Shirley and Mondays with Mac Visit Sudbury

This morning, at what felt like far too early of an hour for a vacation day, I was in the car driving Mac to Tim Horton's. I told him we were going so he could get a bagel. But, really, I needed the coffee. The radio was set to our local Ottawa station, Hot 89.9, and psychic medium Blair Robertson was on the air answering questions. Usually people ask about their futures. When will I meet my mate? Will I get pregnant? Will I get a promotion? But today most the callers were focussed on the past. Each one wanting to connect with a loved one on the other side. He offers them words that seem to comfort them. Many of them just wanting confirmation for what they already think they know.  But knowing that you know something is far different than thinking it. And third party confirmation is always helpful. Then he offers some comments that seem to be directed at everyone instead of just the person on the other end of the phone line. Love never dies, he says, it's the topic of his next book. Once someone loves you that love doesn't just go away. Ever. They are around you. Maybe not every millisecond of the day. But sometimes. When you need it. 

And that makes me smile. Because we've been talking a lot about Shirley lately. You remember
Shirley don't you? My late Mother-in-law. Who is not really late for anything. That's a strange expression. She's early, really. Early to be gone from this world. But we talk about her. A lot. And she's here. Kinda. If you are new here you can start with THIS post. And then, if you want, there are more posts HERE. 

I'm grateful that I at least got to know Shirley before she passed. I'm grateful that when my wife speaks about her I can imagine her moving, laughing, being silly and saying things that don't always make perfect sense, except to her, while chopping up vegetables in the kitchen. Shirley signed her name with a smiley face every single time. It was so uniquely her that a smiley face even ended up on her tombstone. I'm not kidding.

Last year we decided to take this huge leap. We started a photography company. And we invested tens of thousands of dollars into it. And jumped with both feet into a very over saturated market. Without really knowing if we could do it. And along the way we've had moments of OMG what are we doing? And hey! Check us out! We are TOTALLY doing this. Like, for real. And as time passes it's so much more of the latter and so much less of the former.

As we travel from Ottawa to Sudbury I am so excited to shoot an engagement session and a sold out set of mini family shoots in my hometown.

Josh and Lisa's engagement shoot goes well and I'm starting relax and get excited for the day of mini shoots on Sunday. Until I look at the weather and realize they are calling for non-stop rain. And that's when the self doubt kicks in. What are we thinking starting this business? I can't reschedule photo shoots in Sudbury when I don't live here. We're going to disappoint all the people. 

So we are having that kind of a discussion when we head to the Tim Horton's drive through. And our coffees land in our hands with a little message.

Relax girls. She's telling us. I got this.

And she does.

It threatens to rain all morning. But it holds off.

There are also photos of this family where everyone is looking at the camera. But this is more indicative of their shoot in general. And I'm always a fan of real. 

This is how I imagine life with four kids would be like. 

The sky is grey but it's not until our last morning session of the morning that it starts to come down. We manage to do half the shoot outside in the open air and half of it inside a small gazebo. And that all works out fine. 

The family who booked immediately after lunch had already cancelled a few days earlier. We decided that instead of booking a new family during that time we would just take a long lunch and enjoy a warm meal while my parents are busy wrangling our toddler elsewhere. 

And that was a really smart plan because it rains all through lunch and through what would have been the cancelled shoot. We are watching out the window, hoping and praying that the rain clears up. And then our bill comes. 

We laugh. And watch as the sky turns from grey to blue and the rain stops. 

We breeze through the rest of the afternoon with a gorgeous post rain sky. 

The day ends and we are packing up our gear and Tracy turns to me and says "I can't believe Shirley pulled that off."


I sometimes feel like I missed out by not having Shirley in my life for very long. I don't have those oh my meddling mother-in-law stories that some people have. And then I remember that I kinda do. She meddles a little here and there in her own way.  And Blair Robertson is right. I think. Love never really does die. Because she's still here. Maybe not every millisecond of the day. But sometimes. When we need it.

