Milestone: Arrival of Good News

The other week, I received some exciting news on the job front. 

Since my late teens, I've worked in the media -- in broadcasting, specifically. I lived and breathed this wonderfully creative industry! I was fortunate to work for two incredibly innovative companies -- two of the very best in Canada -- and I was always so proud to be associated with both of them. 

Unfortunately, a short time ago, the broadcast landscape changed. Buy-outs and mergers were the name of the game. After years in the biz, I was laid off. My beloved TV company (my 2nd) was gobbled up by another, and while the successor celebrated its latest triumph, many of us were caught in the first wave of redundancies and kicked to the curb. Well, it wasn't actually that violent, but it sure felt like it at the time. 

It does sound like a cliche, but in many ways the loss of my job, one that I loved so much, turned out in retrospect to be a good thing for me. The company culture changed, many other people were later let go in the layoff undertow that followed and the place was suddenly different. 

Companies change. People move on. Life goes on. Re-invention while tricky at the best of times, is always a positive step. 

I decided to follow my other passion and become a freelance writer.

The new career path started hesitantly. My Mum's illness was one of the reasons why my new gig began with a whisper and not a shout. I wanted to be there for her hospital stay, her subsequent healing at home, and doctors' appointments. At least dabbling in freelance, I could be there for her on my own terms. I didn't have to ask anyone for permission. I didn't have to feel guilty that I was often absent. Being cut free from a 40+ hour a week office job was a very good thing at a time when family must come first. 

My Mum was the first person that I would call when exciting news came my way. She was always my #1 fan. She never had an agenda, or felt obligated to be happy for me. Her joy for my little victories was genuine every single time. Since my Mum passed four months ago, I have had countless instances *daily* when I really wanted to call her up and tell her my news. Most often it would be just minor stuff but still... the stories of everyday life where you share tidbits back and forth. I shared so much with my Mum on a daily basis. Life has felt somewhat hollow without her at the other end of the telephone, or dining room table.

The other week, I received news that one of my pitches to a new potential writing client had been accepted. This news was a huge deal for me - a first step to working for new people, getting more exposure, getting truly in gear for this new career that I am really enjoying. Yet, the one person that I wanted to share it with more than anyone else was not here. Even now when my dialogues with her seem somewhat one sided, I still want to make her proud. Hopefully somewhere, she is. 

Rona Maynard's When Your Mother Dies

I find great comfort in reading the accounts of other women who have lost their Mothers. Often these real life stories are heartbreaking and at times difficult to read, but when you have been stumbling down a motherless path yourself, there's always something tangible in such prose that makes you feel not so alone.


Rona Maynard, who many Canadians know and love as the former editor of Chatelaine magazine, published an incredibly affecting piece a few years ago. It's a credit to Rona's writing that this beautiful article stands the test of time. It's as poignant now as it was in 1996 when it first captured the attentions of millions of readers. Revisiting Rona's article, I cannot quell the urgent tears that so desperately want to trickle down my face. A more moving editorial you will not find. I wholeheartedly recommend it.


I hope many of you find When Your Mother Dies as wonderful as I do. 


Want to read more from Rona? Please visit her website for a collection of her published works. Once at her site, you can also find out more information about her book, 'My Mother's Daughter' now available in paperback. 

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today, actress Farrah Fawcett lost her valiant fight against cancer. 

I remember hearing the news last summer so very clearly. My Mum was in hospital weeks after her own diagnosis. My new normal at that time involved spending all my waking hours in the stuffy, air conditioned hospital room keeping Mum company, dealing with the seemingly endless parade of doctors, nurses & experts, and struggling with every last fibre of my inner strength to keep my emotions in check. Like many people with an ill loved one, I could not let my Mum see me the least bit upset or stressed. Our endeavours were all about healing, getting better, going home.


Remaining positive despite everything. 


Last year when Farrah died, it was such a surreal experience. When actors, athletes, politicians - the famous - pass away, it feels like we are mourning someone we know. Strangely. Absurdly. Farrah's story was on the news continually that day at least until Michael Jackson died unexpectedly the next. But it was Farrah that touched me in a way that Michael didn't. Farrah had cancer. My Mum had cancer. Farrah was not defined by her diagnosis - neither was my Mum. Both beautiful, both fighters. Both with cancer now in the family. 


Is this why... whenever you hear of someone with cancer, it feels like you *know* them - even when you don't? You can understand the pain, fears & hopes that their family is enduring. The dignity & respect of those stricken, and how they just keep on fighting for themselves.... for us. What is it about cancer that makes us feel this way? 


I couldn't help but feel for Farrah's family today - I know how it feels when you're left behind. 

Coping: Birds of a Feather

For the first couple months of missing Mum, I've unabashedly sought solace with friends in a similar situation. I didn't mean any slight to those I know who are fortunate to have two living parents - no, that wasn't my aim at all -  for a spell I just felt more comfortable and understood in the company of people who had walked this melancholy path previously to me. 


The bonds of common experience are wonderful gifts of healing. To discover that someone understands you fully even without uttering a single word or sentence is one of the most meaningful moments between friends. In so many circumstances, such shorthand just does not exist in life. When the worst happens, it can be difficult to properly explain how you're feeling, where you're coming from. 


I've been so fortunate to have three amazing women in my life who instinctively knew where I was coming from. I wish the situation were different for all of us - that we didn't have this sad milestone in common, created with the loss of our beautiful mothers. I wish. Oh, how I wish.


It's been three months and a few days since my Mum died, and I'm entering a new phase...the fourth month, almost a quarter of my first year gone. I can hardly believe it and find myself revisiting my filofax to confirm the true date. I'm starting to socially visit friends from outside this precious circle. I'm feeling like it's time. I'm ready. In my heart I know that I wouldn't have been even remotely ready for this next step if it hadn't been for the three truly amazing women who held my hand, comforted my tears and listened to me over and over again. My gratitude to you knows no bounds. You know who you are, my dear friends, and I'll never, ever forget your kindness, love & friendship.   xoxo