Grief: the conflicting feelings caused by the end of or change in a familiar pattern of behavior
It wasn't the greatest day from the get-go. I was supposed to have spent the morning recording vocals for a track I've been collaborating on, but technical issues shut that project down before it even began. So I moved on to plan B, but was missing some of the ingredients I needed for that to be successful as well. So I went to my office to do some cleanup while the husband made a frustrating trip to town for a few supplies that in normal times would be so simple. But these days, nothing is simple. It's starting to wear on everyone I know. So to end the day, a quick trip to our local general store for mail, groceries, and one lousy stamp. But my timing was off, so I asked for the stamp about the same time as the postal computer shut things down. So that task turned out to be a bust as well. And I got snarly. Not mad, not bitchy, not rude...just frustrated snarly. That is not my typical response, so that happening brought my spirits down even lower. I came home, my not-great mood now well defined as bad. It was 4:30 in the afternoon, and I just went to bed and curled up. I felt bad that something as simple as a $1.07 stamp was the straw that broke me, and as I lay there feeling both bad and teary, I realized I was grieving. We are all grieving these days. Our world has been in a tailspin for months...and there's not really a true end in sight. And that creates more grief. As a Grief Recovery Specialist, how could I not have recognized the depth of what I was experiencing sooner? WHAT IS GRIEF? There are two definitions we use are from The Grief Recovery Handbook. First is that grief is the normal and natural reaction to loss. Second, grief is the conflicting feelings caused by the end of or change in a familiar pattern of behavior. So many people equate grief with the death of a loved one, but there are over forty different experiences that can cause grief to reside within us. Give yourself just a moment to go through the list of grieving events below. As you're going through that list, be conscious of just how very many of those things we have each experienced in the last fifteen months of this Covid Era.
For myself (someone who has felt that many of the last year-plus of adjustments wasn't awful compared to so many others who are struggling), I look at the list and I can check of 19 situations that trigger the grief response. NINETEEN!! OUT OF FORTY!! And I am one of the very, very lucky ones! This realization was really a wake-up call to what others are also going through and it's lead me to the realization that this is just the very beginning of what's to come. Grief often doesn't even hit us the hardest until after the event, when we have the opportunity to step back and breathe again. Suddenly we can find ourselves overwhelmed with feelings of sadness, anxiety, pain, and hopelessness. I hope knowing and understanding that, and for me remembering that, will help lighten the journey a little as we continue to edge our way towards the end of this period. I hope that we can all be a little gentler on ourselves, and a little kinder to others as we realize the toll this time is having on everyone. The only difference really is the degree of the effects being felt, but all of us are feeling the effects. We need to find little ways to support and build each other's spirits until we can find bigger, more personal ways to do that. For a long time, with the last couple of years of moves and health issues, I was thinking of laying my role as a Grief Recovery Specialist to rest, but I expect that that skill will be more in demand in the months ahead than it was been at any time in my lifetime. So with that, my doors will remain open. I will continue to be a heart with ears to anyone that feels they need to go deeper into what they are experiencing and have some completion for the grief that they too are living with as a result of so much change to so many things we took to be normal. We will get through this, and we will get through this together. But I know it's going to take a concerted effort to move the world back to a place that feels more familiar to each of us. Where we can regain a sense of safety, and of trust that what we know offers some stability. We'll get there, and we'll get there by being there for each other until we can be there with each other. Better days are coming!
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 My Great-great Grandfather James Frederick Post 1852–1946 Man, handsome men in my lineage! There's one in every family. The person who holds on to the pictures, stories and memorabilia that are the threads, which when woven together, become the fabric of a family's history. It's the person that has the stacks of photos and notes and records that have been passed down from generation to generation, not always sure what to do with them, but knowing that there's a responsibility that comes with those items. In our family, that person seemed to be and still is...me. I don't know how it happens in any given family. I look back and for myself I think it was the bond I had with my Grandparents. Having been so lucky as to have grown up in the same yard as Granny and Grandpa, countless hours were spent with them in their home, learning from them as we grew up. I still hold that time with them as some of the most wonderful hours of my life. They were my teachers in the lesson that time spent as the most valued gift of all. Grandpa was passionate about his ancestry and history, and loved to share all of that with us. I remember him spending painstaking hours, tracing and investigating leads to the family’s ancestors, at a time when it was not nearly as simple as it is today. Chronicling, documenting, then researching some more. Year’s later, after reading a book called ‘The Homestead’ that had been written by a local man, Wilbert Aitkens, I remember a story he’d written about his watching my Grandmother playing baseball when he was a young man. Of course by that time, Granny was long gone, and although I knew much about her, I realized there was so much more that I hadn’t taken the time to ask. When I looked at what we had for the ‘English’ history (which was her maiden name) it didn’t go very far, so I started my own journey of discovery. I remember at that time, sending out the letters, to names in phonebooks across provinces, hoping to get leads that would fill in the blanks for me. I got lucky, and did connect with Claire English, wonderful man, not all that far from where we lived, who had more information than I could even imagine. It was exciting and rewarding to learn more, but life took a turn and got busy. My quest for information on those that went before me got put aside as the business of making a living and raising a family took over. Inside, I still found it all fascinating, but priorities for time were taken up elsewhere. Now, time is much easier to come by again, as we’ve entered this next stage of our lives. I realize that I’ve still maintained the roll of the ‘Memory Keeper’ for this leg of our family, as I seem to be the one that has ended up with so many of those memories. I’ve also come to realize that if I don’t share them, they’ll be gone with me. In this time of high technology and low real contact, there seems to be little interest from the generations that are following me in all of this stuff. But I’m not convinced that it will be that way always. I think it’s going