the loss of a friend

One week from now will be the anniversary of my mothers passing. I became an orphan. Yet, today what is truly breaking my heart is the loss of my dearest, cherished friend: my beagle mango.
As I have frequently mentioned and penned, beagles and hounds are my dogs of choice; Mango was my first, at least, the first beagle that I owned as an adult. they say that you don't chose the dog, that the dog chooses you. In Mango's case, I know that this is the truth. we found her the week after my fathers memory service. she had been wandering in Scarborough, the place I was born and raised and found on the day of his service. Max had told me frequently, "any dog but a beagle." so I had never pushed it. besides our house was full with Phoebe, Amy and a guinea pig, not to mention 2 very quickly growing boys.
I can still remember the aching in my heart at that time. nothing could fill it; not max, not work, not the boys. the hole from my fathers passing was just too large.
Jarrett and I had some time to kill that Thursday night before his music lesson so we stopped in at the Petcetera to get some treats for the dogs at home and to window shop at the adoptable pets. there was a lovely mixed pup greeting us that Jarrett pointed out and my response was, "yes, but its not a beagle." I turned around, and there she was. Thin, and cheerful, wagging to greet us. Jarrett looked at me questioningly, knowing his father would never agree to a third dog, especially a full grown beagle. Still a girl could dream!
when we got home, Max was working in the garage and I told him there was a beagle for adoption at the pet store. I never once asked if I could have her since I knew what the answer would be. Something in my face must have tugged at him, and believe me, no wife ever loved a man more than i did in the next 3 minutes. He looked pensive and answered, "well, it wouldn't be the smartest thing to do, but then, we haven't always done the smartest thing." Suddenly, that hole left by my dads death was a lot smaller.
there was no looking back. I let the boys stay home from school the next day and was at the store before it opened. Mango was ours. I considered changing her name, but when Connor noted that she was even named after his favourite fruit, I knew that it was meant to be.
Her beginning was auspicious to say the least. although I had been raised with dogs and especially knew beagles, Max was not. The first thing I got her was a name tag because I knew beagles ran the first chance they got. Max took a bit longer to learn this. I think it first sunk in when he jokingly told her to get a cat that was on the other side of our yards fence. Mango promptly cleared the fence and chased the cat down the street. She could climb most of the chain link and run like the wind.
One winter, Max took her cross country skiing. he returned after 4 hours without Mango. I asked him "where is my dog?" he replied: gone. I promptly told him that he best get back out there and find her because at that moment, I liked her better than him! I don't think that he has ever forgiven me for that. Gratefully, in true beagle fashion, she had gone up to a strangers door and bedded down for the night until they could find us. She was no worse for wear, but Max was mad at her for a year!
the last year of her life was hard on her: she went blind, was anaemic and sore; yet she never once lost her cheerful disposition or complained. even the last night she was with me, she laid by my side as if comforting me instead of the other way around.
Our wonderful vet came to the house to see Mango on her way. Strange isn't it that in this ritual at least, we are kinder to animals than to humans. Dr. Michelle cried almost as much as  I did, knowing that this beagle was one in a million and would be sorely missed.
I hope she finds my dad and the bluegrass music in heaven. I hope that she finds lots of bunny trails with cottontails to chase. Most of all, I hope she knows how much I loved her and that it wasn't us that rescued her; it was the other way around. Mango, my beagle blessing, that healed my broken heart.

Passive Aggressivia-Not a fan!

