Erin's Journals

Just a thought… We are hardwired to connect with others, it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives, and without it there is suffering. [Brené Brown]

*Ahoy sailors – be sure to check in here tomorrow for a bonus Tuesday Travel journal. A happier one, I promise.

Welcome to a new week. And I know I can be honest here with you, so I’ll tell you that today I’m feeling…untethered. A little lost. The new kid in town – again.

As Molly told you last Thursday in her one-and-only journal effort (and she thanks you for your nice words about her writing talents) we’re now in Palm Springs. She’s doing fine, enjoying a comfy bed, her regular food and treats, plus warm, sunny walks that don’t necessitate a raincoat as they do back home at this time of year.

Rob’s in his glory: puttering around doing odd jobs, packing and loading his hockey goalie gear into the car for regular games with other ex-pats who have escaped colder climes and still want to surround themselves with ice. Go figure!

He’s having a blast, except for the fact that this arena, inappropriately called the Ice Castle, doesn’t have showers. Ew. But to find regular seniors’ hockey in the desert is a gift that he’s not going to complain about, and neither am I. When Rob’s happy, it’s a good thing.

He’s found his people and I have yet to find one person. I know not one soul in this entire area. And so once again I find myself grateful to have a place to talk – however virtually – with people I feel that I know and who know me: you.

I’m an isolating kind of person by nature, and that fits right into the addictive personality: withdraw into a place where no one knows you so that no one can judge. The quiet hours feed that depression I’ve fought for so many decades as I sit quietly thinking too much about what we’ve lost instead of what we have.

Obviously I need to make human connections, but an innate shyness prevents me from taking those first, shaky steps. I want to go out and speak to groups, deliver the Reclaiming Joy speech that gives me purpose; one Facebook post from a woman who winters down here, and suggested I might come and talk to her neighbourhood group, has given me a lift. But where do we go from here?

I know, I know: it’s time to start Googling Yin Yoga classes and find myself a mat at the back of somebody’s class. Take the covers off our bicycles and log some miles around the area. Get to that 12-step meeting today at 11 am and be in the company of other people just working to get through one day at a time.

Yes, it’s early days; it has been less than a week here. I’m just waiting for an angel to help me out. Maybe she wants me to be idle right now, or busy in ways that are good for me. Or maybe that angel comes in the form of a friend.

As I wrapped up writing today’s journal, it dawned on me that my pal Lisa and her husband are coming late this week. We’ll make new memories. Looking ahead instead of back, I’m reminded of the saying that the rearview mirror is smaller than the windshield, and for good reason.

Tomorrow – we jump to next October: if you’re interested even a little bit in an adventure on the Rhine with Mike and me, come by for a special Tuesday journal. Again…looking ahead, right?

Just a thought… The greatest fear dogs know is the fear that you will not come back when you go out the door without them. [Stanley Coren]

Mollyblogging…

Good Golly, It’s Molly…

Home Malone…

What to call today’s journal? First off, I want to thank Lisa Brandt for inspiring today’s blog. My very good friend has allowed her kitty, Miss Sugar, to take over her writing space once a week, and so I asked Lisa if I should suggest that Molly put her paws to the keyboard to tell of her travels this week. Lisa graciously blessed my blatant plagiarism (imitation being the sincerest form of flattery and all) and said “yes!” So here goes. Molly, take this one away.

They call me Molly and I’m 15 years old. My scampering in a recent blog video shows that I’m far from the rainbow bridge, as they call it, but Tuesday I thought I might just be headed for it. In a bag.

In my 105 human years, if you will, I’ve flown just one other time: it was a way-too-long trip when my peeps were moving west to start a new life (which thankfully still included me). I really didn’t like that experience one bit.

I was stressed and so was Mom when the flight attendant was nasty and told her to take me off her lap and put me back in my carrier! That was exactly what I didn’t want when I was yipping from under the seat, where I’d been wedged. The indignity! Mom had been told by someone she knew that it would be totes okay to cuddle me. It most definitely was not.

This time I felt a little more chill about the whole experience. (Could it have to do with the thing in the cheese I was given for breakfast?) After some airport cuddling before we left Victoria, I was loaded – albeit reluctantly – into that same soft carrier and jostled onto a small plane.

Before I could figure out what the Scooby Doo was happening, there was a bump and some noise and in a few minutes I was out of that case and walking in another airport. (Boy, there were a lot of legs around!)

