tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1908730968227719332024-03-13T13:39:44.997-04:00Year Ache...The First Year of Missing MumShe was my best friend, my most honest critic, my biggest fan... my Mum. <p>
March 2010 begins my first year of missing Mum.</p>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-80054078127415316922014-02-28T11:22:00.001-05:002014-02-28T17:14:04.854-05:0060 Postcards<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I need a daily dose of celebrity gossip, I tend to stop mid-morning at the Daily Mail's website. Packed full of photos and strange stories of movie stars going about their business, this site isn't one that I'd associate with a heartfelt, true life story of a woman desperately missing her mum. But today I found such an article. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rachael Chadwick is a 30-year-old Londoner who lost her mum two years ago. In <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2569805/Why-ARE-British-bad-dealing-grief-When-Rachaels-mother-died-expected-consoled-friends-relatives-Instead-left-lonely-isolated.html">the Daily Mail piece</a>, she spoke of how some individuals can have problems dealing with other people's grief, and I couldn't help but nod wildly in agreement. As I've mentioned here on my own blog, I've seen my address book change in ways that I never imagined. People who I thought would be there for me, <a href="http://yearache.blogspot.ca/2010/08/new-normal-absent-friends.html">disappeared</a> - and are still AWOL, sadly - while others impressed me with their caring words and actions. People, also don't know what to say, and often what they do say <a href="http://yearache.blogspot.ca/2010/09/coping-words-that-hurt.html">can be hurtful</a>. I lost my mum three years ago, and the anniversary of the fourth year without her is fast approaching. I'm also facing the first anniversary of my dad's death, so this time of year isn't one that I'm completely comfortable with anymore. But reading of Rachael's experience and the new path she's taken made me feel not so alone. It also left me hoping that people will read her story and realize that grieving is not something that you get over, or heal from. It's an ongoing process and weeks, months, even years later, the griever still feels the effects. It becomes part of you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rachael's story doesn't end here. Following her mum's death, she went to Paris to scatter 60 postcards in her memory. The hope was that the people who discovered her postcards would send her an email, so that she would know that her cards had been found. She set up <a href="http://60postcards.com/">a blog</a> to track the progress, and what happened next is incredible. Not only did she hear back from plenty of Parisians, but she also landed a book deal in the process. Her book, 60 Postcards, was just published this week. It's inspiring that an act of remembrance and love resulted in such wonderful feedback, and a book that will help many other people who are currently grieving. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-42449989193213284402013-12-24T08:15:00.000-05:002014-02-28T11:07:27.080-05:007 Ways to Cope with the Holidays After the Loss of a Loved One<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoyBNXudtqysY_wfF0CqHNoJ5eJELqW1qvspqxeb_BL3yewekd9prvTTNSu7CrAtt_I3Z1xyegD-sMNOlnldptdUpb3E4GRqzdrXGvucQ_Oi1bZNAuNU_7njBW_X_AED8suag39AD8UI/s1600/candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizoyBNXudtqysY_wfF0CqHNoJ5eJELqW1qvspqxeb_BL3yewekd9prvTTNSu7CrAtt_I3Z1xyegD-sMNOlnldptdUpb3E4GRqzdrXGvucQ_Oi1bZNAuNU_7njBW_X_AED8suag39AD8UI/s320/candle.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I must apologize for my prolonged absence on my blog. 2013 has been a truly difficult year.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> My father passed away in the spring after a short battle with the same cancer that claimed my mother's life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Becoming 'orphaned' as an adult is a fear that I always carried with me, but it doesn't matter how much you worry about the notion, you're never prepared for when it actually happens. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And here we areā¦ it's the holiday season, a time of family, memories and a renewed sense of loss for some of us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I recently wrote an article for Canadian Living magazine's website about how to deal with your grief during the Christmas holiday season. This subject is one that's very close to my heart. I wish that I had found an article like this one for the first Christmas that I spent without my mum. For my research this autumn, I spoke to a wonderful grief counsellor from Montreal - Dawn Cruchet. She offered some invaluable advice that I took to heart this year. I can only hope that my article will help others like me who are continuing to struggle with the death of someone special. <a href="http://www.canadianliving.com/relationships/family_connections/7_ways_to_cope_with_the_holidays_after_the_loss_of_a_loved_one.php">Click here</a> to read 7 ways to cope with the holidays after the loss of a loved one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-59150514815082388792013-02-26T16:02:00.000-05:002013-02-26T16:05:45.702-05:00Must Visit Website<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The 3rd anniversary of my mum's passing is only a few weeks away, and despite the ever-growing gulf between my previous world that I enjoyed with my mum, and the quieter, more lonely one that I'm experiencing now, I'm still comforted by new websites and books that cross my path.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAoHEEmbJfYoqa9yjxT2PHXs-RZypR0sDBhw_uzJMB5mslnzF4AjUZt364mEvGhkv1THOeD8RtYCeLeo-UjXen7mMeoofDj5xYMkqbr82R28d6y6IbQxnlsyQbSEGHPCQ_xDPZeUyBLk/s1600/9781401925420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAoHEEmbJfYoqa9yjxT2PHXs-RZypR0sDBhw_uzJMB5mslnzF4AjUZt364mEvGhkv1THOeD8RtYCeLeo-UjXen7mMeoofDj5xYMkqbr82R28d6y6IbQxnlsyQbSEGHPCQ_xDPZeUyBLk/s320/9781401925420.jpg" width="205" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have no idea how I missed <a href="http://grief.com/">Grief.com</a>. This wonderful site belongs to author David Kessler. His book <a href="http://yearache.blogspot.ca/2010/12/coping-great-book-search-part-2.html">"Visions, Trips and Crowded Rooms"</a> was one of the books that I leaned on in the months following mum's death. I still refer to it when I'm having a wobble and I need some support.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His website mirrors his books. It provides a safe haven for those of us who have lost a loved one, and still feel the emptiness that their absence brings.</span><br />