to come back around that people will want and need to know where they came from to carve out a certain amount of meaning for their lives.. That they’ll want to know the stories that were passed down, so that they can see the strong, solid stock that they came from. So that they can understand what was sacrificed by the generations that came before so that we are now able enjoy all that we’ve been blessed with. I really hope so anyhow. What I do realize that we are living in the most remarkable time in history to share, document, and immortalize those that made the many sacrifices to bring us to where we are today. My hope is that if I can share it virtually, either through sharing the stories and the knowledge here or on my Ancestry page, when the next ones are ready to know, the information will be available to them…whether I am around or not. Maybe my sharing will keep their stories alive for just one more generation. As long as our stories live, a part of us does to. On June 30th, 1978, I was graduating with my peers from MacGregor Collegiate Institute (MCI). My Dad gave the toast to the graduates, and I gave the toast to the parents. I am trying to imagine the roar of laughter from the crowd if I had ended that speech by saying, 'oh, and by the way...I predict that 43 years from now, Mark McGregor and I will release a book we co-wrote together!' I also imagine, after the laughter died down, I'd have been escorted out for some type of assessment, because a comment like that would have seemed so off the wall at that time! Mark and I met in 1974 when the Rossendale Elementary kids got bussed to MacGregor for high school. As we were both expected to have university educations in our futures, we had a lot of classes together. Our individual circles of friends also had us in several social settings together. But really, beyond that, we were simply classmates who were seen as pretty much being polar opposites to one another. I was the introvert, he was an extravert. Mark was the town kid, as athletic as they come, always with an entourage of friends and classmates around him. He was confident, charismatic, and focused on his dream of a life in the world of professional hockey. I on the other hand was the self-conscious farmgirl who struggled immensely with a lack of confidence, a residual effect of relentless bullying in my early years mostly due to my challenge with weight. I was the kid who was way more content to be walking the pasture with my dog, my notebook, and my guitar writing songs, most of them about the heartaches of life as a teenager. Sports and athletics were foreign abilities to me, other than the mandatory physed classes. Just not my thing at all! Over our years of high school, my music and songwriting opened doors to new friendships and my circle and confidence began to grow. Still, I can say with absolute honesty I myself would have never, ever predicted that Mark and I would be playing on the same team at anything, any time. But, I have also learned through life that you can just never, ever say never! Fast forward to July of 2010, when I was arriving at Mark and Faye's conference center on Storm Bay in Kenora, where Dixie, one of my BFFs, and I arrived so I could perform a house concert for Mark's first Canadian leadership camp attendees. My invitation to perform came as a result of the release of my second CD. It had come out in October of 2009. My son Shane had died in March of that year. I had been working on the album when he passed, and after his death, I knew there were a few more songs waiting to be born that had to be added to the collection. When it was done, I sent out a blast of emails saying that the album was complete, but I was too broken at that time to be having anything liken to a cd release party. I felt I could manage intimate house concerts...maybe....but celebrating was hard. As a result of that email, Faye contacted me to purchase several CDs for Mark's European customers and asked if I could join them the following July to entertain at their camp. That felt manageable, so I said I'd be there. The following summer when we arrived at camp, I remember Mark taking me aside to ask when I'd started writing music. He had always known I played guitar and sang, but not that I was a songwriter. I remember his surprise when I told him I started in 1971 at age 11, but as teenagers, neither of us had paid much attention to the other's gifts and talents. In the years after we graduated, I would hesitate to guess we only actually saw each other in person 4 times. Mark's hockey career had taken him to Europe, my life path had kept me close to our roots, farming and working in the disability field. Of course, there was no such thing as social media to keep in touch with, so we all knew so much less about each other than we can garner now. He told me he felt that we should try collaborating together, because the message in so many of my songs was what he was trying to get across to people as well, and maybe some people would absorb that message better through music. At that point, I had just lost my Mom 6 weeks previously, Shane the year before that, and my Dad the year before that. Losing three of the most important people in my life in that 25 month period left huge holes in my world that needed to be patched up with something, so I was in. The rest as they might say is history. Ten years later we have worked together in so many of his training events and camps. I've helped create resources and tools, have my fingers in most aspects of his business, and have gained so much amazing experience! Working with Mark lead me to get my coaching certification, and build upon that offering with other options and tools. He pushed me to become so much more comfortable and confident in my own story and to see how sharing it might benefit others. Even though our paths were very different, my own clarity on my values and vision for my life had lead me to have very few regrets in life, particularly around how time had been spent with the family I had lost. In exchange, I believe I brought Mark a certain amount of order and organization to his business, an additional offering of music and coaching to his clients, but also an awareness of challenges and issues around disability, inclusion, and diversity that may not have been on his radar before our collaboration. I believe we helped each other to grow. If you are a follower of The 10 Principles of Leadership and Life, we are a living, breathing example of Principle 8: Involvement and Diversity, because we are definitely a pretty diverse team. But we are also a prime example of the benefits of taking a deeper look at people you assume you know. To see their gifts, what they offer the world (and to you), how to create synergy by combining your unique and different gifts and talents. It has certainly not been all roses, but it has been wonderful! As we were finishing up publishing Mark's first book, 'Being on Mission', Mark told me that he wanted to start thinking about a second book. I had done a ton of the behind-the-scenes work and writing for Being on Mission, so I knew the story like the back of my hand. However, for the second book, he wanted to change it up a bit. I remember the day he told me that he thought our main characters should have twins, one with the same physical and athletic abilities as his own children, one child who lives life as Shane did. I remember feeling both teary-eyed and honored that some of Shane's lessons could be shared