This is Not My Story (but I think it needs to be told)

I've been holding this in for a while. I do not know where my fingers are going to take me this morning but I have to set them free and write because they woke up on fire this morning.

I woke up with a *plethora (I have never said or written that word aloud but my fingers told me to write it) of words within. These words are aching to come forth and be heard. My heart was palpating and the blood was rushing to my fingers. "Write! Write it out!" they demanded.

So here goes. I do believe I have to rip off the band-aid quickly and without thinking. This may be raw and wrong and too much and too personal. You have been warned. Perhaps this is the part where I should copy and paste this onto a document for my own private reference at a later date. But the message is not just for me. It's begging to be told.

I want to write this from someone else's perspective. I have not been inside of this person's head but I wonder how it would feel if I was.

I have wondered over the years. I am wondering more, now that I have heard the words aloud and I believe a great truth has been spoken.

What does it feel like to walk through your life and not feel free to be exactly who you are and who you were meant to be? How does it feel to think 'who you are' is not 'who the world expects you to be'? What if you feel this way and you cannot and do not tell a soul. You keep it to yourself. You don't share your thoughts, fears or worries with your parents or your siblings or to anyone who is in your inside circle. Because 'who you are' does not conform to the world's expectations of you.

You probably do not wake up one morning feeling like this. There must be (but I do not know because I have not walked this path - I am only guessing from the limited life experience I have been handed) a quiet question mark as you make your way through your growing-up years.

I only know what it is like to be a girl. As a girl, it was the most natural thing on earth to pretend to be a mom and a princess and a bride and have a pretend wedding and a pretend marriage. I had my first crush on a boy when I was in grade three or four. I danced with a boy. So of course I thought I would marry him. Inevitable. Right?

Okay, what does a boy dream of? I somehow doubt there is an exact parallel, as I think of my three sons and the little boys I have babysat along life's way. Boys are a little bit more rough and tumble but when intermixed with little girls there is also a world of make believe that has encouraged nurturing and fathering and being a dad.

So even at a young age, we are starting to feel out who we think may grow up to be one day. When does one start to realize they don't see themselves falling into the roles life has set out before us as 'the norm'?

I don't know. I only know life, from how-I've-experienced-it. But I think it is safe to say we start to feel an inner sense of 'who we are' at a young age.

Children of today are growing up in a world where the definition of a typical life is being broadened to include many different kinds of partnerships. Unless they grow up in a two father or two mother home, do they 'see' other families and accept them at face value? Or do they still fall back into the 'boys marry girls' and 'girls fall in love with boys' (and vice versa) as the way life is expected to unfold?

I don't know any of these answers. I have only my perspective. I try to look at life and see it through eyes with peripheral vision. I don't want to see life as black and white or straight and narrow or right and wrong or anything other that it is. Life is a million shades of gray intermixed with every color of the rainbow. Life is complicated. Life is not what it appears to be.

So take all of these questions and interject them into a young child who grew up in the 1930's. A time where people didn't air their dirty laundry. A time when modesty in every way was the norm. A time when you 'didn't talk about those things'. A time when (at least from my perspective in this generation I am living in) life appeared to be black and white (even though you have to know that all of the colors and shades and hues of life were and always have been there).

What if ... you grew up in that generation and you 'knew' you were never going to fall into the roles you saw modeled throughout your life? What if ... you knew you didn't have 'those feelings' that would bring marriage and children into your world? What if ... your own mother didn't even know the definition of the word "homosexual"? And what if ... 'that' is exactly who you were discovering yourself to be?

What if ... you never ever told anyone your most innermost truth? What if ... you lived your entire life time being the absolute best person you knew how to be - the kindest, most compassionate, caring and empathetic person ... and never admitted 'who you were' aloud to anyone in your inner circle?

What if ... you moved away from your family so you could live your life as honestly as you dared thousands of miles away? What if ... even within that life oh-so-far-away, you felt the need to keep your secret from those you worked with, befriended and came to know?

What if ... you knew no other way than living your life as you knew it and it wasn't who you really were inside? What if ... you felt you were carrying the world's biggest secret inside of yourself because you could not say the words out loud?

