I can see clearly now the rain is gone...

Hi mum. Hi dad.
It's been awhile.
Ten years.
Ten long years.
You haven't called. You haven't written. You haven't stopped by. Would love for you to just show up at my door one day. ding dong... and there'd you'd be. Big smiles, tears in your eyes, "We haven't got long," you'd say "but we just wanted to stop by and give you a hug." And I'd fly into your arms and sob.
So, where are you, anyway? My kids keep asking. I used to think I knew for sure, but I don't know anything for sure anymore. Are you with us always? resting with your FatherGod? Reborn? Are you waiting somewhere?
I wish I knew. It would be great comfort to know for sure.
I know you didn't just disappear, because there were those 5 white doves on the lawn that night... and there were those two times I woke up and saw you there watching me...


I'm doing good. Everything's changed since you left, though. Everything.
I chose Brent after you left. For real. To be my everything, just like you said. I learned what real love is, and also what it isn't. I thought I knew all those years. But to be honest, 10 years ago I had no idea. I've learned just how precious little I truly knew. and still know. about anything. But you knew that. You tried to tell me, but I couldn't hear it then. But really, thank you for all the things you tried to teach me. So many things you said have come to me in powerful ways over the last 10 years and grabbed on in my soul, somehow. I'm so grateful for everything you were, everything you shared, everything... Everything. I wish I knew then so I could've told you, shown you, but ... well, I'm telling you now.
I've learned how powerful fear is. 10 years ago I don't think I'd ever been truly afraid. That night I fell to the ground when I heard you'd gone... My first thought was that I would die too, that I couldn't possibly go on without you... Fear nearly swallowed me whole that night... But somehow those last words from my big brother "Tyler and Silka are gone too..." saved me. I learned that night the power of perspective -- it felt like I'd lost everything, but those last words put it all into perspective for me, and I knew that if he could go on with what he'd lost, I could surely find some strength too... and I did. But that dark fear definitely seeded in my soul that night and it feels like I'm only just now climbing out past the tipping point away from the side of always choosing fear first, closer closer to the side of love. Over the years every time I was challenged, my baby had a convulsion or had crooked legs or I had unexplained pains, I'd choose fear first. Fear would nearly swallow me all over again, just like that night so long ago... But somehow love would wiggle its way in, just like those white doves on the lawn that night, and the fear would disappear, and joy would return.
I do think fear is lessening its hold on me as time goes on.
It's all about balance, isn't it? I didn't know about balance then. I thought I just knew things. Now I know I didn't. and don't. Surely I've learned how precious and tenuous life is. And happiness too. I've learned how completely fear wrecks all of that and how completely gratitude fixes it. Each time I'd reach for fear, in that same instant I'd lose all of my joy. I could see myself doing it... but slowly slowly slowly I'm learning to take a deep breath, ground myself, and choose love instead. Slowly but surely. If nothing else I've learned how entwined love and fear are and how completely devoid of joy the side of fear is.
I'm learning what brings me joy, what fills my cup, what grounds me, what keeps me on the side of love. I'm learning how powerful connection is for me and how lonely disconnection is. I don't know much about that yet, but enough to know that I want and need to stay connected with myself, and Brent, and the children if I want to hold onto my authenticity. And I've learned the power of authenticity and that it's the only way I want to live. Looking good, being right, being admired... it all pales to the power of being authentic, being my word, keeping enough of my energy to nurture us first, being grounded in my own power... I'm learning.
It feels like I've lived my whole life in the ten years since I last heard your voices, since I last hugged and was hugged by you, since I last felt your hand around mine... The girl who travelled the world, sipped tea with the orangutans in Singapore, dove for conch shells and rode elephants in Malaysia, rode the trains and bartered for yards of silk in Thailand, hiked the Himilayas and rode camels in the Cholistan, studied giraffes in Africa, strode around buying cheese in Amsterdam, discovered her strength in Florida, fished the rivers in Alaska and all that... feels like someone else. I see photos of her, with you two usually close by, big grins on all your faces, and I think she still lives that life somewhere, with the both of you. I wonder what adventures you're all having now? Yes, that wild-hearted girl is forever young, forever daughter to the most amazing parents there ever was...
Meanwhile I am 41 years old!! The child of yours seems completely separate from this 40 something me that has emerged... The me that embraces my role as wife to an amazing man who adores me, is grateful for me, admires me for the me I truly am... while the me that is juggles three incredible children, learning, laughing, loving, living, growing up together... while I plant my garden and decorate my soul and build my soil, searching for ways to make more more more compost and cutting flowers to bring sunshine inside our hearts and home... while I struggle with finding time to keep my body healthy and moving and strong... while I search for ways to hang onto the woman that I am, nurturing her along with the mother and wife and friend that I'm more familiar with...
I don't know. Would you know me now? Would you still see the girl from then in the me that is now? I wonder...
Well, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope you know that I love you, that you are a big part of our lives, that my children know you and adore you and miss you too...
And hey, if you're ever in these parts, do drop by! We'd love to see you.
xoxoxo, your d.d.