There but for the grace

In an instant the whole world changed. I blinked and my mind saw ambulances and screaming and tears. A wheelchair. A coffin. A religious person might say there but for the the grace of God go I. Those words feel a little misshaped in my mouth. They aren't mine. And yet maybe they are true.

Two years. It's gone by in an instant. My baby boy who just two years ago nearly didn't stay on this earth is now much more than a sweet lump of flesh and smiles and tears. He's a person. With likes and dislikes, moods, and attitudes. He's perfection. And annoying sometimes.

He's our whole world.

Two year olds don't really understand birthdays. Cake, and presents, and general celebration of their very existence. That makes total sense to them. But the marking of time passing is beyond their comprehension. We know that he will be as happy with a birthday gift of socks as anything else. And, in fact, someone does get him socks and he opens the bag with shock, wonder, and excitement. But still. As his moms we want to celebrate Mac's circling of the the sun with something grand. We know we don't need it to prove our love. Or maybe we don't. 

Tracy decides that she wants to buy him his first bike. She's seen Youtube videos of peddle-less Strider bikes and has to have one. And ever since our nephews visited with their skateboards the "boys boards" have been of particular interest too. So a bike, a board, and a helmet it is. 

Helmet painting done by my talented wife. 

We take him to the skate park to play with his new treasures. Also, because when you have two photographer moms there is always a search for the perfect backdrop. 

Mac is playing. I am photographing. Tracy is hovering. I can almost hear the sound of helicopter blades circling above his head. She is annoying me. She's in my shot. And he's just a kid having fun. Let him be I think. I see colourful graffiti and interesting lines. She sees a death trap of steel and cement. 

He's playing. I'm snapping. He loves to watch the skateboard go down the ramp all by itself. The wonder of gravity is not lost on him. Whop, whop, whop, whop. My wife demonstrates helicopter parenting like it's an infomercial. 

But he's fine. Secure in his footing. Not actually standing on the board. Yet. And she takes a moment away. It only takes a moment. 

Ambulances. Screaming. Tears. A wheelchair. A Coffin.


I watch through my viewfinder as his feet move backwards, over the steel edge of the half pipe. He's not wearing his helmet. It's a long drop. My heart stops. And I scream.

Two moms rush to his side and wipe his tears. My eyes search for cuts, bruises, broken bones, a cracked skull.  But there are no signs of an injury. It was a long drop. I don't know how that's possible.

My heart is racing and I'm ready to head home. Back to the baby-proofed house that lacks cement death traps.

But his tears wipe away easily and he's not quite done.  We decide to let him stay but, baby, lets play on the ground OK?

With the board in his hand he's ready to go again. He smiles and his little finger points to the happy face sticker on his skateboard. 

"Nanny."

"Yes baby. That's Nanny." (If you are new here and this reference doesn't make much sense to you then you should really click over HERE for the backstory). 

And there but for the grace of God (and Shirley) go I. 

Momentos Left Behind

When someone you love passes there is a finite number of their possessions that remain behind. Clothing, letters, grocery lists, hand lotion - these everyday items begin to hold a strange kind of power by virtue of the fact that they were once held by someone who can no longer hold you.

After Tracy's mother passed we inherited her car. But more valuable than the vehicle itself was the collection of toothpicks and wet naps in the glove compartment. In the years that followed she occasionally reached for those items and felt her mother's presence. But, of course, the glove box was not of the magically replenishing variety and eventually those toothpicks and wet naps were gone.

Tracy is lucky in that she doesn't have to look far to see a hello from her mother. Smiley faces cross our path pretty regularly and we always say a hello to the woman whose presence we miss dearly.

Mac at Shirley's grave - Mother's Day 2012

But the things that were actually hers, the stuff that she touched, those are few and far between these days. As Easter approached we discussed what we would do - would we travel to visit family? Make Easter dinner here? Have an egg hunt for our toddler who wouldn't yet really grasp the concept? And then my parents offered to pick Mac and up and take him to Sudbury for the weekend. After weeks of illnesses and a backlog of photos that need to be edited we were grateful for the toddler-free weekend. But, as she does at holiday time, my wife was still missing her mom and the turkey she used to make. 

