Already Great

An Open Letter to Our American Neighbours

As I am a Canadian you may not feel that I have a right to weigh in on the U.S. elections. It’s not my country, and I don’t get a vote. But my recent travels in upstate New York inspired me to speak anyway, much as I would if a dear friend of mine was trying to choose between two marriage proposals and I could see the danger she was in of making the terrible choice to marry an abuser.

The snake oil salesman, otherwise known as Donald Trump chose “Make America Great Again” as his campaign slogan. I saw it on the lawns and in the yards of many homes in the poorest rural areas we travelled through. Impoverished communities of white Americans living in trailers and tract homes with rusted car frames and heaps of junk in their yards were covered with Trump/Pence signs. In those communities, I saw no Clinton/Kaine signs. The only mention of Hillary was in a spray painted sign on the lawn of a junkyard that said “Vote for Trump. Hillary sucks”. Somehow this group of people bought into the notion that a billionaire, narcissist who hasn’t paid federal income tax in a couple of decades, who claims to be a philanthropist without any supporting evidence, whose business interests were the direct recipients of his unregistered charitable foundation monies, who is a liar, a misogynist and a racist, is going to improve their fortunes and make America great again. And that is where my problem begins.

I’ve travelled extensively through the U.S. I grew up in a border town. I spent most of a decade working in an executive position with an American bank. I’ve vacationed there hundreds of times. I have many friends and very dear family who live south of the 49th parallel. The U.S. is a beautiful country; from the rolling hills of upstate New York to the mountains of Colorado; from the beaches of Miami to the vineyards of Napa Valley. Boston, Chicago, New York City, Washington, D.C., Miami, Colorado Springs, Dallas, Phoenix, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Seattle are just some of the wonderful cities I’ve been privileged to visit. The American people are warm and welcoming and most of them are very, very lucky because through a cosmic accident, and not through any action of their own, they were born in the United States.

At the risk of sounding preachy, I do have a few suggestions about what might make things greater. I’m not suggesting that we in Canada have figured it all out. God knows we have cracks in our own foundations. And for me, it’s more about individual action than it is about the collective. It’s hard to fix everything but if we could each focus on making things greater in our own little corners, we may have a prayer of influencing the greater good. So here goes:

Try reaching out to someone who doesn’t look like you or doesn’t pray like you. I saw few people of colour during my recent travels and no mixed groups socializing. Every small community that we visited had multiple Christian churches but I didn’t see a single temple, mosque or synagogue and yet they certainly must exist. The only way I know of breaking down barriers is to come to know one another as individuals. It is in these interactions that we learn that there is more that unites us than there is that divides us.

If you have more than you need, share. There is much wealth in the country and much poverty. Everyone would benefit from sharing the wealth a little. Sharing feels as good for the giver as it does for the recipient.

Remember your roots. Reread that poem on the inner wall of the Statue of Liberty.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Unless you are one of the indigenous people, it wasn’t so long ago that your ancestors came from someplace else. Choose love over fear. Try to remember that God didn’t draw the lines around the countries but made the world for all of us to share.

My dear friends, you have a wonderful country. It is diverse, beautiful, abundant and free. Please don’t listen to the rhetoric of a self-serving bully who is trying to convince you otherwise. America doesn’t need to be made great again. America is already great.

Scattered Hearts

“Let my soul smile through my heart and my heart smile through my eyes, that I may scatter rich smiles in sad hearts.“ - Paramahansa Yogananda

My chosen sister Marg was on vacation in Prince Edward Island last week.  Walking along the boardwalk in Charlottetown, she came upon a small cloth heart, tagged and suspended from a ribbon.  The tag said "I need a home" and then "Report me found" and gave a web address to do just that.  Marg took a picture of her new heart and posted it on Facebook.

I was so intrigued by the concept that I went on-line to find out what it was all about.  It seems there is a group of people who decided to make small quilted hearts to leave for strangers to find and keep as a way to spread love and kindness.  I read some of the posts put up by those who reported hearts as found and was moved by how these simple acts of kindness had lifted their hearts.  I knew this was a project I wanted in on.

