. Throughout this experience I’ve had a front row seat to actions and consequences regarding regret. Death always wins – none of us gets out of here alive, so you might as well make your choices and actions so you go in a direction without regret.

9. Not every death is a bad thing. When you see someone will not improve, and you know there is suffering involved – all you want for them is peace. If death brings peace, so be it. The living are there to console each other.

10. I need to give some serious thought to my final wishes. I cannot imagine giving my husband, children and parents the chore of planning and imagining my needs and wants. The pain one goes through to create a sendoff their loved one would like is heart wrenching. No one should have to go through that.

The Ache

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

I am the first to admit, I’ve had a blessed life. Sure, I’ve experienced disappointment and frustration, but I’ve managed to avoid the type of sorrow that leaves an ache in your heart.

Until now.

I’ve mentioned before about the special connection The Big Guy and I have with The Farm. We’ve put The Farm in the middle of our world, from being the first place we took our children to after we brought them home from the hospital, to taking the liberty of enjoying the view, history and even equipment. It is where we met and we had dreams of one day making it our home. This was not to be.

Saturday was the auction. Generations of possessions were sold to the highest bidder. There was an erryness to the exercise, watching bobsleds and snowshoes being snapped up by strangers who would no doubt dust them off and mount them in their own homes, or God Forbid, in a restaurant somewhere. Claiming this family’s history as their own – it seems so false.

For me, already tightly wound emotionally and apprehensive for my three “boys”, it seemed the comments made by some strangers were too painful to bear.

“What are you looking for Fred?”

“Nothin’, I just had to come and check this out. This is history you know. It’s a Century Farm. Can you believe that? The family is just letting it go?”

I grit my teeth and keep walking.

“Look at that house, it’s something else. I can’t imagine letting something like that fall out of the family.”

But the worst were the most pointed comments. One directed right at me.

“Hey, Sarah! Why didn’t you and The Big Guy buy The Farm?”

The urge to become physical was difficult to overcome. I must confess – I was not classy about my response, but suffice it to say I cleared the air regarding the fact. Sometimes pain cannot be contained. It surfaced once again later in the day, as First Born Son did us proud and was hoisting his family’s artifacts for bidding. A couple beside me began a conversation about the boy in the green shirt.

“Look at him, isn’t that sad?” said the First Ignorant Person.

“Who? The kid with the green shirt?” said the Second Ignorant Person.

FIP – “Yes, look at him up there, you can just tell he loves being here.”

SIP – “Umhum.” (In agreement)

FIP – “It’s too bad he’ll never be able to have this place. Can’t imagine.”

Yup, I snapped.

Pissed off Mother – “Are you talking about the kid with the green shirt?”

FIP – startled “Uh, yes…”

POM – “Well that’s my son – and I can tell you, we had NO say in the future of the farm.”

The look on my face, and the tone of my voice, shut the conversation down.

My pride of FBS was matched by that for Second Born Son. While he was given the boring and then frantic job of directing traffic, he was then appointed the task of running bid sheets from the auction site back to the trailer where the clerk would reconcile the amounts bid against the funds paid. He did such a good job that the man who was recording the bids and giving them to SBS said in all the auctions he’s done, he’s never had such a young man do such a good job. He even made a point of stopping before he left to compliment The Big Guy and myself. We had every reason to feel proud.

That pride resurged when Uncle B gave FBS the keys to the Massey Ferguson and the John Deere. The auctioneer needed each tractor started to demonstrate that they were in sound shape. FBS was the last member of our family to start those tractors. When the auction ended and the new owners were claiming their purchases, FBS stood by the tractors, helping them with small details and then standing forlornly as each one drove away. The sight of him standing there, watching those tractors leave will haunt me, such was the expression on his face.

I have taken well over 1000 photos of the farm to document a place that has a special place in our hearts. I want to have something for us to look at later, and perhaps show future generations. Mostly, I don’t want the boys memories to dim.

 Because we didn’t want to leave that day – afraid of what leaving would mean, I asked Second Born Son if he wanted to take some more pictures of his favorite place, the hay mow. Many adventures have been lived in this mow. It’s the place SBS asks to go to every time we are at The Farm. Now most of the bales are gone, but a handful remained, and with the sun sinking lower in the Western sky, it was a perfect opportunity to shoot something special that would mean something to him.

And while I hope this photo brings him joy, I can’t help but feel The Ache getting even stronger.

This post is going live early May 2, 2011. The Farm will officially be sold today.

How Much is Too Much Information?

/ Sarah / 2 Comments

There’s been a lot of Life going on at Boweryville.

I think it’s just that pattern of events collecting in waves and crashing at your feet; the spray of details, stress, kah kah and adjustments to reality being the result. Moving, career changes, good news, bad news, it seems we have taken 18 years of boredom and more than made up for it six months.

Which was the nucleus of a conversation had over the weekend with my parents. This conversation evolved into a debate over which is better, withholding information from your children, or providing full disclosure. I, myself, am a big fan of the latter. My parents, the former. Fortunately, The Big Guy sides with me.

My folks subscribe to the idea of not telling kids upsetting information. They feel parents should protect their children from negativity and maintain innocence as long as possible. I can completely respect their position, after all, it’s how I was raised. I never was privy to their decisions, their stresses or the impacts on our family. I’m not sure I disagree with all their choices.

But on the other side of the fence, I remember how I felt when I was a young child and they told me that my dog ran away. Years later, it came out that she didn’t run away, she was hit by a car at the end of our driveway and died. I also have memories of being in my bedroom and hearing my parents having conversations about adult topics – family strife, typical marital arguments and information that wasn’t meant for young ears. This has made me very aware of the things The Big Guy and I discuss within the hour or so after the boys go to bed, and where these conversations take place.

Perhaps it’s that natural sense of betrayal that occurs when one believes ones parents, and when you find out years later that the understanding you had wasn’t entirely accurate, it can be a little off-putting.

I also suppose it is also my background in Journalism, where the philosophy of “No Comment” is the last thing that should be uttered. It never benefits the subject and only gives license to armchair quarterbacks who want to pass judgement. Dozens of times I’ve spoken earnestly with my contacts and said “It’s better to say a little bit of ANYTHING than it is to say NOTHING.”

So when it comes the boys, we do believe it’s best to share information with them – without overwhelming them. I cannot protect them from everything that they will have to face, and I feel it’s a disservice to them to think otherwise. This is not the world I grew up in. It’s not the world my parents grew up in. It’s a world where my youngest child understands that there is drug activity at the highschool based on things he has SEEN while sitting on a schoolbus. He wasn’t with me when he witnessed this – so how could I have protected him from this revelation if we hadn’t already had the conversation of what drug use meant.

Both First Born Son and Second Born Son have similar dispositions. Neither of them deal with negative surprises very well. They both have the need to digest information, ask questions and then reflect. Their father and I support them, answer their questions and give them the love they need to get through the tough stuff as best they can.

Believe me, I would rather never have to explain death, loss, disappointment and failure to them. But parenting isn’t just about the lollipops and piano recitals, and I signed up for the good and the bad a long time ago.

It’s time to follow through.