Spring!

Hello! I'm back. I've missed blogging, but I'm grateful for the time away, too. I hope to post on a regular basis starting now! I just had my birthday, and it's SPRING! perfect time for making fresh starts...

too precious for words

Happy Father's Day!

I'm glad there's a special day to slow down and make especially sure that you know how much you're honoured and appreciated and admired just inyour role of 'Dad'. Lately I've been keenly aware of what a great dad you are -- not just from my perspective but especially from your kids'. You're loving and tender and really "there" for them when you need to be. Yet you're fun and silly and sporty and adventurous with them too. You teach them cool stuff and you're patient and calm most of the time when they need you to be. You're solid and predictable enough for them to really depend on you yet you break any mold anybody's ever set out - racing in the Over The Hill Downhill and riding your bike down the road from Silver Star. You're exciting and funny and handsome and generous -- everything a kid wants their dad to be. Truly, our kids are, hands down, the luckiest kids I know because you are their dad. And if nothing else ever went right in their lives, that one thing would be enough to carry them along. You are such a great dad, Brent.
And theother side of that, of course, is that you love their mother and that's huge. You teach them, through your love for me to be honest, dependable, worthy and accepting of love. Our example of how to work things out, how to stick things out, how to love in spite of... will carry them the rest of the way. They'll know they're worthy of being deeply loved no matter what -- and they'll be willing to take the risk of loving deeply and putting themselves out there. I'm SO grateful for your love for them, and even more for your love for me. I love you! Happy Father's Day!

As Promised... that magical night revisited

My birth actually started on the Friday night when I was surprised with a blessingway from my friends. I was surrounded by goddesses, hands on my belly, down in the heart of the cedar grove by the creek, each of my dear friends blessing my baby, myself and my birth. It was one of the most deeply spiritual experiences I've ever had. I have never felt that much power and love around me and I knew I was experiencing a ritual of the ancients who knew the power of tribe, of sisterhood, and of tapping into the pulse of the Great Mother. As we joined ourselves with one long piece of wool I knew that I would have the most powerful birth of my life. My sweet friends filled my soul and decorated my belly with their love...

Saturday my little family went to the lake and spent the night. Swimming in the cool water I could feel the little spirit within me preparing me for a wonderful birth. I dreamt that night of this little being emerging into the lake as I swam. Thankfully, she didn't ;o)

Sunday we had a scare with Pedar -- a terribly scarey fever and ferocious vomiting. It was the perfect reminder of how tenuous everything in this life is -- and how precious it is. Sunday night my wonderful aunt arrived and I knew things would happen soon...