While I was fascinated by all the new smells, I restrained from adding to them as we hurried along, but even when the peeps took me into a room just for pet downloads (which smelled like everyone had left a pee-mail) I didn’t feel like going. I mean, what am I, a DOG?

And so we waited.

For most of the flight I stayed quiet, making my voice heard only when I wanted a treat (and it worked).

My head felt funny at times but I slept a little I guess, despite the fact that there was rumbling and it was coolish by Mom’s feet. I suppose I was comfortable enough, if you like sleeping on a blanket in a bag, which I do not. I mean, again, what am I – a dog?

When we landed in some place that sounds like a handstand – palm springs? – I found myself in another big place with lots of legs and big things on wheels, and sat patiently by Mom in the area where people grabbed their BIG carriers (ones with no windows that were on wheels) and took them away. A nice man let Mom keep me on her lap in his car and we were on our way again.

I slept well Tuesday night on a new bed and got used to using the bench that has been placed at the end to help me to jump up and down. Snuggled between Mom and Dad I felt like I was at home again.

The whole new house has a fenced yard to keep neighbours out (surely not to keep me in) with a few bits of orange and yellow fruit on the ground that came from trees above me and are not tasty. The weather is warmer than it was yesterday, so I guess that’s why we had to take a trip in the rumbly thing that made my ears feel weird.

I’m going to be here for a while so I have to get used to this new bed with a different comforter to root in. But I’ve got my old people, my same food and treats. Although there’s a world of new smells to explore, and prickly things that I can’t get too close to when we’re walking, as long as we’re all sleeping together every night I know things are going to be okay.

My paws are tired and I don’t have thumbs so this has been exhausting. I’ll let Aunt Lisa’s cat keep blogging, but for meow – er, now – I need a nap.

Just a thought… It is surmounting difficulties that makes heroes. [Louis Pasteur]

Remembrance Day.

Today, with humility and gratitude, I will add a few words to the sentiments of Canadians who, 101 years after armistice was declared at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in what was so optimistically called “the war to end all wars,” salute and honour the men and women who have given their precious lives to help protect and serve our glorious and too-often complacent home and native land.

This year, I have a little more perspective than even a visit to Vimy in France gave us. Since going into recovery this past summer and regularly attending 12-step meetings, I’ve had glimpses into the darkness behind the crisp uniforms and orchestrated pageantry.

I’ve heard stories and witnessed the deep emotional and mental (as well as physical) pain experienced by our enlisted ranks; I’ve learned of addiction and other ways in which people try to cope once they’ve seen the worst that humans can do to each other. I’ve heard of struggles as they try to assimilate back into a peaceful, mostly oblivious Canadian society.

Most of us are fortunate; we can’t imagine the pain and suffering. As a parent, I know what it’s like to lose a child, but not to bear the heavy yoke of worry every moment of every day about that child’s safety while they’re far from home. An entire extended family of a person serving our country is right there with him or her, make no mistake.

Many were the days and nights that my mother worried for my father’s safety as he flew long trips to deliver aid or disaster relief in peacetime, learned the tricky and dangerous dance of mid-air refueling for massive jets, and carried out jobs that I’ve never asked him about, all performed as a Canadian serviceman who gratefully did whatever was asked of him.

Today we salute those who went off to war – or peace – and never returned. But we also recognize the sacrifices of our service members and their entire families, as they awaited a return, or word that their loved one wasn’t coming back alive or whole, in mind or body.

War and unrest are happening around the world at this very moment. In this glorious, albeit sometimes politically turbulent country in which we live, this blessedly peaceful Canada, we pause to remember those who keep it that way. Their sacrifices. Their pain – seen and unseen. Their love of that beautiful red and white flag stitched on their sleeve, worn as proudly as we wear our love for our country, for all to see.

And we are grateful – today and always.

We remember.

Just a thought… An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior. [Viktor Frankl]

I’m typing this, my screen dimmed, from my seat on a plane Wednesday night and we’re bound for home. Coat on for coziness, I have a little pile of pretzels in my lap and Rob’s patiently waiting for me to finish so we can watch When They See Us – the multiple Emmy-nominated miniseries about the Exonerated Five (formerly the Central Park Five). It’s the telling of a terrible chapter in NYC history: the story that could have had an even more tragic ending had Donald Trump gotten his way and the five innocent men had been executed.

I spent yesterday in a bit of an altered state juggling a combination of fatigue, deep satisfaction, sadness and a whole lot of gratitude. A large part of me didn’t want the trip to end: speech after speech, our message just kept getting easier to deliver, my heart opening a little wider each time to share everything that is inside.

