December 23

Today, I miss my parents.

Or rather, I miss the idea of them.

I used to get so wrapped up in wanting, needing their love, needing them to just hug me and hold me that I actually believed that they did stuff like that.

They don’t. Never did.

So I’ve figured out that I don’t miss them, I miss the idea of them.

Right now I just want a mom.

I want a mom to make me some hot tea and rub my back. I want her to tell me stories about herself, about the trouble she would get into, about the boys she liked, who her first kiss was. What her favourite subject in school was. If she was ever afraid. Who her best friend was.

I know nothing about my mother. I know she met my dad in a bar while in College. I know he proposed to her in her mother’s kitchen. I know he bought her a statue of a cat one Christmas for a present and she hated it.

I know nothing of my father, either. I know his dad died from lung cancer when I was 3. I know my dad took refrigeration at Algonquin. I know he had a cat, a siamese I think. I know once him and his friends took apart a volkwagon beetle that belonged to their auto-mechanic teacher and put it back together on the roof of the school. I know he used to drink a lot.

How is it that I can spend 37 years with them and know nothing about them?

My mom always said that she was not my friend. She was my mother. And that hurt. Because sometimes you need a friend in your mom because you know she won’t judge you or try to change you. But she always did.

Sometimes I just want to be taken care of. I want someone to make a yummy supper and not ask me a million questions on where things are and how to make it. I’d like to just sit down and be quiet and then be called to dinner. To a yummy, beautiful dinner and there will be joyful discussion and love shared over the table.

And then I realize that I’m 39. Almost 40. And I shouldn’t need a mother. I haven’t needed one for a very very long time.

That kind of makes me sad.

It makes me feel very alone. Because I don’t have a joyful family waiting to have dinner with me. I don’t have a mom who’s been cooking all day and will greet me at the door with a huge hug because she just wants to hold me. And will push me to sit down, to eat snacks and have a drink and just talk. And there will be presents under the tree and soft Christmas music on and my brother will show up with his family and it won’t be awkward, because he and I will be close again. But were we ever close?

Am I dreaming this because I always wanted it?

And at 39 I find myself in an empty house with your father at work, you on the snow mountain and the dog staring at me because she wants food. And there is a Christmas dinner tomorrow at Nana’s, but… dad’s family isn’t crazy about us. About me, I guess. And I honestly can’t be bothered to go somewhere where I will be ignored and I will have to sit there and pretend to have conversations when I’m actually not. I’d rather be at home.

Wow do I sound pathetic.

I am grateful. For my small wonderful family. And I am grateful for God who gave me a loving small family, instead of a large, apathetic one.

sorry I’m whining.

mom.

a Full Snow Day

We woke up to a foot of snow already. You were outside by 10. The plow came by and made a huge snow mountain. You played for an hour and I called you in. You were soaking wet, your cheeks pink, your eyes sparkling. You pulled off your hat and your blonde curls were tight against your neck.

You went back out two more times. I made you take a walk with me tonight.

At snacktime, before bed, I told you that I started praying for your wife. You showed surprise. I explained that we’ve always been praying for your wife. That she would love Jesus. That she would be your best friend. That she would be healthy, a kind heart, full of compassion…

that she would be close to us, as well.

That means a lot to me.

It occurs to me again tonight that time goes by so so quickly. I was coming upstairs and I realized that you aren’t six. You’re eight. Eight. I promised myself I wouldn’t get weepy.

But today. I haven’t seen my parents in two years. Or my brother…

It made me wonder how I am able to shut part of my heart down. Or is it a wall? Or is God protecting me?

I don’t know.

When friends don’t call or make half-hearted attempts to care, I can shut my heart off.

Is that supposed to be a good thing?

Your dad called from the firehall tonight and he was so sad, so disappointed. He heard stories about the Christmas party that his platoon went to. He was sad because they went to strip clubs after. It made him more sad that the men he respected so much, went.  His heart hurts.

The snow  has fallen over 40″.

It’s awesome.

I love you I love you I love you.

Heroes

December 12, 2012 11:44

Dear Jackson,

A hero is someone we look up to. Someone who always takes the high road, does the right thing, is compassionate and gives freely of himself. Someone who sucks it up.

Jackson. You are my  hero.

On Monday you had a horrible appointment at CHEO. The doctor wanted to do a ‘ciliary biopsy’ because we thought you might have issues with your tonsils or adenoids. So we went to CHEO and prepped you best we could. Explained what she would do. We told you it would hurt, like a sharp pinch, but then it would be done.

You were ready.

We had to wait a good two hours to see her (very annoying) and I had a meltdown in the bathroom. I left to find it because I was so upset, so angry at what she was going to do to you. See, she had to shove a sharp wire with sharp metal bristles up your nose and scrape it. And I didn’t like that. When she came, I had to sit behind your chair, letting dad sit beside you. I had seen the wire and it was terrifying. She promised it wouldn’t hurt and that made me so mad because she was lying. I had to look up my iphone, look at facebook so I couldn’t pay attention to what was going on because I was going to faint.  And all you said, the entire time, in a small but steady voice was, ‘are we done now?’ Jackson. The wire went two inches up your nose.

And my heart broke.

I’m sorry you had that done. I would have gladly taken your place a thousand times. And you were so tough. As soon as she finished, I handed you your sleepytoy and you held it. We stopped at Booster Juice on the way home and that night you were so… grumpy. You told me that you were crying because Callum had mentionned that sometimes cars explode and that you thought of all your sleepytoys burning a car fire. I was so mad at that kid and I held your hand and explained that you had ‘10,000 angels watching over you’ and no harm would come to you or to them. And then you calmed down.

The doctor is checking for PDC. And if you have it, it means you will have a low immune system forever. And for some reason you’ll be infertile. I have no idea why that even relates. But then I think about you not having children, and my heart breaks. But our God is an Awesome God and He will provide. He is bigger than us and bigger than any disease.

Yesterday was your school’s bake sale. We gave you 2$. I asked you to stay away from chocolate because of the slave trade. You bought three candy canes. You offered one to Sydney because she forgot her money, but then she found it. So you gave it to Logan because he forgot his money. You ate one. And you brought home the third for dad.

Who does that?

A kid with character. A kid with compassion.

A hero.

Like you.

Love you babes.

mom