Monday night I fell asleep early and was dreaming that I was birthing without knowing I was birthing and was wondering how I would know to wake up when the baby was born. Then I woke up with a powerful contraction and knew instantly that things were starting. I rode the waves of the contractions for a half hour and then got up to email my friends to light their candles and cut the strings around their wrists (in case any of them were still awake). I read my friend Tabitha's birth story and watched a birth video she'd sent me of a powerful birth of one of her friends'. Then I went outside. There were so many stars and they were pulsing so strongly I felt I was in a dream. A memory of being in the bottom of the grand canyon with my family on a river rafting trip came to me and I remembered hearing my mother's laugh echo against the canyon walls. I closed my eyes and felt myself riding on the rapids of that powerful river as I rode through several more contractions. I could feel the power of the stars surging into my body as I stood under them. I went for a walk, then, and my sweet dog kept close by my side, rubbing her head into my hand as I moaned and leaned against the trees with each strengthening surge. The power of the trees felt like my sisters' hands again on my belly, pouring love and blessings into me. I've never felt the life force of my beloved trees as I did that night. An image came to me of Dina in "The Red Tent" in labour, looking into the eyes of the women around her and knowing that she could do this because of the love and strength in their eyes. That's how I felt looking up at the trees above me -- like I was surrounded by a powerful sisterhood. And it reminded me of the women in my tribe surrounding me at my blessingway -- of looking into their eyes and seeing the love and strength pouring into me...
I hung balloons at the top of the driveway for the midwife and her attendant and came back down slowly, stopping and moaning up to the stars through the trees with each surge. I laid on the bed outside and discovered the fingernail moon peeking at me through the oak tree and felt her moan with me and pour down her magic into me as I moaned up to her. Now in the moon shadows I realized that my contractions were getting very close together and I wondered if I should let anyone know what was happening! I went to get Brent's watch to time my surges, and he woke up as I reached for it. His eyes flew open and he said "what's happening?" I said "I'm in labour, but I'm doing fine and I'll come get you when I need you." He said "OK" and closed his eyes again. But minutes later I could hear him in the bathroom listening to me work through my surges. Somehow that quickened me and with the surges only 3 minutes apart I called the midwife and I called Andrea to come be with the kids. I'd tested positive for Group B Strep, so my midwife asked me on the phone if I wanted to take the antibiotics. I told her I felt healthy and strong and my water hadn't broken so I would not need them. She agreed and said she'd come right over.
I worked through a few more contractions and at 3:30 I went downstairs and started the bath. The midwife arrived just as I was getting into the tub and with all the candles lit, the warm water and my little pregnant goddess statue with me, my contractions slowed down. I felt SO joyful, so ready, so powerful! Brent's eyes were shining and I could feel that he was finally ready to be a daddy to three! His eyes are so expressive and that night I could feel love and faith in them every time he looked at me. The surges resumed and at 4:15 I could tell that things were going to start to get more intense so I asked Andrea and Brent to wake A&P. They came down, their eyes shining with excitement and sat with us in the bathroom as I worked through the next few surges. My aunt had woken up too and we were all there together in the bathroom. It was wonderful having everyone there with me with the powerful birthing energy filling up the little room. A & P were well prepared -- we'd watched some birth videos, we'd looked at the very graphic photos of A's birth, we'd practiced what the sounds were going to be like and read several wonderful children's books about homebirth. They weren't worried at all.
After awhile I felt I needed to work harder and so I asked everyone to leave the room, except Brent. Andrea took A&P into the room next to the bathroom and read stories to them. They listened for my contractions and when I moaned through each surge they stopped reading and held out their hands and sent me opening up energy through their hands (bless!) At one point it occurred to me that my moaning might be scaring them, but I knew they were with Andrea and that she had complete faith in the process and so I was able to completely let that fear go and do what I needed to do. What a gift! The surges were intense and so powerful and I found it easiest labouring on my side in the water.