I cannot begin to know what it is like to walk in another person's shoes. I try them on but they just don't fit. They are uncomfortable and unfamiliar and when I take a step, I have to shake them off immediately because they are all wrong for me.

So I look at those 'shoes'. I admire them for what they are, on the person who is wearing them. My feet ache when I think of my feet 'in those shoes' but I still try to imagine what it is like for the person who can wear them.

Personally ... I know I cannot hold secrets inside of myself. They have to seep out to those I trust. It started very, very slowly a very, very long time ago. But what I realized is there is no greater feeling than the feeling of befriending 'someone who knows all about you and likes you anyway'. I discovered this within my friends and I have learned to trust more people with 'who I really am'.

Someone I know and admire and respect and trust in a way I would feel about my own father entrusted me with their 'secret'. What they told me did not change one thing I felt about them. I admired, respected and trusted them even more than ever before when they said the words they had held inside for a lifetime.

I am angry at a world that would make an individual feel the need to protect themselves by keeping silent. I am angry at a world that judges and hates and labels. I am angry that anyone would feel the need to keep a secret locked inside of themselves ever since that secret was nothing more than a wisp of wondering.

I am grateful our world is becoming more open and honest and brave souls have opened doors of communication and knowledge and understanding to make it easier for the children growing up in this scary place.

I am beyond grateful this person finally said the words aloud. Words, once spoken release the power that holds you hostage when you keep them locked inside.

I have written all of these words yet I have not said the words aloud. "I am gay", he told me. And it did not change one thing. Not one.

There is absolutely nothing in this world you could tell me that would change the way I think of you. Nothing. 

The delicate house of cards he has built around himself has started to fall. A whole 'deck of cards' has been strewn about at a time when he was already in a fragile and delicate place. He is exactly where he needs to be to help him pick up the cards and rearrange them into 'the hand he was dealt'.

But it is not going to be easy. He has lived in that 'house' his whole life. It's hard to begin again at any age. At age 85, I would imagine 'this' is the last place he thought he would be.

My heart is aching for this gentle, gentle soul who I admire in a way I admire no one else. He entrusted me with his words and Mom asked me if I thought he told me so I could tell others.

I am telling you now. This is not my story. I am only guessing. I don't know how it feels to be in his shoes. I am grateful he spoke to me. I will be ever-so-gentle with his truth. He is special in every way. Always has been. Always will be. Nothing has changed.

*Plethora - a large or excessive amount of (something). Synonyms: excess, overabundance, superabundance, surplus, glut, superfluity, surfeit, profusion

Twenty Seven Years Ago ... Remembering

Twenty seven  years ago ...

I vividly remember standing in my sister's kitchen without a voice, without emotion and without a doubt, I remember being angry at what was expected of our family in the days that preceded Dad's funeral.

I can remember the emotion almost as if I was living it today.

Mom and my sisters did everything. I stood there and watched. I am not even sure if I listened. I simply watched in horror as they choreographed the events which would take place on the 11th of December, 1987. Four days after Dad died.

It seemed absolutely ludicrous to me that this was expected of a family at a time like this. It was like planning a wedding in less than four days.

Arranging a minister, a church, a time, food, music, flowers, attendants, clothes, words with meaning, writing an obituary ...

I believe someone asked me if I could write it. I don't even know if I answered. What!?!?!! How in the world can someone write something at a time like this? What are you guys doing?

I walked through those days in a fog. Even though we had long since grieved the loss of the father/husband/brother/uncle/friend my dad used to be, the final act of taking his last breath was still final. His life was over. Now there was business to be tended to.

I remember going back home with Mom. My life was sort of falling apart all around us at the same time and I was completely numb to everything that was happening.

Mom sat at the dining room table in her home, with the horrific display of flowers from the funeral surrounding her and she quietly sobbed.

I was as useless as an umbrella in a tornado. I stood there. I don't even think I touched her shoulder. I know I thought I should but I can't remember if I did. The 'umbrella' I held did not shelter either one of us. I was frozen in time. Mom was in the moment.