in such a way. The work of creating 'True North: Great teams are built, not born" began. Four and a half years later, we are finally able to release our collaboration. A fable, it's a blend of our unique life experiences, stories shared by our clients and the work we've now been doing together for over a decade. I'm proud and delighted that I've been given the opportunity to share the hope and possibilities that Shane lived through the story of Sam. My greatest hope is that it will help people just know a little bit more about the world of disability if they haven't experienced it themselves, as well as the joy that can be experienced....even living life so differently. I know that my lifelong passion for music is part of what has led me to the life I am so blessed by today. It is one of my own Intrinsic Offerings (IOUs). Knowing what they are and continually offering them has opened doors to possibilities throughout my life. I hope each of you has experienced similar benefits by paying attention to those things that bring you to life and bring you joy, because that is what the world needs more of! If life hasn't offered you that opportunity to explore and define those things for yourself, then I hope you can make time in the busyness to become clear on what those things are for yourself and find ways to fit them into your life. The world needs what you have to offer, and is waiting for it. Bring on your light and keep shining!   We are now over 14 months into this strange, new world that we are beginning to know as the Covid Era. I keep trying to look for the pearls of wisdom, as well as the hidden gifts to be garnered from it. I know there are several, and I have worked to appreciate each of them: the quiet time with family that was so absent in our busy, hectic lives, the chance to dig in, purge, and clear 'stuff' that time didn't allow for previously. The home-cooked meals...although I could certainly live without the decisions of what to cook day in and day out and day in again. There have been blessings for us, but I know there have been headaches and heartaches for so very, many people...and yes, for us as well. I've always lived my life as a 'glass have full' kind of girl, and believe that it has served me well over the years. It's who I am as a product of my ancestry. I doubt many of us would be here today if we didn't come from the bloodlines of people that believed there were always possibilities to push towards. I am the dream of my grandparents, great grandparents, and all the generations that came before me, and I am so very lucky. But even that glass half full mentality has felt like it's wearing and thin of late. I know we are so lucky that all the pandemic fallout hit at this stage of our lives where we are closer to the end than the beginning. The years we've put in doing the work have left us reasonably secure. We don't have kids we are trying to home school because we have no choice. We don't have jobs and businesses that we aren't sure will survive the constant changes to what is allowed and what is not. We no longer have aging parents or my son with us to care for. We do worry about our children, grandchildren, friends, and family...but it's not the hands-on, 'how do we get through this' kind of worry. It's more a niggle at the back of the neck as the day goes on. We are very fortunate. But even I feel that I'm struggling through this. The endless days of restricted options and lack of direction are wearing on me. Nightly, I settle in and try to make a solid plan for 'what I am going to accomplish tomorrow', but so many of those plans do not materialize into anything that I can concretely say that I actually did do. And for someone that has always kept pushing life forward, it's a strange and unsettling feeling. Last night, I decided that I needed to go back to my IOUs and focus on them more closely in the days ahead. I realized that is my responsibility at this moment in time. Maybe that focus and intention will give me the direction I need to keep navigating these times in a positive and meaningful way that I can look back upon years from now and feel content with. My IOUs are very clear. Music, Writing, Trust, Wisdom, and Creative. I have done well with the 'Music' throughout this. I happened to sign up for a sync songwriting course in August of 2019 and was building my tribe through that. I will be honest in saying that that focus and tribe has really been what I have leaned on and drawn from day in and day out through much of this. Music brings me joy, and there hasn't been a day in these last many months that I haven't picked up the guitar, written something, practiced, or talked music with my circle. That has been a blessing. It touches upon my other IOUs as well. However, I need to be more intentional about them. With that, I know I need to get back to writing more again, so this is my attempt to start. My fight, as I'm certain many of you will understand, is that struggle with the 'imposter syndrome' that so many of us share. I have this internal NEED to write, to document, to share. I can't help it, it's part of who I am. It's one of my IOUs, and with the months of sorting and purging that I've been doing, I've been reminded that it's been a force in my life for as long as my memory goes back. Poems, little stories, songs, letters...write, write, write. I need to get back to honoring that part of myself, and not worry about the 'what' I am going to write about. I need to focus on the 'why' I need to do it. My why is also wrapped up in the other IOUs...my trust that someone somewhere might benefit from my thoughts and sharing, the understanding that at sixty years old I have acquired a lifetime of knowledge and wisdom and that those things might ease another's journey...or they may jumpstart another's success as so much of what I did learn came about the hard way. Maybe my jotting things down and putting them out into the world will save someone else from having to go through some of that. Or maybe it won't. I don't know. But if I don't put it out there, I never will. Heck, if I do put it out there, I likely never will! But I'm like my Grandfather in many ways, planting his apple orchard, knowing that he'd likely never really enjoy the fruit of his labors, but always trusting that we would...just as we have for decades since that time. Someday someone somewhere might get what they need from the seeds I plant. How are you doing through all of this? Have you found ways to make sure that each day is meaningful, even though they are different? Have you taken the time to define what your own IOUs are? Here's the link to the IOU assessment that we share in our book 'True North: Great teams are built, not born'. I'd love for you to take a few moments and go through it for yourself and see what comes out. Drop a line in the comments to let me know what you discover. For myself, realizing that those things that bring me the most joy and benefit the most other people are my own IOUs has given me a boost to keep moving forward for another day. So with that, let the writing go on!   Our first meeting. Love at first sight and still alive today.  Grandpa and I, September 1964 It's March , 2021 and I realize we are a year into the Covid-Era, and sadly, there doesn't really seem to be an end in sight. There is hope...there is promise...but there is also continued lockdown, isolation, devastation and fear. Its a first for so many of us to experience, although not a first for Mother Earth.