The midwife asked if she could check me so she'd know when to call her attendant and I said she could as long as she didn't tell me how dilated I was. When the attendant arrived I saw her out of the corner of my eye and thought she was Brent's mum! I was so startled I missed a contraction!! We had a good laugh about that later!
Soon I was pushing and it felt soooooooo good to push. I was pushing because my body couldn't do anything but push and it was such a primal, deep, amazing feeling. In my previous two births my midwives had told me when to push and I wasn't as in touch with the feeling as I was this time. Each push felt like a deep primal earthy orgasm. It was so amazing. I felt the head crown and told Brent to hurry A&P back in and everyone rushed in. It was harder than I'd remembered to push the head out and I learned later that that was because the water sac was still intact! The midwife broke the sac when she checked for the cord, which was around the neck. She told me to push again and I was waiting for another contraction. She told me to push with a sound of urgency and then asked her attendant for her "instrument tray" and so I pushed with all my might (I thought she was going to cut me!) and out came my little baby. She lifted her up and then had to pull her back down to loop her through the cord and up onto my chest came my squidgy tiny baby. Her eyes were wide open and she looked right at A&P. She cried a little and we were all just in awe of her. Diane (attendant) put a towel over her and said something like "we don't want him to get cold" so I thought she was a HE! I was surprised! Then a few minutes of oohing and awwing later, Sylvia (midwife) asked if we wanted to check to see if it was a boy or girl and A checked and wasn't sure! All she could see was a bum. Sylvia told her it was a little sister so A announced her name. She would have been Hans Michael had she been a boy. Brent took our wee girl onto his chest so I could get out of the tub and she cried. A got very protective and told the midwife that her little sister did not like being moved around. Bless! We were all in bed upstairs within minutes and oh! What a beautiful feeling to know that our sweet little family was complete.

The sweetest girl

I never seem to remember from baby to baby just how powerful the love bond is between a mother and her new baby... This little angel is just the sweetest thing there's ever been. She's as quiet and gentle as a little fawn, so alert and strong and connected to her mama. She loves the sling sometimes, and can't be convinced when she doesn't... She loves to sit in her bouncy chair and coo to her big brother and sister. She loves to talk and her laughter is so contagious that we've been known to fall off our chairs from the pure joy of her...

She communicates so effectively and she really never cries.

She lets me know just what she needs when she needs it and is the squidgiest, sweetest smelling little pixie...
Her smile lights up the whole room and truly there's never been a more loved baby. Her big sister and big brother worship her and she adores them right back. Just look at her after-bath-cupie hair!

She loves her daddy too. But she's mama's little girl. Nothing makes her happier than the sight of my face over her. Her whole body smiles with joy. I'd forgotten what that does to the insides of a mama... Such.sweet.sweet.bliss...

A Perfect End to a Perfect Day

One of my favourite memories growing up is having tea, fresh bread and homemade butter for supper on the days when mum made bread (every week). My own kids don't get the homemade butter, but they do get homemade mayonnaise, fresh local gouda cheese, freshly made raspberry jam (from frozen berries) and fresh-picked asparagus. And of course, cinnamon buns for dessert. What's not to love?!

I can't get enough of lilacs this time of year... This photo's for you, Marti!

Happy Mother's Day!!!

It's the little things that have me bursting with joy at this whole motherhood thing...

Cuddling in bed for an hour together every morning telling our dreams and planning our day,

The handmade cards and pictures and fistfuls of dandelions brought to me with glowing faces,

The way they run into my arms full of joy when we've been separated for less than an hour,

The sparkle in their eye and the joy in their voices when they're excited about something,

The sound of their contagious giggles,

The feel of their soft skin,

The way they reach up and take my hand in theirs,

The way they still crumple into my arms without thought or invitation for no reason at all,

The way they inspect my rough gardener's hands, tracing the outline of my fingers with theirs,

Our long laughter-filled candlelit baths together,

The smell of their sweat and the taste of their tears,

That my kisses and cuddles still cure cuts and bruises and hard falls,

That tears spring to my eyes from the bursting of my heart from so much love and joy at the priviledge of motherhood...

And I can still feel my own mother's hands in mine. They were rough and old looking, just like mine. I can still hear her contagious laughter, see the tears in her eyes from her bursting with love and joy for me...

Letter to my brother...

