Erin's Journals

Just a thought.. What we have once enjoyed we can never lose; all that we love deeply becomes a part of us. [Helen Keller]

We knew the day was coming. Call it the pragmatism that is born of knowing the immensity of loss, but we knew. It should have made it easier, but of course….

From the moment we saw in a PJ’s Pet Centre the Lhasa Apso-Japanese Chin cross who would soon be named Molly, with that little teddy bear face, we fell for her – instantly and hard. We didn’t go in there with the intention of buying a dog (back when people did that – and I know it was wrong) but we always knew that we would outlive her. And Rob and I did.

When we said goodbye to Pepper in 2015, it was just three months after going through the hardest thing any parent could endure. Yes, we mourned his death, but not as hard as we would have a year earlier; we had the cruel, clear perspective that comes with losing a child. He was never meant to outlive her, and yet he did. Pepper was Lauren’s dog. And now they were together.

On Tuesday afternoon, under a sunny sky and buffeted by a cool, light breeze, we said tearful good-byes to our beloved and suitably spoiled Molly. Peacefully, at home on our deck, with the gentle assistance of the kind vet who came to help us when we needed it most as a family. We couldn’t bear to wait the three days for an appointment to take her into our family vet’s office; our shared suffering made it impossible.

Two days later, our hearts are heavy but filled with gratitude for her limitless love, the nightly warmth in the crooks of our backs or in that tight triangle formed by our bent knees, the mornings we’d awaken and she’d found a spot on one of our pillows, her sweet-and-sour breath in our faces, dozing peacefully. She was entitled, but she earned it. Every square inch of the house belonged to her, and we wouldn’t have had it any other way.

We will always cherish (and smile at) the memories not only of our early years as a complete family but the more recent ones too: of her running with puppy-like abandon and a mobility and demeanor often defying her age and her illness, even as she approached a ripe 16 years.

Thank you to the friends and family who took care of our girl when we were in need over our years of travels. All she wanted was a soft people bed and a warm leg to snuggle up against. We’re grateful to each and every one of you gentle and generous extended family members…like Mike Cooper who visited us in California at Christmas and revelled in her cuddles.

Even during the many hours I’ve been huddled writing at my laptop, she still managed to find a way to burrow in next to me.

With her laid back air, I’d like to think she was equally easy to care for: gentle and patient, what she may have lacked in natural smarts she made up for in charm! Her trademark happy dance – standing on her back feet, waving her front paws – made more strangers laugh than we could ever count.

At a not-so-threatening 14 pounds, the “big dog” energy and aggression she brandished around other dogs was replaced by overt affection as she aged. We went from warning people that she might be a little snarky with their leashed pets to apologizing if she was a little too familiar. Boundaries and rules were for other dogs. Molly wielded her off-kilter cuteness like a superpower.

Look, I know that I’ve shared so much grief with you over these past five years, so I would ask you please not to feel sad for us. We knew from the moment we met her that this day would come; who would have imagined it would be a gracious and sweet 16 years down the road? She had a great life and enriched ours every day she was with us.

Dear, sweet Molly, though old, familiar cracks have reopened in our hearts, we’re at peace, knowing that your appetite is back, you’re in perfect health again and are running in circles and barking, looking for someone to take the bait and come play, inside or out. I have no doubt you’ve found your girl and your brother, Pep. Your tail is up again and you are happy.

As are we for every moment, every wispy fur tumbleweed we’ll encounter for months to come, every memory of your loving sweetness. Thank you, sweet Molly Malone.

I’ll be back with a journal on Tuesday and probably won’t be answering emails as promptly as I would like or should; I know you’ll understand. Have a gentle long weekend.

Just a thought… Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory. [Percy Shelley]

Welcome to the last day of August. Ah, September. What unfamiliar feelings the next few weeks will bring: fear and uncertainty (and not about the usual “back-to” stuff) instead of anticipation and relief.

As areas across the country decide on how to move forward with students and education, we can only try to do what’s best for our individual families while listening to the informed scientists and people who respect facts more than feelings. (Right now we’re waiting for word on Colin’s registration to find out what our area is recommending and whether he is, indeed, enrolled at the school just down the hill from us.)

I can’t say I’m counting down to him being in class every day, but for purely selfish reasons: we’re having a blast spending time with him. Friday night was his first solo sleepover with us. We had popcorn and watched Disney’s Pinocchio (we try him on a different classic every movie night, choosing films we nearly wore out on the VCR way back when) and then shared pancakes and BC blueberries for breakfast, followed by a day of play both indoors and out.

It’s pure joy and I am practically blue from pinching myself. So is Rob. There are moments when I turn to him and say, “What are you doing right now?” and he answers, “I’m sitting watching a movie with my grandson.” Or, “We’re driving in our car with our grandson.”

Our family is settling in nicely just a few minutes down the road; but I have to tell you something that happened as we left their house last week, on their first evening in their new place.

We said our near-teary good-byes, got in the car and set out for the short drive home. I put on the Beatles Channel on Sirius XM as I’m always hoping that Lauren will send us a song to let us know she’s with us and she didn’t disappoint. After enjoying the last refrains of a Ringo cover of Dobie Gray’s “Drift Away,” we heard “The Long and Winding Road.” 