All I remember thinking is how much I wanted to take those flowers and heave them through Mom's living room window. Thankfully, I was too stunned to act.

I was much quieter in those days. I kept so much more to myself.

I hated Dad's funeral.

Dad spent his entire life going by his middle name. The minister didn't know that and called him by the wrong name for the entire service.

His coffin sat in the front of the church. Dad was in there. Dad was in there? Dad was in there!! Oh. My. Lord. How in the world would we get through this horrific moment in time?

I hadn't cried yet. My marriage had broken apart one week prior and I hadn't cried over that. My husband was making our lives very difficult and I hadn't cried over that. I was living life in limbo, with two small children to protect. And I hadn't cried.

I remember sitting in that church thinking 'If I ever start to cry, I may never stop'. So I didn't cry. I remember looking down. I remember thinking I could not make eye contact. I remember wandering through the ridiculous 'tea' they (we?) held after the funeral. People tell me they remember coming to Dad's funeral. I just remember the blur of faceless bodies.

I have no idea why I wrote these words today. They are not at all what I intended to say. I am thinking of my friend whose mom died two years ago today. I am thinking of the way I invested the year 2014 to making, honoring and collecting memories. I am thinking of the personal touch and special funerals I have attended over the course of the past few years. I am thinking of my own inevitable demise.

I want to write my own obituary. I want to plan my funeral. I want to take the responsibility out of my children's hands because it is a horrible job. Or at least I thought it was twenty seven years ago.

I want to live my quiet little life loudly. I want to make lasting memories which will come out of nowhere and make my children smile long after I'm gone (or better yet, while I am still here to laugh with them!). I told my Second Son "I want my funeral to be short. And snappy. And happy. I want people to laugh."  He took half a second to reply and said, "I've got a lot of material to work with!" and he seemed pleased with the idea of turning a sad event into a lighthearted one.

Maybe I should start that obituary today. I will write what I want to become true. Then I will go out and live the rest of my days making it all come true.

Maybe. Just maybe. I am already doing just that...

Two Months

Winter recently arrived in our neck of the woods after a long-lasting and lingering fall. We went from a skiff of snow on the ground which melted, just before we were hit with (what felt like) a winter's worth of snow within a week. 

To add insult to injury, our temperatures took a nose dive into the near -30 degree (Celsius) range and 'feeling like' -38 degrees last weekend.

Last Saturday after work, I took advantage of the fact the car was already warmed up and I ran every conceivable errand and stocked up on enough groceries to get us through the cold snap. I shovelled the last of the snow and took out the garbage and recycling. 

I did every single thing that had to be done outside Saturday night so I would not have to even open the door on Sunday.

And I didn't.

The temperatures have slowly crept upwards all week. It is still no chinook outside but the extreme cold and snow conditions have backed off for the time being.

As I was out running my pre-weekend-errands last night, our brief encounter with winter was fresh in my mind.

I stocked up in every conceivable way I could imagine.

Our cats have enough of their special dietary brands of cat food to last two months. Also enough medication for Senior Cat to get us through until mid-February. I even picked up a two month supply of glucosamine treats for Senior to (hopefully) ease his crickety old joints through the cold days ahead.

Anything that was threatening to break down has a back-up replacement in stock, within our home. I have a spare toilet seat (yes! our toilet seat is not going to last much longer) and a Magic Bullet (can you imagine my dismay when I almost could not make my morning smoothie a few days ago?!).

Then there is the revolving supply of regular maintenance supplies: furnace filters; hair color (my hair has gone on a growth spurt and I simply cannot afford to run out and 'touch up my roots' every two months); socks (I just bought nine pairs of socks two months ago and I am blasting through a sock-a-day now that they have reached their maximum mileage capability); printer ink (hopefully enough to get through the Christmas gift and letter season); lotion and cat litter.

I stocked up on every item I could think of. Some people are spending their hard, earned cash on Christmas this time of year. Me? I'm just trying to get through until February (it seems like almost everything I have named has a two-month duration).

I am almost looking forward to (who am I kidding? I am looking forward to this) the part where I get to hunker down and simply exist within this well-stocked oasis I call home. The idea of gazing out the windows and watching the weather happen outside while we are warm and snuggled up inside makes my heart feel like a warm, inviting fireplace.