Hello you two,
I was going to call you all day, starting from last night! I've been thinking about you so much, but just wasn't sure what I'd say... Every year I call, and every year I cry, and every year I wonder if my calls were harder on you. I didn't mean to let the day pass without picking up the phone, but I know you're in bed now, so I will resort to this method. I hope you don't mind.
Eight years now. What a different day it would have been for you, celebrating your sweet girl's 18th birthday. I can hardly imagine. But I feel like I can just get a glimpse of what she would've been like -- blonde and beautiful and gracious with her easy laugh and way of making everyone feel special... what a vision.
I make May 6th my sort of New Year in mothering every year. I think about it a lot on Tyler's birthday too, but somehow it comes home more on May 6th -- I reassess what I'm doing with my kids. I try to imagine what I'd do differently if I knew my kids wouldn't live past 10 and 12. And it helps me slow down just a little more and enjoy them more, take more breaks cuddling in the hammock, it gives me just a little more patience letting them tie their own shoes and comb their own hair and buckle their own seatbelts even when we're running late...
You couldn't have known you'd have such a short time with your gorgeous kids. But I can let their lives be an inspiration to me with mine. I can allow their sweet lives to be shining stars in my journey with my children, lighting the path to embracing every moment, finding a way to live with no regrets no matter what the future holds...
I'm grateful for Silka and Tyler's lives and I'm SO grateful for your presence in mine. I hope all the rose bushes I've given you in the last 8 years bloom in profusion this year. I wish you happy memories and sweet joys and hearts filled with gratitude for each other.
I love you,
mary-sue

The Shelter of Each Other

I LOVED

and highly recommend it. Here are some of my favourite quotes from this wonderful book:
"Strong families have a knack for optimism, for taking long views and a "big picture" perspective. Hope is strong. They acknowledge problems and deal with them. They work through disagreements quickly and kindly and then return to a calm, peaceful state. Unhappy families do the opposite: they savour and nurse their pain and blow up small disagreements into battles. They build skyscrapers of pain on the meringues of small miseries."

oooh. isn't that just too painfully true?

Here's another doozy:
"Healthy people acknowledge pain, accept it and talk about it. Extracting meaning from pain ennobles and heals. Properly attended, pain makes people more tolerant, empathic and emotionally complex."
Such a good reminder when my children experience pain and every cell of my being wants to protect them from it!

I love this one:
"The metaphors of food, places, trips, beloved objects and beloved people become the connecting tissue of the family. They give family members' lives a context and meaning, a history and philosophy. The protective walls of a family are made of love, not stone."

This book has really cemented the importance of extended blood and chosen family for me. It's been so affirming and encouraging for me. And it's lit many fires under me. Like this one:
"We can act if we believe we can act. We can build new good things. The cure for cynicism, depression and narcissism is social action. Action solves two problems. It makes communities better and it gives people a sense of meaning and purpose. Volunteers are happy people. Work cures despair! and remember "Most of the good work in the world is done by people who weren't feeling all that well the day they did it." - Eleanor Roosevelt. Just because a person can't do everything doesn't mean he or she should do nothing."

And this quote resonated within me more than any other and is a topic I've been pondering a great deal lately:
"In the wilderness there is connection and complexity, challenge and serenity. In most of us there is a deep hunger for contact with the natural world. Everywhre people love to garden, to work with soil, to touch plants and make things grow. Gardening is healing. It's being involved with an old, old tradition, one that has always gone far beyond the practical need to grow food."
I've been really deeply noticing on a more microscopic level just lately how profoundly each of my children and myself NEED to be in nature. When we're not getting along, arguing, getting on each others' nerves (including our own) the cure is ALWAYS to go outside. Even just a few minutes outdoors, communing with the chickens, pulling a few weeds, or walking under the trees and all is right again with the world. We generally spend most of our time outdoors anyway, but on the days when we get into an inside project, sometimes we forget that we don't just need to ear and pee in the morning, we need to get outside just as much.
I'm reading a book to Annika right now that demonstrates this healing better than any thing else I've ever read:There are so many versions of this beautiful old novel, but the illustrations by Inga Moore in this one are pure magic. A horrid little girl that nobody can love spends time outdoors every day and is magically transformed. Sounds like a fairy tale but is really just a really good "how to parent" book written in beautiful language with beautiful pictures.