I have rarely been accused of being passive aggressive. In fact, I would venture to say that when others describe me, they skip the passive and jump right to aggressive. I have been described as "blunt, painfully honest, abrupt, direct, candid, forthright and frank. one friend has even nick named me bam-bam.I am not sure if that is from eating ribs while wearing my hair in a pony tail on the top of my head or because she believes that I hit people over the head with ideas; either way, I am rarely thought of as passive.
some of this stems from childhood. both of my parents, particularly my mother, could have given lessons in passive aggressive. a personal favourite passivia trick of hers was to leave clothes on the stairs and expect one of use to psychically know to take the clothes up the stairs without being told too. me, I just would order someone to take it up or better, take it up myself!
while the bluntness has definitely been a handicap in many situations, when dealing with issues as a parent, it has been invaluable. Therapists, doctors, teachers and assistants do not speak passive aggressive. they do not even speak assertive, only aggressive. Never has the adage, "the squeaky wheel gets the oil" been more true, than when you are describing raising a child with special needs successfully! if you try to deal with professionals by being passive aggressive, your child will receive the bare minimum of services. if you do not tell the school system exactly what is needed to deal with and interact with your child, your child will be lost in the cracks. Believe me when I tell you that if people are willing to complain about your child's breath or tell you that 2 hours a week is too much personal service, they will not understand the messages that you imply! you must be honest, forthright, blunt and sometimes even bam-bam! so, raising Connor did not damper my bluntness whatsoever. In fact aspects of his personality actually amplified them. being gifted meant that he was always looking for an explanation and a round about explanation was not going to cut it. Connor once asked what the brain looked like. I foolishly drew a picture of a brain, thinking that would satisfy him. It did not; he required a diagram labelled from one of my nursing textbooks. I knew then that hinting at what I wanted or discussing things in a round about matter would never be enough to satisfy his insatiable need for information.
Unfortunately, some people cannot be cured of passive aggressivia, not matter how blunt or honest you are. I used to say that open, honest communication only worked on the people who took the course. I would outright tell people why it was difficult to participate in some events with our son. houses with stairs, parks with no ramps, hotels with no elevators and more were dismissed with a wave of the hand and a "oh well"
leaving us to deal with the unfortunate realities that would inevitably come from someone failing to be honest enough to admit that the event, occasion or situation was "wheelchair unfriendly."
I have however, noticed that people that do speak fluent "passive aggressive" lead what seems to be a happier and more successful life! after all, they do not get in trouble as being mean or disruptive; nor, do people describe them as "intimidating." but try as I might I cannot  master the art of getting what I want in any other way besides pointing to it and saying "I want that."

However, although I have never learned to speak "passive aggressive" I understand it fluently! and on occasion have been able to translate it for others. In the end it comes down to what can you live with. for some, the only way that they can be comfortable with themselves is by hiding behind the fact that they never actually "said anything." for me it is knowing that although I may be loud, blunt and brutally honest, no one can ever accuse me of not saying what I mean or meaning what I say. So although if I had to be a Flintstones character, I probably would have chosen Wilma, for now, I am proud to be bam bam and living in the real  world not the one with the queen of Passive Aggressivia!

Winter~friend and enemy

the last big snowfall (so far) this season, happened while I was working nights. personally, I hate winter. I consider it cold, bleak and colourless. even though, it is technically, the same length as the other seasons,and sometimes, even the shortest, depending on the year, I still hate it. the frosty darkness, seems endless and constantly depressing. Conversely, Max loves it. I will never understand why. I am sure that it has something to do with all the sports stuff, but it does nothing for me. I even tried embracing winter when I was younger, but taking up downhill skiing at age 21. stupid really, but at least I tried. however, arthritis, child-rearing and having a child in a wheelchair, cemented  my hatred of winter. few things have dissuaded me from this stance. even having a winter birthday, made me hate it more. after all, who wants to celebrate a birthday on the last day of the year when you are still recovering from Christmas (what a rip off!)
Yet, this snowfall was different. coming at the end of February, it was a heavier snow; sticky and wet, it clung to every branch and surface. The storm brought in a bracing wind that spread the white stuff everywhere. since the roads had been frequently salted and sanded, this was a fresh cover that beckoned one to play in it. that was until you felt the wind rip through you! even though, it still was a fairy land sight to enter into as we left from night shift. since I was driving against the traffic flow, it was an easy ride home with little stress caused by unsure drivers. all along the way, the trees seemed to be garnished in wedding lace. as a southern Ontario native, you become accustomed to the changes in the seasons, even the changes in the kinds of snow you can expect. any long time resident will tell you that there is a vast difference between a December snow storm and a February one at the end of winter. Still, this one was special. after all, it would have to be to get a winter hater like me to pay attention. All of the trees had a coating of snow on every branch; as if, a snow machine had carefully sprayed each and every one of them. Since we have lived in our house for 25 years now, we actually have mature trees. furthermore, our yard becomes quite thin near the end and with the heaviness of the added weight the snow-ladened branches came together to form an archway. it could have been the exhaustion from night shift, but as I stared at the branches and the picture they made, I almost believed that I had found the doorway to Narnia with the Snow Queen on the other side.

the air was so clean and fresh, yet colourless as if it was a black and white photo. Usually, I thought of the colourlessness as bleak but today it seemed like a new beginning. none of the worminess of the spring showers that would be coming later.
I found out later that Ottawa did not do as well as Southern Ontario with this storm and Connor underestimated the power of winter, giving him enough trials and tribulations to write his own story of winter and its power. I was grateful as I enjoyed this day that I was unaware of his struggles; because for this day, at least, I enjoyed winter and anticipated the coming of spring.

