Better late than never

It has been over a year since I last posted and a lot has happened!! While grieving the loss of both my parents and my beloved dog Patty, I lost my Best Friend Brandy in July. I miss her everyday. I just spent Christmas eve with her Mom, Grandmother and all her children!! 

I was so very proud of myself when I bought their clothes for them to wear for Midnight Mass!! I have never purchased for boys before, only girls. (Seeing how I only have a daughter) Thank you Old Navy!!

http://oldnavy.gap.com/?

Knowing I was going somewhere for Christmas really put me in the Christmas spirit which I haven't felt over the past few years. I actually made my chocolate this year and added in Nanaimo bars with chocolate chip cookies!! I participated in a cookie exchange (hadn't done that either for a few years and I love those!) and enjoyed the company of my friends.

November 28, 2011 I had a major surgery and shortly after that I was diagnosed with CarcinoidNET cancer. Talk about a blow to my stomach. I was highly under the effects of dilaudin when the oncologist came in but I assure you, I understood exactly why he was there, I had gone through all three cancers (Colon, Prostate and finally Pancreatic) with my Father and my Mothers pancreatic cancer. 

I was in denial for a while. I couldn't have this rare cancer. Nope....I don't have it. Even after I had my follow up with my surgeon and he told me it was a NET and three out of sixteen lymph nodes were metastasized ...I still couldn't accept it. No, no, no, no....I do not have cancer. Then, it hit one day. Six months later, after I had a follow up with my oncologist. Tumour levels were elevating but serotonin levels are o.k. 

Tumour levels are raising?? He wants to wait and see?? What?? 

I am fortunate to have wonderful friends and I have found a few support groups on Facebook that have helped. Unfortunately there is no cure. And in case you were wondering, Zebra is the mascot and ribbon colour for CarcinoidNET cancer. Wear your stripes!!

http://www.carcinoid.org/

I have made some serious lifestyle changes. I quit smoking 11 months ago. I joined Shapes in November and I am eating healthier!! It's been hard changing my eating habits more than anything else but I can do this. A great friend from boarding school has reached out to me and he motivates me!! I am glad he is back in my life.

http://www.shapestotalfitness.com

I have become a huge advocate for CarcinoidNET Cancer and Pancreatic Cancer. I tell everyone I know about them and talk about it whenever I get a chance!! Lauren and I just participated in our first walk for Pancan and I raised $270.00!! I'll get more next year!! 

http://pancan.org/

My house has been completely renovated and I am much happier with it now. My animals keep me busy so I am never bored!!

Well, I must tend to Yoonis. He hurt himself yesterday and is very pathetic right now. My poor, poor, poor baby.

Yoonis supports CarcinoidNET cancer very well!!!

Confusion and everything, except the kitchen sink

Confusion:

lack of clarity; indistinctness:bewilderment; perplexity

This is the state that I feel my Father left me in. Yes, it is very easy to confuse me, always has been. Most of my friends and even strangers find it very amusing. The look that I get on my face, you can almost see the wheels turning in my head while I try to figure it out.

What I can't figure out is why my father did what he did. My sister tries to tell me that she truly believes my Father loved "her" and "she" loved him. But enough to allow "her" to distract him from his family and responsibilities??? They only really knew each other for eight months, he had been married for twenty seven years to my Mother. Can you possibly "fall" in love that quickly after you loose your soul mate?

My sister also believes that why he decided to marry "her" was to protect us emotionally and have someone else go through his decline. Well, he did quiet the opposite!!!! This threw a whole bunch other emotions in there that I could have done without, thank you very much!!! 

Anger for one. I was so angry at "her". She is a doctor and supposedly well educated. Why did she accept his proposal, knowing that he was going to pass away very soon? She started to alienate us yet reached out to my half sister. A sibling who has no relationship with my father, nor did he have one with her. At least not the same kind of relationship my sister and I had with him. So "she" is diabolical enough to choose the weakest link, but she's really not a link. My sister and I have never had a relationship with my half sister and brother either. They were very young when my Father divorced their mother. 


Angry that my Father made this decision to marry "her".  Why???? Just having "her" in the picture has made things a mess. He left us to deal with that. 


Angry at the clerk who issued the marriage licence. Angry at the so called priest that performed the ceremony. Angry at his lawyer that allowed him to sign that joke of a prenuptial agreement and not complete his will. Angry that everyone stood back and allowed this shit to happen!!!!!


So yes, my anger and confusion are mixed into this one. 