Most everyone will know why the lyrics are so poignant: “Many times I’ve been alone, and many times I’ve cried…anyway you’ll never know the many ways I’ve tried….” “You left me standing here a long, long time ago…” and “lead me to your door…” to quote just a few; I was left near tears (again) as the sweet strains of this Beatles classic played us home, to our door.

The next day as I reflected on the perfection of that piece, I asked Google to play it for me again and that’s when things got really interesting. “The Long and Winding Road” played and then, after the briefest of pauses, it went into another Beatles song – one that we would sing in the past, often changing the lyrics from “Here Comes the Sun” to “here comes her son.” So, okay, that was a lovely nudge too. And there was more to come.

The following tune was the same one that I edited to play with a video we posted of my first meeting with Colin in the hours after he was born in 2014. John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy” is on my phone and I would often play it on my walks when he was on my mind (so, yeah, a lot). I thought that was lovely and that’s when Rob, who I didn’t know was hearing all of this, commented, “Wow.” But our divine DJ wasn’t done yet.

Next song was from the Beach Boys: the very selection that our producer Ian played as I danced with my radio partners and husband on the way out of that Casa Loma ballroom during my final CHFI show in December 2016, “God Only Knows.”

We finally turned off the music as James Taylor’s “How Sweet It Is” came on next. I didn’t want our special playlist to end, but thought that I’d taken up enough of Lauren’s time. I said a quiet “thank you” and went on with our busy Thursday.

As I sipped my coffee on the deck Saturday morning, Colin at our side eating his pancakes, I almost said under my breath to her, “Your work is done here, honey.” But I stopped myself. It never will be and I hope she’s always by our side – all of our sides – as we make our way through this life together, this long and winding road.

Have a beautiful day and if I haven’t written back to you about the Dianne Raynor chat, I’m getting to your email, I promise. As of last night the video link was still up (contrary to the 48 hour limit I’d been told about) so if you want to watch it, please do. You’ll find a link here.

Thank you for coming by and I’ll be back with you here on Thursday. Be safe, please keep wearing your mask. For all our sakes.

Just a thought… I believe sharing stories and experiences is the best way to teach people to empathize. [Jane Goodall]

And…it’s suddenly eerily quiet. There are chores to do and fingerprints to wipe down, but all of that will wait. Today I want to share with you a sit down video chat I did with a very special lady. I promise you’ll enjoy it.

About one month ago, I got an email from Dianne Raynor, RN saying she wanted to interview me for a summit series she’s doing to help boost morale and offer support to health workers during COVID. My first response was literally “who, me?” and I wrote back asking if perhaps she was looking for the Christian author who shares my name. When Dianne confirmed it was me she was looking for, we got down to talking.

Dianne has done a series of video chats with people from all walks of life who have messages that support her mission. This North Carolinian (whose accent I found myself sliding into within the first minute of chatting) wanted me to share my story of love, loss and reclaiming joy – the basis of Mourning Has Broken.

I hope that you’ll click on and enjoy the interview from The Hearts of Healthcare Professionals: Rebalance and Renew Your Resilience. It’s only available to watch for another 24 hours (it was posted yesterday for 48 hours but I didn’t have a journal that day, so….).

There’s a little gift in it for you if you’re interested – something I haven’t offered to share before – for which you can email me once you’ve seen the interview. I call it my ED talk.

So for now, grab a coffee, tea or whatever gives you comfort, click this link and just watch. I wish I could be talking to you in person, but for now let’s share time together this way.

Take good care and enjoy this (gulp) final weekend of August. I’ll be back with you here on Monday.

Just a thought… You can’t recognize true joy if you’ve never known heartbreak. Pain makes you stronger. Fear makes you braver. You can’t know hope if you’ve never known despair. [Eve Silver]

One month.

It was on this day in July that in a house we’d decorated for a festive “Christmas in July” theme, we counted the hours until our Ottawa family landed at our local airport.

In just days, tomorrow or the next, this sweet foursome will spend their first night in their new home. While they’ve had possession of the house for a little while and their truck arrived just over a week ago (minus a Dyson vacuum – the only real hiccup and one that we have slim hopes of being rectified), we’ve taken a slow but careful route in getting the house set up so that they feel like it’s a home. A big grocery shop happens today, and then we move pieces and suitcases in from our house to theirs.

What a luxury is a gradual move – one that Rob and I haven’t really had in all of our relocations! The best part of it, though, has been getting to know everyone in deeper ways that only living together can bring.

Brooke and I have experienced each other only through the briefest of whirlwind visits (ours to their home in Ottawa) and long, heartfelt phone conversations. During those times, I was always happy and positive; she hasn’t known me to be down or tired, frustrated or moody. Over the course of a month, she’s seen the real me.