I’m sorry that I won’t be talking about our lessons learned through the living and writing of Mourning Has Broken, as well as the indelible experiences that have come our way through meeting people in the aftermath of its publication.

But our new life’s road has more than one lane and it’s time to signal, check our mirrors one last time and veer into the slower one. I’ll get used to it in a few days (after we get through five different appointments back in Victoria today) but it’s not going to be easy.

Fortunately I have the support of a whole bunch of really good people in a group that meets daily at noon (plus a counsellor I’ll see this afternoon) who will help me to make the transition back to normal life – whatever that is.

I love to use the quote above from Dr. Viktor Frankl in my presentation. (You may recall I’ve mentioned his brilliant book, Man’s Search for Meaning in the past.) What’s normal about standing up and talking about the worst thing that can happen to a parent – always staying composed and delivering the message in a way that could, at times, be called funny (at least I hope so – I put plenty of laughs in there for a reason)? Nothing about it is normal, so why should my reaction be, right?

What I’ll miss are the stories: the people who stand up during Q & A afterwards and tell me their children’s names and how they’ve coped – or not coped – after losing them. The people who sat with us in a circle at Bereaved Families of Ontario last week in Oshawa and, one by one, told Rob and me who their child was and how they died, and when. The women and men who lined up after events for books, signatures and then hugs and photos. (I found it hard to smile for the camera when asked to pose with people who’d just told me of their loss; that’s a strange moment when you both just want to take in that connection….)

I’ve come away from this trip sure of a few things. Let me share them with you before I power down for the flight and, really, the winter (when it comes to work).

1. I miss being that Erin. The one who had the immense privilege of talking to people every day. I hear from people who miss the days of our radio show and I honestly tell them that I miss it, too. But there’s really no returning to the medium that I loved – only looking ahead. After all, as the saying goes, there’s a reason why the rear view mirror is smaller than the windshield. We have to keep our eyes on the road ahead. But yes, I miss radio. I miss laughing more with Mike, Ian, Gord and Steve before 5 am than most people do in a day. But I emphatically do NOT miss 5 am!

2. What comes from the heart, goes to the heart. A good friend at the time, Dr. Alvin Pettle, told me this decades ago and I think of it every day. Whether among a crowd of business leaders, bereaved parents or people who work in hospice and care for those who have lost or are in the process of losing loved ones, a message that comes from a place of compassion and experience, is welcomed by almost everyone. How lucky I am to be the one who gets to deliver it!

3. Toronto traffic (and that in Mississauga, Montreal, Ottawa and seemingly almost everywhere else our rental cars took us) is hopeless. Taking the UP Express from Union to Pearson on Tuesday to meet up with Rob, so we could have a few minutes to freshen up before the evening event at the Convention Centre in Mississauga, was the smartest decision of my trip. For $11 I sat on a comfortable train for 30 minutes and missed every slowdown, snarl and closed lane.

As we poked along in the car at 15 km/h on our way to the hotel from my airport pickup, I wondered: how do they do it? I asked myself how people – perhaps like you – survive the daily frustration, rudeness, tedium, and unbearable and apparent futility of sitting in their cars for hours on end to get to their job, rain or shine?

And then I remembered everyone on this trip and for the years before I announced I was leaving (three years ago today, as I recall) who thanked us for keeping them company on the drive. Again, how lucky I was to have a chance to do that! Thanks for the ride.

I could go on, but I’ll sign off for now. It’s been a pleasure to spend a bit of this (so far) smooth flight home with you. So thank YOU for keeping ME company. I’ll try not to think about the fact that I forgot to close the locks on our suitcases, so excited was I about getting to the desk and checking the luggage myself while Rob was taking back the rental car.

When I tweeted about it, several folks answered that they never lock their luggage (?!?) but I figure if anyone opens them they’ll just get a whole bunch of laundry that needs doing. And I don’t imagine I’ll notice anything missing until at least Friday, tomorrow, when we start thinking about unpacking.

I hope the forecast for a wintry Thursday morning didn’t come to fruition, but if it did, that enough people remembered how to drive safely. Of course, there will be those who don’t change their tires or prepare for the weather conditions that are inevitable at this time of year, making that aforementioned traffic even worse than usual.

Just turn on the radio and enjoy the ride, if you can. The weekend’s just around the bend and I’ll be back with you Monday.

