Erin's Journals

Well, it’s Friday. And how are you spending your weekend? Perhaps taking part in one of the many Terry Fox runs that are happening across Canada and around the world? If you are, I wish you sunny skies, comfortable shoes and good luck.
 
Here in Victoria stands a statue of Terry at the place where his run was to be completed, had cancer not stopped him halfway across this vast land of ours. We always think of him with awe and gratitude when we pass that spot near Mile Zero of the Trans-Canada Highway. Here’s a picture of that statue from readtheplaque.com.
 

Weathering storms – whether cancer, grief, or actual meteorological events – is what we do as humans. It’s how we’ve survived as a species for lo these millions of years. 
 
The motto of South Carolina is “While I breathe, I hope.” That saying is more than just five words, it’s a pretty poignant way to look at life and, in many ways, words that thousands – millions – enduring the wrath of Hurricane Florence are undoubtedly taking to heart.
 
It’s hard to imagine having to pack up your belongings and leave behind a home that may not be there when you return. If it is, you could face devastation that will make your home uninhabitable – maybe permanently – the same kind of peril that so many fleeing fires in Fort McMurray in years past, parts of BC and Ontario this year and, of course, in many parts of the US this past summer. And yet, here it is: the new normal.
 
It’s not like we weren’t warned that this was coming. In 2007, former Vice-President Al Gore, along with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in recognition of their efforts to alert the world about the imminent challenge faced by our planet.
 
That same year, in his Academy Award-winning documentary (and accompanying book), An Inconvenient Truth, Gore foretold, through clear scientific data, and prognostications based on them, that storms would be getting much more severe, flooding in coastal areas would become the norm and people displaced (such as those from Puerto Rico) would have to find new homes in safer areas. But, you know, what would a vast and clear majority of scientists know about anything?
 
Those who deny the predictions of some of the greatest minds of our times because, well, they choose not to believe science are glued to their TVs and devices today watching predictions of the path and wrath of one of the biggest storms of our lifetime (again). And how do they know all of this? Because of the same science these climate change deniers refuse to believe. Why, that would be as idiotic as refusing to acknowledge that nearly 3,000 people perished in Puerto Rico. Imagine. 
 
The earth is getting warmer day by day, year by year. The water is heating up, the devastation is becoming increasingly severe (just look at the wrath of Super Typhoon Mangkhut hitting the Philippines these days, too). It’s all right here in front of us and yet, as Trump says (besides his astute observance that it’s “tremendously big and tremendously wet”), “it’s Mother Nature.” Hmmm…. Perhaps if they renamed it Father Nature, he’d treat its forces with just a little more respect?
 
My heart is with those unable to leave the path of Florence and the massive typhoon in the Philippines. For those who have the means to leave but choose not to do so (because, again, they know more than scientists and authorities who are issuing dire warnings), they will have to deal with the foolishness of their decisions. We wish no ill on anyone. But when will people really start to pay attention to what’s happening? And will it be too late for us all?
 
Yeah, a really cheery end to the week, Erin. Sorry about that. I had a light-hearted one ready to go, but this is where I am today. I wish you a safe weekend. As I lay my head on my pillow, I will be thankful to be under a roof and out of harm’s way. And my thoughts will be with those who are not, because they have no choice.
 
We still have a choice.
 

Well, here we are at Thursday. I know this week’s journals have been a bit on the heavy side with the emotions that accompanied Lauren’s bench installation and then yesterday’s letter from Barbara about her friend’s medically assisted death. I was astounded to see that every email, Facebook post and Tweet was in support of MAID.
 
Many expected they’d face argument in their support and prefaced their responses with “this is just my opinion, but….” However, that wasn’t necessary. One person tweeted that it wasn’t for them – and that’s fine too! I am aware that many hold objections to the option – as is their right – but as I said, I’m just grateful that we’re becoming more open to the idea and the practice. 
 
I wanted to lighten things up today. So, here we go. Shall we go for tea?
 

 
There have been a few very special days in our lives when I have been invited to take part in high tea. (What makes it high, is the stack of three plates). Few are more highly rated – at least, on this side of the pond – than that at the Fairmont Empress in downtown Victoria.
 