Why did he do this? I'll never know. There was nothing I could do to stop it, I couldn't throw a temper tantrum like I did when we were in B.C. and he wanted her to join in us Yellowknife. Yes....I threw a mini temper tantrum, I am not ashamed.


Does he realize, wherever he may be, what kind of a mess he left?


I feel that there is little I can do, I have no control over the situation. We are at the mercy of lawyers, judges and affidavits now. "She" took half his ashes, then she wanted his work badge and passport, which we did not give her those two things. We had no control over the ashes. He supposedly told her she could have them. We composed a very simple obituary for him because that is what he wanted only to find out three months later she had pulled our obituary and wrote her own novel about him and excluded all of his children's names but added in there "his beloved wife". Is this my hopelessness....that "she" is never going disappear from our lives and I can't control it???? That "she" will be connected to my Father forever???? I know that I don't want to share my heaven with her so does that mean he won't be a part of it either????


As for denial....the last emotion of grief....I don't think I suffer from that. I had been preparing myself for this day and I was robbed, by that bitch. She never allowed us to be alone with him...even at the end while he lay motionless in his bed at hospice. I wasn't allowed to have that intimate father/daughter moment because she was there. Very intrusive bitch. 


But I know that he knew I loved him dearly. This was and has been the hardest. I cry a lot. I miss him horribly. 

The third stage

Anger. I am not too sure if it really lists at number three but that is the one I choose for today.


I am angry that my Father married this woman who did not care about his family. She was very dry. She had no sense of humour. She was not like any of the others my Father had chosen in his lifetime, she is drab. If I were to colour her it would be grey.


She distracted him towards the end. She distracted him from his responsibilities, writing his will, and tried to isolate him from his family. She almost succeeded. Almost.


I spent an entire month with my Father while he closed his loop. I never wanted to tell him how "she" had spoke to me on my Fortieth birthday when she asked if we could all squeeze into her car to pick up my rental because she had never driven a mini van before. I told her that it was fine but you know my Mother would have something to say about that. She leaned into me and very quietly said " I don't care what your Mother would have to say." I was shocked. I just looked at her and then replied "She would say if you can drive your little car you can drive anything." Bitch. I unfortunately though, had to tell him when he asked if I would mind if "she" would join in us Yellowknife. The killer is, even after I told him this, he said she was coming. Then why ask me???? I told him no. He told me it mattered to him if I wanted her there or not, but obviously, it didn't. I will admit, that really kind of pissed me off. He blamed it on her lack of humour, the reply she had for me. I blame it on her lack of compassion and that she is a selfish bitch. You're wondering...did she really travel 3,736 miles to spend three days in desolate Yellowknife, where none of these memories included her but were about my family? No, she did not. I am not ashamed to admit that at the age of forty I threw an adult temper tantrum in Vancouver, B.C. Anything to prevent that hateful woman from showing up.


I knew on this trip that my Father was dieing. I saw it in his eyes. I never admitted it out loud but watched him slowly go down hill when we reached Ottawa. 


We returned home a month later and Dad would let me know when he was having his appointments with Dr. Extermann. Of course she was there. I hated it. I couldn't even look at her or speak to her. She had no respect for me as his daughter but she played it very well with my Father, she had a great ability and manipulated him. When the pain became too much for him, his Doctor recommended radiation treatments for palliative care. This is what I truly believe sped up his progression and took him from his sooner than we had anticipated. She isolated him and did not let anyone know what was going on when he had been told to stay home from work while he was going through these treatments. I went over one Sunday and when I saw him laying in his bed I knew. Not much longer. It broke my heart. He took my hand and said he was sorry that I didn't get to spend too much time with my friends when we were on holidays. I told him not too, that holiday was about him, not me. My friends were a perk. I just started to cry, I was not ready to loose him yet. But if this bitch was going to have her way she was going to rip him from his family. 


I believe it was a Sunday night when my Father called me. He had news. He had asked this woman to marry him. I had a huge lump in my throat and just sobbed. "You need to make sure you protect your children Dad." He said he would. He did not. He asked me if I would be there, I told him of course I would because I loved him. He then dropped the date on me. 10/10/10. What?! Not October, please pick a different month!! His wedding anniversary to my Mother is on the 18th!! Oh Lord, why?? He wasn't changing his mind.