Pedar's Birthday

Time to do a bit of catch-up.
Pedar's birthday was one of the sweetest weekends all year! He was absolutely delighted with every moment and I wanted to get some photos of the events here because both kids love looking at photos of themselves and their special events on my blog!

Each year on Pedar's birthday we take the city bus downtown to the candy store. It's the only day of the year the kids go to this sweet shoppe, and it's quite an event! This year they chose swirly pops, yum yum!

We had a special lunch downtown and stopped at Surplus Herby's where daddy bought Pedar a fishing rod. One of the first things Pedar said on his birthday was "Daddy! You forgot to buy me a big boy fishing rod!" Beware the promises you make a wee boy in the heat of the previous summer!

The only other thing Pedar had asked for was a "rocket." He and his sister had hours of fun with his new "stomp" rocket. They can really make it fly!

The next day we invited Pedar's in-town cousins
over for an egg hunt to celebrate Spring and Eostar.

It's one of our funnest days every year. Annika was one of the bunny helpers this year and she found some beautiful spots to hide the eggs!

Pedar loved his rocket-cake (made from using 2 coffee tins as cake pans) and his favourite gift of all was these new "work pants" just like daddy's, from his Gma and Gpa. Too cute!

Then his big sister taught him how to ride a pedal-bike. It took one try and he was off. He's hardly been off his bike since... Learning to balance on his like-a-bike made all the difference.

Happy Birthday big 4 year old! I sure do love you!

Happy Love's Day!

I LOVE Valentine's Day. Always have. Is it too commercialized these days? Of course! But honestly, what isn't? Food, Love, Interiors... anything you can think of, it's too commercialized these days. LIFE is too commercialized if you let it be. But you can choose to celebrate these sweet days in your own way. That's what we're doing. That's the Valentine my sweet little A handed me this morning. And the mug is from a dear dear friend... It's a beautiful morning and we're heading outside to celebrate LIFE! (Well, me perched on the front stoop whilst my chilluns run around in the mud!)

These are the little goody boxes I made for each of the kids. I made the boxes out of a 1997 Mary Engelbreit calendar I happened to have saved... And the goodies inside? gold butterscotch and red candyhearts... mmmmm... the stuff of childhood...

New Beginnings

My little artist's rendition of the two big beginnings around here:

Grandma's new body, new wings, and the sun always shines...
And this'll be me in 6 more months...
HIP HIP HOORAY!!!

Sweet Release

I don't remember when I started believing that when a person died they got to "put on" the sunset that night for their own friends and family. Well, Thank you Grandma, for a beautiful sunset tonight...

And thank you all SO much for your prayers and lit candles. I was overwhelmed by your emails and calls. She soared up into the sky at 2:25 this afternoon. It was more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.

I've been feeling her spirit visiting me in my sleep, and each time I've visited her in the last few days she hasn't been responding to anything I've said so I knew it was only that silver cord that was keeping her bound to earth. I knew the cord would be broken very soon...