When our guest from Toronto, Matthew Stevenson, a friend of Rob’s from hockey days, insisted that we go – his treat – who were we to say no? Previous teas had included taking a tween-aged Lauren to one at the Royal York to celebrate the onset of her “womanhood” if you will; another was with my cousin and aunt around Mother’s Day this year at a sweet little tea room in the picturesque Oak Bay area of Victoria. But the Empress? We’d not had the pleasure.
 
I tried to get an online reservation through Open Table and it was a no go. The place was fully booked on a Tuesday afternoon! We later learned that there were a few large groups, including one from a tour that was in Victoria (possibly from a cruise ship) and another…well, you’ll see them shortly.
 
We waited patiently while hostess Raj tried to squeeze our trio in. Returning 15 minutes later, she’d managed to find us a spot and we were not disappointed.
 
The setting for this beautiful ritual was spectacular. Recently given a facelift, this grand old hotel lobby is the perfect setting for a tradition that has been carried on for nearly a century.
 

 
Our lovely server Andrew couldn’t have been more gracious, despite the fact that one guest in our party had on a sweater/sweatshirt (he’d travelled light to take part in a Vancouver to Whistler bicycle marathon) and we all wore jeans. As you can see, some guests get really dolled up for the occasion; I found out later when they obliged me with a photograph that this is an annual gathering for them. How lovely!
 

 
After being escorted to our table, we were presented with a wooden chest holding small enclosed samples of different tea leaves. Rob chose green, I chose a fruity organic (Matthew only drank hot water) and we combined our flavours with each poured cup. Tea was kept warm on ceramic stands heated by (appropriately) a tea light and as a pianist played nearby, we tucked into our treats.
 

 
Beautiful fluffy raisin scones with clotted cream and preserves were served on the lowest level; I didn’t get a picture before we devoured those! Then it was on to sandwiches, local shrimp and beautiful BC smoked salmon. And then, to top it off (quite literally), we enjoyed different tiny desserts.
 

 
The best part of the experience, besides the perfectly steeped and warmed tea, the array of guests and travellers around us and the outstanding views of Victoria Harbour, was the conversation we had with Matthew. 
 

 
A hockey buddy of Rob’s, Matthew is also a former funeral director. We were able to ask questions that we’d always had and learned a bit about a calling that is so difficult that it often takes a big toll on the lives of those who answer. Marriage troubles, burn out and substance abuse often come with the demands of long and unpredictable hours, immense stress and the pain of being around people who are their absolute lowest. And, no, he never once watched one of our favourite tv shows, Six Feet Under. He said it would be like us watching WKRP – although we did! But I totally get where he was coming from.
 
So, after a leisurely time during which we were never rushed to move on or make way for another party, we found ourselves at the moment when the bill arrived.
 
Here’s a riddle: how is the way tea is prepared the same as the price for High Tea at the Empress? They’re both steep! Raj was sure to mention no fewer than three times that the price for tea (including goodies of course) was $77. PER PERSON. Still, it was something Matthew really wanted us to experience, as he’d been here with his aunt as a teen.
 
Of course, the place had changed, but the attention to detail, the service and, in many cases, the furniture had not. It was a completely memorable and enjoyable afternoon. No wonder it’s “part of the tour” when people visit Victoria on cruise ships. Sometimes combined with a visit to the world-famous Butchart Gardens, it’s a day fit for a queen! And even the likes of us.
 
Have a great day and thanks for sitting down for a cuppa with us. Back with you here tomorrow.
 

Unless you’ve been extremely fortunate, you have loved someone who has died by suicide; in my own family, a close relative has attempted to take his own life at least twice in the past few years. The struggle to save him, to make him want to live, continues.
 
Monday marked World Suicide Prevention Day; I’m not accidentally late to this topic. I wanted to wait a few days to offer a view on the subject that does not echo the sentiments of hope and encouragement that was shared by so many who used the hashtag on social media. There’s another side to dying by suicide, though (we are asked never to say “committing” suicide, as it casts blame and shame) and it’s one that has come into my life twice in the past few years.
 
Once in the case of a friend who helped her father to end his life (through Medical Assistance in Dying at his fervent request) and another in the form of an e-mail that came a few weeks back when I urged people not to wait for a special day to enjoy the sweet moments that life has to offer. Here is what Barbara wrote and I thank her for allowing me to share it with you.