I look at this picture of my first meeting with my paternal Grandparents and am reminded that they too went through this in their time. Granny would have been about seventeen years old, Grandpa more like twelve. They found a way to navigate a pandemic that wiped out more than 50-million people in a period that lasted from February 1918 through to April of 1920. They survived it without any of the technology, tools, or means of connection that we are privileged to have today. They were strong, hearty, resilient people that went on to live long, purpose-driven lives. Growing up in the same yard as them on the farm, and spending countless hours with them, I never once heard that period mentioned. It was an event in their lives, not something that defined their remaining decades. They moved on from it, as we will, and laid the foundation of the life that I am so blessed to have today. I am grateful for their love and lineage daily. In this year of lockdowns and isolation, I have made it a mission to finally sort through the packing tubs full of pictures, albums, and memories that are a part of my heritage. I've been doing a myriad of other wonderful things as well. Writing lots of great music, both alone and with amazing partners. Publishing the book that I've co-written with my partner Mark McGregor. Doing whatever can be done to maintain health, wellness, sanity, and connections during this time. Like everyone else...waiting for the end of this and the return of a semblance of something more familiar. Maybe most of all, doing a lot of reflecting on the journey I've had, the life I am so blessed with, and my own hopes for the years left ahead. That sorting of memories and history baffles me sometimes though, and so many nights I hit the sack admonishing myself for all the time wasted sorting, scanning, uploading to Ancestry. I ask myself why? Why do I bother? Because you see, with Shane's death, I have no lineage really. I won't have descendants of my own bloodline who will be working to piece together their own story generations down the road from now. Why do I care, and why does it matter at all? Why not just load up the containers and drop them on my sister's doorstep, because she does have a branch on the family tree that will continue. Most nights, as these thoughts circle, I convince myself that the next day I will pack it all away and pass it on and get on to more productive things. But, the next day I do not. Last night, after another day of scanning and sorting, as I was settling in for the night, those questions arose again. But this time, they came with answers that satisfy my heart and make me want to keep doing what I'm doing. The answer lies in these pictures, the beginning of my story, the beginning of my connection to my own ancestors. My Grandfather, Allan James Dickson, was the family memory keeper for his generation. He loved and appreciated the sacrifices and journeys of those that had laid the groundwork for the life he lived and loved. He was passionate about keeping their stories alive because, at the end of days, when we depart these vessels we navigate this life experience in, all that is left is our love and our story. It was just a part of who he was, and he willingly and lovingly shared what he knew with those that would listen. Through having had the incredible opportunity to be raised in the same yard, and the blessing of having him in my life until his accidental passing when I was thirty, I've come to realize how deeply that part of his legacy became part of mine. Over the course of those many years, Grandpa entrusted me with the family stories and his family albums. Some of the pictures date back over six generations. Generations of people who each toiled with their hands, trusting their hearts, fighting for survival so that they could leave something for the generations that would follow. Grandpa painstakingly researched and recorded the story that is our unique DNA. I realize now that he passed that legacy and responsibility on to me. On those days when I tell myself that this is stupid and will really mean nothing when I am dead and gone, his voice comes to me and whispers that it is important. I trust and believe him. What occurred to me last night was that our bloodline has become very small on my Dad's Dad's side. I am one of five of his grandchildren, and of the five of us, only two have offspring that may carry on what our ancestors worked to create. I know that I can and will work to leave a legacy of my own, hopefully it will be a positive one through the lives I touch and the work I do. But as far as the storyline that I've been entrusted with as one of the memory keepers, I also realize that I will be the last chapter in their story if I don't somehow keep it alive. Maybe that it's just this strange time we are navigating, when each of us is feeling this lack of connection and meaning. Maybe it's because in the midst of the pandemic I was one of the ones born in 1960 who turned 60. The clock keeps ticking, time keeps passing, my time on earth is shrinking hourly, so maybe it's fear. Fear that so many of us have when we ask will we be remembered? Will our lives have mattered? Will our stories and wisdom and messages die with us? I don't know, and maybe the answer really doesn't matter. Maybe it's just that we need to ask the questions to keep moving forward and making our mark in this wrinkle in time we call life. It came to me that in honor of Grandpa, this is important work. I live the most wonderful life, which was built on the foundation laid by their hard work, blood, sweat, and tears. The foundation of the legacy they left. I have the time, the means, and the methods in this incredible world that we currently inhabit to share that information in ways Grandpa could never, ever have imagined would become possible. I can write about him here, and maybe you'll stumble upon him. I can continue to celebrate with my songs and videos, so others can learn and maybe be reminded of the gift of certain people in their own life stories. Maybe someone somewhere will do a DNA test that links them to our tree one way or another, and the time I dedicate to sharing what he handed down to me will be somewhere out there in cyberspace where they can find it and piece together their own historical story. Maybe it's like the belief shared about 'Dia de los Muertos', The Day of the Dead, in the Disney film CoCo, where the Spirits of the deceased yearn for someone to say their name. That belief that we die twice, once when we pass and again when our name is spoken for the last time, and our existence is extinguished. Or maybe it's all just hooey that I tell myself as I try and decide whether all this information and knowledge is an honor or a burden. I do believe that, for me, taking the time to know and appreciate those that came before me, help me to better appreciate all the blessings I have. That was part of the belief that was instilled in me in those hours and hours spent sitting with Grandpa in his little house across the yard, pouring through his pictures with him, listening to his stories. Embracing our history. Even at sixty years old, they are some of my very, fondest memories. So with that, I've decided I'll keep uploading to Ancestry, sharing what I have in my own possession, doing what I can so that their names are not just etchings on granite by working to fill in the DASH with pictures and memories. And trusting, that somewhere on the other side of the veil that separates those of us here from those that have gone before, they are smiling, knowing that their names were said one more time, and they are remembered and appreciated for all that they gave to allow me to live this magnificent story that is my own life.