He was late to his wedding. He was frail and brought in a wheel chair. When did this transpire? You could barely hear him. Lauren started to cry. My heart was breaking. She dressed up in this hideous white lace gown from the 60's. Like she was a virgin marrying her courter of many years. I was a little repulsed and embarrassed. There were only five people there that my sister and I knew. The others were her friends and family. The guests and her own children looked at us with pity, they knew this was wrong. But I still held my head high. My daughter and half sister took over the wedding table where "she" hadn't intended to let us sit, but guess what bitch, it's on. My father only lasted about twenty minutes at his own reception. He was surrounded by his family though while "she" flitted through all her friends and family to talk. None of them approached my Father or any of us for that matter. Strange. Assholes.


As my Father was being taken home by her friends I kissed him good bye and told him I would see him the next day. He asked me where was his passport. I told him I didn't know, we didn't come home together remember? He was confused about this but asked me to locate it for him. I told him I would. 


Monday morning came and I joined my family with a trip to Clearwater beach. Crazy northerners, don't they know you don't go swimming in October?? We all had our cell phones out, three of them. I also had an extra cell phone...my work phone. We stayed for about an hour and then decided to leave, there was a candy store in Dunedin that we wanted to visit. Who would pass up a candy store?? Not me!! After I changed, I asked my daughter to get my bag from the trunk and noticed that my step sister had called on both phones. Unusual.  We promptly called her and she told me that "she" had tried calling all of us and no one answered. My Father had just been admitted to hospital. We tried calling her cell phone, then the room. She was very rude to me and I hung up on her. I told her she needed to attempt to reach everyone, not just the daughter that he had no relationship with, but she was the weakest link. "She" told me she was not going to be doing that, that is when I ended the phone call and promptly hung up on her. 


We made to the hospital safely with an empty tank of gas. I confronted her in front of everyone about the phone call. "She" said she did call. I pulled out both my phones and my daughters phone to show her that there were no phone calls. She hadn't even called my sister, but, as I mentioned earlier she telephoned my half-sister. She also answered her cell phone when my half-sister called her back but didn't do that for us. I am on to you, you sneaky bitch. You won't win this one.


Everyone left me on Tuesday. I would make my way to the hospital to visit and try to find out what was going on. I called every morning to see how he was. What felt like a month of dealing with her was really only a matter of a couple of days. I am going to give you the short version. My father started talking about doing chemo and radiation therapy again. He had always stressed he wasn't doing it anymore. Then the kicker....he had a metastasis on his left hip. It was making the bone frail and it would splinter. Very painful, but he could barely sit up. Of course "she" always tried to make sure that I didn't get to hear what the doctor was saying but she said this in front of me to my Father, "We really need to consider the leg". Surgery? They wanted to cut my Father's leg open and place a steel rod in there!! "She" was actually convincing him to do this!!! Surgery?! Dad, you said you didn't want any more surgeries. He replied it was because of the pain killers he was given afterwards, but it was also the anesthesia and that bitch is sitting next to him nodding her head....like she fucking knew how he reacted after surgeries!!! I'm sorry, I don't believe you were there for his colonectomy and Whipple procedure. I don't believe you were the one visiting him in the ICU on both occasions and then staying with him for three weeks after the last major surgery to help get him out of a depression where he was slowly killing himself by not eating or drinking. Who in the fuck do you think you are?? My sister and I have been his caretakers for three and a half years. You can't cut us out of this. I calmly leaned over and kissed my Father goodnight. I also told him that he really needed to think long and hard about this and to make sure he was doing it for him and no one else. As I said that last part I looked directly at her, she looked away. 


I immediately called my sister and she arrived the very next day. Oh, my Father was not happy with me and "she" was more than happy to tell my sister this. But the tables turned when they arrived to the hospital. My sister told my Father that "she" was not keeping us fully informed and hadn't even called her. My Father seemed very confused by this, he was under the impression that "she" had been calling and when confronted "she" replied she was too busy. He was so sick though and "she" took advantage of this. My sister promptly told him that just because he married her he couldn't just dump us. He was very weepy over this and then started to refer to himself as a bad parent. My sister told him he wasn't but to remember that we are involved. 


It was a Friday. I was dropping my sister off at the hospital and I was going to head out to work. We approached the room and when we looked in Dad was grey. He was attached to oxygen and of course that woman never called us!!! I called in immediately and stayed. We both really felt that he wasn't going to make it. We had my half brother and sister call him. His co-workers came by the hospital to visit briefly per "her" request. In the late morning, he sat up in his bed and said he was ready to go to hospice. My sister immediately told his physician. This was the one and only time I was all alone with my Dad. I took his hand and held it tight. I love you Dad, you know that right? He said yes, he knew. I said always. At this time "she" realized that she no longer had the control and had to stop acting like his doctor. Oh, I am sorry, didn't I mention that this bitch is a doctor?