Just over a year ago, my BFF Sharron was diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer. A horrible prognosis with a life expectancy of maybe two months. Maybe not. She chose medical assistance in dying (MAID). After taking her to the second doctor (three doctors have to examine records independently and agree death is imminent) and hearing how aggressive this horrible disease was taking over my dear friend, I supported her in this decision (and I went in determined to persuade her to fight). Approved by all three doctors and a date was set. (There is a “cooling off” period).
 
A few days before, Sharron said, “wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a dinner for all my close friends!” Another friend and I decided we would make it happen the next evening in Penticton BC. A few friends drove in from Vancouver, most from Osoyoos, Penticton, Summerland and Kelowna.
 
Sharron came in, dressed to the nines (all 80 pounds of her) made up, obviously uncomfortable but glowing. Her closest friends. There were only a few of us that knew the date was set, but it was obvious to all Sharron would not be long on this planet. ALL her friends paid tribute to her, and she continued to glow.
 
Three days later, Sharron’s day of death came. The doctor came about a half hour before the time planned. We talked (another friend and I were with her; she had asked a few others but not too many were comfortable with it). He took her into the bedroom and determined that yes, it was still her decision to die, and called Cindy and I into the room. He explained that the injection would take about five minutes, she would fall asleep and pass on immediately. After about five minutes, he said “Sharron, tell me again about your dinner”. She said “it was wonderf…..” and passed. So her last memory was of this wonderful dinner where her friends said to her face, what normally would be said at a wake. It was so beautiful to know that was her last thought.
 
Now….we know that will not happen that often, so I try now to tell friends and family such things, how much they mean to me, how I love them, remember special moments……
 
And that is my story.
 
I miss Sharron but am at peace knowing the suffering is over.

Thank you again, Barbara, and I am sorry for the loss of your dear friend. 
I’m not sharing this story to change anyone’s mind if their opinion is that medically assisted suicide is not a decision they would choose to make for themselves. I happen to be grateful that it is an option and, although I hope not to have to make that decision for myself one day, it comforts me to know that one’s suffering does not have to be endless and extreme. Your opinion may be different and I respect that. I told Barbara that I expected some people to have different opinions and she responded: 

Blowback for sure, but I wonder if any will come from someone who has been with a loved one in the last stages of a horrible disease, watching the suffering, frustrated when even morphine on demand is not working. When a strong heart keeps beating keeping this person in absolute agony.
 
So glad there are choices.

I share it perhaps to shine a personal perspective on something that we’re reading and hearing more about. The arguments can be loud and include valid points on both sides, in my view. But, like Barbara, I believe we should have choice over our own bodies and lives and this is the ultimate decision. And I am grateful to Barbara for sharing Sharron’s story. Would that we all could leave this earth on our own time and in our own way. At least that’s how I see it.
 

 

So many memories of this day 17 years ago. We have an understanding of loss now that we could not have imagined when terror hit US soil on 9/11 and our hearts are with those whose grief knows no end.
 
I remember one of the most touching moments from a memorial held in the days following the attacks on the United States, when a rabbi spoke of those who had passed. The words he used were these: “They are not with us, they are within us.” And they resonated as strongly then, hearing them through a cab driver’s radio, as they do today. 
 
And so it seems appropriate to share with you our own moment of remembrance. I told you a few months ago that Rob and I had found a lovely park near our home – just down by the Sidney Ferry Terminal – that reminded us of Monet’s home in Giverny, France: weeping willows, still waters (alas, no colourful bridges), ducks and peace. Nearby, children play on swings and slides, picnic tables are set up for families to enjoy and there’s a soccer pitch, too. It’s a lovely spot, Iroquois Park, and we wondered if we could perhaps request (and pay for) a bench there.
 

 
At first, they said they had no plans to add benches to that fenced area around the ponds. I pressed a little and explained why we wanted one: we needed a place where we could go just to be with our daughter. In Ontario, there has been a tree planted and a brick engraved with Lauren’s name (thanks to some very kind moms who did this in her memory) but out here in our new home, we felt we needed something. The town parks department agreed to allow us to donate a bench and asked for the wording for her plaque.
 
We submitted it, then waited. Months passed with no word and we were hoping an email would let us know how the bench was coming. So imagine my surprise when someone posted on my Facebook page that the bench was lovely. Wait, what? It was there? 
 