I haven’t known Erin Miller for very long, a year or so maybe. For some reason, she invited me to be friends on Facebook. We have much in common really, in spite of our 17 year age difference. Life experiences bring people together, commonalities make us close. I guess that’s what happened here.
I lost my son Shane in 2009. Erin lost her son Chad Miller in 2014. Our boys lived completely different life stories. Shane lived his life with a diagnosis of Cerebral Palsy and all the fullest, most challenging pieces of what that means. Chad lived life large as a very talented hockey player, and athlete. But what they had in common was mothers who adored them, families that loved and supported every step of their short lives, friends whose lives were forever altered when the unthinkable happened. The devastated Moms they left behind were also a common thread in the fabric of the story of their lives. Women whose lives were forever altered having lost such huge pieces of their hearts. Although Facebook connected us, we didn’t actually meet until late last fall, after the launch of her foundation #MillerStrong17. Before we escaped the harsh Canadian winter by heading south, I messaged Erin when I was heading into Winnipeg. We met and the connection was instant and deep, as we realized our shared experiences. 
Two broken Moms learning to be Strong again!
A couple of months ago, Erin sent me a page from Chad’s journal. She hadn’t known that he kept one until after his death, but in discovering it, she’s received an ongoing gift of words, wisdom and love from him. The page she sent to me told of his love and admiration for his Mom. How ‘Strong’ she was. About her having had him when she was only fifteen. Of all she did and gave to ensure that he had the amazing life he was living. Of her strength in being able to ‘keep giving love, and giving life’ regardless of the circumstances of their lives or what people might believe. Erin asked if I might be able to write a song reflecting some of what he had shared through his own words. The result was my newest song, simply titled ‘Strong’.
‘Strong’ is in honor of Chad, but is a tribute to every single person who has walked through the fire and come out on the other side. Singed by the flames of life, altered by events and in reality, changed forever…but ‘Strong’ because of it. There was a time I really hated when people would refer to me as strong. “You are so strong, being able to handle having a child with a disability. You are so strong in the way you supported your loved ones through cancer and their eventual deaths. You are so strong to be able to share your experiences. And the ultimate….what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…or the Big Guy only gives you what your’e strong enough to handle.” There comes a time when you just want to shout ,ENOUGH ALREADY! I really don’t need any more strength! But in reflection, strength has been the gift that has allowed us to come out the other side of the imaginable. It’s what’s allowed us to offer hope and inspiration to others who just don’t know if they can get through the next hour, day, week. It’s what has supported us to move forward into the new now that is our lives, and offer support to others that may need to borrow from the strength that has gotten us to where we are today. That is what the hope for ‘Strong’ is. I want those that hear it to know that strength is within them as well, and that there are many of us walking this road alongside them. There are so many people making the best of life’s worst situations, keeping our heads above the waters of grief that threaten do drown us. Scarred people who are changing the world in little ways with the hope of leaving it a better, gentler place for others following in their footsteps. People who have found their own ‘strong’ and are using it as a force of good for others. #MillerStrong17 is in its infancy, but as the #MillerStrong17 family continues to grow its reach and numbers, the strength of those numbers has the potential to elevate the vibration of this struggling world, one person at a time. Together, there is the potential to make change through finding and using our own strength and utilizing it to its best purpose. As Rumi said, “we are all just walking each other home.” May we each take whatever it is that makes us ‘Strong’ and resilient and use it to make this journey the best it can be for each person we meet along the way. May we find ways to support each other, lifting each other up and offering a lifeline when we can. May our love enable others to find their own sense of ‘strong’ when they don’t think they have the ability to get through one more day. You can! You will find…you will know…then you will be ‘strong’ and your story may be the one that others will rely upon to know that they can get through life’s worst moments as well.  So, I will be the first to admit that I never expected that part of my journey would include becoming an author of children’s books...but here I am, with four under my belt, and two that I helped publish. Interesting how life unfolds, isn’t it? It’s another opportunity that I have to attribute to Shane and his teachings. It started with him needing a voice of his own, when life circumstance didn’t allow that for him. So , to assist with that, I started creating books for him when he was a child. Books that he could take to school just to share his story and experiences at a level the other kids at that particular time could understand. It worked beautifully! What it also did was help me to understand that children are the place to start in making change in our world. Being able to plant seeds in the fertile grounds of their open minds is where our greatest possibilities for change can happen I believe. Not to brainwash, but simply to help them know and question those things that the adults around them may not have had the opportunity to know themselves, because, admit it...we grew up in a different time. A time where people with disabilities were hidden away. A time where the Residential School system was never talked about or acknowledged. A time where bullying was accepted, because that’s just what kids do. A different time, but not necessarily a better time by any accounts. Fast forward twenty years, and I decided to self publish those little books, at least two of them. Shane’s Big Adventure 1 and Shane's Big Adventure 2. I did that so when we talk about them in presentations, they are available to purchase if attendees choose to have them as an example or a tool for promoting acceptance, inclusion, understanding and possibilities for all children who live life differently. When I finished them, it came to me that Bianca’s experience with Tyson in helping him to understand what Orange Shirt day was all about would make another great story for kids, to help them better understand its meaning. That also has become a great resource to share...basically the same things...acceptance, inclusion, understanding and possibilities, and to help them understand their roles in being part of reconciliation and healing Canada’s past. Tyson’s New Orange Shirt has helped with that I believe. Most recently, upon gifting a copy of that book to some of my other grand-kids, the discussion came to what could ‘we’ write about if given the chance? Lynden suggested that as we talked about Orange Shirt Day with Tyson, maybe we could talk about Pink Shirt Day with his family. Thus began the next project.  