The Most Annoying: "Yeah, But..." aka now I am going to tell you what I really think

For some reason, people often ask my advice. I would like to think that it is because I exude an aura of sensibility and intelligence; but, I have a feeling that it might be because I am always shooting my mouth off. nevertheless, it is others who come to me for the opinion, which I am usually happy to give. whether it be, advice, critiques or anything along that line, I am not known for being shy about sharing. however, nothing, and I mean NOTHING, will set me into a red flag rage as much as the phrase "yeah but" followed by all the reasons that I may or may not be wrong about what I just shared.
Why in the world, would 2 words set a person off so much. well, for starters, it doesn't take much to set me off, as many of my family and friends will tell you. but mostly, it is because I did not seek out the person to give them my advice; they sought out me. ostensibly, because they thought that I might have some expertise in the area that they needed advice in. indeed, I even could be an expert in some. still, the yeah buts are always on the tip of peoples tongues.
my question is this: "Why do people ask advice then argue with it. If you are asking for an expert opinion, realise that you asked the expert. They are the expert not you. Just make sure that you ask the right expert. Don’t shop around until you get the answer that you want. It is insulting and annoying." yet that is exactly what they are doing.
Connor has also frequently run into this dilemma and shared the experiences with me. sometimes it is to do with managing his disability; sometime just with life in general. it seems that everyone thinks that they know better.
I believe that part of this phenomenon is because, as a society, we have become lazy. we do not want to know that to achieve the results that we want, we may have to work harder than we ever have before. we do not want to know that in order to achieve a goal that is worthwhile, we may have to sacrifice other things including our time, or our luxuries. we want to believe the drivel that is spoon fed to us on television: that you can have anything that you want, instantly.
wake up call here people: you cannot, despite Bill Gates vision of our universe, there are still things that take time and effort.
I first realised this dilemma when my kids started getting older and people would ask for parenting advice. I am known for the ideology that "Nintendo makes your brain melt" and other oddities, yet others would keep looking for the easy fix. I recall one conversation, where myself and another mother, who's children were about 9 years younger than mine, kept looking for that easy way; the way to be friends with your kids and still have them respect you. no matter what I said, I was met with Yeah but. I simply gave up and said we could revisit it when our children were adults to see which ones had succeeded the most and were still loving towards their parents. (she has yet to take me up on it!)
For the most part I am quite forgiving of the yeah buts; i get it: you want to explore all the options. but after answering 2 or 3 on the same question, it wears a person down. So I propose a compromise. if you are asking someones opinion, first recognise that you asked that person for a reason; you thought that they would know the answer. second, you get one "yeah but" if the so called expert can still give you hard evidence that the answer they have given is rooted in fact and reality, accept it. after all, if it was easy, you would not have had to ask around. so for now, I am putting a moratorium on "yeah but" one per customer!

the government of Ontario-aka Are you Kidding me!!!