Two days after learning the bench was there, we swung by one afternoon on the long weekend following a day at the fair. We didn’t give ourselves time to gear up emotionally and I think that was deliberate. We had no idea where the bench would be placed; all we could do was be grateful it was there at all. 
 
The placement was perfect.
 

 
It overlooks a pond, where ducks float and dip and rest on a little island. 
 

 
Some day soon we’ll have a little “ceremony” of our own, maybe leave some flowers, play Lauren singing on my iPhone (as I often do) and perhaps surreptitously scatter a few of her ashes. From now on, this is our place. We hope it gives others a chance for quiet reflection and maybe they’ll even wonder who this young woman was. Maybe a mother will rest there with her own baby. Or a young father who just wants to catch his breath. Who knows? We’re just grateful it’s there – for anyone. But most of all, for Lauren.
 

Well, hello there! Hope you had a restful weekend, as the process of “getting back to” continues in so very many lives. It’s as if, with the flip of a calendar, the weather also flipped a switch: from slathering on sunscreen to layering with windbreakers and vests in about a day. We follow Toronto weather, of course, and couldn’t help noticing pleas for school air conditioning amidst record-breaking September temperatures one day, and lamentation about the onset of sweater weather just a few days later.
 
Here in the Victoria area, the long wished-for rains have set in. Unfortunately, they arrive at the same time as our Ontario company; Rob’s friend from hockey in Toronto is staying with us a few days, having come west for a cycling marathon on the mainland this past weekend. A soggy cycling marathon at that. But, oh, Mother Nature gave us a nice show to wrap up a soggy Sunday last evening! This was the view from our deck.
 

 
But enough about the weather! We’re just grateful that the Labour Day weekend was absolute perfection – sunshine and low 20s – for what’s become a regular event in our lives: the Saanich Fall Fair. Just as we did last year as part of our local chapter of Rotary International, Rob and I volunteered to help the games section of the fair run smoothly. I took the mic on Saturday and emceed Bingo for four hours straight, which was big fun – but not a great idea.
 
These days, I talk so much less than I used to. Living somewhat blessedly insular lives, quiet conversations with Rob and the odd phone call and paid voice job make up most of the work my vocal cords have to do. So I did something that turned out to be both predictable and dangerous: I blew out my voice on Saturday. We went from this:
 

 
…to this. Rob jumped in and spelled off my Bingo calling shifts on Sunday and Monday; I sold playing cards and helped out on other games at the fair. 
 

 
Ordinarily, I would have just taken my lumps and reminded myself not to go so hard next year, but there was a sense of panic this time: I was booked for a directed voice session at 9 am on Tuesday and my voice had to be ready for it. A video for an American utility company, I was going to be led through it via conference call by a company representative on the phone from Boston, as well as the director (also on the east coast).
 
I tried to stay as silent as I could during the evenings leading up, Googled remedies, inhaled steam with a towel over my head and sucked on lumps of coconut oil. (Oh, and yes, it’s a laxative; just one of the reasons why Piña Coladas can have you visiting the little tourists’ rooms when you’re on vacation!)
 
Still unsure if I was going to have to cancel the session and beg for a do-over, we got up two hours early on Tuesday and, instead of my usual coffees, I drank peppermint tea. I practised singing and talking in the shower, trying to get my sound from “two-pack-a-day smoker” to the voice they expected after they chose my audition for the video.
 
Nine o’clock came and Rob and I thought it was worth a shot. After a 90-minute session, I made it through and hopefully the folks paying me for the job were none the wiser. But I am. The timing couldn’t have been more precarious.
 
I took some gentle ribbing from family and friends for calling Bingo – after all of the years of other work I’d done on the mic. But while I’m still happy to be hired for emceeing (I’m travelling to Regina this month and Winnipeg next month, then Halifax and Toronto in November), there’s a lot to be said for volunteering to help out in your community – something we’ve always known and tried to instill in our daughter as well. Rotary has been a great fit for Rob and me and it’s been a great way to make new friends and feel that I’m giving back to a place we now call home. 
 
But I’ll tell you, those Bingo folks are hard core, some of them. I’m sure I got yelled at when I was on the radio for making mistakes but, at least if you were yelling, I couldn’t hear it! Keeps you humble, that’s for sure! 
 
Have a gentle Monday, a sweet and happy New Year if you’re marking Rosh Hashanah, and I’ll be back with you tomorrow with a lovely bit of news.