I am almost (no, I am!) looking forward to the weekends where my off-site employment is cancelled due to weather. Great things happened during the deep freeze of 2014. I am anticipating 'more of the same' this upcoming winter.

All I have to do is get through the next two months. I'm almost all stocked up and ready. Because ... (here it comes ... wait for it! ... wait for it!!!) ...

Two months from tomorrow, I will be headed off to Vegas for the weekend with my sister to see Dancing With the Stars - Live!

Two months seems like the magical number to me right now. I'm stocking up my inventory so all I have to do is settle in and enjoy the wait for my mid-winter ultra-extravagant and utterly frivolous holiday excursion.

It is a little bit crazy to plan something so impulsive (that sounds wrong - how can you plan something impulsive??), but this little holiday is mostly funded by gift money I have received and (ironically enough) selling a ball gown because I have 'hung up' my own ballroom dance shoes.

I am not sure what the next twelve months have in store but I'm actually eagerly anticipating the next two. Who knows where life will take me after that?!

Half a Lifetime Ago

On December 4,  1987 I woke up to a brand new world. I remember standing in my friend's living room and saying the words, "Today is the day I start my new life."

And I did.

I had just turned twenty seven years old, I had a three month old baby and a nine year old son. I didn't want to leave. I wanted my husband to leave. But he wouldn't. So I packed up a few belongings and an alarm clock and we left.

And we never wentback.

The police were involved. They could not insist my husband leave. He had rights. It didn't matter that I was the one who was in a vulnerable position and feeling threatened. It didn't matter that I would be the one taking responsibility for our children. It didn't matter that I had bought our house while we were divorced and it was solely in my name. He had rights. I didn't. We weren't safe.

So we left.

The final straw was so incredibly minute and insignificant in the whole scheme of things. All I remember is he would not let me watch "Knots Landing". I can't remember anything else about that evening. I don't remember how the police got there. Perhaps the neighbors heard? This was not the first occasion the police were called. For some reason, the details of that evening are blurred from my memory.

Something inside of me snapped and broke that night.

I didn't run to anyone or anywhere comforting and familiar. I ran to a hotel. I didn't want to be found. I didn't want anyone else's words in my head. I wanted to think my own thoughts. I wanted to know I was safe. So we ran where no one would find us.

That is why I took the alarm clock.

I wasn't sure if there would be a clock wherever we woke up the next morning. I needed to know what time it was. I took my son to school the next day. I think. All I remember is going to my friend's house. Standing in her living room with my innocent baby boy and telling her "Today is the day I start my new life."

And I needed to see my dad.

Dad was in a long term care facility at the time and I just knew that was where I had to go. Little did I know at the time, Mom had been trying to reach me to tell me Dad was not doing well. She reached my husband instead. He didn't know where I was which would have set off an avalanche of worry within my mom. Something drew me and called me to Dad.

That is where Mom and I found each other.

The sequence of events are so blurred. I talked with a lawyer. He told me I couldn't afford to stay in a hotel until it was safe to go home. I could have stayed with Mom but I didn't. I knew this time was different. I couldn't be where he could find me. We went to a 'safe house' for families in an abusive situation instead.

That decision redirected  my life.

I thought my own thoughts. I didn't have those-who-loved-me inserting their own biases and views. I talked with counsellors. I listened. I watched. Oh, how I watched. I saw myself in other women who were there. The ones who were still in love with the person who hurt them enough to 'be' there. I looked at them through eyes that had 'been there' and I knew in an instant their cycle would continue to perpetuate. At least this time.

I felt different than those women.

I was not driven by the pain of loving someone who hurt me. I was driven by a need to save my children. I finally started to see life as my children would live it, if I stayed. The thought of going back, trying to work things out or even returning to that house - the one that I owned - was the last thing on my mind.

I started to make changes that would endure the test of time.

Long story short, I did what it took to break the cycle. My husband did everything he could to make that decision impossible. The alarm clock I took from the house became a bone of contention with my husband and he wanted the clock back.  He didn't win that round (but I believe I may have eventually given him the clock).