Tracy's dad lives in between our home in Ottawa and my parents in Sudbury so we drove there for a visit before passing Mac off to his eager grandparents. He is at the touch-everything-don't-stop-moving stage and in an effort to keep him occupied for longer than thirty seconds Tracy's dad suggested that we go through the bins of toys her late mother had stored in the basement. An avid garage-saler and flee market seller she had bins and bins of treasures just waiting for her newest grandson to get his sticky fingers on. 

And in a sea of Batman, Superman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Sesame Street characters we reminisced about the Nanny he will never meet but will always know. 

This photo has nothing to do with this post. But isn't my kid cute?

Happy Easter Weekend Everyone. 

Mother's Day without Mom

If you are new here you should probably start with this post, it will make what you are about to read make more sense. 

Dear Shirley,

We turned around, we blinked, and suddenly it has been five years since I last wished you a Happy Mother's Day in person. I still have to do the math as I write that. Five years? Could it really be that long already?

I can remember the first mother's day that Tracy spent without you. That was a hard one. My mom visited, and other people reached out, and that was nice. But none of it really mattered to your daughter. She missed you. So much that it hurt. And even though it had been four months since your passing she could still hardly believe that you were gone. There was a surreal-ness to it all. Like it couldn't really be true. People, everywhere, can't simply just loose their mothers and go on living like nothing has changed. Can they?

But what she didn't quite grasp then was that you don't loose your mother and go on living unchanged. It changes you. The grief sucks you in and molds you. It's like taking a piece of dough and kneading it. Thoroughly pounding and stretching it. Love and exertion and tears mix into the batter. And then it is rolled out - stretched until it becomes something else entirely. And as it bakes it finishes the transition. No longer an unsuspecting ball of dough. Now it is bread. Not better or worse. Just very different.

But after only four months without you she was still drowning in the grief. Being pounded and kneaded but not yet ready to be stretched and rolled out. Five years later things are different. The transition is complete. Time has not lessened the grief but it has softened the rough edges. And what remains is a longing. Your daughter has come to terms with the fact that she will never again touch your face or feel the warmth of your hugs. But she misses you. And so do I.

This Mother's Day is different. As you know we have had a pretty phenomenal year. I don't know if you had any hand in choosing Mac for us, but if you did - WELL DONE! He is the absolute picture of perfection. He is everything that we hoped he would be and more than we could have ever imagined. Just like the early days after your death, when it seemed too inconceivable to believe that we would never see you again in this lifetime, it feels entirely unbelievable that he is ours. It's funny how those two extreme emotions, of grief and of gratitude, can feel the same in your stomach.

But it is in times of celebration that your daughter often feels your loss the most.  And I know that you know this. Because every.single.time you send us a smiley face and let us know that you are watching. And we appreciate those smiley faces more than you will ever know. You taught your daughter to be skeptical, to protect herself and her heart. You taught her to be smart and think critically. And she is and does all of those things. But when you send her a smiley face she forgets all that. Her eyes well up with tears and she just believes. So thank-you. Please keep sending them.

As this Mother's Day approached I knew she was missing you. And I was hoping that you would send us a smiley face to let us know that you were watching, wishing your daughter a happy first Mother's Day from beyond this world. But my Mama taught me to make things happen so instead of waiting for you to send us a message I brought your daughter to you. I suggested that we visit your grave and see the smiley face on your tombstone instead.

I'm sorry we don't visit you there more. Although I know that you aren't there and that crying at a graveyard is the last thing you'd want us to be doing. We are more likely to find you when we turn up the music and dance around in the kitchen with Mac in our arms making silly faces. We are more likely to find you at a flea market bartering little old ladies out of their bingo winnings. We are more likely to find you in a smile. And, I promise, we do find you in those places. But today we also found you at your grave.

As we approached your tombstone, the one your husband lovingly picked out through red tear-filled eyes, I gave your daughter's hand a quick squeeze. She smiled and introduced you to your grandson who was full of coos and smiles and arm waves. And then she sat him down on your grave. Before I could stop myself I was lecturing her.
Babe don't let him sit there. It's disrespectful. 

