Sunday, January 31, 2010


I dreamed about Dad last night.

He got to come home from heaven for a visit. He just walked in the door at Mom and Dad's house. And we were all so happy. And I got to show him Hannah. He thought she was funny, of course, because she is, and he was amazed at how big she is now and all the things she can do. It was amazing to be able to show her to him, such a relief. Like everything that was tight inside me loosened.

(It occurs to me as I write this, that maybe that's why I talk so much about her to everyone. I catch myself doing it a lot more with her than I even did with the boys. I want to tell everyone every tiny little detail because I have this need to tell him, and I can't.)

And we watched some TV and we visited in the living room, with Mom wandering in and out of the living room like it was no big deal, like we had all the time in the world, happy and relaxed. We all felt like that. Like it would be a really long visit. Maybe years.

And then he was in the kitchen on a chair by the phone, and I walked up to him and put my arms around him where he sat. And I rested my cheek on the top of his head... On his soft hair.

I said, "This is what I should have been doing the whole time. I just want to hug you and hug you and hug you. " And then I said, "I miss you so much, we miss you so much." And we cried.

And then I woke up.

Monday, January 25, 2010

The Moving Finger

Apparently, Mom wasn't done with the last round of Balderdash. I wasn't either. It kills me that I didn't think of this till Ang told me she was expecting me to write something like this. So I'm posting it here. Because this is the movie plot that should have been:

Little Dudey finds himself stranded away from home over the holidays and joins up with a fat man in a Winnebago to find his way home. The coming of age story that will move you, inspire you, and change you forever.

Friday, January 22, 2010

On Hold

I wonder when this will feel real. I wonder when I will stop replaying the first months when you were in pain and didn't know why, then the diagnosis, the hospital stays, and finally Seattle over and over in my head just to convince myself that this really happened.

How did this happen?

How did you go from laughing and alive to buried and gone? It seems like one minute you were here, and the next gone... Or more and more... Like you were just a dream. Because this can't have happened. I can't have had you for my dad and lost you. You can't be gone. I can't watch my kids grow up without you. I can't.

I can't.

So this can't be real. This can't have happened. How can this have happened?

It can't be real, that I call your house and I hear your voice, but it's only the answering machine, and I find myself hitting redial, hoping for I don't know what. I have to tell you how Ben and Sam are driving me crazy this winter because they've discovered wrestling. Naked wrestling. I have to watch you laugh at Hannah's silly little wiggle crawl that she does. I have to hear you say, "Hello BenjOmin!" Dad. I have to.

How did this happen?

I feel like I'm waiting for something, but I don't know what.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Haiti Help: UPDATED

I couldn't believe this poll could be right when I first saw it. I went back to the homepage and clicked again just to be sure.

As I see it, this poll and the comment underneath it sum up the problem with our world today perfectly and almost entirely. Basically it's this: "Someone else will help them, I've got my own problems right here." Really and truly appalling. I'm ashamed to be from Saskatchewan today. I know it's just a poll, but still. 72% of the people who answered it can't be bothered to make even a small sacrifice of time and finances to help people who's lives have been torn to shreds. (At least they're honest right?)

Just another heartbreak in this stupid messed up world of ours. It makes me cry.

Here are a few links to organizations that are helping in Haiti, in case you're not made from the same cold hard mold as the majority of the people who answered this poll:

Red Cross
World Vision
Doctors Without Borders

UPDATE: I've been schooled today. At the beginning of this post I wrote that I thought the problem with our world can be summed up in one sentence. I missed a second one. "They wouldn't help me if the tables were turned." That is the response from more than one commenter on the poll. I really, can't even believe it. This day has reminded me of why I don't usually watch/read the news. When I do, I just end up feeling hopeless in the face of so much nastiness. I feel sick. And sad.

I'm going to go play Sims, where everyone is thin and good-looking, and a maid comes to clean my house, and no one is mean to each other because I'm the boss and that's how I programmed them, and if they aren't nice I just delete them. It's probably a very good thing that I'm not God today.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

The Thing Is...

You train yourself to hope. You make yourself push away fear and despair. Every time you start to feel yourself going there, you tell yourself things.

"He's fine. He'll be fine. You're not going to lose him for a long time yet. You're over-reacting. It's fine. It'll be fine."

Over and over and over you push down the terror and you grab onto hope and belief with everything in you. And then he's gone.

And you're left standing there, shocked. Disbelieving. Suddenly without any hope that he's going to make it... That you aren't going to lose your dad to cancer. And all those years of training are still screaming at you, and you find yourself unable to accept that this really happened. You're so used to grabbing onto hope, to fighting, that even though there's nothing left to fight for you feel anxious because you're not. Like you're missing something. You've forgotten something. There must be something you have to do. To fix it.

And obviously. There is hope. There is belief. There is life.

But you aren't trained for this. You have to teach yourself all over again.

"He's gone. It's not okay, but someday it will be. He's happy and he wants you to be happy again."

I'm sure there's more. I know there are other things that I need to be telling myself, but I don't feel ready to hear them yet. I'm already struggling just to be able to tell myself that he's gone. That this really happened. Replacing the things I used to tell myself just to make it through... With new things. So I can make it through.

Friday, January 08, 2010


Two years ago Dad spent his birthday in the hospital. That was a hard day for me. For all of us, but we hoped that there would be plenty of birthdays still coming that would make up for it.

Last year everyone went out for Dad's brithday, but not us, because we were stuck in stupid Yorkton. That was hard for me. But I made myself feel better by ordering him an expensive present and telling myself that there would be other birthdays to make up for it.

Obviously, today is so much harder, that there are really no words. But it feels like I need to mark it somehow. Not just let it go by without saying anything, which was my initial intention. So I looked back at old birthday posts...

January 8, 2009 (From Ben) (From Sam)
January 8, 2008
January 8, 2007
January 8, 2006

... And they kind of say it. But not. Because of course, as much as I tried, they didn't really say it then either.

I still ask myself every day, "How did this happen?" And today I add to that a sinking feeling in my chest every time I think about what I wanted, what ALL of us wanted, January 8, 2010 to be.

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Family Game Night

While we're all waiting for Aunty Margaret to post the definitions over on the Balderdash Blog, let's play a little game. A picture game.

First: What do all of these things have in common?
What do you suppose this is?