We left for good, despite the fact he would not let me into the house to collect our belongings. He threw my clothes and what he deemed okay for me to take, out our second story bedroom window. I collected the remnants of my life while my little community watched on.

I learned that material things do not matter.

I had my children. We were safe. We had the support we needed to start over. And we did. We not only survived ... we thrived.

Those two young sons are now 36 and 27 years old now. They are succeeding in their lives and have moved on and past trying to know their father after some failed attempts. Despite it all, I hoped their father could change (one never gives up hoping) enough for him to know his children. Eventually.

I don't know 'who' my husband is now. I just know how he affected our lives, when he last tried to make contact with our children. He was a person who scared me more than I had ever been scared before. That was only eight years ago.

I forgive him. I forgave him a long time ago.

Our children are adults now. They can take care of themselves and are capable of protecting their own interests. We are two completely separate entities. Living two separate lives, with a province separating us.

I wish him well.

I hope he has found a life that fulfills him. I keep in touch with his family and I know 'enough'. His life has not been easy. But that stopped being my problem twenty seven years ago. I cut the ties. I moved on. I am living a good life. A very good life. I think our sons have succeeded in every level that matters. There is still a part of me that simply wishes him peace. Perhaps I still have the wish that peace could trickle down and through him into his sons ...

There is a great sense of peace that comes from living a life with no regrets. I know without a doubt that I did what I had to do. Sadly, I don't think my husband may feel the same.

I have lived that peaceful existence this last half of my life. And that ... is something worth celebrating. I cannot begin to compare the person I was to the person I am. I just know that who I am today was conceived on the fourth of December. Twenty seven years ago.

Quality of Life - A Cat Story (why not a people story too?)

Our little Miracle Kitty (otherwise known in these parts as 'Senior Cat') has bounced back once again, thanks to a little tweaking of his diet after recent a blood test revealed his kidneys appeared to be shutting down.

Senior Cat has been 'doctoring' since August of  2013 when he developed a bad case of pneumonia which didn't respond to antibiotics. After several refills of antibiotics our vet gently suggested we try a low dose of prednisone. She couldn't say with certainty if he had asthma or cancer but the prednisone would alleviate his symptoms and make his life comfortable either way.

Thankfully he responded well to a low dose of this steroid and he went about his days in a quieter, less playful mode. He started to purr and socialize again and he even cuddled for short spells.

In the mean time, Junior Cat's delicate digestive system guided us toward a special gastrointestinal cat food regimen (I fondly refer to as 'Gold Nuggets' because that is about how much I invest into our cats' special diet). This food is truly worth its weight in gold because it not only calmed Junior Cat's stomach issues but both cats have a lush, shiny coat of hair that (in my mind) can only be attributed to their special diet.

Our cats padded along just fine and dandy until a short while ago. Senior Cat's symptoms started gradually and I was convinced that he had a cancer which was starting to take hold and (I guessed) his current dose of medication was not capable of handling. So we took him back to the vet to adjust his medication.

The word cancer was not even mentioned. Our previous vet was on maternity leave and our replacement doctor read Senior's file and referred to our cat's asthma as a firm diagnosis and went forward from there. After assessing his blood test, she suggested we adjust Senior's diet and I purchased some Renal Health food especially for him.

Sure enough, he started responding to his new diet almost immediately.

Our cat must be the ideal prototype for each of his health conditions. His asthma (?) responded immediately to his low prednisone dosage and his kidneys responded just as quickly to the change in his diet.

One little pill, snapped in half and ingested every twelve hours and one little bag of Renal Health cat food have our Little Black Kitty back in good form.

My mom follows my stories about our cat family and each time she comes to visit us, she comments that if she didn't know better she would assume Senior Cat was in perfect health. She refers to his healthy coat of fur and his general overall appearance. She has said, "If I get sick, I want to be sick like your cat!"

Mom said a mouthful when she uttered that sentence.

A diagnosis and a 'cure'. Even if the cure does not make the disease go away, it has alleviated all symptoms and life-as-we-know-it has not changed.

