Erin's Journals

Oh, my…. I have to thank you for your overwhelming support of Mike, Christopher and Sarah Cooper over the passing of dear wife and mom Deborah. They have thanked me – and you – for that journal and the responses yesterday. I know from personal experience just how far support like this can go; the quiet hugs and thoughts from people we’ve maybe never even met can mean so very much at a desperately sad time.
 

 
Thanks to the CHFI link, it was wonderful to be reconnected with people who were unaware I continue this journal. There’s no email list to sign up for; just come here Monday through Friday or go to my Facebook page for a daily link. It’s that easy. And I’ll be here as long as you are. The journals won’t always be this long, but my heart is so full….
 
The response many people who knew the Coopers personally have given to me and to their family is that they had no idea how sick Debbie was. That’s because, as Mike told me yesterday, Debbie could get news from her doctor that her lungs were so riddled with cancerous tumours that her x-rays looked like a snowstorm, but if she heard that a growth in her liver had shrunk, she’d tell everyone, not about her lungs, but about the fantastic news that a tumour was getting smaller! That is so Debbie. A glass half-full woman right to the end.
 
If anyone ever had a pocketful of sunshine, like the song goes, it was Debbie Cooper. I don’t just mean that metaphorically. She literally kept sunny messages in her pockets.
 
Earlier this year, Rob and I had a couple of opportunities to visit with and spend an evening and overnight with the Coopers. It always felt like family time with them and Debbie and I would make a point of doing something special together, whether it was visiting a spa for pedicures or going for a numerology reading and reiki or shopping then a bite at a sweet French bistro in Lakefield. They were always memorable outings, mostly because we just enjoyed each other’s company and would have laughs and catch up.
 
Debbie, as I’ve told you, loved her angels. She had angel cards, angel pins and angel readings; she always felt as if she was protected and guided by them. I know that she’s sent an army of them to help protect Mike, Sarah and Christopher during the weeks, months and years ahead. They’ll need each and every one of them without Debbie at their side.
 
When Debbie was transitioning out of her winter wear and into spring she’d write a little note and tuck it into the pocket of that coat or sweater that she wouldn’t be wearing until the seasons began to change again. The note would say “See you in the Fall” or whatever season would be fitting. It was her way of saying that cancer wasn’t going to be taking her – not yet, anyway – and that she fully expected she was going to be donning her cool weather coat again.
 
I love that memory of Debbie. She set her mind to beating cancer and that’s why I say that she did. She survived another five years after a diagnosis that was not good; she couldn’t take full chemotherapy (it gave her a heart attack) so she and her incredible team of doctors – starting with our own Rogers-based physician and friend Dr. David Satok – worked every angle they could to make sure she got to see the next season, and the one after that.
 
She had a wonderful trip-of-a-lifetime to stay in castles and wear her fascinators to dinner in the UK with Mike. She visited Christopher in Mexico and watched pastel sunsets. She’d take her paints and try to capture their beauty. She had every intention of joining us next April on our AMA Waterways Tulip Time river cruise from Amsterdam to Belgium. 
 
Our prayers for Debbie’s good health didn’t come to fruition. She will only be with us in spirit on that cruise, while Mike plans to stay home and try to imagine a life without her. Those of you – those of us – who have lost loved ones know the impossible darkness of this time. I wish for Mike that he had a job like I did to return to every day; something that made an escape from the sadness possible, even if just for a few hours. I can’t say what’s happening with his Coop’s Classics (soon to be replaced with Christmas music on Saturdays anyway) and even if I did know, that’s not my news to tell.
 
I can tell you, though, that if Debbie had a wish for you, it would be that you would get your colon checked (as she did via colonoscopy, having gotten a clean bill of health just the year before her diagnosis) and for heaven’s sake don’t shy away from fecal testing. Take good care of your body – it’s never too late to change our ways – and always make plans for the future, no matter how uncertain it may be. Even if it’s just to make it to the next time you need to wear a beloved warm coat, its pockets filled with promises.
 
Not all of Debbie Cooper’s dreams could come true, but I know for a fact she’d want yours to. 
 
Tomorrow, a comforting recipe that Debbie shared and is a hit with everyone who makes it.
 

 

Ah, dear friends. It is with the heaviest of hearts that I pass on the sad news that my radio partner Mike Cooper’s wife Debbie has died from complications of colon cancer. She was only 66. I can’t believe I just used the word “was.” In the past few weeks we have known that treatment for this sweet, caring woman was, at best, trying to manage pain. As Mike asked in desperation last week, “What did she ever do to deserve an end like this?” 
 
