Erin's Journals

I’m writing this as we make our way towards Ottawa; grey skies and temperatures in the low single digits make us wonder – as I’m sure that you do – whether spring, now in its third official week, is ever going to make an entrance. Familiar voices on our car radio warn of possible freezing rain this weekend (so the DVP spring clean-up closure is cancelled) and we shake our heads. Just let us spend time with our dear boy Colin and his parents. That’s all we ask of the gods these days!
 
I’ve got to tell you: it was a wonderful two days spent in the loving and welcoming arms of Mike and Debbie Cooper. We laugh so much together and get caught up with news of the radio station where, of course, Mike still dominates Saturday nights in the ratings with his classics show. My posting of a picture on Facebook of Mike and me the other day inadvertently sparked a torrent of comments about missing us and, as lovely as they are to read, that’s truly the last thing I want to do.
 
I’ll always feel a great debt to CHFI and a tremendous amount of loyalty to the people who work there. I want everyone to know just how awesome Maureen Holloway is, how deftly she handles the dance steps, and how loved Ian and Gord will always be to me. Everyone there is like family. And if you haven’t listened to CHFI lately, I would love for you to give it a try once again. It’s good to come home, as we’ve found this week.
 
I’m sure that it was on CHFI that my friend Robina, who had it nice and loud in her kitchen when we were there Friday and Monday, learned about Jersey Day in Toronto today. If you’re not caught up, here’s the Mayor’s Proclamation:
 

 
Robina and her family have little dolls outside their house in a downtown neighbourhood and when we were there, they were festooned in a Hudson’s Bay scarf and sweater. Here’s how they look today, along with sticks left out in solidarity with other Canadians for the families and players in Humboldt, Saskatchewan. And please remember the gofundme collection as the community begins its long, long road towards healing. Thank you. 
 

  
Have a blessed day.
 

Thank you for sharing with us these two weeks here in Ontario. I have to tell you that I am awash in a mixture of emotions, but not one of them is regret about the decision we made to leave. It’s not you; it’s us. We have met up with so many friends since we got here last week and every one of them has reminded us of the heart connections that we made along the way. But without Lauren here, this can never truly be home again.
 
And so, as we point our car towards Rob’s sister’s in Kingston today and on to Ottawa tomorrow, truly the emotional high point of our trip and our year, we remind ourselves that home is where the heart is – not a postal code and not even where the memories have been forged. It’s where we continue to write the next pages in our life’s story.
 
Yes, we miss you. That is certainly the truth and seeing friends like Helen, Robina and Lisa, Mike and Debbie, Allan and Betty, Ian and Anita, Michelle, Jackie, Rob’s hockey buddies, my niece and a new friend name Lu, we are reminded of how important it is to make this trip back to Ontario with regularity. And to take our time when we’re here so that we can try to see as many friends as we can. Obviously it’s not always possible to fit everyone in that we want to and who would hope we would, but for those who might be upset with us, we say, “Hopefully next time.” 
 
I have read carefully the advice, the opinions and the wisdom you shared on my Facebook public page or through emails, when I asked what you thought of the title of our upcoming book. Here’s the story of how last Thursday went.
 
We awoke on that morning at the Hilton Markham Suites. After a visit with some friends in Newmarket, we made our way downtown and parked at our friend Robina’s place. Then Rob and I started out from Bay and Bloor, determined to get in 10,000 steps after a day sitting parked in a plane, despite Toronto’s brisk winds and pelting flurries. We got to the Bay-Adelaide Centre and soon found ourselves in the brand new lobby of HarperCollins’ headquarters on the 41st floor. Talk about a room – an entire company – with a view: we could practically track weather systems!
 

 
We were welcomed with an electronic wall sign that included my and Rob’s names, as well as that of our literary agent, Michael Levine. As we sat with Iris Tupholme, SVP, Executive Publisher at HC (and my guiding angel and editor through this whole project), as well as the marketing, sales and design team for my book, I told them that whoever had put together this entire prank had done an incredible job! It was a true “pinch me” moment. 
 