<br />Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-57827841439631067582012-05-12T12:39:00.002-04:002012-05-12T12:41:02.931-04:00Mother's Day Eve<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mother's Day is celebrated here in Canada and the United States tomorrow. I've always loved this day as it's the 'official' opportunity to tell the world how much you love and respect your mother. It's important. Mums do the most difficult job in the world and they cannot be thanked enough for it. Some people might need the little push that Mother's Day provides to tell their mum how much they love them, but </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I never fell into that category. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mum was my favourite person on the planet. We would get together at least once a week and we spoke every day. Each night, after dinner when we both would have just sat down, fresh from washing the dishes and before we got tucked into whatever was on TV that night, we'd have a chat. Chances are, I would have spoken to my mum earlier that day too, but regardless of how frequent we spoke, I never let one of our conversations wrap up without telling her that I loved her. I didn't say it because I felt like I had to, or because she said it first. I said it because I felt it deep in my heart and I couldn't bear to have her hang up the phone without hearing those four little words: "I love you, mum."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know many people think that occasions such as Mother's Day are just greedy opportunities for greeting card manufacturers and florists to make a killing on sad saps who need to make a grand statement. To those people I say, what's wrong with letting someone know - even if it is once a year - that you care about them? The world needs more love, not less. And if one day helps someone take pause and tell the people closest to them that they care, is that so bad? No, I don't think so either. It's amazing how a bunch of flowers or a glittery card can make someone feel loved and important. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've always been a fan of Mother's Day. But the last two years, my relationship with it has been strained. Marking the occasion without your mum here - to hug, to spoil, to love - is incredibly cruel and painful. I miss going through the motions on this day and every day. I feel like I can no longer take part as intended, that I'm standing on the sidelines watching all the other 'kids' of all ages, doting on their mums. The ache doesn't lessen two years on. It changes a bit, but it's still there and becomes part of you in a strange way. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you are fortunate to still have your mum a phone call away, do me a favour and tell her that you love her. But don't just tell her on Mother's Day. Tell her on her birthday. At Christmas. When the flowers in your garden bloom for the first time in Spring. Tell her every time you can - just because you *can*. You can't tell her enough, trust me... because when she's gone, you'll wish more than anything that you could tell her...one more time. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-14030371800885318452011-07-31T08:37:00.000-04:002011-07-31T08:37:49.611-04:00My Mom, Style Icon<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When your mum served as not only a parental figure, but a best friend, it's impossible to turn off the sensor that screams "cool mom-related stuff". Even with Mum gone, I seek out books, movies... anything really... that celebrates how special mothers are. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Case in point, I found a blurb for this wonderful new book in a recent issue of Easy Living magazine. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'<a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/titles/my-mom-style-icon.html">My Mom, Style Icon</a>' by Piper Weiss is the spin-off from the hugely popular website, <a href="http://momstyleicons.blogspot.com/">momstyleicons.blogspot.com</a>. The book and its blog celebrate the fashionable fabulousness of our moms. While growing up, we're all too busy with our own issues to realize that once upon a time, our moms had their own social lives and amazing closets stuffed with wickedly fashionable clothes. 'My Mom, Style Icon' celebrates these incredible women, their clothes and the love that bonds us. As a daughter of a truly fashionable Mum, I find this project incredible endearing. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's a wonderful clip from YouTube that showcases the book and the heartwarming process that brought it to fruition.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/jV3aumEfzL0" width="425"></iframe></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-87438414393568158792011-03-31T00:00:00.001-04:002011-03-31T00:00:05.685-04:00A Year Past<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQEM3Vs4HFE7-_xcUXm1gXYsSylwQZYUV_9oKbSy0V1M5E-hV_aHYi6nXSrD2y48tyj2VUOJaY11u4lNhsCwTzu5jd8S1q3Psdp1gVClXxYLw4fBDsGFOxY9WmAuZPn6lLp9ZZI7rNqY/s1600/sun-breaking-through-clouds-400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQEM3Vs4HFE7-_xcUXm1gXYsSylwQZYUV_9oKbSy0V1M5E-hV_aHYi6nXSrD2y48tyj2VUOJaY11u4lNhsCwTzu5jd8S1q3Psdp1gVClXxYLw4fBDsGFOxY9WmAuZPn6lLp9ZZI7rNqY/s320/sun-breaking-through-clouds-400.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's hard to imagine that I have experienced one full year since my Mum died. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first Easter, Mother's Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthday. Despite the year being only the passage of twelve months it seems to feel like it's been much longer. I hate the thought of this distance. Sometimes it feels like my Mum has been gone for much longer. It worries me that I will begin to forget her voice, her touch and her laugh. The longer that I am away from her, the more faint she becomes. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The journey of making my way in a Mum-less world didn't end when the calendar flipped to the year mark. If anything, I'm finding a new perspective on my situation as each day passes. The pain of missing her hasn't faded. If anything, I seem to miss her more on regular days than I do during holidays. She was part of my daily routine. Phone calls, visits... we didn't wait for holidays, or special occasions to get in touch. We spoke every day. Sometimes multiple times. The daily grind is truly that... a grind - but with each day, I try to move forward just as my Mum would have wanted me to. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to start this blog as a way for me to express my feelings during the worst spells of my life. I do feel that the writing process helped. Keeping feelings bottled up inside is never advisable. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So what's next? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For now, I plan to keep this blog active. My journey is still on-going and I'm not sure where I'll end up. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-74679739736803677282011-03-16T00:00:00.003-04:002011-03-16T08:23:13.781-04:00Quiet Times<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BVmsR1lAp_c?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="425"></iframe><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://yearache.blogspot.com/2010/05/music-didos-safe-trip-home.html">Song from 'Safe Trip Home', an album by Dido</a></i></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-60817176490921812032011-03-15T12:22:00.004-04:002011-03-16T08:22:49.392-04:00The Day Before the Day<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://yearache.blogspot.com/2010/05/music-didos-safe-trip-home.html">Song from 'Safe Trip Home', an album by Dido</a> </i></span><br />
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</span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-73162287319566158462011-03-04T15:18:00.000-05:002011-03-04T15:18:42.326-05:00Stumbling Towards the Inevitable<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is it human nature to find yourself tracking back to where you were a year ago? I'm assuming that it is, especially when a major anniversary is fast on the approach. The desire to compare and contrast where you stand today with where you were twelve months back is one that is at times overpowering, and somewhat inescapable. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since last year when I lost my Mum during its watch, March has lost its claims on being a kind, happy corner of the calendar. While I don't want the third month to be all doom and gloom -- especially as there are loved ones birthdays tossed in the March mix -- it generally feels like a cold, black hole. It's a strange feeling.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">March for me, used to be that month when the NHL season was winding down. I'd be obsessed with my team's drive towards a playoff berth. The weather would often be teasing us with the first appearance of Spring. Robins would return, and the dirty snowbanks would be in mid-retreat. The first steps back into what felt like a renewed life with plenty of sunshine, warmer temperatures and budding trees was knocking at my door. Possibilities were right around the corner. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ5n7mdqp_20UxeZLtx9oSxIvglv8icWoVVEQN5FsWzqhONfSV-vNHW5_WLKysWWDeHqSIsMHLLd1fjEyhGxRducdSkVxOxCui0uGxq-U-sz4gprC18ZrP5-yI5pdkfAv4BUMw5LVK0M/s1600/004OaksMistMeltingSnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ5n7mdqp_20UxeZLtx9oSxIvglv8icWoVVEQN5FsWzqhONfSV-vNHW5_WLKysWWDeHqSIsMHLLd1fjEyhGxRducdSkVxOxCui0uGxq-U-sz4gprC18ZrP5-yI5pdkfAv4BUMw5LVK0M/s320/004OaksMistMeltingSnow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">March this year casts a different shadow. It feels...gray. Not just outside my window, but inside as well. Every day I find myself falling back into this time last year, and I get lost in my thoughts. I remember quite clearly what was going on, how everyone was. I wonder if there was anything that I should have done differently. Why didn't I fully realize the signs of what was to come? I try to make myself feel better by stating the obvious - it's so simple to question the past. At the time, we were too busy coping, struggling through daily events to analyze every single thing. Yet, this explanation still provides little comfort. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The inevitable awaits me in a few weeks time. To say that I dread the occasion is an ignorant understatement. As my Mum would wish, I'm trying to be brave in the face of the worst anniversary imaginable. But like a magnet, drawing its prey ever closer, I cannot escape its pull. I will have to confront this milestone whether I want to, or not. I cannot hide, run away or pretend it isn't happening. Soon it will be here. Just another day for most, but for me it's one that will forever leave its mark on my heart. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-69290532372542830832011-02-23T00:00:00.006-05:002011-02-23T00:00:10.794-05:00Never Let Me Go<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the past year as I dealt with the constant storm of swirling emotions, I've tried my best to avoid movies that would leave me in a puddle of tears. Normally I'm no stranger to touching films - I love them, and a good cry prompted by a heartwarming (or wrenching) movie is often most welcome. But this year, I've tried to steer clear. I've managed to be selective about watching certain scenes in 'Forrest Gump', and I was lucky to <a href="http://yearache.blogspot.com/2010/12/skip-popcorn-just-bring-tissues.html">avoid 'The Family Stone'</a> completely. There will come a time when I want to <a href="http://www.losethatgirl.com/2009/03/rate-it-one-week-movie-of-year.html">watch 'One Week'</a> again - it's one of my absolute favourites, but it tends to do a number on me. It's best attempted with plenty of Kleenex on hand, and on a day when you don't have to go anywhere - so you can get tear-induced puffy eyes to relax, and shrink back to normal size. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLE1GiL48oBpOsILRDSmsLeEAWzg6bhne4_OLwi0i-rnrdv7YVWsL4dw6rLzN2I66X9iAFfP9pf35FTOM12ex2zGNfGvZkvGBHMaVBg7XNiWA_pQaplrTiZVrq-FfODJZV26AmuVldz8/s1600/Never-Let-Me-Go-movie-poster-1-406x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLE1GiL48oBpOsILRDSmsLeEAWzg6bhne4_OLwi0i-rnrdv7YVWsL4dw6rLzN2I66X9iAFfP9pf35FTOM12ex2zGNfGvZkvGBHMaVBg7XNiWA_pQaplrTiZVrq-FfODJZV26AmuVldz8/s320/Never-Let-Me-Go-movie-poster-1-406x600.jpg" width="216" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently with nothing on television one night, we decided to dive into the pay-per-view realm and take a chance on some spur-of-the-moment entertainment. Our choice? The new Kiera Knightley, Carey Mulligan film, 'Never Let Me Go.' </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't want to give the plot away but it's a very poignant movie. It's billed as a quasi-alternate universe-sci fi thing, but in truth, none of this labelling mattered; it's as moving as any of the aforementioned films, and I still find myself thinking about it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The story offers several messages, but one in particular I took to heart - how none of us have enough time in life to be with the ones we hold close and love dearly. Some of us live long lives, others short... but we all share the common desire to have more time, more memories, more love with the people who mean the most to us. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'Never Let Me Go' brings this hope home. It's a wonderful movie, one that I recommend for all to see. Just be prepared for the onslaught of puffy peepers - a temporary ailment that's well worth it in my eyes. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-14401715347072022142011-02-16T23:06:00.001-05:002011-02-16T23:07:17.007-05:00Beautiful Quote Rediscovered<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found myself in one of my favourite places today - a greeting card shop - and I was reunited with a beautiful bereavement card that I once held dear. I have sent this card to a couple of my dearest friends when they lost a loved one, and to see it again in my current circumstances, well, it made me feel a little better.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxi6bYTUAWwkJ2r1NA-xVezeSa2ZtJOfxoadlxlYgQ6LsQr5pRwG8VDWP7_iLz4cBvaSuVJaxjJwf-MQ8OMhRw0He4I730QndNwNxOHpmAhz9gWG54vSClixzRG29wUOUYnA_LnbBXVqo/s1600/stars-sky-lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxi6bYTUAWwkJ2r1NA-xVezeSa2ZtJOfxoadlxlYgQ6LsQr5pRwG8VDWP7_iLz4cBvaSuVJaxjJwf-MQ8OMhRw0He4I730QndNwNxOHpmAhz9gWG54vSClixzRG29wUOUYnA_LnbBXVqo/s1600/stars-sky-lg.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The quote is well-known, yet there's never been an author attributed to it. Shame, really because the sentiment is so heartfelt and comforting, the writer deserves the accolades:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>Perhaps they are not the stars, but rather openings in Heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are with us. </i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">I've seen the quote with a slightly different ending... instead of 'let us know they are with us', it most often ends with 'let us know they are happy.' Both are beautiful messages, both offer solace at a time when we need it the most. </span></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-36766356014937592232011-02-07T00:10:00.002-05:002011-02-07T00:10:00.130-05:00A Card for Mum<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7ra1zCE0UKuhFci3u0ldQTUZWYAomirOzCJY92FuBZ4EEIe5GqeKtH9LcVpZiE0CzYoPhOXQQvMtkweD_xJPbSEcY5mu-WjCwVy5zBDKUdYZ9mR37wAIGiuN2Zsvj2HByMPMQ_wNBkM/s1600/SC-1801.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7ra1zCE0UKuhFci3u0ldQTUZWYAomirOzCJY92FuBZ4EEIe5GqeKtH9LcVpZiE0CzYoPhOXQQvMtkweD_xJPbSEcY5mu-WjCwVy5zBDKUdYZ9mR37wAIGiuN2Zsvj2HByMPMQ_wNBkM/s320/SC-1801.png" width="255" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dear friends recommended that I continue the tradition of giving my Mum a birthday card. During my search, I found this <a href="http://www.tamtamdesign.com/product-details.php?id=33">beautiful greeting</a>. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lovingly created by <a href="http://www.tamtamdesign.com/index.php">Tam Tam Design</a>, it features a heartwarming image. I love how the baby bird is presenting her mother with a colourful posey. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, Tam Tam Designs only ship within the US but all is not lost. I found this card in my local shop here in Toronto, so perhaps other savvy shops in non-US locales stock this unique line as well. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-13969783104493703142011-02-01T23:23:00.000-05:002011-02-01T23:23:42.223-05:00Mum's Birthday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUPosQRK0XXHef5VrAjA7TO24fdzKVvQdSSFjLGNxguUWe7L7VbLsglmw5g4qw1D826alAdslPSB-teDunhD8XVT59XtWmo8msAC3iq8JE0CDb4Yub9dh4oYODZV9LaqRL2e6RsZUvjE/s1600/Mum-Daisy-Cupcakes.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUPosQRK0XXHef5VrAjA7TO24fdzKVvQdSSFjLGNxguUWe7L7VbLsglmw5g4qw1D826alAdslPSB-teDunhD8XVT59XtWmo8msAC3iq8JE0CDb4Yub9dh4oYODZV9LaqRL2e6RsZUvjE/s320/Mum-Daisy-Cupcakes.png" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There's a hole in my diary this week, a day that I'm not quite sure what to do with. My Mum's birthday - the first without her. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Up until last year, I would gladly take the day off. The notion of doing my usual thing, working away the hours on her special day, was just not on. I loved being with her so much. Mum was big on birthdays - for everyone else! She always went out of her way to make our milestones count. We would try to reciprocate the best we could. No matter what we bought, or did, it never felt like enough - I mean, what do you give to the person who loves you more than anything in this world?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This pressure was self-imposed. The presents, a special meal, flowers... Mum loved all that we gave her, but most of all she just loved our company. She valued the hugs, and laughs more than any trinket. We could have appeared on her doorstep empty-handed, and she would have been thrilled. We were there! That's all that mattered. On Mum's birthday for as long as I can remember, I'd spend the day with her. Now that her birthday has arrived, and she's no longer here, what am I supposed to do? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There's a hole in my diary this week, and an even bigger one in my heart. Happy Birthday, my dear Mum. I miss you. xo</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>The gorgeous cupcake photo is from the beautiful <a href="http://www.thecupcakeblog.com/tag/daisy/">Cupcake Blog</a>. </i></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-58818708623577238372011-01-11T00:00:00.003-05:002011-01-11T00:00:00.913-05:00A Beautiful Bereavement Card<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinYTsgFHuwymeCopaDajmKlXr7NDM8JTeRl3AAcUG7TrspaWjzoZUsOaYwwbVIIy9bn7OF8bMH9TqMGtszHjgDDbMPd6xjjGWMgqPCQh8nxdqQV7rVpDsSxvFxwsJnDlgC9xLvmVn-mto/s1600/They-lived-and-laughed-and-loved-and-left-Positively-Green-card-P828-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinYTsgFHuwymeCopaDajmKlXr7NDM8JTeRl3AAcUG7TrspaWjzoZUsOaYwwbVIIy9bn7OF8bMH9TqMGtszHjgDDbMPd6xjjGWMgqPCQh8nxdqQV7rVpDsSxvFxwsJnDlgC9xLvmVn-mto/s400/They-lived-and-laughed-and-loved-and-left-Positively-Green-card-P828-03.jpg" width="266" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a habit of collecting meaningful greeting cards for 'just in case' occasions. Many of these cards never end up leaving my house - I fall in love with their message or image and choose to keep them close.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's one example that I found this past Autumn at a local shop. It's dressed with a lovely sentiment from writer, James Joyce. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>They lived and laughed and loved and left.</i></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>(inside) And the world will never be the same. Deepest sympathy.</i></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's so melancholy and achingly beautiful... I just had to keep it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you would like this gorgeous card, it's a creation of Positively Green, and can be purchased at <a href="http://www.live-inspired.com/They-lived-and-laughed-and-loved-and-left-Positively-Green-card-P828">this link</a>. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-54412739829214336222011-01-06T22:20:00.001-05:002011-01-06T22:22:07.982-05:00Can't Let Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEiFs1DikQ1TY0dnj1FAr2glhAuq9uI76g3JjEzM0H59YoJF-bkE0mCXGSs7gsJGA3GsqPuc_XWUs28EDk0cfG8PLgJRZC7dd4grqKKCT3u3TjQCbTJByIZ0OiaGfxMFGDPEODrijOUVg/s1600/images-17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEiFs1DikQ1TY0dnj1FAr2glhAuq9uI76g3JjEzM0H59YoJF-bkE0mCXGSs7gsJGA3GsqPuc_XWUs28EDk0cfG8PLgJRZC7dd4grqKKCT3u3TjQCbTJByIZ0OiaGfxMFGDPEODrijOUVg/s1600/images-17.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's January 6, and my Christmas tree is still standing proud. For someone who was <a href="http://yearache.blogspot.com/2010/12/christmas-without-merry.html">hesitant back in December</a> about marking this past Christmas in any shape or form, it seems odd that the biggest, most prominent sign of the holiday is still hanging tough in my living room. Even I'm surprised by my renewed attachment to this glistening pine. Just a few weeks back, I chose to shun its festive spirit, but now I find comfort in it like a security blanket.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just don't have the heart to pack it away. As much as I wanted 2010 to be gone forever, a part of me wants to hang on for dear life. 2010 will be the last year that I hugged my Mum, heard her beautiful voice, and saw the love she had for me in her eyes. I'll never get that sweet comfort ever again. Every day is one more step farther away from her.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's true that the move into any new year brings with it a collection of regrets, hopes and remembrances, but when you're still raw from loss, everything seems more vivid, more heartbreaking. 2011, at least for the first few months, will continue to be as upsetting as 2010. The one year anniversary of Mum's death is nearing with every day - it will be the last of the first-year milestones, and the most poignant one of all. So perhaps it does make sense why I'm dragging my feet regarding my Christmas tree. If I can delay the inevitable even by a day or two, perhaps I can feel a little bit closer to my Mum. It may sound silly but right now, it just makes sense. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-64697248043795899892010-12-31T11:30:00.001-05:002010-12-31T11:34:36.349-05:00Happy New Year?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0o8ICemrTp-xCo3LsluzWQgJ4kNipkFfXUUsXgfqVzRTacxfMy6h-4payj6QA966ok-jWB7b36yv7wLMVFpZVKNhZnKlgEVzGlpS6BnDNOsnzLQEar51fHV6aE7aooxXp7I4wXx40s-w/s1600/5_new-year1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0o8ICemrTp-xCo3LsluzWQgJ4kNipkFfXUUsXgfqVzRTacxfMy6h-4payj6QA966ok-jWB7b36yv7wLMVFpZVKNhZnKlgEVzGlpS6BnDNOsnzLQEar51fHV6aE7aooxXp7I4wXx40s-w/s320/5_new-year1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a few short hours, 2010 will be making its hasty exit while 2011 clamors to take pride of place. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">New Year's Eve has never been an occasion that I'm particularly fond of. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Going out was always too fraught with stress ... reservations that were never properly honoured, the battle to capture a taxi... it always made more sense to stay in at my Mum's. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This year will be the first New Year's in a very long time - gosh, we're talking decades - that I haven't marked this milestone in her company.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unlike many people my age, I never had an issue with spending these holidays with my Mum. She was always so much fun to be around. She loved to play board games, eat calorie-laden naughty foods that you only cook up on such nights, and don silly, sparkly cardboard hats festooned with 'Happy New Year'! We would all struggle to keep our eyelids from closing prematurely but somehow, someway we would just about make it. New Year's Day was always greeted with a brunch of epic proportions: pancakes, bacon, toast, a frittata... and lots of Christmas cookies. We'd watch the Rose Bowl parade, play more games and dip into some of the DVDs that we received from Santa. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This year will be the first New Year's that I am at home - at my own abode. I really cannot shove 2010 out the door fast enough, for this year was the one that took away my beautiful Mum, and for that crime it has surely overstayed its welcome. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-15222982055205889832010-12-28T00:01:00.023-05:002010-12-28T00:01:02.437-05:00Coping: The Great Book Search (Part 2)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnp5Z3MHHQsrfgs2YRPHBHeOx8e22M2ahamJ01gEzef6hnH1J3DZmyryVJj_kvvd_EuKTjQ1Y1WhN3WRDFNiC9cmvpptwyEqj7Y59Y0d-kxnXUoMbBJK8wJDS911ho32HyGvDvOszk3l8/s1600/9781401925420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnp5Z3MHHQsrfgs2YRPHBHeOx8e22M2ahamJ01gEzef6hnH1J3DZmyryVJj_kvvd_EuKTjQ1Y1WhN3WRDFNiC9cmvpptwyEqj7Y59Y0d-kxnXUoMbBJK8wJDS911ho32HyGvDvOszk3l8/s320/9781401925420.jpg" width="205" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks to the kind heart of one of my dearest friends, I finally feel that I've discovered a book that is helping me with my grief. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">'<a href="http://grief.com/david-kessler-bio/books-usa/visions-trips-crowded-rooms/">Visions, Trips and Crowded Rooms: Who and What You See Before You Die</a>' by David Kessler has been a godsend to me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's beautifully written, and has been an amazing comfort to me. Kessler handles the topic of leaving this world for the next with sensitivity and compassion. I only wish that I had found this book before my Mum passed away. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I always be grateful to my dear D who gave me this insightful book. xo</span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-65137381256292099882010-12-20T00:01:00.017-05:002010-12-20T00:01:00.765-05:00Skip the Popcorn, Just Bring Tissues<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dealing with the loss of a loved one can be difficult at the best of times but when Christmas arrives in all its finery on your emotional doorstep, your heart is inevitably greeted with even more painful moments. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtETA4aW-gskHWNTqGwxKAzbG2LBeFA5S1gE5nikVTTx4BL7z2Kcx0fioKsjk1dGF-bCJ3Z8pyIO4sF75fK8ip0NwpeZL2B2IyS393_XeswrYKB0VCqv9s3dAf7lrv5eVooYODkxBAMGA/s1600/6a00d8341c824553ef010535efbfa2970b-800wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtETA4aW-gskHWNTqGwxKAzbG2LBeFA5S1gE5nikVTTx4BL7z2Kcx0fioKsjk1dGF-bCJ3Z8pyIO4sF75fK8ip0NwpeZL2B2IyS393_XeswrYKB0VCqv9s3dAf7lrv5eVooYODkxBAMGA/s320/6a00d8341c824553ef010535efbfa2970b-800wi.jpg" width="231" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Take movies for instance... most motion pictures created for the holiday season are full of warm remembrances, love-filled reunions and clarity of thought -- all subjects that are difficult to embrace when you're missing someone who you will never see again.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As much as it feels out of character, I've chosen to avoid some of my usual December celluloid picks ("One Magic Christmas", "The Homecoming", "The Christmas Box", and "Little Women" - the Liz Taylor version, Mum's favourite) because I'm just too raw for their stories right now. And let's not forget the animated Rankin & Bass classics - they're even more of an emotional minefield ("Nestor the Long Earred Donkey", anyone? <i>"Ears, Nestor."</i>).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The common thread in all these movies: their themes, all so beautiful and moving... and yes, I watched them all with my Mum. She loved each and every one of them. Atop of my avoid-at-all-costs TV viewing list is "The Family Stone". The last part of the story, after all the hilarity and family hi-jinx... well, if you've seen this funny yet touching film, you'll know why. The tree decorating scene at the end... heartbreaking, and right now too close to home. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So for this year while I *try* my best to partake and honour Christmas like my Mum would want me to, I'm sticking within the cinematic safety zone of Will Ferrell's "Elf" and "Love Actually." I'm not sure yet how I will fare with these flicks. I'm a big softie, and can cry at just about anything. Yes, I have been known to tear up during both of these favourites, but at least I'm hoping that I'll be able to stir clear of a full-fledged waterfall. I can't promise, but I'll try. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-30943804236107169172010-12-16T16:35:00.001-05:002010-12-19T17:30:51.524-05:00Christmas Without the Merry<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was told it would be tough.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first Christmas following the loss of someone so deeply cherished and loved.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I feel like I'm inhabiting someone else's body. Christmas is my favourite time of the year. Always has been. Normally, my tree is up just as our city's Santa Claus parade is wrapping up on TV. I strive to send out Christmas cards no later than December 1st, and search the shops early for the perfect gift wrap, and bows. Cookie baking is a joy, especially as my annual batch of chocolate chip just happen to be my Mum's favourite. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOaUhur8kkMYBYoI9Vpq4CN2_0o4OUgf9k-ixJFU-p_fUlECra9EgBNn4t5GTiyXCPCdbaif-UoGvY5v4ZlGStRRNGNhw3WZYrWCK1vBQzzSzXAxZO8sm2VksTEHkLOessmE3AbRs56pQ/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOaUhur8kkMYBYoI9Vpq4CN2_0o4OUgf9k-ixJFU-p_fUlECra9EgBNn4t5GTiyXCPCdbaif-UoGvY5v4ZlGStRRNGNhw3WZYrWCK1vBQzzSzXAxZO8sm2VksTEHkLOessmE3AbRs56pQ/s320/004.JPG" width="288" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But not this year. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dragging our tree out of storage and painstakingly taking a full day to decorate its branches - my heart wasn't in it. I was happy to be reunited with all my favourite baubles but they deserved more than me going through the motions while I hung them in their pride of place. Instead of hopeful anticipation, I felt sad, detached. Melancholy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The tree has been up now for a few weeks and surprisingly, I have all my shopping done (albeit from all online sources - I didn't have the heart to dig through all the cheery crowds in person). On the surface, this holiday appears to be just like all the others. The outside packaging is full of festive spirit and no one is none the wiser. Inside, however, my heart aches from the constant weariness of missing my Mum. All the tinsel and fairy lights wrapped around my tree won't make it heal anytime soon. And those cookies? I haven't been able to cross that threshold yet. Without Mum to enjoy their warm gooey brilliance, it all feels somewhat half-baked. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-8237281826914904972010-11-22T22:51:00.002-05:002010-11-22T22:53:56.771-05:00There is No Escape<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I just got back from my first proper vacation in four years. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNlhRIeUmlrHJTZCbYBSdfTapaCdbokx_aGYzUzN5PBVgPP7Udj7z_58ERM2rLuFSqKj6xr_0vV9EfRis6eYWS8n7zFTpQrZkOMnP0hGc8Eest8t0370opiZQFnScUY_6SK103MFMnNk/s1600/girl%252Csuitcase%252Cgoodbye%252Cphotography%252Csad%252Calone-6fabf204c512de0ee81fc8a93526f739_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNlhRIeUmlrHJTZCbYBSdfTapaCdbokx_aGYzUzN5PBVgPP7Udj7z_58ERM2rLuFSqKj6xr_0vV9EfRis6eYWS8n7zFTpQrZkOMnP0hGc8Eest8t0370opiZQFnScUY_6SK103MFMnNk/s1600/girl%252Csuitcase%252Cgoodbye%252Cphotography%252Csad%252Calone-6fabf204c512de0ee81fc8a93526f739_h.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've been anxious about travelling this year. The deep desire to disappear for a spell has been gnawing away at me but simultaneously, the notion filled my heart with dread. How would I feel several time zones away from home? Would events of this year seem clearer? Would I come to accept my new Mum-less reality and return home ready to start a new chapter without her? And who would be waiting at home to hear about my adventures upon my homecoming? Travel has wonderful healing properties - doesn't it?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the past when I've packed my cases and gone off into the far blue yonder for a spell of exploring, it always felt like my Mum was there with me. Before I departed, I would make sure she had all my contact details. She was my first port of call when I actually arrived - a phone call home to her from our hotel, the first action I took to let her know we were okay. Part of the pleasure of going somewhere was to find the perfect keepsake to bring back for her. Mum didn't travel much preferring to stay grounded at home, so it was a treat to bring back stories, photos and souvenirs for her, to show her what we had discovered. She loved all the minute details, hearing what we ate, what we saw. Reporting everything back to her felt like reliving the experience over and over again with her approval making it all the more sweet. It felt like she was there with me every step of the way.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unfortunately this trip was like no other I've ever experienced. Instead of gathering keepsakes to bring back to her, I carried an overwhelming sense of melancholy in my stomach. Going away to England didn't make me feel better about this year. Despite my Mum never setting foot in the country, being in London made me miss her even more. That quest for clarity? If anything, I felt even fuzzier about everything far from home. I continually would spot something I loved and have this incredible pull to tell her. Under normal circumstances I would have. I'd be straight on the phone - long distance, be damned - giving her the scoop immediately. Instead, there was no one on the other end of the phone line. My behind the scenes traveling companion was no longer with me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The infamous notion that you can run away from your worries, or troubles is an attractive idea but I sincerely doubt that it is feasible. Grief and despair just end up stowing themselves away in your luggage. There is no escape. You just end up taking them along for the ride. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My trip was a long time in the making and I'm ever so thankful to have had the chance to disappear for awhile - even if the respite was felt only physically, not mentally or emotionally. If travel works its healing magic by making you think more deeply, or question where you are going, perhaps it has done its deed. All I know right now is that I seem to miss my Mum more than ever, and searching the globe for answers didn't do the trick. There is no escape.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've searched Amazon, and numerous stores in the quest to find *something* that even remotely echoed my sentiments and emotions, and I haven't parted with a single dollar. The closest I've come to unlocking a kindred spirit book-wise was '</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://yearache.blogspot.com/2010/04/heart-does-break.html">The Heart Does Break</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">', a stirring collection of essays by Canadian writers. While not every account spoke to me, several did especially Jill Frayne's achingly beautiful piece. This publication ~ one that I discovered <i>before</i> my Mum died ~ is still a lone presence on my nightstand. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm not religious, and only somewhat spiritual. The majority of the books on the market cater to this segment of the population. I wish there were more accounts of the grieving process that didn't revel so much in abstract ideas, or fantasy. I'm thirsty for reality, even if it hurts. Such tomes could possibly prove to be a more gritty and less comfortable read, but I would welcome them - warts and all. In my experience, grieving isn't pretty. It's suffocating, dark and cold. Focusing on another world (heaven?) is a comforting notion but I yearn for a more tangible reflection of the process too. </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-78862895499813635302010-09-24T08:33:00.000-04:002010-09-24T08:33:26.606-04:00Coping: Words that Hurt<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bookshelves are tumbling over with etiquette guides to all of life's major events: births, engagements, weddings, even divorces but there's a lack of guidance when it comes to death, and grieving. Unfortunately, there are no lessons on how to behave when someone dies, or how to deal with those who are left behind. Sure, it's not the most happy of topics to study, or discuss, but I wish there was some sort of protocol as to what should - and shouldn't - be said. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHM5Ld90vpio6ntydckqXj8BMhAS4YHGro8dRK144ZxXzhBMaFRW-7T5tAOR4WnguTlIgU4VnzU4k0vGpz8DZWP-jxxzpFLGvwUwR5ZnPQVjIJ2BZ-Vg0sTyqCeZ0KDITLxKO6Q874rG0/s1600/magnetic_poetry1_by_cassandra_tiensivu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHM5Ld90vpio6ntydckqXj8BMhAS4YHGro8dRK144ZxXzhBMaFRW-7T5tAOR4WnguTlIgU4VnzU4k0vGpz8DZWP-jxxzpFLGvwUwR5ZnPQVjIJ2BZ-Vg0sTyqCeZ0KDITLxKO6Q874rG0/s200/magnetic_poetry1_by_cassandra_tiensivu.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Isn't it time you moved on?" "Feel better -she's in a better place"</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"How long are you going to be like this?" "Life goes on."</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Get over it already" "You can't live in the past."</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just a sampling of my particular non-favourite phrases said to me, or others that I know - all of us members of the club of motherless daughters. Perhaps the people who uttered these 'words of wisdom' thought it was better to say something... even if it was somewhat misguided? I can understand the discomfort in speaking up when someone dies. It's horrible. I'm not a fan either, but a simple "I'm sorry" is always a good choice especially when the alternative can sting - even unintentionally. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sticks and stones can hurt but words can too.</span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-50029215862440901692010-09-20T11:47:00.008-04:002010-09-20T11:59:12.170-04:00Milestone: Six Months<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was fitting that on the six month milestone of my Mum's death it was raining - nonstop, bucketing down. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Fy_NJqn4j70dPtPqhdU9DNhc447JyVhvpD5LEYCnEln617YZ4j2BoLdsQn8COFXWVsnFgsLxhJ7GImzIwVnFGskI9yKye_p2WGCpZpLZXa7EvtmEIh0ea96Dgxmr6HMx_O7o38Aj9g4/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Fy_NJqn4j70dPtPqhdU9DNhc447JyVhvpD5LEYCnEln617YZ4j2BoLdsQn8COFXWVsnFgsLxhJ7GImzIwVnFGskI9yKye_p2WGCpZpLZXa7EvtmEIh0ea96Dgxmr6HMx_O7o38Aj9g4/s320/images.jpeg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The weather was somewhat poetic - mirroring what I was feeling at this half-way point of my first year without Mum. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few months ago, I figured that with time I'd feel more settled, more accepting of my Mum's passing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I still think of Mum most hours of the day. The six month milestone was very difficult, not only the day itself but the lead up to it. Missing her so very very much. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Six months on, not much has changed. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish that I could hear her voice one more time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish that I could sit beside her, feel her warm embrace and soft skin.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish she was here to enjoy the glorious Summer just passed.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish for so many things.... </span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-71349060401832608492010-09-16T00:01:00.004-04:002010-09-16T07:23:04.526-04:00For Mum<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Love you, Mum. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dido's 'Grafton Street'</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yv9OpFRsL8k?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yv9OpFRsL8k?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span></span>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190873096822771933.post-79492077214289771702010-09-09T16:00:00.000-04:002010-09-09T16:00:23.995-04:00Mum Loved: Summer<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For some reason this month, I'm finding it harder than usual to accept Summer's gradual exit. I'm notoriously an Autumn girl. I adore Fall clothing, sports and the crispness that the air brings. Suntanning and perspiring profusely top my list of pet-hates. I actually begrudge the odd bit of tan that I do have - obtained by daily walks with my dog - being pale is what I *do*. But this year, I let all the goodness of Summer wash over me. I couldn't get enough - I finally made it my friend. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxS31svkwwfht5cjfPO7OKEKXZMvHgrzcuC-1cdMx02GFV1Q-7kN2K55uVTDQRMIFNwbrejXLKgBGE0cQCKCQnC3IDWpmZ4z6rH3MWNKFknGjOK8I4Qge6UE6VnoD7frrKwMY78IWe6A/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxS31svkwwfht5cjfPO7OKEKXZMvHgrzcuC-1cdMx02GFV1Q-7kN2K55uVTDQRMIFNwbrejXLKgBGE0cQCKCQnC3IDWpmZ4z6rH3MWNKFknGjOK8I4Qge6UE6VnoD7frrKwMY78IWe6A/s320/images.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think the main reason for my brief sojourn into Summer bliss is down to my Mum. She loved the warmth of these months. She would spend hour upon hour in her beautiful garden, tending to its every minute need. Perhaps I was channeling her joy of the season in an attempt to feel her presence?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mum's passing in March meant that she'd never get to prolong her love affair with the Summer. The fact that she was robbed of this small pleasure breaks my heart. She would have been so thrilled with the heat, and made due with the lack of rain. Summer last year she spent primarily in hospital, and once she came home, Mother Nature decided to give us a lukewarm August - definitely nothing to get excited about. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A part of me thinks that perhaps this year, Mum pulled Mother Nature aside and told her to create a Summer that would make her proud - one that would get her loved ones outside, into the fresh air - and away from being stuck indoors feeling melancholy and alone. It's true that a sunny, warm day does raise the spirits - it doesn't erase the pain of missing someone so badly, but it does make you feel a little bit more peaceful and happy... even if it's for just a short spell.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The fountains and reflecting pools at our neighbourhood reservoir park are no longer flowing. I actually had to wear a sweater *and* a jacket for my afternoon trek with my dog today. Without a doubt, Summer is taking its leave, and it hurts this time more than ever. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>Jackiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05356965226446396971noreply@blogger.com3