Only being a 'fair weather fan' for the most part and rarely watching any regular season game of any kind, tuning in when things get hot and exciting, I can't get into any meaningful or intelligent conversation about the statistics, whether the calls were right, wrong or indifferent. In days gone by when I would try to show some enthusiasm and shout out comments about the officials of either baseball or worse, hockey, I'd be laughed at to say 'Mom you don't know what you're talking about.' Oh darn and here I thought I could show that maybe just a little of what I've endured over the years has rubbed off.
Perhaps that's the reality of it, my interest in sports is limited at best, mostly by association and very little by way of participation. When people ask me if I golf, I'll say yes, for over 30 years but it adds up to about 4 seasons! What's a little interesting is that I actually used to have a little bit of natural ability. Being very light and short for most of my life, I could run without effort, hit a baseball, catch one and even throw it relatively accurately. Apparently I have, or had, a natural golf swing although more practice would likely have led to greater distance and accuracy! Well enough of my limited sporting prowess. What has been especially heartwarming is truly how Canadians, as a nation, can be brought together, all cheering and rooting for the national team.
Just to show how things have changed, it was amazing to hear that many employers accommodated Jays supporters (and that's likely everyone everywhere) allowing them to watch the game during work hours. In 1993 I was on a week long course in Toronto, downtown, on the afternoon of the parade to celebrate the Blue Jays last World Series win and we couldn't even peek out the window to try to get a glimpse of the glory.
I'm not sure what it is that pulls people together to 'play' sports of any kind yet I seem to surround myself with people who can't imagine life without that connection. Never having directly participated in organized sports and always being chosen last or next to last in pick up games of typically baseball I somehow feel detached from the whole concept. What only dawned on me since growing up is that the most likely reason for being chosen last for any school year or after school game was due to my diminutive size and nothing to do whether people liked me or not.
Of course, what is a 10 or 12 year old to think, other than popularity was the deciding factor. That of course is a result of never having 'felt small' until looking at a photo surrounded by people by whom I'd be dwarfed.
Another long term memory is the time when my Dad came home with a neatly folded Brownie uniform, proudly offering it as a new opportunity for a 7 or 8 year old to learn some things I wouldn't learn at home from a father who was a single parent. To this day, I can feel the physically visceral reaction I had to that uniform being presented like a hard won trophy.
In looking back, it's a shame I couldn't be convinced to at least give it a try, but what used to be called defiance has acquired a new name 'counter will'. I guess my Dad used to tell people "You haven't met stubborn until you've met my daughter'. Imagine that?!
Tomorrow will be 11 years since my Dad passed away at the age of 83 after spending 83 days in KGH with congestive heart failure. From end of July 2004 I spent days and weeks at the hospital. During the day I would work at my job at the Foundation, running upstairs for lunch and dinner, heading home for a quick change of clothes and back to spend the night on a cot and showering in Dad's bathroom each morning. It came as a surprise to me when the nurses counselled me on my behaviour. While at the beginning they confirmed one needs to pay attention to an individual who, ever so calmly says they are going to have supper and then die, as matter of factly as if they were going to a movie leaving me and others wondering what his illness was doing to his mental faculties. But no, pay attention, do what you must do, to be attentive and caring during such times.
What you might ask then, did the nurses counsel me on? Well, after a month or so, I was gently taken aside to learn that while my Dad and I had a very special relationship, I was actually suffocating him in a way with my constant presence. Who'd know? In fact, it was suggested that what he needed more than my vigilance, was to give him space and room to die. As difficult a message as that was to hear, in many ways it was a relief although I did learn through that experience that one must allow their world to shrink to a manageable size when going through life's major difficulties including illness and death.
On the 27th of this month will be 13 years since my husband, Matt's dad, Rick, died suddenly on a Sunday morning getting up to pour me a cup of tea. Thanksgiving weekend happened to be the last weekend that Matt saw both his Dad and his Papa, losing them only 2 years apart. This weekend,we are enjoying a visit from friends from Mississauga who, ironically, we were to have a visit with for brunch the day that Rick died. Instead of brunch, they ended up meeting me at KGH after trying to meet me at church only to learn I wasn't there and that something tragic may have happened. Needless to say we share a special bond that will never be broken. Like the rest of people in my life, they have accepted Mike for the wonderful person that he is and as one of the most important people in my life. As I sit here some days looking out over the backyard and the slowly moving creek, I wonder if this may be the last year that I enjoy the view during this change of season. Is this the last change of colour I'll see in the trees, remembering what little Ella said when she was about 2 - that the trees change colour from the rain. Too cute.
As the weeks and months roll by, more quickly than ever it seems, I do realize that my best before date is heading my way, though not like the light of train roaring down a track toward me. It's a much calmer feeling than when I first started my Adventures in Prayer and Medicine. After all, it is now three years since we dropped down the first rabbit hole and one can't help but ponder the numbers that are so casually thrown around about five year survival rates and how some far outlive the projections.
What kind of a statistic will I become? Will I be filed in the expected date of demise folder, or maybe in the wow, look how long she lasted folder?
It's kind of interesting how it all becomes less scary - maybe it's the whole acceptance thing. Maybe it's the almost imperceptable increase in my faith that has been growing like a well nurtured and tended garden. Planting the seeds of faith development through daily prayer and bible reading, like watering floral containers, not as an obligation but as a known outcome from tender care. Praying the rosary started as a stilted, hesitant activity, trying to learn and memorize four different sets of mysteries, to be prayed on various days of the week. I had no idea. This activity has become as natural as covering up with a warm blanket on a cold day bringing comfort to my soul. Attending mass two mornings a week (yes besides Sundays) seems to provide solid grounding for the day. On reflection, it's like my faith focus is helping to calm the choppy waters that used to wash through me pretty much at the start of each day when relying most on my own devices to get through.
Something that has changed fairly significantly is my fear and concern about physical suffering. It used to cause almost heart stopping fear but that too, has been abating. I sometimes wonder if maybe I haven't experienced the excruciating physical suffering that some people have gone through. But then I remind myself that a burst vertebrae in one's spine is no walk in the park. Besides, there are good drugs that can be administered to ease the way to the great white light when that time comes if pain is a major issue.
A major mind shift that has taken place is the true belief that once we 'cross over', we won't miss those we are leaving behind. While it's hard to imagine, I remind myself of dreams I have that don't include those closest to my heart and how normal they seem.
Another thought that comes to mind is that with each passing year, there are more and more of those we knew and loved, have found their way. It's almost like we each have a stand of bleachers filled with all those who have gone before us each interceding for us as needed using their own special gifts and talents to help us. Some people would disagree with that notion and that the only one we can hope to have help from is God. Well I'd rather believe the former because it is comforting in many ways to imagine that we can rely on the help of those we respected even if they are unseen.
I had no idea where I was going with this post, yet again, as I sometimes worry about repeating myself but I will continue to ask the Holy Spirit for input and guidance as long as there is an interest in reading what happens to come through the keyboard.
Just as a final note to wrap up Thanksgiving. During dinner now 4 year old Ella leaned over to me and whispered in my ear "We don't say 'Oh my God', because that's God's name and he loves us so we say 'Oh My Gosh'". It was a subtle and gentle correction made to her earlier this year, interesting to know who she had a conversation with to provide her with the explanation. Out of the mouths of babes .....
I'm thankful to have been able to enjoy another year with family and friends and thank you for your prayers and support.
Until next time, take care and give those you love a hug.
Liz
dobbsjones@gmail.com
"Prayers wrapped in faith and sent with love are the greatest gifts we can receive"
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