I had been preparing for this, mentally. Unfortunately "she" was not part of the picture but he made it so. She never left him alone. Ever. We had no private time with him. Now, she did allow my step sister to have private time with him and another lady that I didn't care for. She said she was a clairvoyant but I believe she was full of shit. There was also a show down, sort of, between my sister and "her". The hospice counselor asked to see "her" and my sister heard this so she followed along. The question of religion came up. What was he? "She" said Christian. What?! My sister said absolutely not, he was agnostic. "She" tried to argue this with my sister but did not win. Really?! You have only known him for eight months, he has been our Father for forty nine and forty years. Are we really going to do this?


It was very painful for me the following weeks. I was watching my father slowly die and I had to be nice to "her". She would discuss such inappropriate things over my father while he was laying there. He needed to pay her for half the wedding, it was only fair, he promised. Your father was going to give me his vacation days and I am loosing all my time off. She even called in their boss and my fathers best friend to discuss this. All while my father is laying in his bed, drugged, with the hum of his oxygen tank going, Are you kidding me? Now tell me, does this sound like a loving wife? I can't stand her!!


It was Sunday morning when we received the call. We were heading out the door. I promptly called my half brother and sister to let them know. When we arrived to hospice "she" asked if my half sister had been called. I let "her" know that I did indeed call them, she conveniently left my half brother out of that, and then proceeded to call my half sister. The weakest link. Again, she did not allow us to be alone with my Father. It was weird to not hear the oxygen. He was still. His chest wasn't rising and falling. He wasn't fidgeting with his hands and trying to get them behind his head so he could be comfortable. This was it, the moment I had been trying to prepare myself for. I won't ever hear him call my name again. He will never call me love again. He is no longer there to guide me. 


When we all met at the crematorium it became very uncomfortable. The lady had to ask certain questions for the death certificate. Place of birth. My sister and I both said Stirling Scotland. "She" said no, he was born in Wales. Ugh. She then realized her error. My sister confirmed the choice of urn he had made because she was with him when he did all this planning. At this point "she" said she needed her own urn because his daughters wanted half of his of ashes. I am sorry, we were entitled to his ashes, he said you could have half of them. If he hadn't of said that you wouldn't be getting any. He wants to spread with his wife of 26 years and his dog. I do not like it that he is split in half. This really bothers me. Then came the obituary. My father wanted it simple, nothing extravagant. He was going to be listed as Doctor. This was not satisfactory for her, "she" wanted it to read physician. This did not happen. She also omitted all of our names. We fixed that though when we got home. The next day the obituary was printed, just the way he wanted it. 


My daughter was doing searches on Google one day and came across an obituary for her grand father. It was not the original one. This read like a biography of his life, a life "she" had no part of. All of our names were omitted. "She" listed herself as his "Beloved wife". This is unbelievable!!!! I don't think he would appreciate this. He was never a braggart about his accomplishments, he was for his patients. I hope now, that wherever he is, he sees this. And I hope my Mother kicked his ass. 


"She" had to get the last word in. But we are not done yet. I am just waiting. So is Karma.


My anger does not consume me, but I have moments while we are dealing with probate. I am sure it will go away when this is all and done. I have a few things to say to some people, her included. Then, and only then, will I be completely free of the anger.


And as for the passport. I told my sister to search his back pack and the basket by the phone. These are the only two places I recall him leaving it. It wasn't in either place. When we were going through everything my sister came across this really pretty wooden box that had an unusual lock on it. We couldn't find the key any where so she pried it open. Guess what was laying on top? It's odd that he put that there. We will never know why. This box held his wedding bands to all three of his wives and some cuff links. Of course, his fourth wifes ring was not in there and none of us would have been interested in it.

The vet

I have been taking Patty and Isabelle to the same vets office for over 12 years. Patty was the first and then two years later Isabelle joined her, and then Reuben two years ago. They didn't particularly care to go, especially Isabelle because she has had so many surgeries on her ears. Patty on the other hand would bark at all the little creatures and scare them, she didn't mind going there most of the time and they loved her. Isabelle shakes and quivers for fear she will be poked at and then be sedated for an ear cleaning!!! I enjoyed loading my girls up in the car to take them for their check ups. Patty loved car rides, the mention of it and her ears would perk up in excitement, she knew exactly what that meant!!! Reuben of course does not care to be loaded into the carrier and has the typical Siamese behavior when we get there.