And your daughter laughed at me.

Do you think Shirley cares if he sits on top of her? She would want him to dance right here on this spot. 

 

And she's right. She's a smart one your daughter. So our little family of three took a seat. We laughed and we played. We snuggled and we chatted.

And then it was time to go so we said our good-byes and wished you a Happy Mother's Day. It was bitter sweet. And the bitter and the sweet worked together to make each other stronger. The sweetness of our precious baby boy was magnified by the bitter of your absence. And the bitter of your absence was magnified by the sweetness of our son.

I'm not sure why I started this letter and now I'm not sure how to end it. I just wanted you to know that you were not forgotten on this, or any other, Mother's Day. I want you to know that we are treasuring your grandson and taking the absolute best care of him that we can. And I want  you to know that you raised your girl right. You would be so proud of the Mom she has become. Also, please keep sending us smiley faces. They never cease to make us smile.

Your always grateful daughter-in-law,

Kristin

Please join me in welcoming Fireweed Impressions Jewelry as a MWM sponsor. Fireweed Impressions Jewelry is Canadian mother and daughter team who make beautiful custom jewelry pieces that are works of art as well as sentimental keepsakes. A perfect mother's day gift. 

Rest in Peace Shirley

As December comes to an end and January begins I find myself bracing for the month ahead. It’s always a tough one. I take on the lion’s share of housekeeping duties, I plan to make my wife’s favorite meals and I do my best to let her have her space to grieve and to remember. I let her sink into sadness because I’ve learned that trying to cheer her up over the next few weeks won’t work and, more than that, it doesn’t validate her feelings.

As the Christmas excitement wanes, and one year turns into the next, my wife remembers her mother and braces herself for the anniversary of her death on January 14^th. The days leading up to that date are filled with tears that flow at unexpected moments and patience that is fragile. Time passes by slowly and then the day comes and we acknowledge it. We remember that day as if it was yesterday: the early morning phone call (early morning phone calls can strike terror in your heart when someone you love is sick), the long drive down narrow, icy, winter roads to the hospital, the look of exhaustion and grief on her father’s face that can still break my heart at the memory of it five years later, the tears, the hugs, the friends who showed up exactly when they were needed.  And then we sigh with relief as the day comes to a close and we can stop dreading its arrival.

This year it will be five years since my mother-in-law lost a long and hard fought battle against lung cancer. Five years. It seems impossible. My memories of her seem so clear. Like she was just here a matter of months ago. That is because I knew we would lose her and I did my best to backup those memories in triplicate in the deeper parts of my heart.

January 2011 was particularly hard for my wife because we were celebrating the new life forming inside of me and celebration is hard when part of you is missing. The important moments in our life, like our wedding day, the day we found out we were pregnant, and the day I pushed our beautiful son into the world, are all marked with a bit of sadness that Shirley isn’t there to witness. Tracy feels it hard. And I can see it in her face and feel it in my heart.  I can tell you the exact moment that she thinks of her mom, the way her face contorts as she steadies her mouth to stop the tears from flowing. Time softens the shock of the grief but it does little to lessen it.

This January we have so much to be happy about, so much to be grateful for, and my wife will feel guilty at having that much joy.  But I think that this year, more than any of the years before, part of her will know that she IS here. I wrote recently about wanting my son to have faith in a higher a power.  A big part of that desire comes from watching my wife struggle with her beliefs. My wife is a skeptic at heart and a large part of her has believed that when her mom passed she simply ceased to be. And that is terrifying for her. But in the last year Shirley has been with us and even my hardened skeptic is starting to believe in her presence in our life.