I crawled into bed with her around noon today and sang to her for awhile. I kept singing while I braided her hair and washed her face and hands. Family started arriving shortly after 1:30, I think. First her daughter came, then some of her grandchildren. I encouraged them all to say a private good-bye to their Grandma, and asked them to sing a hymn to her. The first lot chose #8 and I remembered it from my youth so we all sang heartily along. The last grandaughter to arrive was feeling fear being in the room alone with her as she said her good-bye, so she asked me to join her. I was relieved to be asked back into the room because I was feeling panicy that the cord was about to be broken. J and I did some energy work on Grandma's body and I felt her body go dark. I started singing "Take My Hand Precious Lord" (which I'd been singing to her over and over for a few days at this point) and J joined in. Then Jill and Mary Lou heard us singing and came back into the room and joined in for the last two verses. It was so beautiful. We were sitting around Grandma's bed, holding her hands and her feet and caressing her face. I decided to share the vision I'd had this morning about her funeral. There are some very strong personalities in Grandma's family, and it looked like it was going to be difficult to meet everyone's needs peacefully. I said I thought that we each had to make sure our needs were met in our own grieving, but the spirit in which we planned this next week needed to be done in a way that would be a tribute to Grandma. Grandma had the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. It was xceptionally rare that she ever judged anyone, and she just seemed to have room in her big heart for everyone. She had a terrible time with conflicts within her family, and I hoped that we'd be able to get through this next week without conflict. We all agreed, and then Grandma yawned! And then she opened her eyes! And then she yawned again and closed her mouth! And then she was gone...

It was one of the most beautiful moments I've been blessed to be part of.

Good-Bye My DEAR SWEET GRANDMA. I'll never forget you. I'll try my best to keep your beautiful spirit alive in me. I'll do all I can to keep the peace this next week. I'll love you forever. Thank you for being so much to me. Good-bye.

Whispers in the wind...

(this is not a photo of gma sleeping -- this is how she is all the time now, she was moaning a little and i felt she wanted to sing along with some of the hymns. i hope this isn't too disturbing for some of you. i gasp when i first walk into her room now... it is so hard to see her deteriorating like this!)

The last good visit I had with my matriarch was all about death. She grabbed my hands and she asked me to help her die. She said she felt it was time and she needed my help. I openly cried. Tears pouring down my face not because I'm not ready to let her go, but because of the healing in my heart from having that visit with her. I said good-bye to her, told her how much she means to me, openly crying, shamelessly grieving... It wasn't just her I was talking to. It wasn't just her hands I was caressing and kissing. It wasn't just her hair I was stroking. It wasn't just her eyes I was kissing... It was so healing to have the chance to say okay, you're going to die? I love you and I'll miss you and I'll never forget you... All the things I would've given anything to be able to do and say 7 years ago...


But how do you help someone die? I've been praying to God several times a day to please come and take her home. I've been whispering into the wind to my mum and dad to come and take her hand and help her cross over. I've been talking to the birds and the stars and the clouds and even to my chickens, appealing to the spirits they carry to assist her in letting go... And I have a candle almost constantly lit, sending her my courage and my love.


She hasn't been able to speak since that visit. She can't open her eyes and she can barely swallow a drop of water at a time. She can't form words, but she tried to say my name last night when I went to hold her hand. She's definitely still there, it's evident she's wanting to communicate, but she can't. Last night I fed her her medicine a drop at a time and then some water a drop at a time and as she struggled to swallow, coughing and sputtering, I sang to her. I sang her old favourite hymns, any that I could find that were comforting and encouraging of her letting go.


I talk to God with her into her ear, being her voice as I know her mind is fuzzy. I say "I'm ready, dear God, to come and rest with you. I've lived my life for you, sweet Jesus, and I need your help in crossing over to you. Show me the light that is brighter than than the noonday sun and I will follow you home... Please God, take me home..." And then I leave her with the hymns ringing in her ears and the peace of God in her heart.


I can't do anything else... but sit with her whenever I can get away and make the trek to her bedside. I'm not a singer, and the nurses and aides peek their heads in the door too (!) often, nodding encouragement, tears in their eyes, offering to bring me drinks... Not stiff enough ones though... But I keep my courage up and sing loudly to her because the courage it requires to sing hymns to a deaf woman in the quiet of a nursing home surely pales in comparison to the courage it requires to let go and soar into the sky...


Light a candle for Grandma, if you will. She just needs a few more prayers to let her spirit soar. She thanks you. and loves you. Me too.

And now...

This big six year old is making snowmen without ANY help...

and she can't decide if she wants to be a ballerina when she grows up...or the next Santa Claus (really!)

And my poor old Grandma's still waiting to fly up with the birds to her next life... Say a little prayer for her journey, won't you?