Best of all, when Iris said, “We should talk about the title of the book,” everyone had seen your comments and the decision was an easy one. I stated, to the agreement of all, how much I loved that the future readers of this book – the people who have been with us every step of this story – were taking ownership of its title. And with respect to everyone who offered another title idea or chose the other option suggested, I say “thank you.”
 
We will be going with the ‘u’ in Mourning Has Broken. It was our first and strong favourite: the double meaning of mourning/morning as it pertains to sadness, to hope and even to the life we had and still have, thanks to the honour of doing morning radio; the suggestion that sadness can end – for however long – that we trust is a message of hope. Mourning Has Broken, it will be. And again, I am grateful to you for sharing your own thoughts.
 

Today I salute a man who has traveled to every remote corner of this expansive, impressive land of ours, as he gets set to wave good-bye, at least for now. Although, for Rob and me, our travels have brought us this week back to beautiful Ontario – relentless winter and all – these past few days spent on highways and back roads, I’ve been thinking more about the province of Saskatchewan than I think I ever have. And my heart, like those of so many millions of Canadians, is broken for the friends, family and fans of the Humboldt Broncos, who suffered such an incredible disaster last Friday.
 
Imagine the pain of the family who learned that their son, previously believed to have survived, had died, the cautious elation of the family who learned their precious son had not perished, and the deep devastation of such grievous injuries that the confusion was even possible to begin with.
 
There will never be words – as there never are – that can sum up the magnitude of the loss of promise that Friday night’s horrors stole from us all, but especially from those who knew and loved the accident’s victims best.
 
Our hearts are with theirs and I am reminded by one of our journal’s visitors (and a bereaved mom who’s contributing to my book) of the acronym HOPE: Hold On, Pain Ends. It does, at least, for a time. It never truly disappears, but there are moments when life feels normal again, however briefly. You’ll find yourself smiling when you remember that dear person who has left far, far too soon. And we are so sorry.
 
One more note of gratitude before I sign off for today and it is to a man I’m fortunate to be able to call, if not a friend exactly, a very friendly acquaintance. Tonight CBC television will air a special hour-long Rick Mercer Report, including his final rant. He guesses some 40+ kilometres have been racked up walking that alleyway as he shared what was on his mind and in his heart over all of these years. As Rick moves on after a fantastic 15-season run on the CBC, I can’t help but thank him for being a voice of Canadians for all of those years.
 
He made us laugh, he made us think, and some of us he made downright angry. But always, he came from a place of passion and deep love for this country. I wish I could have said this to him in person: the mornings he came into our CHFI studios were among the favourites of my entire career. We sparked off each other (or I’d like to think we did) and I loved the exchange of laughter and ideas that always took place when Rick sat down across from us. Plus, I was just a little star struck every time he came in. A sharp mind and a big heart are what I look for – whether in a friend or an idol.
 
Thank you, Rick, and whatever you decide to do, we’ll be there with you and we wish you every success. In life, in love and most of all, in Canada. Thank you for sharing so much of this wonderful country with us all. May you be happy. 
 
By the way, next Tuesday, since you’ll be without a new Rick Mercer Report on CBC, I’ll share with you a favourite from the Erin & Mike files with Mr. Mercer himself. A “best-of” if ever there was one! Take care.
 

Hello again – I trust you were able to stay warm and cozy this weekend. We were fully immersed in winter weather on our drive from downtown Toronto to London, where friends Lisa and Derek welcomed us and we caught up with our dear pals while getting our bodies back on eastern time.
 
Yesterday as we headed back into Toronto to stay with our dear and longtime pal Robina and her family, we made some more connections, stopping by my niece Meaghan’s home in Orangeville to catch up with her and her little family of beautiful boys, and then to Brampton to meet the bereaved mom Luisa that I told you about here a few weeks back; her son Anthony died at the end of February and since I had worked with him, she reached out to me.
 
We just made such a heart connection on the phone, I told her I wanted a chance to sit with her over a coffee. And it was amazing. I hope to tell you about it here a bit later in the week. Today I want to remind you of something special happening at 4 o’clock local time this afternoon.
 