It began just days after the pregnancy was confirmed. Not entirely recovered from our last positive test that ended in an early miscarriage, we were nervous. We weren’t people who prayed and it seemed selfish to pray at that moment. Like when your computer breaks and you feel like you can’t call your computer-genius friend because the last time you called him was the last time your computer broke. Asking God for help felt like that. But it seemed OK to ask Shirley for help. So we did. I put a ring she had owned on and kept it there for the whole first trimester. Tracy asked her mom to keep our little one safe and, always needing proof, asked for a sign that she could hear us. As the signs of another possible miscarriage started to show I felt the urge to cocoon inside. I wanted to rest and be still. But that isn't possible when you have work and other commitments to keep. And then one day I was leaving for work and took a bad fall down icy steps. I ended up flat on my back in bed for weeks and Tracy joked that Shirley had pushed me down the stairs to get me to rest. Her doubt was cracking but she needed more. 

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. The pregnancy progressed and we managed to keep him growing. We had a few scares along the way but by the third trimester we were confident that our son would make it into our world. As my belly grew larger and larger it was soon time for our baby shower. We were very much looking forward to a day of celebration with the women in our lives. But the absence of one woman during this process was felt deeply. That morning we woke early to shower and prepare for the day. Tracy was emotionally fragile. That strange combination of gratitude, happiness, grief and disappointment was settling into her heart and showing on her face.

Before I tell you this next part there’s something you need to know about Shirley. She was funny and quirky. She could make anyone smile and laugh (even if it was at her own expense). She loved life. And she always signed her name with bubble letters and a smiley face. Always. Her husband even had a smiley face engraved on her tombstone. Which sounds a bit strange but if you knew Shirley you’d get it.

The morning of the baby shower we had some time to kill so we headed out to a few garage sales. You should also know that Shirley LOVED garage sales. We stopped dead in our tracks at the first one when we saw a table FULL (literally full, I wish I had taken a picture) of yellow happy face memorabilia. There were mugs, playing cards, salt and pepper shakers, plates, toys, t-shirts… well, you get the point. I watched as the tears welled up in my wife’s eyes and let a few slide down my own cheek too. Shirley was saying hello and letting her daughter know that she was with her on that day. We bought one of the mugs for fifty cents and moved on to the next garage sale. Always one to believe in coincidences first, my wife felt some comfort but wasn’t entirely convinced. But Shirley knows her daughter and she had a few tricks up her sleeve. We went to three more garage sales and at every.single.one there was something with a happy face on it. She was leaving no room for doubt.

The garage sale mug next to a picture of a younger Shirley 

Since Mac’s birth the smiley faces have kept coming. When we returned home from the hospital there was a flower arrangement waiting on our table. The flowers were held in a smiley face mug and the card was signed from my parents and Shirley. My mom had an urge to buy us flowers even though she is usually one for more practical gifts. When she spotted the happy face arrangement in the store she understood why - Shirley wanted to acknowledge her grandson's arrival as well.

On the day that we brought all six of Mac’s grandparents together Shirley’s absence was felt again. And then after we left dinner we stopped by a friend’s fiftieth birthday party (practically in time to help them clean up). As we were taking down decorations her friend handed her one of the party balloons to take home. Of course, the balloon was a yellow smiley face. Hi Shirley! 

And finally,this Christmas, as I was looking in a holiday shop for a Baby’s First Christmas ornament I instead found this:

When Tracy opened it there were tears in her eyes. She knew her mom was there watching our son enjoy his first Christmas.  Without fail, on the days that we have really missed her, and on the days that we have felt the loss of her from our son’s life, she has let us know that she is never far. She screams it: I am here! I am here! I love you! And then this week I was at a friend's house, thinking about this blog post and wondering if I should even tell this story about the smiley faces, when I looked down to see a chewed up dog toy that I had probably seen a thousand times before. But I had never before noticed that on each end of the leather bone was a yellow smiley face. OK Shirley! I hear you! I’ll write about you!

So I think that in some ways this January will be easier. First, there is this miraculous addition to our lives:

But, I also think that my wife is ready to admit that although her mom is no longer with us she is absolutely with us. Mac may never get to meet his Nanny but he will know her. We will tell him about her silly antics, the way she danced in the kitchen, the way she loved her husband and her children, the support she gave his moms and how fiercely she loves him from Heaven. And if he ever doubts that love he will just need to look for the smiley faces that she is sure to leave in his path. 

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