At first, there was a challenge to think about how to address the topic of bullying, but then it came to me that as a writer, talking about what we know can be beneficial for ourselves and our readers. It was then I decided the best approach to this topic was to tell my own story, and the result was ‘You could Be the One’. I only now realize how cathartic and healing sharing my story has been for myself! ‘You Could Be the One’ allows me to tell the story of my own childhood, where I was bullied terribly in Elementary School. I was a new comer to the area, I was chubby, I was alone. All things I didn’t understand or know until the bullying began, and it was incessant for a long, long time. I was so lucky that each night I got to get away from it, go home to a Mom and Dad who worked so hard to rebuild my spirit and keep me moving forward, and for a time...get away from it. There was not the technology available that haunts today's kids when the bullying starts. Then the day came when the bullying stopped, and it all happened because an older girl saw what was happening to me and said enough is enough. Her name was Sharon Myran. She became my hero, my guardian and my example in life. She saved my beaten little heart and helped to make school fun again, a place I wanted to go...because my friend...my first friend..was there. She changed my world for the better. ‘You Could Be the One’ shares my story of Sharon. It shares how maybe you could be the one to stop bullying when you see it, or if not, be an ally to the child being bullied in whatever way you can. It also offers the hope and insight, that even though bullying was and is awful, it will end. Life does get better, easier, kinder with time. Sadly, so many kids don't live to know that, and take irreversible steps in the midst of the pain they are suffering. Maybe somewhere, someday, one child will read this book and it will plant that seed of hope in them...to hang on and ride it out. My bigger hope is that it will plant the seed of kindness in others, so that bullying will become a thing of the past. It’s a big dream...but each dream has to start somewhere.  View from our dock of Route Bay on Lake of the Woods, near Kenora Moving far into October, change is everywhere around me, inside and out. It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted anything, and there have been a variety of reasons/excuses as the case may be, but it’s time to start again, afresh. When I last wrote, it was from the home I’d dreamed of living in on the Island I’d long dreamed of inhabiting. And for all the time there, although it was short in the scheme of things, I loved it. I loved it to my core! But that said, something in my core was amiss, and the work became figuring out what that was and finding healing. It started almost a year ago in October, changes to my bodies routines that told me something was wrong. As the months went on, and the fall, winter and then spring passed, answers still eluded us. As everything I put into my body coursed right through it, my weight began to drop as did my level of energy and my faith that it was something minor I was contending with. I felt unwell...and that to me is not a common feeling. I was frightened to say the least.  One of the loons who is still staying near. Lake of the Woods, Ontario In July, I found myself having another colonoscopy, this time with biopsies being taken, on the morning of the same day that we’d planned to start our trip back east to the Prairies. The trip had been planned all year...first of all our 40th MacGregor Collegiate High School reunion, to be followed by a week or so with family and friends before heading to Kenora to work at the 2018 Leadership Camps. I was exhausted thinking about it. I’d warned Mark that I might not be able to do this year’s camps, as I really didn’t feel well enough to commit. The camps are high energy, high outcome events, where I knew the way I was feeling would be a struggle, but I did promise that If I felt up to it I’d be there. In the days back in Manitoba, I continually did begin to feel better, and come the last week of July I did find myself at the McGregor Leadership Camp, doing my thing...coaching, sharing stories, playing my music. I indeed felt well enough to participate, but also knowing my limits and challenges had warned Mark that I would be sitting more activities out than I typically did. He was good with that. As a result, I had more time to myself sitting in the cottage staring out at Lake of the Woods. Sitting out on the dock, soaking up the sun and fresh air. Sitting, reflecting and awakening as it were. By the end of the first week of camp I came to the realization that while working with and challenging our participants to be clear on their values and vision, so that they can begin living their own life’s mission, I was not being true to my own. I’ve done the work and I know that some of my own strongest values are Family, Relationships, Love and Honesty, and yet in knowing that I was living halfway across this vast country of ours. I was miles and provinces away from our kids and grandchildren, from my oldest and dearest friends, from the work that is bubbling inside me to be done. I was indeed living my dream of returning to the Island of my birth, spending time close to the ocean waters I love, embracing my love of adventure and creativity, but began to realize there was another way to be doing that!  Mink visiting at the boat dock, Lake of the Woods, Kenora We have always loved the Kenora area, being near the incredible body of water that is called Lake of the Woods. What if we explored that as a possibility that would give me more of what I needed in all areas of my life? More time with family and friends here, but still the quiet and solitude that I crave to be my best creative self? More time to be still in one place, instead of the hours spent covering the thousands of kilometers that separated us from our legacy....these children that are growing up before our very eyes at what seems to be the speed of light. What if? I proposed the idea to Cecil, and the spark in his eyes told me it was a need he’d been waiting on me to awaken to as well, and the search for our next ‘dream home’ began. Like everything else in my life it seems, I threw what I imagined out to the Universe, and today, only weeks after the thought first crossed my mind, I am sitting in my new living room staring out the window at the glassy waters of the lake before me. I have been in this space for mere weeks, yet I am at home! I am loving each moment...the morning call of the loons. The eagle that regularly sours directly over the house. The chickadees the are chattering in the trees throughout the yard. Even the mink that came and greeted FeeBee and I on the dock while Cecil was out kayaking the day after we arrived here. I have found and been blessed with what my heart has been conjuring for years, and am more blessed and grateful than I can say. My heart also treasures every moment that I was able to spend in Qualicum Beach. We’ve made amazing friends that will always be in our lives. I was able to get back to my music, writing and creativity in a way I don’t think I would ever have been able to had that move not happened. I was also able to detach myself from old pain and heartaches in a way that having stayed in place before the move would not have allowed. Another day I will write about the gifts of finding a place to hold space for yourself. But that day is not today. And my health? Well the biopsies showed that I have been living with microscopic colitis for the past year. It can only be diagnosed through biopsy of the large intestine, but once diagnosed, can be treated with steroids to reduce the inflammation and get things back on track. I am feeling so, so much better than I did for the last ten months. I now often ask myself, would I have even thought about this move had I been feeling well enough to live life the way I had been accustomed to? Probably not, and although my condition now has a name and a treatment available, I think it was also part of my body’s knowing that I needed to make change if I was going to be the Granny that I aspire to be. If I am going to share the legacy and the wisdom of my ancestors, the hopes and dreams they poured through their sweat and efforts paving the way for this life I am so lucky to be able to live, I need to be present for those that may most benefit. If I am to live my life in a way that is aligned with my values and vision of what this journey of mine will result in, this is where I will be best able to do that. The stars have once again aligned to ensure that my path is well lit to best achieve my purpose for being. Life is an amazing, beautiful thing. Being clear on what it is that matters most, makes it that much more incredible!  