Just a thought… I am going to keep having fun every day I have left, because there is no other way of life. You just have to decide whether you are a Tigger or an Eeyore. [Randy Pausch]

Welcome to a brand new week and, hopefully, a feeling that you’ve had just a bit more sleep. Because, unless you had to work that extra hour yesterday morning, you did! I love this time change. The loss of an hour in the spring used to throw my poor sleep-deprived body for a loop, but the hour in the fall was like a gift.

In our new home province of BC, they’re moving toward getting rid of the time change altogether; I can’t say that I agree with it just from our own personal perspective, but people seem adamant that the clock change needs to stop.

Can’t say that it’ll make that big a difference in our lives, except perhaps for doing some extra math when we’re dealing with people out of our time zone. Oh, and the PVR. We’ll see.

Our time in Ottawa – an incredible second visit this fall – was one I’d like to have recorded to watch again and again. Oh, but we made memories: on Friday we went to a ceramics painting studio so Colin could make a present for his parents for Christmas (which he told them about the minute we got home!) and then Rob, Colin and I laced up our rented shoes for four games of five-pin bowling.

There’s a lot to be said for not over-thinking: this five-year-old wasn’t trying to hit the centre pin, to straighten his wrist or count steps to the foul line. No, he just stood there, oblivious to the buzzing when he was on said line, and rolled the ball down the alley.

As you can see, his instincts were better than our “experience.” We had a blast in the black light. I can’t tell you the last time I bowled – five or ten-pin – but for Rob and Colin, it was a second time together, and it won’t be their last.

We packed up and headed off to black light mini-golf, which was not nearly as much fun (and way too expensive IMHO at about $15 per person for less than an hour), but Colin seemed to enjoy it and that was the main thing. The kid’s got a great hockey shot and when we showed him how to hold a putter, he seemed to catch on to that, too. There’s no doubt he’s got some athletic genes there.

And so it was that on Saturday we thought we’d put him on skates for the first time. Our hopes were dashed when we found out that the arena near Vanier that had indoor family skating didn’t rent skates. Darn! Plus, since it was spur-of-the-moment, we didn’t have his helmet, which we’d also have had to rent. Perhaps in the spring, or when next we visit we’ll get him out on the ice. We can’t do it all in one weekend, right?

We sure tried, though. We were stocking up on memories and making sure we have plenty to hold us through the next several months. How lucky we are to have FaceTime with this little boy and his beautiful family every weekend.

Jane is five weeks old now and doing well, gaining weight, sleeping like a champ and delighting her big brother, who loves to lean over her bassinet or a parent’s shoulder and say, in a sweet musical voice, “Whatcha doin’, sweet peeeea?” It’s adorable.

He sings Raffi’s “Baby Beluga” to her when she’s fussing; he talks about her when he’s not at home. A beautiful relationship has begun and we’re so grateful that Colin has a sibling, one whom they can dress in matching PJs for occasions like Halloween!

It was a rainy and windy night in Ottawa on October 31st. but we all delighted in taking turns walking Colin (dressed as Woody from Toy Story) up to every door for about an hour. Earlier that evening, his whole family got in the spirit of the night – and the movie – as Phil dressed up as Buzz Lightyear, Brooke donned her Jessie outfit, and even little Jane was in a Mr. Potato Head onesie.

I can’t say Rob and I ever went to those lengths at Halloween, but it sure was fun. And to see Colin’s face when his dad and mom showed up as Toy Story characters? Priceless!

Yes, we went to the Imagine Cinema again to see Toy Story 4 – a more emotional experience this time, as Rob and I were on fewer pins and needles wondering how Colin would behave in a movie – and then gave him the DVD, asking that he think of us when he watches it. It’s a lot to ask of a child, but we can hope.

Hope will be the theme as I deliver my “Reclaiming Joy” keynote twice tomorrow: a shorter version for the Excellence Canada 35th annual gathering (for which I’m also emcee) at the Carlu during the day, and again tomorrow night at a benefit for Heart House Hospice.

That will be held at the Mississauga Convention Centre and if you or anyone you know is looking for a bit of inspiration and a lot of real talk about love, grief and hope, I’d urge you to please consider supporting an amazing organization. Details are here if you’re interested.

Well, my friend, that’s it from here today. If you’re joining us next October for our Rhine cruise, there’s a good chance you’re coming to a meet ‘n’ greet with Cooper and me tonight, so I’ll see you then.

I’ll be writing to you next from our flight home on Wednesday night. Have a gentle week, stay warm and we’ll be back here on Thursday – getting ready to unwind for the winter and just sharing some stories. As friends do.