I inherited my parents Yorkies and they are different from my dogs. Patty was always underfoot with me, very attached. I never had to call her over to me because, well, she was right there. Isabelle is now very protective of me and sits next to me, pressed into my leg, guarding me. From what? Those little annoying yorkies that she tolerates but will not play with. She used to play with Patty all the time until my Patty wasn't really able to at the end, but they would sleep together. Poor Patty, she was so furry and Isabelle had to be right up her ass, literally. I felt bad for my baby when she did that, I could only just imagine how hot she would get with that forty pound body almost on top of her. But she didn't try to move or shoo Isabelle away. Patty was a 75-80 lb. dog with a thick sable and white coat. She tolerated everyone and everything, she was a wonderful dog!! The best. She had a special relationship with our cat Reuben. He loved Patty, would lay with her all the time, drink water with her, and was always respectful of her. Reuben didn't play with Patty the way he does with Isabelle but I really consider it torture more than play because Isabelle is afraid of him. It's ridiculous, the cat does not have any front claws, Isabelle is a chicken killer, and she cowers when the cat goes after her. Whimpers even. He also likes to stalk her, rubbing his face up against the edge of the coffee table maniacally, watching her with his crossed blue eyes, not letting her know when the pounce will take place. They do however live in harmony with one another and sometimes Isabelle initiates the playing. 


Yes, Isabelle is a chicken killer. Where we live there are wild chickens and roosters. If they so happen to be in the back yard when we let her out I hope they flee as quickly as they can!! She has over a dozen chicken kills and yes unfortunately, baby chicks as well. One day she managed to escape from the confines of our back yard and killed at least three more chickens on two of my neighbours properties. And the noise that they make.....poor things. When she was finished she would come speeding up to the house, chicken feathers hanging form her mouth and stuck in her fur, very proud of herself. So, to my amazement, she is afraid of Reuben. Maybe that has to do with the fact that when Reuben goes to attack her, he has swatted her in the ears and that is a sore source for her. 


Yung Kenni and Yoonis are the latest addition to the household. They are father and son. Yung Kenni still has puppy qualities even though he is thirteen years old. Eunice is an abnormally large yorkie, yes he is a pure breed, weighing at one point in time 16 lbs. He looks like Chewbacca with gray hair. He is also a little trouble maker. Yung Kenni on the other hand is a very laid back dog but has a very annoying habit. If it appears to him that you are in his way of getting on the couch or there is another animal blocking his way, instead of going around them or finding an alternate way, he barks at you. He just sits there and barks. You can try to ignore him, but he just doesn't get that message, so you have to walk over to him, pick him up and place him in the destination he wants to be in. He also has a delayed reaction when it comes to participating in the barking that Isabelle and Eunice will do if they hear the slightest movement outside. These two are the protectors of the house and Isabelle has a hard time sharing that role so if Eunice gets out of hand she will attack him. Lord. Give me strength. So, after those two are finished barking like crazy maniacs, Yung Kenni does his part by adding in a very non threatening bark approximately two to three minutes after the chaos has subsided. And it is always chaos.....they hear a car horn or someone knocking on the door, coming from the TV set mind you, and they go into a frenzy. I don't even bother rewinding to catch what I missed because it will start all over again. Reuben does not care for all of this noise and he chirps at them when they get crazy....my poor cat and his sensitive little ears. I live in a zoo. 


Yung Kenni and Yoonis can only tolerate a little bit of loving, they really aren't snuggle animals. This is difficult for me, my animals love to be loved on. So I am a little concerned and hope that they are content and happy. Remember, I was just a visitor to their house when I went to my parents so I really didn't think much when they would run and greet us, scratch your legs up if you had on shorts, get loved on and then be on their happy way. Now that they are with me full time it worries me. Are they happy? Do they trust that I will protect them and take care of them? Do they know that I love them as much as my other animals? I received my answer on Saturday when Yung Kenni had to visit the vets.


Dr. Kue is wonderful. He and his wife both take care of everyones precious little animals but to be honest, I don't care for her so I always ask for him. He was so gentle with Patty in the end and was very compassionate with us. He truly loves animals and displays this with everyone. On Friday while I was driving home the car became thick with Patty's smell, out of no where. It was intoxicating and it made me very sad. I miss her every day and this past week was particularly hard, not sure why. So this time, I was the one dreading the vets office. 