The answer: absolutely nothing. No one deserves to leave this world in pain, to face the ravages of disease; no one could have led a kinder, gentler and more joy-filled life than Deborah Cooper.
 
After enduring a difficult childhood, Debbie met her true love. She and Mike found each other in high school: she of the flaxen hair, he of the sparkling blue eyes that wandered only when it came to her test and exam papers. Amidst a sea of radio marriages that foundered and ended in divorce, theirs was one that famously withstood plenty of would-be tests: Mike’s boy band good looks were catnip to young radio fans, but he never strayed from Debbie’s side. She has always been his anchor, his home, his mischievously nicknamed “Tender Morsel of Passion Fruit.” 
 

 

 
CHFI listeners – and those in the decades before – came to know Debbie through Mike’s stories of them as a couple, and through her joyful companionship to us all on listener trips. Nearly everyone who met her was touched by her kindness and an innocent streak that one might wrongly call naïve. She just chose to see the good, to hear the positive and always to look on the bright side. 
 
Her fight against cancer would prove this in spades. From the moment of her stunning and dire diagnosis over five years ago, Debbie began to tackle cancer head-on. Living a sober and healthy life already, she dove in to juicing, eating only the foods that would not only help her with her post-surgery physical limitations but with her overall wellbeing. And you never, ever saw a healthier cancer patient in your life.
 
Here she is exuberantly hitting the gong, a tradition after her final chemo treatment. (Debbie’s were exceedingly careful treatments because of the heart attack her initial one brought on.)
 

 
The Coopers fought cancer with everything they had as a couple and a family. Stylish and active, Debbie cherished her workouts, her yoga classes, her painting in the special studio Mike built among her glorious flowers, her hours spent on Buckhorn Lake alone in her kayak and especially her ducks – the greedy ducks who came to her like their momma – and her time spent with her adoring husband, son and daughter. I can honestly say that I have never seen a tighter knit family. 
 

 
That closeness is a tribute to Debbie as a mother and a legacy that will last for decades. Doubtless her family is the reason Debbie’s fight lasted so long and was so valiantly carried out. I will never say that she “lost” or that cancer “won”; I won’t use the popular wording of defeat for Deborah Cooper and colon cancer.
 
She won. She leaves a legacy of love, of laughter, of memories that will never fade. I could write about her for days – and may in the days to come – but for now, let me just say that our hearts are broken and we mourn for the joy she brought us. 
 
After a valiant fight and a life too short but so well-lived, she’s among the angels with whom she felt such a closeness and affinity. She gets to romp with their beloved family Labs again and to play among the stars with a welcoming full moon for her arrival.
 
Please hold Mike, Sarah and Christopher in your thoughts today. I wish that Rob and I were closer in terms of geography, but can only hope that Mike will let his friends hold him close in their arms as well as their hearts. We’ll be with them soon.
 
If you want to leave a message on my Facebook page, I’ll be sure to tell Mike, Sarah and Chris that it’s there for them, when they’re ready. Today, they feel they never will be, I’m sure. But I can also assure them that these dreadfully dark clouds will part, ever so slowly. And they’ll feel the warmth of the sun again as Debbie’s spirit guides them through the next days, months and years of their lives.
 
How very much brighter our world was with her in it. Tomorrow in this journal: Debbie’s own pocketful of sunshine and more pictures on Friday.
 
We are so sad. 
 

Welcome in to this Tuesday. Do you ever have something happen to you that makes you wonder just what it is you have encountered and what, if anything, it means? I have two examples to share with you of incidents that made me shake my head and think, Who are these people and how is it that I just had a friendly exchange with them?
 
I’ll tell you one that happened about two months ago. We were in our local grocery store and I got overly excited about seeing a flavour of ice cream that was new to me. 
 
“Rob!” I called to my husband, who was standing about thirty feet away looking at expiry dates on milk cartons. (See? Someone in our house cares about them.) “It’s watermelon flavoured ice cream! Should we get this?”
 

 
The brand is Western Family and if you find it, the “pits” are little chocolate chunks, the green part tastes like lime sorbet and the pink tastes just like watermelon.
 
A man who was walking by and heard my excitement laughed and said, “You’d better grab it; it’s just a limited time thing.” I asked if he’d had it and he nodded and said it was good. I thanked him with a smile, apologized for my exuberance, and made some small talk kind of good-bye as I reached into the freezer compartment and pulled out a container of the treat. Then I saw his hat. It wasn’t MAGA red, but this is what it said.
 