Like most persons with a disability, Connor receives a disability pension, know as ODSP--Ontario Disability Support Pension. this pension is fraught with irony. Unfortunately, irony is not something that people with disabilities are usually looking for in their lives. After all, the universe seems to have provided quite enough irony all ready provided in excess.
Firstly, the name: Disability Support Pension. since I am not retired, I do not know what and how much is involved in a pension. what I can tell you is that a Disability pension at most is $1073 per month. that is to cover housing, food and anything else you might need. considering how much apartments are these days, let alone accessible housing, I find it difficult to ascribe the word "support" to this pension. Additionally, if the disabled person chooses to (or is able to) find employment, their pension is "clawed back". that's right, the supportive government, takes back the support and penalises the person for working. yet, the pension is not enough to live above the poverty level.
It gets better! if the disabled person happens to work, every month they are expected to "report" their earnings. Now if you were able bodied and on Unemployment insurance or long term disability, you can do this on line. Not so if you are receiving ODSP. the person receiving ODSP, is expected to fill out, by hand, the form attached to their cheque and fax it to their local ODSP office, wherever that might be. If not, their pension will be put "on hold."
Oh I am not done! Consider that the average person who is receiving ODSP, is receiving it because......THEY ARE DISABLED!!!!!! Which means, as in the case of Connor, they are not able to write, fill in a form by hand, sign their names, program a fax machine (as if they could afford one on a 1000 per month) and feed said sheet of paper into the fax machine. Ironic hey?????
In Connor's case it is even more ironic (at this point feel free to insert the word asinine) Connor is a full time student at Carleton in his masters program. he has been awarded a teaching assistant position that he is paid for. According to ODSP's own rules and posted on their website, if a person is attending school full time, they do NOT have to have any of their earnings clawed back. Initially, it took a 20 minute phone call to explain to his worker the difference between undergraduate and graduate work. she thought that since he wasn't taking 5 courses he wasn't in school full time. even when I pointed out that she had a piece of paper sent from the school that confirmed his full time attendance and that students with disabilities were considered full time if they took a 70% load or higher, she still could not see her way clear to understanding that Connor was indeed a full time student.
After what can only be described as an extremely painful phone call, she did indeed see that he was full time and as such did not have to have his earnings clawed back. In my mind that should have been the end of the discussion and of the problem. However, I failed to factor in irony and its omnipresence in my life.
when the next month arrived, there was once again saying that Connor's pension was "on hold" due to his earning statement (the previously mentioned one that needs to be filled out and faxed) had not been sent. there must be some mistake I thought. after all, had I not cleared up that Connor was in school full time.
After another equally painful phone call with his worker, it turns out that even though they have proof of his full time attendance at school, with the requisite paper work and documentation of how much all this costs, they still expected that EVERY MONTH, a statement of earnings would be filed. I enquired that if, in this electronic day and age, could it not be done on line? oh no was the answer, after all, it might not be his worker picking up the mail and then it would not be processed.
there are physical bite marks in my tongue at this point.
I have many theories about why our world is so screwed up and what we need to do to change it. but this event says it like no other. NO ONE would expect the elderly, veteran, injured or any one else except the disabled community to put up with this nonsense. I know that there is much fraud in the system and there needs to be safety valves in place to protect the tax payer but I cannot believe that victimizing the most vulnerable members of our society and hobbling their ability to have a quality of life as good as they deserve is the way to go. this is not going to change until everyone speaks up and is aware that it exists.
There is enough irony in the lives of the special needs population, we do not have to pile more on. the universe has put enough in place.

Chris: The only other man

Few people know it but there was another man who's attraction could have rivaled Max. Now anyone who knows me may be shocked by that information, as I am well known for being devoted to my husband; still, it is true. Max knew, and if truth be told, I think that he loved Chris more than I did.
Chris worked with Max for over a decade at the company, Wainbee. He was tall, rugged but not handsome in the traditional sense. Still, he was irresistibly charming and gregarious. Max and Chris had bonded at work; a brotherhood of sorts, the men that did not quite fit the corporate image that Wainbee was trying to achieve.
I met him for the first time at the Wainbee Christmas party the year that Jarrett was born. He and his wife saved Max and I a spot at their table; every party after that was the same: the four of us together at the parties, dancing joking and generally making a nuisance of ourselves.
Chris had been a soldier in the Canadian forces special operations and I suppose that is what gave him a brooding, haunting quality; it frequently reminded me of Max.
I told Max once after a party that Chris was the only man that I had ever considered competition for him. In Max's usual foot in mouth fashion, he piped up without thinking first, "yeah, but Chris could have any woman!", the unspoken line being that "why would he want Max's frumpy wife, when Chris could have anyone! We still laugh about the "wrong" of that comment.
Over the years there were many Wainbee functions: golf tournaments, parties, dances, Christmas celebrations and we were always together; the renegades, yet always the life of the party. we would always stay over in a hotel room and invite everyone back once the formal party had ended and long after the older generation of staff had left. We became known for singing and serving Jack Daniels with eggnog, dubbed Jacknog. (later on Jack Daniels actually came up with this as a cocktail!we were onto something!) Chris would don sunglasses and imitate Ray Charles, belting out "hit the road Jack". to this day I cannot hear the lines "oh woman, oh woman, why don't you treat me right" without hearing his voice and seeing Chris as he sung it.
Max never said as much, but I know that Chris was there for him when we learned that Connor had CP. Chris had so many dark sorrows of his own that he could relate to the pain that Max was going through. I didn't know till later that Chris and Connor shared the same birth date.
our boys came to know Chris as the Cardassian (from Star trek not reality tv) because of his muscular neck and technical abilities that to their young thoughts seemed futuristic. He helped build a drawbridge crank for their fort, which converted him to hero status, so much so that they bought him his own Cardassian figure.