We arrived for our appointment and weighed Yung Kenni in. I requested not to be put in room number four and sat with Yung Kenni in the front waiting room so I wouldn't have to look at that dreaded blue door. A lot of  little dogs being looked at that day and one big orange fat cat. Yung Kenni is a hot mess. He needs to have his winter coat shaved off but right now he is having a serious skin issue. He constantly scratches and chews. His skin get red hot and he is loosing hair around his eyes. We get called back by this very petite vets assistant. She has annoyed me already because she keeps calling him Kenni, even though I have corrected her, I give up. Also, she is using this ridiculous baby voice with him. There really is no need for this, why can't people speak to animals normally instead of using this annoying high pitched, baby voice. I should train them to bite when people do this. Hmmmm...then again, that would be bad so I will just stare daggers at her while she does this. She leaves, Dr. Kue enters, thank God. He inspects Yung Kenni and lets me know that this is allergies but he has wonderful teeth for his age, so I pop the question. What is the life span for a Yorkie? Mid teens. I don't like this answer. He is already Thirteen. And I love this dog, always have because he is my family, but I am not ready to loose another animal at least not for another five to ten years. I dismiss this thought quickly, I am tired of preparing myself for the passing of loved ones. 


The annoying assistant enters again, clippers in hand, and sets Yung Kenni up on the table to have his nails clipped. He does not care for this at all. I kept petting his head, telling him he was o.k. while she spoke to him in that baby voice, and all of a sudden I see something I have never seen him do.....he was bearing his teeth. His nose wrinkled up and those pearly whites were showing. I will admit I was a little bit shocked. Was he showing his aggression because he didn't care to get his nails trimmed or that she was annoying the shit out of him with that squeaky voice that hurt my own ears? On a couple of nails I am sure she was too close to the quick because he whined, I know she hurt my baby. My protective instincts kicked in and when the front paws were complete I scooped him up from her and held him close to me. He couldn't get close enough to me and felt like he was trying to put his body into mine. It was confirmed at that moment for me, he might not want to be loved on all the time, he makes me chase him and then plays dead dog when I want to pet him, but he trusts me completely and knows I will protect him from this little bitty highly annoying vets assistant. But, the job must be completed and now it is time for the back paws. She ends up taking him to the back because he decided to bite me to get free. This didn't deter the fact that not just two seconds ago he was clinging to me for dear life, I have confirmation now that he loves me and trusts me. 


I just wish he was more cuddly!!!! Oh well.

Ladybugs

I don't have very many memories from when I was little. I know that we lived in Ireland with my Mum for three years. My sisters were sent to Boarding School and from what I understand, I was bounced around from relative to relative. When I took my own daughter over to Dublin when she was three years old, my cousins took me out for dinner to a pub, wanting to reminisce. It was early 1990 so I was surprised to see a couple of IRA soldiers walking around the pub with their weapons strapped over their shoulders. 


They were recalling all these memories that I myself don't have. "Ceridwen, do you remember the rabbit muff and the pink cookie monster coat you used to wear all the time? With your brown Mary Janes? You refused to wear anything else!!!" Followed by chuckles. "Ceridwen, do you remember Uncle Dan picking you up from the orphanage in the afternoon and when you got home Auntie Mary would ask you what you wanted to eat and it was always "Smashed" Potatoes?"  No, but I do love a good potato. "Ceridwen, do you remember running down the street in the middle of the night in your thin night gown yelling for help after your Mum fell through the plate glass window and Peggy and Betty found you the next morning under the bed freezing cold?" No, but I do remember later in my teen years that my Mum tried to blame that scar on my Father. "Ceridwen, I remember when you picked up a huge branch on the way to church and when the choir began to sing you stepped up on the pew and conducted them with that branch." Hmmmmm, I can almost see myself doing this. I do remember however that when my oldest sister came home for break that she brought me a gift....Donny Osmond knee high socks!!! I hated Donny Osmond and I had to wear the socks when we went into the city, Dublin, because it was the polite thing to do. Ugh. Even at the ripe old age of 4 I knew this was an embarrassment and has scarred me forever.


I don't remember being shuttled amongst relatives after my Mum had fallen through that plate glass window. I do remember the Nun at the Orphanage, they didn't have day cares then so you participated with the Roman Catholic Church. She had the longest red hair and did not wear a habit. I was very confused over that. I remember putting a toy truck on my foot thinking I could roller skate with it and cracking my head open. She was very caring and wonderful. I only wish I could remember her name.


Before the shuttling, we lived in a house outside of the city and I remember I had a wonderful playhouse in the back yard. My Mum would bring my meals to me out there. Sometimes the boys that lived across the street would jump on the house and make it rock, horrid little boys, I did not like them at all. I believe their last name was Moore. 