For several weeks now we’ve been watching the movement of the American youth, as they take on the challenge of the gun law legislation in the USA. In the first 16 weeks of 2018 there have been 20 school shootings that have resulted in loss of life or serious injury. The worst of this year occurred at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida where 17 unsuspecting students and adults were slaughtered. In the aftermath of that shooting, there have been youth led protests and marches across the United States which have rippled over into all parts of the world. In the protests, youth as young as 11 have begun to demand that society take a deeper look at what is happening as a result of the current gun legislation and imploring adults to do something about it before any more young lives are lost to the senseless gun violence that is becoming all too common in the lives of today’s children. One of the lines that stuck out for me in the midst of watching all of these things take place across the nation was one commentators remark that “not finding any leadership, they have created it.” What a powerful statement on the potential and the passion that these young people are exhibiting. What promising hope they give us for a better tomorrow, in spite of the damaged world that we are handing down to them. Given the tools, resources and support, I believe that they offer us hope of a world that is more compassionate, that is safer, that is greener and that is more inclusive that the one we see today. They are our future, so how to we help them to create the best one possible? With my children’s books, I attempt to reach kids in the early years and ask them to think about diversity, inclusion, friendship and belonging. I believe that the earlier we can get kids thinking about those things, the stronger their belief in a world that includes those qualities will be. The more we are able to help children to know that we all need to feel that we belong is instrumental in having so many of today's challenges resolved. If we can look at one another through eyes that see our similarities rather than our individual differences, there is a chance some of these attacks could be stopped. If some of the outcast individuals that commit many of the crimes had a stronger sense of self worth, would they act the way they have? It’s not the answer to all of the worlds problems, but at my core I do believe that it’s the start of something better. Then I think about the Youth Leadership Camps that we are working to create through Mark McGregor Leadership, I can only imagine how far these impassioned youth could take the world if they had the tools and inner strength our camps offer. What if these young people had the resources and skills offered to them when they are 18 years old, and still have the energy, enthusiasm and commitment to make their world all that they believe it can be? What if they were given the opportunity to better understand the power of coaching and were able to lead others to follow the dream they see of what is possible in the years ahead? What if at 20 years old they had the opportunity to really be supported to dedicate intense and intentional time towards understanding their own values, vision and to know what their mission in life was at the beginning of the journey, instead of learning those things closer to the end? What if? It’s true that so many people have never had the opportunity to think about that until they reach their 40s or 50s and only begin to think about those things when a personal crisis occurs. They’ve burned both ends of the candle for so long that yes, they’ve accumulated the material things that our society conditions us to believe we need to have to be effective, contributing members of the economic based world we live in. But in the accumulation of ‘stuff’, how many of us have lost ourselves? As coaches, it’s very often those people that come to us in hopes of making sense of lives that no longer make sense. They followed the rules, got the job, the house, the wife, the car but in exchange they gave up many of their dreams, passions and have never accessed or used the innate gifts that they were born with. Although they have acquired all the material possessions that we are driven to 'need', the efforts to do so have sabotaged their marriages, relationships with children and in many cases their connections to their own selves. As their lives edge closer to the finish line than the starting point, they now seek to understand who they are. Why are they here? What is their true purpose and is there still time to live that purpose in a meaningful way? The answer of course is yes! It’s never to late to start, to reflect, to hit the reset button and begin anew. But in that same vein, it’s never to early either? Our greatest hope for the Youth Vision Camps is that we can take our own decades of struggling, learning and finally truly understanding, and share what we’ve come to know with those that are beginning their unique journeys. Imagine one of these passionate, fiery young adults having the opportunity to truly know what their values are so that they can create a life that reflects those values at all times. What might happen if they know what they’re passionate about, and instead of following the herd and getting the Bachelor of Arts degree, because that what seems sensible, they were encouraged to dive into that passion with tools and support to see what might be possible? To follow their hearts? Vision Camps are created in hopes that we can take our years of knowledge and ‘pay it forward’ to the youth that attend, so that they can be fast-tracked to where they want their lives to head. They've been designed to help them to begin the journey with the end in mind, by understanding the importance of vision. Help them to know it’s okay to question the status quo, that there is always more than one way to get to where you want to be in life, and to know that it’s okay to question the way it’s always been...because the way it’s always been isn’t necessarily the right way. Every generation has rolled their eyes and shook their heads at the generations coming up behind them, wondering how they are ever going to survive in ‘our’ world as we’ve created it. It’s time for that to stop, because ‘our’ world is going to be handed over to tomorrows leaders, so instead lets help them to be as strong, equipped and supported as they can be, because it isn’t just our world that they hold in their hands....it’s our future. 