 
Huh. I guess that’s…funny? Then, this past Saturday we were at the ferry terminal in North Vancouver, awaiting our crossing to Nanaimo. We walked Molly over to a grassy area to do her business before we boarded and there was a big burly man with a long curly beard and an almost comically small and pudgy little dog. The pup, off its leash, waddled over to Molly and they did their wag-and-sniff routine.
 
We asked the man in a sleeveless t-shirt and leather vest what kind of dog it was. He told us it was a shih-tzu/chihuahua combination and joked about how chunky the little one-year-old was. We noted that, just like our Molly, his little guy probably owned him, too. He admitted that he does and sleeps right up on his pillow next to him (as Molly does with us). So much in common we seemed to have with this tough-looking biker-type and his petite pooch. The surprise would come two hours later.
 
After a foggy crossing and smooth debarkation, we merged with a pickup truck on the busy roads leading away from the Nanaimo ferry terminal. I recognized the driver as that man with the small dog.
 
As he passed us, I saw something on his bumper that made me do a double-take: a decal of a US Confederate flag. I wondered why a Canadian man, whose pickup had a Nanaimo, BC dealership’s tag on it, would be a supporter of a divisive symbol associated with, at worst, white supremacy and, at least, racial bias. I know that groups like the Proud Boys are in Canada and the spread of the poison that saturates US politics is not contained by their own borders. Faith Goldy, anyone?
 
I can’t answer questions like why someone sports a Trump-style hat calling for the ouster of the PM or why someone who lives in Canada would put a Confederate flag on the bumper of his truck. The answers don’t concern me.
 
What I wonder about is just how closed my mind is that I wouldn’t have considered having a conversation with either of these people had someone said to me, “There’s a man in the next room or on a website you just need to click through to who, a) is wearing an anti-Trudeau hat reminiscent of a MAGA hat, or b) has a symbol of racist oppression on his bumper. Do you want to talk to him?”
 
My answer would be, “Absolutely not, thanks.” 
 
I guess what surprises me is that neither man, to the best of my knowledge, had horns coming out of his head. The first guy, I can surmise, just has political views that he’s not afraid to raise and defend – or he doesn’t give a darn what anyone else thinks where his opinions of Trudeau are concerned. 
 
The second guy? He seemed nice enough in our brief exchange, he had a cute dog and…maybe it wasn’t his truck. Yes. That’s it. He hadn’t had time to take off that hateful sticker. Maybe? Yeah, probably not. There was a ferry ride in there, after all.
 
Some questions don’t have answers and, fortunately, nobody expects me to have them all. Or any, on days like this. Maybe you have some; feel free to leave them on my Facebook page. I’ll be back here with you tomorrow.
 

Welcome to a brand new week and I hope you’re getting set to vote! Our municipal elections were held on Saturday here in BC. Has there ever been one on a weekend in Ontario in recent memory, I wonder? Good luck to all – may the best man or woman win – and here’s to grateful real estate agents who will happily rule the curbs once again with their signs instead of those of all of the candidates! Today, as so many look ahead to new governments, I’d like to reflect, if you will, on the weekend.
 

 
Our trip to Vancouver was without misadventure – we’re always grateful for that – and I thought I’d share with you some moments from the weekend, including a few photos. We checked into our downtown hotel and encountered the blood curdling “Pet Letter” once again, same as we did in Tacoma, WA last year. In it, we promised not to leave our pup alone in the room.
 
Yes, that would be why we chose that pet-friendly hotel: so that we could sit there on the bed with the same dog we share a bed with at home, not going to the publisher’s party or dinner with my sister and her fiancé. That’s exactly what we did. 
 
[Narrator – Keith Morrison: “Oh no, they did not.”]
 
We had a marvelous time. At a wonderful Granville Island restaurant closed for the night to outside guests, we met some of the people who will be representing and helping to spread word about my book in the Vancouver and Victoria areas. I told one of these wonderful ladies that I am up for anything – signings anywhere, anytime. I told them this is my one book (at least, that’s what I figure right now), so I want it to be as widespread as it can be. I’ve done the work and I’m ready to do the work, you know?
 
On Saturday we were ready to leave Vancouver, but not quite set to go home on a gorgeous, blue sky day. So we took a ferry over to Nanaimo back on Vancouver Island and headed a little north to a spot called Parksville. There, we checked into a very modest cabin.
 
How modest? No hair dryers and the TV wasn’t HD. That’s okay – we like our Leafs losses a little blurry, I guess. Darn. Anyway, I’m sure the fact that this city gal asked the new owner of the cabin/trailer park if he had any bathrobes will be a story he dines on for years! But lest you think I’ve escaped Green Acres and lost my mind, I can explain!
 