There was a huge field in front of our house and I would wonder over there, with some kind of container in hand, in search of the ladybug! This is really my only memory of Ireland along with the red headed Nun who seemed to be breaking the dress code. 


The field and lots of ladybugs just waiting to be collected by me!!! 


They are perfection, round, shiny red with little black dots on each wing. They never flew away from you but landed gently on your arm or hand and just crawl around. They were magical little bugs that wouldn't bite you but did sometimes leave a trail of yellow on your skin. I would be in that field for hours, by myself, sitting with the ladybugs and if they were lucky, put in the container to be brought home. My Mum told me a story of when she went into the kitchen and spotted a tin cigar container on the kitchen table. She reached over to grab it and opened it upside down. She said ladybugs spilled all over the table and floor. They were everywhere!!! I am guessing after that she checked all containers and freed the ladybugs. Good thing, I might carry a lot of guilt if I knew the ladybugs had died a horrible suffocating death. 


This is my precious memory. People tell me that they remember a lot from their younger years, I am actually grateful that I don't. 

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home

Your house is on fire and your children are gone

All except one, and that's Little Anne

For she has crept under the warming pan.

Dirty Dish Water

I can't remember how old I was, maybe 14. I was banned to the kitchen to do dishes after dinner. My sister and her then husband were in the living room. It had been a particularly rough week if memory serves me correct. I had finished cleaning all the plates and glasses, now working on the cutlery, as I lifted the butcher knife from the water to clean it. The sides glistened and it was so shiny. I stood there for a moment, mesmerized by the knife, wondering...how quickly would this gash through my wrists? 


Let me tell you how I got to this point in my life. My parents lived in Saudi Arabia and I chose to stay with my Sister after having lived in Saudi myself for two years. We were very close even though there was a nine year gap. She took care of me when my Mum couldn't. 


I liked my brother-in-law when I met him. He was funny and friendly. He was much better than her last boyfriend! I stayed with them the summer of 1982 and when fall approached I started school. The moment it was decided that I was to stay with my sister, his demeanor changed towards me. He was no longer funny or friendly, he was physically abusive.


I recall the first time he slapped me in the face. We were living on Bell St N in a two bedroom apartment/duplex and I am almost positive they had friends over. I must have said something wrong because the next thing I knew the right side of my face was hit so hard I didn't have time to react for the hand that was ready to lay down on the left side. "That's what you get for talking back!" Talking back??? I always talked like this. What is talking back???


My Father never spanked me. I did one time get a swat on the mouth but I knew why, I was yelling like a crazy maniac because Angelique wouldn't let me roller skate with her and she stole my friend. I was 11 years old. My Father cried so hard over that and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. Yes, I was shocked when it happened but I understand why he did it.


I still don't understand, though, why my sisters ex-husband did it. I really was not a bad kid, spoiled yes, but not bad. For three years I was subjected to this and it became worse as I got older. He dragged me by my hair upstairs to my bedroom one time and then proceeded to rip it apart. Another time he slammed me up against a wall in the hallway and attempted to strangle me. Good thing I knew how to fight back, took him a while to stand up straight after that. And don't ever tell anyone where your sensitive spot is because that is where a person will aim for first. In this instance before I gave him the obligatory knee in the crotch, I hit him in his jaw, which was his sensitive spot due to many surgeries and ridicules from childhood tormentors because it used to stick out and made him look "like a lizard". This was the hit that loosened the grip around my neck.


They always had boarders. Some of them were nice, others were crazy. There are two boarders in particular that must have decided for themselves that if my ex brother-in-law was hitting me, they could too. The first time I was 13. His name was Tim. My friend Elizabeth was staying night and we really wanted to watch television but he was playing his guitar in the family room. He had a friend come over so we seized the opportunity to watch a program. When he returned about an hour later he lost it!! He grabbed me by my arm and dragged me towards my bedroom where he threw me into the closed door, which promptly opened upon impact. He then shoved me in the back, towards my bed, where my toe caught the leg. Nice......I now have a broken toe. I called my other brother-in-law, he came over to get us and brought us to Elizabeth's house where I stayed all weekend until my sister and her other half returned from a weekend away. The second time I was 14. Her name was Penny. I am not too sure what set her off, I just remember she grabbed my face and dug her false finger nails into my cheeks and mouth. I was standing on the first level of the stairs where I had a height advantage over her. I lifted my right leg up placed my foot square in the middle of her chest and kicked her off of me. I supported my self with the banister because I really need to get this crazy bitch off of me and leg power was the way to go. I am surprised I didn't stop her heart from beating. She moved out shortly after that happened. 