One tiny little pill. A change of diet. Two small changes have not only prolonged Senior Cat's life, but he has a quality of life which we don't take for granted.

How many people out there wish for exactly the same thing? A diagnosis and if not a cure, at least a medication &/or diet which could allow a person to retain their dignity and quality of living.

Another choice we have for our adored pets is the opportunity to make choices about their life and death situation when there is no cure, they are in pain and there is nothing more that can be done.

Why is there such a disparity between what I see happening within my own little 'animal kingdom' here within my home and what I hear with people who are doctoring for various reasons?

Our cat has not been referred to this, that and the other specialist. He has one doctor who looks at the 'whole picture', knows our family and our cats well and makes decisions based on the tests we decide (and can afford) to administer.

When one patient gets referred to too many doctors do they lose sight of the 'whole person'? When a specialist is looking for one specific thing, can they miss what another could see if they were looking at an entire body? Does the fear of lawsuits and policies, procedures and protocol within the medical field make it an entirely different scenario for the doctors in each case?

There are probably a million more questions to ponder about the disparity between our specific case scenario (with our cat) and the multitude of other factors which others who are faced with their own unique set of health concerns.

I guess we are just lucky in the whole scheme of things. We are so lucky, in fact, that I think I will inquire about adding glucosamine to Senior's diet to see if we can help him with some of his arthritic discomfort.

I just want him to feel as good as he can possibly feel. That is all I hope for and want for anyone. Is that too much to ask?

Sleeping on It (and waking up rested)

The past two mornings, I have woken up to a brand new experience. I have no memory in between the time I closed my eyes until the alarm went off. And (and this is big!) I am in exactly the same position as when I fell asleep.

This whole snow-shovelling thing has wreaked a small amount of havoc on me. Not sore muscles (as one would assume for someone who has become as complacent as I have, when it comes to extra-curricular exercise), but more of a neck/shoulder strain and sore thumbs (it seems crazy to me, to have sore thumbs as a symptom from shovelling?!!).

The first two nights, after our winter descended upon us and my snow-shovelling-muscles got their first work out, I took some Robaxacet before I went to bed. Perhaps it is no surprise that I slept like a log those nights.

A medically induced state of slumber is not what I'm aiming for so I decided to start rearranging my pillows once again, to recreate the experience I had when I woke up from hernia surgery in the hospital. It was like a little piece of heaven. I woke up and my body was cradled and supported perfectly and I was completely comfortable (probably sedated and pumped up on a pain killer or two as well but I didn't think of that at the time).

The past two nights, I have managed to effectively recreate that 'cradled and supported' position before I fall asleep.

A neck support pillow cradles and supports my neck; a small wheat bag is tucked under the small of my back; and my body pillow (now flattened like a pancake from overuse) is folded in half and tucked under my knees.

My last memory the past two nights are of complete and utter comfort. My first memory of the past two mornings are realizing that I have not tossed, turned, woken up or stirred once throughout the night.

Amazing! This is better than Robaxacet (and ever so much easier on the body and cheaper!).

It is even more amazing how well I slept, considering what I did last night.

After supper and before I went to bed,  I booked a weekend trip to Vegas (with my sister) to go to see Dancing With the Stars in February.

We booked our flights, our hotel and bought our tickets for the event. Signed, sealed and delivered! It is amazing how easy it is to spend money without taking a step away from the computer. Perhaps a little too easy.

Or not ...

I was sending my brother an email right before I went to bed and as I was confirming the date and time of our arrival back home, I realized we were due to come home on the wrong day. YIKES!

I immediately went into hyper-correct-mode and thought I had to do something on the spot. Yes! There was a 24 hour number to call. Whew!!

Then I realized the wisdom of sleeping on it. There was no need to make a rash decision that late in the evening. We have a 24 hour window to adjust our reservation at no charge. Stop. Think. Confirm with my sister. Breathe. Sleep. Fix it in the morning.

I went to bed with this on my mind. Surprisingly, my heart rate was normal and I wasn't overly concerned. We have 24 hours. Better to sleep on it and come at it in a brand new day. Yes. This was the rational way to think.