Although I knew that Chris had served in the special forces and had other deep buried pains, I never realised how deep those sorrows ran. I wish that I had. 8 years ago this week, Max got a phone call. He had left Wainbee earlier that year and had not been in contact with many of the people since, so we were surprised when one former co-worker called out of the blue. After hanging up he called me up to our bedroom away from the boys. the look on his face told me something catastrophic had happened. The next 5 minutes were some of the worst minutes of my life. Max held me and told me that Chris had hung himself earlier that day and was dead. If someone had punched me in the stomach, my reaction would not have been any less than it was that evening. We had several losses before, but none like this one. I sobbed and cried as I never had; Max holding me and rocking me as he cried too. I could not believe that this wonderful heroic man was gone from our world. we would never see him again, never hear his delight in singing, never dance in his arms; he was gone and gone by his own hands. I could not reconcile that he was so forlorn that he would choose death over life and I could not believe that we never knew how lost he was.
His wife allowed Wainbee to arrange the funeral and for some perverse reason had a co-worker that both Max and Chris despised give the eulogy. It was  polite, formal and nothing like Chris. To this day, Max will get angry if he thinks about Chris' funeral, so we rarely discuss it. Gail, Chris' widow gave us some of his things for the boys. Most precious was a black leather jacket that Connor still wears, mostly to make Max happy!
I miss him to this day and always hurt at this time of year and though Max never says so, I think he feels the same.
So, to honor Chris' memory, I vowed I would do my utmost to keep in contact with those that I truly cared about and make sure that the boys would make their Cardassian proud. I know that he watches over them, and I never hear the song "Hit the road Jack" without thinking of my other true love: Chris.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCxw79kUKpY

For Michelle: the wonder of work sisters and the miracles that happen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SxToTUoWGM


I have frequently commented that our family was not supported the way I felt we could be when Connor was diagnosed, and I have often observed that family is not necessarily created by birth (thank god!). this past year one of my work "sisters", Michelle experienced a devastating event: her younger brother in a brief moment of silly bravado, dove into a gravel quarry pond. He and his friends had not checked the water depth and it was much more shallow than they suspected. Steve broke his neck and was paralysed. He nearly drowned but his life was saved by his friends. he is now a quadriplegic on the road to recovery. he is a young man with 2 small children and is now facing an incredibly difficult future; a future that I have had a bit of experience dealing with.
Michelle and I had talked often about Connor and our family struggles in raising him, many times lamenting how so many missed the boat on how they could really help. mostly, I was just ranting but I like to think that on one thing she did listen
Michelle did something extraordinary for her brother: she organised a large fundraiser in their home town for him. I frequently lament how impractical people are when dealing with the disabled and how others will use fundraising for the most ridiculous of causes--sports teams, Jack and Jill parties, clubs and other luxuries that are simply optional not necessary! I was pumped; someone was helping Steve in a practical way, a way he could really use!
Steve didn't need pity or platitudes about how "inspirational" he was; he needed funds to help him through the long and expensive journey ahead.
In true family fashion, our birthing sisters and Doc's pitched in. Some of us donated various things for the silent auction: gift baskets, paintings, quilts ( in true Linda form, I got a basket of dog treats donated), and most of the birthing program bought tickets to the dance even though we knew that it was far out of town and we could not go. Michelle told me that from our hospital alone, she had raised over $1000. My heart was so full it almost burst. such a simple thing; yet such a  huge one. it was not just the money that they were raising that was so important but it was the large show of emotional support--people who truly cared--that was the true gift to Steve. Michelle said most of their small town had turned out to support Steve and many relatives drove for hours to get there. This was the real triumph of the night: the physical show of love and caring that showed Steve he was never far from a community of thoughts and prayers; he was not forgotten and he was not invisible.
I hope that if Michelle's mother reads this she will not mind if I am puffed up quite a bit with pride for my Southlake sister, because this week she was my hero for supporting her brother the way he needed to be supported; by listening, caring and showing concrete proof of her bottomless love!


if you are interested, this is the website that is still taking donations for Steve's Journey.

http://forsteve.wix.com/home#!donate/c1vud