The sullen moods and simmering frustration have resulted from the countless headaches we’ve encountered just trying to navigate the barbed-wired red tape that has come with selling a property in the US (IRS ramifications and COVID closures that have caused more legal headaches than anyone could have imagined), as well as more unexpected hassles like a broken-down fridge and beastly expensive repairs to an air conditioning system – you name it, it’s gone sideways over the past month. All of these things have kept us scrambling during the day and awake at night wondering how to get things done before the sale closes this week.

Of course, there’s a bright side there, too: a friend of my sister lives near our house in California (far from the fires, thank goodness) and dove in to help us get our personal possessions out. While we FaceTimed, she put aside the few belongings we wanted shipped home and has them boxed up and ready to send. There are angels among us, I’ll tell you, and I don’t know how we’d have managed this long distance move without her!

Over the past month, well-meaning family and friends have quietly asked how we’re faring with four extra people in our house. While there have been adjustments (pajamas for one thing!) it’s been a pleasure: from hearing the excited squeals of a baby and the pounding of Colin’s feet running the floors to cooking for a big family instead of just noshing at odd hours as Rob and I are wont to do; it’s all been an exercise, not so much in patience, but in pleasure.

Our place will be so much quieter come Wednesday evening, when we sit back and sigh with the satisfaction of knowing that their family is settling in, safe and sound, comfortable on a small street with friendly neighbours. The people we’ve met who live around them are a mix of retirees and young families just like theirs and we’re hoping that they find a friendly feeling of belonging to this street on this island in this new province sooner than later.

For us, I believe a sense of quiet and normalcy will set in as we come to realize that this past month wasn’t all a dream or just a visit after all. Sure, there was the dark backdrop of trying to make a difficult transaction happen in a place far away – something over which we felt little control at times – but in the forefront was joyful noise, music, games and the sense of play that comes with having little children in the house after so many years of it being “just us.”

Yet another new beginning awaits. How lucky we are in this year of uncertainty to have been given the gift of joy! Here we go.

Just a thought… To be trusted is a better compliment than being loved. [George MacDonald]

This week I met the man who lives in our basement.

I know that could be the opening line of a Stephen King book, but it’s a real life story and one that has some interesting background. So settle in, and I’ll tell you our story of a man named Iman.

Last year at this time, Rob and I, planning to spend the winter in California at the home we purchased in the spring of 2019, decided that it would be best to have someone in our home for the winter. We thought that it would afford us added security and, in exchange for a lower-than-market rent, we’d have somebody keeping an eye on the place and maybe even watering the two little palm trees out on our deck.

We’d have someone here, even when we weren’t in California, so that if we took a trip, they’d watch over Molly for us. Besides, we knew that affordable rental properties are at a premium on the Saanich Peninsula, so it seemed a real waste – a sin, almost – to have this place empty when we could be helping someone else, while also helping ourselves.

My friend Nancy, whom you’ve heard me mention numerous times, put out her feelers and found a woman – an engineer – who worked at a company near us and was looking for accommodations. The woman was a perfect fit and she was kind, gentle and quiet; we loved having her living in the fully furnished, above ground, one bedroom that came with our house. Free deer sightings, too!

It worked out beautifully until she found herself in a position to buy her own starter home. Unfortunately, when she told us this, we were just about to leave for our winter down south. What to do? We would have no one to help the house look occupied (um, because it was) or to keep an eye on things in our absence.

Fortunately, she found a co-worker who was in need of a place just like the one she was vacating. But the timing was just not good and we didn’t get a chance to actually talk to or meet this man. What to do?

Once again, it was Nancy (and her husband) to the rescue. They met up with our prospective renter and not only approved him on our behalf, they almost fell in love. Also an engineer, he was quiet, gentle and likely to become a perfect tenant. So he moved into our home in our absence. We kept in touch via text, he paid his rent on time every month and even though we’d never actually met this man who had full run of the place, it all worked out beautifully.

Then, his work got in the way. When one company merged with another, he found himself travelling to work in Toronto while his possessions were still in our place. And when COVID hit, he was grounded in Ontario while we were scurrying to get back to Canada. Our paths didn’t physically cross until this week.

To make a long story short, he came “home” to BC this past Monday. Just as we were told, he’s kind and sweet: he greeted us with gifts of an old Beatles album he found at a store on Queen Street West, plus some lovely saffron and candies from his homeland of Iran.

He’ll store his few things for now, but plans to come back to stay with us in the future, once his time in Ontario has wrapped up, while his family hopes one day to buy a home here. We’ve already given him a realtor’s name for when that search begins, however far down the road.

Some might say it’s foolhardy or risky to have a stranger in your home when you’re not there, but rightly or wrongly, Rob and I see things through the lenses of trust. We trusted our tenant and friend who was moving out to recommend someone who’d be a good fit for us; we trusted our other friends to vet him and see if his predecessor was right.

We trusted him to care for our place like it was his own – because part of it was – and we trusted that doing something for someone who needed it was just the right thing to do. He was everything our friends said he was (and more) and we look forward to getting to know him better when he comes back. Our doors will be open to him.

We believe that sometimes you just have to trust and believe in the good in people. After all, we’ve certainly been the grateful recipients of an awful lot of it, Rob and I.

Thank you. Back with you here on Monday.