Sewing is not a skill I've learned in my sixty-one years.  I am that woman who takes her clothes to the dry cleaner for repair when a button needs replacing.  So it was with a sense of adventure and some trepidation that yesterday I began to make small quilted hearts.  As expected, I'm very slow at hand sewing and my stitching skills need improvement, but I was reminded by my sister Nancy, that nothing in art or life is perfect and that stitching with love is more important than stitching with precision.  I managed to make three hearts from the fabrics Nancy so generously provided me. They are not works of art but they are works of love and I hope their finders will see that.  I'd like to make a few more by the end of the week to scatter on the walking trail at the annual charity walk we support.  I trust they will be found but those who need them and will be reported as found so I know where they ended up but in the end it won't matter.  I know the intent behind them and sowing a little extra love certainly can't hurt.

Ashes to Ashes

"By the sweat of your face You will eat bread, Till you return to the ground, Because from it you were taken; For you are dust, And to dust you shall return." - Genesis 3:19 

We buried Marcella's ashes yesterday in a plot near to my dad's.  I didn't expect to cry so much but found myself inconsolable.  Once we concluded the graveside part of the service, I walked over to see my dad, bringing the tired bouquet of flowers that I had secured from the florist that morning - the best pick of the bunch though that isn't saying much.  A few minutes after Merv and I placed our bouquet, Marg and Bob joined us with some beautiful roses that Marg had the foresight to order and have delivered to the cemetary.  We shedded a few tears and left for the funeral lunch.

Our three hour journey to Windsor on Friday night, turned into a five hour nightmare of snarled traffic and construction.  The drive home yesterday was considerably easier.  Unfortunately I haven't been able to quite pull myself together. I am physically and emotionally exhausted.  I think I'll just let myself cry today.  I will, no doubt, have found my brave face by the time I meet a new client tomorrow morning.

Loss

“Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.” -  Emily Dickinson

My chosen sister Marg's mom died in the early morning hours on Tuesday with Marg curled up at the foot of her bed and me resting in the chair beside her. It was a privilege to be with her as she drew her last breath and a blessing to share the moment with Marg.  

Marcella was just down the hall from my mom, at the same nursing home on the same floor.  As children, Marg met my sister Cathy on the first day of elementary school.  I have known her since I was four.  She has two blood siblings left, having lost her eldest brother seven years ago.  Marg moved to Toronto more than forty years ago to attend graduate school.  My parents brought her here. Cath and I followed a year or so later.  Marg has always been a part of our family. Not wanting to keep explaining exactly how we are related, I came to introduce her as my chosen sister.  After we both lost our dads, we moved our moms here when they needed more care than we could provide from a distance.  My mom has been in the nursing home for eleven and a half years.  Not needing the same level of care, Marcella was in another facility until her physical condition deteriorated.  Ultimately, she ended up in the same place as my mom.  Though they shared no genes, my mom and Marcella began to resemble one another over time.  I think people assumed they were related.  After all, we were always all together. It was a natural assumption.

Unlike my mom, Marcella was in full control of her faculties.  She was interested in my life and in the world.  Funny and engaging, Marcella came into herself in her twilight years.  When she developed pneumonia last week, it quickly became clear that she wasn't going to survive.  Marg kept vigil for five nights.  Her blood siblings visited a couple of times and Marg's husband Bob kept everyone fed and watered.  I hated the idea that Marg would be alone if Marcella passed in the night so when I visited on Monday I decided to stay for the duration.  I told Marg I would do it in whatever way she wanted.  If she wanted to be alone with her mom in the room, I would stay in the family lounge.  If she wanted not to be alone in the room, I would sit by Marcella's bed until the end.  She opted for the latter.  

Marg and I took chairs on either side of Marcella.  Around 12:30 we turned out the lights to try and get some rest.  Marcella's breathing was loud and laboured.  A few minutes after 1:00, Marg got up from her chair.  She was unsettled.  She crawled onto the end of Marcella's bed.  The room became silent.  Marcella died.

There was little to do once she had passed.  Marg alerted the night staff.  We stayed for about a half hour while they repositioned her body and tried to close her mouth.  We said our goodbyes to her and headed out into the night, sad, numb and peaceful.