Spending time with a loved one in the last days of life is an honor and a privilege.
DD entered my life when I was six years old, two years after we’d moved back to the prairies so that I could start school, leaving behind the coastal world that had been my life up until that time.
It was a very difficult time for me, a chubby little outsider, as I entered the walls of that system not knowing any other children, not knowing until then that I was ‘fat’, not knowing it wasn’t okay to be too smart or even talented because that made you a teacher’s pet in the eyes of the other children, not knowing how tough life could be just being a kid. DD was Mr. Dobbin to me then, the principal of the school. He was a different Mr. Dobbin on weekends, as one of my Grandfather’s best friends. We’d often venture into the hills on Sundays to visit him and his wife Doris. That relationship put him in an awkward position the first time I was sent to his office when I was in Grade 2. I had blurted out the F word in a fit of anger at another 7-year-old who was tormenting me with teasing and hair pulling. I’d only just learned the word days before when I’d seen it written on the school wall and had been told it was a very bad word that you only used when you were really, really mad at someone. At that moment I was really, really mad. Standing in the principal’s office I waited for the strap that everyone had said was inevitable if you ended up being sent there. It didn’t come, instead I received a stern but compassionate explanation that even when you are really, really mad in grade two, using that word still wasn’t a good idea. Fast forward 30 years, and Mr. Dobbin became DD, my father-in-law. He remained in that role until the day of his death in April, for although I had been widowed when his son passed and I had remarried in the years following, there was never another father-in-law. He, in return, never let me forget I was his favorite daughter-in-law, and even created a day in June to celebrate that sending a card amended to read just that each year. We had a deep and special friendship for many, many years as he supported my continued farming of the land that had once been his. He embraced the new people that came into my life as a result of my own remarrying, and he was a kind and patient confident for so many of my life’s events. When I decided to make the move back out to the coast last year, I worried about how I was going to tell him that we were selling much of the farmland that had once been his, and that the house he’d built would be lived in by a renter while we explored other possibilities for our lives elsewhere. When I visited to tell him, it turned out he already knew about that, as people who felt it was their duty to relay all that they ‘thought’ I was doing had already been busy on phone calls to him. His words to me were that he knew that we loved the water and fishing, and we were young and should be exploring other things in life while we had our health and energy. His words regarding those that had meddled in the business that should have been between he and I were not so kind. It wasn’t often you saw DD angered by people, but he had little tolerance for those that chose to stir pots in an attempt to cause unnecessary trouble for others. One of my fears about moving away was that I’d be so far away from him, but we kept in touch bi-weekly through phone calls, and I made sure we had good, meaningful visits when I was back in the province. I also promised him that I’d be there when needed, and when his daughter called to tell me that things were not good and that he was being put on comfort care, I was on the next plane east to be there for him. He was the fifth loved one that I would sit vigil with as his days wound down. I’d learned much from the previous deaths I’d walked alongside and through the interest I have in reading end of life support books. Still, with every new death, much of what is forgotten resurrects itself, and new learning takes place. As had happened previous times, in being there, I found myself becoming more present and responsive to the hours and needs of this man who had been a part of my life for so long, and was grateful that I had the means and the support to be with him on this last leg of his 98-year journey.
The first night I arrived I feared I was already too late to enjoy that small, last window of time where communication and sharing was possible, as he was so unresponsive when I arrived at the care-home at midnight. But the next morning when I returned at 7 he was wide awake and so happy that I was there. We spent much of the next few days reminiscing about the loved ones lost, and I was grateful that I had memories of many that so few are left to remember now. He shared more stories of his childhood and his family. He relished moments with his wife, daughter and grandchildren, as life had blessed him with a second family late in life, and you could see the adoration he had for the little ones that were so important to him.
We took turns as a family spelling each other off when needed, and being there together for support when that seemed the more important choice to make. Throughout the days, I started to be reminded of things that often only the dying can remind us about. These are some of those things.
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Truly You
It takes time and energy to become who we truly are! In life, so many things can get in the way of our figuring that out..but the time comes in each of our lives where we need to be able to do that if we're going to live happy fulfilling lives that are authentic reflections of our best selves. These are just things I've learned along the way. I hope that they might help you in your own journey into being Truly You! Archives
May 2021
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