My ex brother-in-law was a master manipulator and lair. He told my parents that he was doing the best he could with me but that I was out of control. I freaked out and started yelling at my parents over the phone and with much frustration hung up!! Yes, this call was placed all the way to Saudi Arabia, before those lovely phone plans, and I am sure cost a pretty fortune seeing how I did it twice in the same night.


I detest the kitchen table and do not eat there. I own one but that is about it. My ex brother-in-law loved to talk at the kitchen table. Here he would proceed to tell me that I was a looser, I was going to become a drug addict and alcoholic like my Mum and other sister. I was going to amount to nothing, I was a failure. No one cares about you, why do you think they dumped you here. Therefor, I eat on my couch at the coffee table. Mark Harmon doesn't seem to care either and keeps me entertained. Screw the family table, I can talk to my daughter about her day in the comfort of my family room.


I survived this abuse for three years. When I was 15 my parents sent me to Military School. I returned home for summer break and moved out when I was 16. I have pretty much been on my own since then. I did return home for my grade 12 year but found myself moving out again promptly for my grade 13 year. (No, I did not fail, there was a grade 13)


As the light flickered on the blade of this huge butcher's knife and I held it to my wrist, getting ready to slash my skin upwards, I thought of the mess I could potentially create. I also feared someone walking in behind me, scaring me, and the cut being ruined. I didn't want to be institutionalized, I am sure he would have loved that!!


When I was 27 years old, my friend Heather took me to the pharmacy to get my daughter some medication. As I was walking down the aisle I noticed him. Oh Lord, please don't let him have seen me. I attempted to dodge him but he caught me. He approached me and said Hello, I responded the same. For some reason, with my friend standing next to me, he proceeded to tell me that for whatever it was worth he was sorry for what he did to me. Whatever it was worth? He was wrong, his premonitions of how I was going to turn out did not transpire. I had a wonderful seven year old daughter, I graduated from High School and College, was working in the medical field and was living happily in the east end of Ottawa. Is this why he attempted to apologize because he was wrong? Whatever it was worth? Odd. "Do you forgive me?" I wasn't stunned or taken aback. 


My response was "No." 


I looked straight into his eyes and didn't quiver. He however, looked to the ground and shook his head with what seemed like sadness.  With that, I bid him good afternoon and walked away.


Forgive? Never. 

My beautiful Patty

Let me introduce to you my best friend. I had the pleasure of her being a part of my life for 12 years. She was 14 years old when it was her time to go to The Rainbow Bridge and wait for me. I hope my Father was there to greet her, my biggest fear is that she is alone. She left me December 9, 2010. A month and a half after I lost my Father.


She had a thick sable coat that your fingers would just sink into when you would pet her. She loved to have her stomach and underarms scratched. She loved to kiss and if you weren't careful, she would slip you the tongue. Uck....had that happened a few times, thank goodness she wasn't a poop eater.


My Mom found Patty for me. She had dogs so we had to have a dog. We met Patty at her house where I watched her interact with other dogs. She was full of life, seemed to have a constant smile on her face. I knew she was coming home with me. Her owner hadn't planned on letting her go first, he had other dogs he needed to give away (he moved back home with his parents) and Patty was his first dog, he wanted to cherish her until the end. I understand why.


She didn't have a lead on when I called her over to my Fathers mini van. She jumped right up in there as if she had done it a million times over and sat right next to me. She never looked back to her owner, she was focused on me, as if this relationship had existed from the moment she was born. When we reached my parents house and I got into my car so they could follow me with Patty, she ignored them!!! She wouldn't even take a boneo from them. When they arrived to my house and my Father put Patty in her new back yard I went to go and greet her at the door. She ran to me and kissed me.


My Mother had said she never saw a connection like that ever happen, Patty and I were meant to be.


She was such a good dog. She loved Lauren and was her playmate for years, right up until she passed. I would come home from work to find the dog dressed up on many occasion. She loved her huge backyard,  she could roam the perimeter and run up and down the fence with the neighbours dogs.


She touched the hearts of everyone she met. The groomers always said she was the best behaved dog. The vet couldn't believe how well a long she had come from her first visit, she had mange, was skinny and had no hair along the top of her body.


She was the best dog, ever. I miss her very much. Her ashes lay on my night stand table in a beautiful wooden box.

"Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives."

-John Galsworthy

I feel guilt, though. I had to make that decision when it was time to send her off into her internal sleep. I know it was the right and humane thing to do but I still feel guilt.


Guilt was not listed in the definition of grief. So shall I choose anguish?