 
On Thursday, after the meeting at HarperCollins, Rob and I had the lovely opportunity to chat over dinner with Gerry and Lucy from New Wave Travel. We were getting more and more excited as the dinner progressed, discussing next year’s Tulip Time AMA Waterways river boat cruise from Amsterdam to Belgium and back. Some couples are spending a night or two in London before hand, another in Paris.
 
It all sounds so exciting and we’ll talk more about it this afternoon during a webinar at 4. This chat is going to include Mike Cooper, at whose house we’re staying tonight and tomorrow. We can’t wait to catch up with the Coopers on the shores of Buckhorn Lake, fire blazing and tea cups in hand. Debbie and I have lots of girls stuff planned (reiki and a spiritual reading) and Rob and Mike will do some odd jobs and then just head to Rama together. 
 
They always have such a good time when they’re together, our boys; just as Debbie and I connect on a much tamer level. How we miss these two in our daily lives!
 

This week, many of us met a man we’d never heard of (in fact, I can only hope I’m saying his first name right in my audio journal) but who has already become a hero to me. 
 
His name is Yangervis Solarte. He came to us in the off season from the San Diego Padres and because of some injuries, he’s been called in to play with the team in the infield. This is the guy who has claimed the area in front of the Blue Jays’ dugout as his dancing zone; when there’s a home run, he’s got his hands in the air like he just don’t care, and he’s already proven a great source of energy and entertainment for teammates and fans alike. You can follow him on Twitter @solarte26.
 
Sure, we’ve seen spirited players before. But the Venezuelan Solarte’s story is what resonated with me most clearly. In September 2016, about a year-and-a-half ago, his 31-year-old wife Yuliette died from complications due to cancer. Spots were found on her liver when their youngest was born two months early. Yuliette left behind three daughters, now aged 8, 6 and 2. That means that, like our Colin, that baby girl was left without her momma, as were her sisters. A husband, undoubtedly overwhelmed, lost his life partner and became a single dad. 
 
How has he embraced it? A journal visitor tells me that in Dunedin this year, where the Jays train in the spring, Solarte’s girls were in a private (which is not so private in the confines of the park in Florida) box. When Solarte came up to the plate, they yelled, “Daddy! Daddy!” to which he responded with a smile and a wave. When he hits a home run, he does the alligator snap with his arms, and that’s for his girls. 
 
I’m going to go ahead and guess that everything he does is for his girls now. As Solarte himself said of his late wife, “Everything was for her. She always told me that whether she dies or doesn’t die, I can’t stop playing. Because all of the goals I set for myself, they were for our daughters and I had to be able to assure their future.” 
 
This reader told me that there was a lady there taking care of the girls at the game; a new mother figure, perhaps. Who knows? If she is, great! As we’ve learned from our own experience with Phil and Brooke, having that spot filled quickly can be the best thing for everyone – better than anybody on the outside looking in can possibly imagine – and if you care about and love that little family, you only want their happiness. That’s where we find ourselves, and I hope that Mr. Solarte’s family does too. Everyone deserves happiness.
 
That’s why today as I write this journal I am thinking of my sister Leslie. It’s her birthday and comes just 5 days after she marked one year since her son’s violent death in what we believe to be a homicide in Kelowna. RCMP aren’t saying for sure, as it involved a house explosion and fire. But there are plenty of suspicions and it appears the wheels of justice are turning slowly. We’ll wait.
 
Leslie and her family pulled up stakes – or perhaps put them down might be more accurate – after living a somewhat nomadic life both in Canada and the US. They’ve now moved to Kelowna to be closer to Leslie’s late son’s baby boy (with whose mother Leslie has a wonderfully close relationship), and to be near Dad and the Davis sisters. She made her new life and is proving that, in her way, she can dance outside the dugout, too.
 
We all can. It’s finding reasons to celebrate, discovering that one sweet berry amongst the bramble and thorns and always remembering that grief has no timeline and definitely no rules about dancing – or not – whenever you feel like it.