It turns out either: A) I do 'rational thinking' better now or B) I have a severe sleeping disorder because C) I slept like a log last night!

I woke up with a calm, clear frame of mind. No need to panic.

When they say it is better to sleep on it, they are right. It is a brand new day and I am so relieved I didn't make any hasty choices last night.

Well, that is, if booking a weekend trip to Vegas and spending half of what my friend is paying for a week-long-cruise is not considered hasty.

My rule is: If it still feels like a good idea in the morning, it is the right choice.

The way I slept last night + the way I feel this morning  = A good idea (I didn't say smart. I just said good).

And that is the way last night rolled for me. How was your night??

A Year of Making Memories

I had a blog post sitting in me all day yesterday but I just had 'a few' things to do before I allowed myself the privilege of sitting still with my thoughts and bringing them to life.

I was going to write about how my thoughts were skittering around in my head. From the moment I awoke with the perfect 'theme' for my annual Christmas letter ... to some words that mean 'nothing' but have the potential to mean more-than-they-say ... to realizing it is almost the end of the year which led my thinking to year-end-financial recaps and income tax ... digging through receipts and the calendar for missing tax information led me down a path of reminiscing.

Oh, inside of my head was a wonderful place to be yesterday morning. Thoughts were pinging around in rapid succession and I could barely keep up.

I wrote notes and documented that-which-needed-documenting. As I flipped through the calendar pages, my bank book and my credit card records, the year flashed before my eyes.

I remembered moments. The losses. It has been a Year of Great Loss for almost everyone who touches my world. There are ongoing physical and mental health issues that are still of great concern.

I remember sitting still with those thoughts on so very many occasions. I have walked beside people who have faced devastating losses and I feel for them on so very many levels. But I am not walking in their shoes. So there is still the ability to disconnect and continue on living my merry little life.

The year 2014 was not a year of great adventures or spending or extravagances. It was a year of incredible memories instead.

One cold week in the middle of January, I planned a few adventures. Two out of three came to fruition. The third was preempted by a death in our family.

I attended that funeral and one sentence by one cousin rerouted my year. She suggested something I had been thinking about and not acting upon for quite some time. Someone in our family should plan a family reunion. Why shouldn't that 'someone' be me?

Two weeks later, on the coldest weekend of the winter, I reopened my dad's family's book project. The following Monday, I started making inquiries about a family reunion. The weekend following that coldest weekend of the winter, a plan was formed and reservations were made. We just lived that fantasy a month ago.

The common theme among the family who was able to attend was 'it is good to gather for happy times'. There have been far too many funerals. Not enough celebrations.

I had not even walked out the door from our family reunion and I was already making new plans and inviting others along for the ride.

I got lost in the adventures of 2014 yesterday morning and it was a most wonderful place to be.

I remember sitting down one day last year and writing down the months. There was a name of at least one close friend or family member who had lost a father, a mother, a husband, a wife, a sibling, an aunt or an uncle (and the list goes on) beside each and every month. It would have been so easy to focus on death last year. It was everywhere.

When our own (Mom and Dad's) family gathered for our smaller scale reunion this past summer, Mom said from the onset "I don't want to talk about sickness or death or sadness!" but it was unavoidable. One niece had spent the days prior to our reunion dealing with an urgent health situation, her father-in-law ended up needing emergency surgery as they were making their way to our reunion and my sister's grandchild ended up in ER while we were gathered. We stopped to visit Mom's sister enroute to our reunion. She passed away the following Monday.

We shared a lot of laughs, stories and made memories throughout that weekend gathering despite it all. And that is basically what it is all about, isn't it?

'Life' is going to happen no matter what we do. We cannot hold onto the ones we love forever but while they are living, we can certainly make the most of the time we have.

The year 2014 was one of making memories. It was a year of forging connections with family I used to know by name only, into something 'more'. It was a  year of stepping outside of my quiet and comfortable oasis within my head and home and inviting others to join me along my way.

I forecast more of the same for 2015 (more on that after I talk with my sister tonight ... we may have a 'date' to go on a weekend adventure in February if all goes as I hope!!).