The last couple of days have been difficult.  I had a morning meeting with a client just a few hours after I got home following Marcella's death.  I worked all day until the evening.  By the time I fell into bed at midnight, I was exhausted.  The experience left me drained and a day of painting and pennying seemed to be the right tonic for healing so yesterday, that is just what I did.  I had another client meeting this morning but decided to give myself the afternoon to rest.  I haven't found the heart to go back to the nursing home yet.  My sister Nancy is holding down the fort with my mom.  I gave myself permission to be gentle with my heart and Nan gave me her full support to do that.  I am grateful.

In My Corner of the World

"We cannot do great things, only small things with great love." - Mother Theresa

In spite of the beautiful sunshine, the world is looking a little dark right now.  Donald Trump continues to spew his venom, people are still reeling from the mass shooting in Orlando and yesterday the U.K. voted to leave the European Union.  The market is tanking and things feel scary.  If I could, I would wave my magic wand and fix it.  I would erase the fear and hatred at the heart of most of our problems.  Oh that I had a magic wand.  But I don't.

Nonetheless, I am not helpless.  I do not have the big fix for all these problems but there are things I can do.  I can speak up for love.  I can speak up against hatred.  I can help in lots of small ways.  I can listen to someone who is struggling.  I can let someone cut ahead of me in the grocery store line.  I can smile and say hello to the woman in the hijab when I see her in the store.  I can pay for the coffee of the person behind me at Tim Horton's.  I can buy a few pairs of pyjamas and drop them off to the refugee clothing bank.  I can attend a Pride celebration.  I can bring a cold drink to the security guard at my mom's nursing home.

I can't heal the planet but I can make my corner of the world a little better.  None of us can do everything.  We can all do something.  If we all do what we can in our little corner, we might just change the world. Let's give it a try.

Challenges

“When you feel broken and your resources are down to nothing, Calm Down and pray because God is up to something!” - Carlix Collins

I'm not sure where to start other than by saying it is a good thing I got my pacemaker when I did.  Even with my new efficient heart, the last few weeks have more than sapped my energy.  My resources are depleted, the tank is empty.

While Cath continues to struggle to recover from her recent radiation treatments, Nancy spent nine days in Mt. Sinai.  I took her into emergency two weeks ago when she was suffering from severe abdominal pain.  She needed surgery to remove her gall bladder and was classified on the emergency surgery waiting list as a "C" patient.  That means all the "A and B" patients had priority over Nan.  I took her in on a Tuesday morning and she had her surgery late on Thursday night.  As they were able to do the surgery laproscopically, she was released the following day.  We didn't even make it to the elevator before she collapsed and was readmitted with a case of pancreatitis.  She was there six more days.  So, for nine days, I was at Mt. Sinai for about twelve hours per day.  The first four days I was there alone with Nan.  By day five, Cath felt well enough to join me.  But Cath is still far from recovered from her own trials.  In some ways, it was harder to manage Cath than it was to manage Nan.  Bells and buzzers and loud noises sent Cath into a tailspin of tears every day.  Hospitals are noisy places.  She was nervous and aggresive.   I was desperate to get Nan home.

While I sat at Nan's bedside Monday morning, I got a call from the nursing home.  There had been an accident while my mom was momentarily left unattended and she had suffered a head injury.  I somehow needed to figure out how to be in two places at one time.  Two days later, my mom developed a fever and a respiratory infection.  The following day, one of the nurses noticed that her foot was swollen and discoloured.  Xrays confirmed that her foot is broken.  No incident report was made so we don't know how it happened.

Nan was released on Wednesday and went to stay with Cath for a couple of days.  Stan went to the lake leaving me to care for both my sisters.  Cath can't drive yet so I've had multiple chores to do every day, not just to chauffeur her around but to do her grocery shopping and other errands.  I am also going to the nursing home every day.  My mom has an egg on her forehead, a black eye and the worst facial bruising I've ever seen.  Her bruises end low on her cheek in a large blister. My frustration level is high.  Mom has been a resident of the nursing home for eleven and a half years.  In 2011 she broke her hip when left unattended sitting on her bed.  A couple of years later, she broke her foot.  No incident report was filed.  At least a half dozen times in the last two years, she has had significant bruises.  We don't know how they happened.  I realize she is fragile and it doesn't take much to bruise her skin.  I am not concerned that she is being abused but rather that staff are so concerned for their jobs if they file an incident report that they just don't tell.  The nursing assistant involved in mom's head injury cried for days after the accident happened.  I get that she feels terrible.  I get that accidents happen.  I'm not even angry.  I just want them to figure it out so that it doesn't keep happening. Her tears and contrition along with three dollars will get me a ride on the subway.  