I knew our hotel Friday night would have robes. I counted on it, so I didn’t bring jammies. But our rustic adventure Saturday meant that I had nothing to change out of my day clothes into! 
 
And, no, there were no bathrobes.
 
There were, however, plenty of beautiful sights as we got set to hit the highway – Rob, Molly and me in the top-down Cooper – and head home. Here are a few for you. I was taken aback by the waters near the Riverbend Resort and even happened upon an inuksuk or two. I love the dew drops off one of them – and I hope you can see them.
 

 
Enjoy these pictures, have a gentle day and don’t forget to get out there and make your voice heard. I’ll be back here with you tomorrow. 
 

On the road again…and a ferry…and off we go to the mainland! Tonight marks sort of a quiet “coming out” party as the Vancouver Writers’ Festival continues. Rob and I have been invited to a little soirée that HarperCollins is throwing and we decided that we’d just dive right in. I’m not going to know a soul there except for the VP of Publishing (my guardian angel through all of this) but we’ll give it a go.
 
Not being big fans of the busy-ness and traffic of Vancouver when we’d rather just cocoon here on the Saanich Peninsula on the island, we’re only going to the big city for one night, but we’ll combine it with a visit with my sister and her fiancé, who happen to be in town for a gemmology event. Nice coincidence!
 
This is a good time to update you on what’s happening with Mourning Has Broken as this vision of a book becomes a reality. I got the uncorrected printed version a few weeks ago – sent out to reviewers and for editors’ use – and the experience of opening that mailer envelope and holding my own book in my hands was one I will never forget. You might think it would be satisfaction or joy. Nope, not for me: it was terrifying. 
 

 
I’ve still only read about one-third of it, caught between wanting to make little changes here and there, remembering other things I could have added (just tiny additions and not ones that would matter to anyone but me) and wondering how people are going to receive the book. Knowing that the baby has been born and that I have to send it out into the world, hoping we’ll all be safe and happy when we do.
 
Copies have been sent to reviewers and to those who I hope will write a little blurb for the cover, front or back. I think I can let the cat out of the bag and tell you that Jann Arden has kindly agreed to write a foreword to Mourning Has Broken, and that Amy Sky and Olivia Newton-John’s words about the book will also be included.
 
I haven’t given it to any family member except our daughter-in-law Brooke; there’s nothing that she and Phil can change about the contents now, but I wanted them to have read it before it comes out in just four months’ time. My sister Leslie, whose story factors into this book, read the chapters about herself when she was here. (I couldn’t let my copies out of my hands when she went home, but she’s made me promise I’ll give her one when it’s out.)
 
So now what, you ask? Good question! I’ve been in talks with the publicist handling this book and getting the word out around its February 26th release to television, radio, print and digital. So far, I know there’s a book tour that will start here in Victoria, go on to Vancouver, then include Toronto and wind up in Ottawa. That takes just a few weeks, but hopefully I will be returning to various cities (especially Toronto) for book signings and events, like public speaking and keynote addresses, in future. I expect 2019 to include a lot of flight time and that’s why we’re taking a winter in the sun just to charge batteries before it all gets rolling.
 
So the tour is being put together. I don’t know which stores and when yet; I’ll be sure to let you know here on my journal site. I’ve asked about advanced book sales (in case you want to ask for it for Christmas, if I may be so bold to suggest) so we’ll see how that works out. There are many irons in the fire and I’m so excited to see just how everything unfolds. I have every bit of faith in the folks at HarperCollins to see this through, just as they have from the moment I was approached to write it.
 
I have to tell you a funny little story from something that happened last week when I was on the plane from Winnipeg to Calgary. The woman next to me looked up from her book to see me reading. Actually, pen in hand, I was making changes and corrections that I want to run by the editors to ensure they caught the odd redundant word, etc.; I’m sure it looked rather strange.
 
“Good book?” she asked.
 
“I think so,” I said, “but I wrote it.” I showed her the photo on the back and held it up to my smiling face. I passed her the book and she read the summary on the back.
 
I realized it might make for awkward conversation but she looked up, her eyes a little misty and said, “This happened to you?” I said yes. Then she asked the question that I’m going to get 1,028 times in the year to come. Was it cathartic to write?
 
The answer to that will definitely surprise you and I’ll share it with you here next week. In the meantime, with sunshine and 14 in the forecast, we take down the top and point the MINI towards Vancouver today. Have a great weekend and I’ll be back with you on Monday.