Happy Birthday - *one box of tissue down*

   Today would have been my Opa's birthday. Back in Canada my family is at Swiss Chalet celebrating his memory and eating delicious french fries with that amazing spicy gravy they have. I miss Swiss Chalet, and I miss my family, and I miss my Opa. 

   His picture is the only one I have up in my bare apartment, right in the middle of my living room wall. My Mom hid it in my luggage and I found it when I was unpacking last August. Today I re-read some of my previous posts about him, and I still can't listen to "You Are My Sunshine" without crying.. That song is really sacred when it comes to him. We'd sing it together and I'd do the harmony. It doesn't help that the lyrics are about loss.

   I thank him for so many things; Snow forts in the winter, and showing me how to garden, teaching me to skate and boat and clean a fish, playing hide and go seek with me, driving me to piano/girl guides/swimming/art lessons, roasting marshmallows on rainy days in the fireplace...

Those are blessed childhood memories. I am so fortunate and so lucky to have had him there with me when I was growing up. I was the first grand-child born so I got to spend a lot of time with him one-on-one.

    I have simple and wonderful memories of his maroon flannel shirts, his safari gardening hat, his love of old cowboy songs, and how he wrote down "Dragon" as a Christmas word for Christmas bingo (a tradition carried on every Christmas now).

   He was an exceptional person and has truly set the bar so high for all of my social relationships. 

Maybe this is why I expect so much from myself and from the people around me...

   By simply being an example, he showed me how to be a good listener, and a patient friend. By being a good husband he showed me how two people can work together with loyalty and honesty, and make a great relationship happen. He showed me how to be generous; in spirit, in heart, and in help. He was a calm and simple man who loved fully, and I thank him for teaching me to love. I endeavor to follow in his spirit in what ever I do; in my work, in my friendships, in my goals, in everything.

   I don't know what happens after you die. Maybe we just unravel into the collective energy and flow atomically into everything. But I would like to think that an element of our consciousness still remains, and that a thread of his is with me always.

In your memory, Happy Birthday Opa. 

Here are some songs that you loved:

Connie Francis - Tennessee Waltz 

Woody Guthrie - Red River Valley

Jimmy Wakely & the Sunshine Girls - You Are My Sunshine

One Year Later

Today is the 1 Year Anniversary of my Opa's death.

January 26 1920 - December 20 2009

I think about him all the time. 

Sometimes when I'm sad I imagine him near me and I feel better.

   He was in my dream several days ago. In my dream we were hanging out at a cottage in the kitchen, setting the table for lunch. It was really sunny outside and the door to the patio was open. 

We were catching up. I was telling him about my life. 

   I kept walking up and hugging him. He laughed, kissed my forehead, and jokingly asked what all the hugs were for.  In my dream the hug felt so real, and I told him that I didn't know when I'd have a chance to hug him again.

This song always reminds me of him:


Classic Song– You Are My Sunshine

............................................................................................................

I've learned a lot in the past two years. Time has brought so many changes. 

I've encountered euphoria and fatigue, exhilaration, grief, and disappointment, to name a few. 

Through these celebrations and challenges I've noticed something about the way I handle pressure. 

I used to be more susceptible to sorrow and anger. 

I used to give my whole heart over to some kind of all-consuming emotional spiral. 

I used to take things personally, burn internally, and react in self-destructive ways.

But now I recognize the shift. 

I have allowed situations that would have otherwise have made me furious to wash over me like rain. 

Things that would make me prickle I've shaken from me, 

and I've closed myself to people and things that affect me in these ways.

I've approached incidents with understanding and kindness, and found that my calm is useful and contagious.

I've learned to quench my initial reactions within seconds, 

reflect, take a breath, and proceed with a peaceful heart. 

I've had to set aside the turbulence. I've had lessons in acceptance. 

And I've had to practice patience. Or at least I've tried.

Through all of the heart-wrenching events of the past while I've tried to react very logically. 

And I've chosen to resist the powerful forces that would envelop me in negativity.

I don't dwell, I get driven. I take whatever energy is in me, and whatever feelings move me, and I change them into action and thought. I try to tap into tranquility. 

There is alchemy in sorrow.

Mother's Day, and movie day...

Today I celebrated Mother's Day with a BBQ at my Aunt's house. It was an afternoon of delicious food and buzzing conversation, and bunnies in the backyard eating dandelions. Phoebe was running around and being her cute little Pomeranian self, and my Aunt, my Nonna and Nonno, and my cousins were there.  My Oma was there too, and my Aunt Chris, who is like a second mother to me.  It was such a beautiful day. For those of you who understand energies, it was an afternoon of strong dynamics, loudness and softness, and the coming together of personalities that span generations. Such is a typical family get together which often leaves me satisfied and energized, and happily exhausted too.

Recently we've transferred several "reel to reel" films to DVD. They are really old and have no sound. I've never seen them before today.  We sat down after lunch and popped them in to the DVD player.

As far as family movies go, I haven't watched any since my Opa passed away in December. (Opa means "grandfather").  The ones I know begin when I was 6 years old and I've seen them so many times that they're pretty much memorized. I know where we were and what was happening. I know who will tell a joke, who is laughing, and what we were eating... Today I got to see new movies of times before I was born, of my parent's wedding, and of my Aunt's wedding, and it was amazing to see images of faces I know that have been altered by age, of people who are no longer living, and a time where beehive hair-dos were attractive, and the trees on our street were really small.

I knew I'd see my Opa in my parent's wedding movie, and I was bracing myself because I knew I'd cry. And I did. There he was on his daughter's wedding day, his hair still grey, dancing, laughing... I cried...

But I wasn't prepared to see me in the movies. They had jumped ahead in time to a family party, and I was probably 1 year old. It cut to a scene where my Opa was holding me in his arms. He was smiling and holding me like I weighed nothing. I was so small. And it's incredible how different it is to see things passing in time, as opposed to seeing things in a still photograph. I could see his face in laughter, and the way his body moved, the pull of the fabric of his shirt as he jumped around for the camera.

My feelings of missing him came back afresh, and all of my emotions reopened and triggered sensory memories, like the physical feeling of hugging him, the sound of his voice,  the feel of his flannel shirt, how he smelled... The surface of his hands, and how incredibly strong they were. And I remember the softness of his hair. It was so white.

And in terms of energies, his was so calm and joyous, and positive, and he emanated such a warmth and kindness that you felt instantly comforted just by being near to him. 

There are no words of comfort that can soothe me. I know that his influence in my life was deep, and that I'm blessed with a richness of memories, and I know that he loved me very much, but at times like this I wish that he was here again, and all I want is to feel the weight of his arms in a hug. Other times I wish that he could be here to give me his advice, and express his point of view.

So far this evening I've used up an entire box of tissue, and my face is so puffy from crying that I wonder if I'll look normal tomorrow, even after a whole night's sleep. I just think that the only way I can honour his memory is to live my life in ways that would make him proud of me. To never lose sight of my dreams, to always know what I'm worth, to be thankful for everything I have, and to celebrate each and every incredible moment of my existence to it's fullest.