My friend David tells me that periods of adversity are God's way of letting me know that I am loved and trusted.  It is in trying times that we grow.  I don't want to contradict him or complain but frankly I'd be okay with a little less growth right now and a few days of Jackie time to refill the tank. 

Walking Through Fire

"Where there is no struggle, there is no strength." - Oprah Winfrey

It has been a couple of months since I've made an entry in this blog.  I don't know if anyone reads it so I don't know if anyone has missed it.  I've had a couple of interesting and challenging months, not just in terms of my own recovery from surgery but in terms of supporting my sisters who have been dealing with their own challenges.

I've done very well in my personal recovery from pacemaker surgery.  I'm still trying to get over the fact that this is what normal feels like.  I can run across a wide street to make the light and run up a couple flights of stairs all without breathlessness.  My revved up heart has given me a revved up metabolism resulting in a bit of unearned weight loss.  Who knew my sluggish heart was keeping me fat?  Still, it has taken some adjustment to my new speed.  There have been many nights when I have been woken by what feels like a racing heart.  My cardiologist assures me it is not racing, just beating at the speed of a normal heart.  Given that I have never had a heart that beat normally, it feels weird.  I'm getting used to it and I'm sure in time I won't notice it anymore.

Just after my surgery, my sister Cath started a course of medical treatments of her own.  She is fine but it has been gruelling for her.  Her treatments have required a daily visit to the hospital for thirty days.  She hasn't reacted well to the treatments, suffering many side effects. When her husband decided to head to their lakehome for a few days, I took over accompanying her for her daily treatment.  What we expected to take a few minutes, in fact kept us in the hospital for eight hours at a stretch most days while the doctors figured out how to deal with her side effects.  They finally did get it under control and with only two treatments left to go, she is now at the end of the tunnel, standing and intact.  During this process, my other sister Nancy had foot surgery which kept her completely off her feet for three weeks.  I did my best to take care of her though I am admittedly grateful for her kind neighbours who checked in on her multiple times daily.  As Nan was unable to attend at the nursing home for several weeks and Cath wasn't up to it, it also fell to me to see to my mom.  I didn't make it everyday but I did the best I could.

A couple of days after my surgery, my biggest client terminated my contract over the phone.  I was terribly hurt.  For seven months, I gave this company my heart in a way that I have never committed to another client.  They said all the right things convincing me that there was an alignment of our values.  I worked long hours far in excess of my contract requirments and didn't bill for a single moment of that time.  I thought I had found a place where I fit.  I was wrong.  I made full disclosure at the time we signed the agreement, I am not a sycophant.  I will never be sycophant.  It has gotten me in a lot of trouble over the years but I feel it is my obligation to speak up when I see things going off the rails.  I do it privately and respectfully, but I do it.  The company owner assured me that is exactly what he wanted.  He asked me to save him from himself.  At the end of the day though, the emperor didn't want to hear that he has no clothes.  The truth became an inconvenience and confronting it raised a mirror he didn't want to look into.

In retrospect, I am relieved.  The situation was starting to feel toxic.  We did not have an alignment of our values and it was causing me pain that I had so seriously misread the owner.  Mostly I felt angry at myself for getting taken in.  But it would have been close to impossible to work with the crazy level of stress I was experiencing and look after my mother and sisters while recovering from heart surgery.  The end of the contract was a problem that came with a gift in its hands. The challenge is that in January, I had advised my client referral sources that I wouldn't be accepting new clients as I couldn't keep up the pace.  I had to go back and reactivate those referral sources and am grateful that they didn't skip a beat.

For the past week and a half, my husband has been golfing in Florida.  I seized the opportunity to both finish some projects I've been working on for months and to go on a cleaning frenzy.  This afternoon, I will tackle my bedroom closet.  I haven't been well enough to do it for two years.  My new heart is strong.  My energy levels are high.  It is spring and my world is filled with hope.