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.
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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!  
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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. 

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!

​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.
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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. 

• Eat dessert first.  DD’s appetite came and went in the first few days.  The second day I was there his sister and her friend brought in some nice, soft store-bought shortbread cookies.  When the meal tray would come in, he would take a look at the offering, replace the lid and ask for a cookie instead.  “I don’t have much of an appetite, might as well eat the good stuff first,” and so he did, closing his eyes, chewing slowly and deliberately, savoring every morsel and bite.  How often to we refuse the ‘good stuff’ because we think we should do differently, whether it’s in our eating, our leisure time, or in so many of our day to day lives?  Sometimes we should embrace life just like we were having it slip away on us, and just go for the dessert first. 
• It's not the dying who most resemble the walking dead.  I took a break for a meal, and ended up in a busy chain restaurant for lunch.  On the days where one is living and breathing death, you begin to notice more things more vividly, and what I saw was that we the living are the ones that are the most zombie-like.  I saw it all around me in the days I sat vigil.   In a local Montana's watching the faces of people wolfing down their meals, preparing for the next thing to happen on this day.   I watched kids coloring, their works of art unnoticed as their parents stared at their phones, mindlessly pushing the food into their mouths, while their eyes never left their phone screens.  Selfies, foodies, a lot of people who look so alone while together.  I, in honesty, have to admit most days I am one of them, until life gives me another one of her grounding reminders.  My father in law was that time’s touchstone.  He was dying, and in that dying I witnessed how he noticeably relished every moment of connection that presented itself. As I sat eating my lunch, I could sense that the man across the restaurant was also dying, I recognized the signs and the gaunt discolored look of his features, and I saw his focus, appreciation, deep tasting of the food and its textures. I could see it in the attention he was giving to the words of his dining partner.  What could we learn if we relished moments the way those that know they are living their last do?  
• Even at 98 you can have one more best day ever.  I arrived late on Thursday night, Friday much of the day was spent bedside with his daughter, his grandchildren, my daughter and my grandson.  Other beloveds came and went, and at the end of that DD, embraced each of us in the biggest hug I’d ever received from him, sharing that ‘this was the best day ever, I had all my family together here with me’. 
• Time and respect should be given before hand, not just on the last days.  Too often we put off spending that time with those we love, because our lives are busy and our calendars are full.  Then when we get the call that the end is near, there is the panic of how to get there to spend time and be with.  But that is not the time, the time was last year, or last month, when conversations could flow and medication did not stifle it.  I remember hearing him whisper 'I wish they'd come last week instead.'  The time is when your loved one says ‘come by and see me sometime’.  Life is fleeting and precious, and we forget that. 
• Laughter is the best medicine.  On days that can be seemingly the hardest, there is still room for laughter and joking.  The dying person doesn’t want our sadness and our heartbreak, they want to celebrate the good times, the funny things, the gifts of life that made us laugh out loud.  They want to laugh with us for as long as they can, and they want to hear us sharing together when they are no longer able to.   The sadness is within us, and will stay there for a long time to come, however, it doesn’t have to be the only thing.  There is always room for laughter, it truly is the best medicine for everyone. 
• Babies don't worry, they just shine in their own light. In the days we spent, three little ones spent time with us on and off.  They remind us of the preciousness of life, of the fresh start, the innocence of being through their busy, exploring little hands and their inquiring presence that refused to be dimmed by the dying happening close at hand.  They are not afraid to ask the questions that the dying one is open to answering.  They are not afraid to snuggle into the familiarity of the one they love, even though the process is changing that person.  They just continue to be the bright, shining spirits that they are, and they brighten the corners we abide in. 
• There are no timelines, pace yourself... Self care. There is no timeline for the process and best guesses are just that.  We have to remember that as we pace ourselves and look out for each other.  Too often people are afraid to leave the room in case their loved one passes when they are gone, and as noble as that might seem, the one that loves them back knows they were there for all the times that mattered most and wants them to take care of their own health.  Take the offerings of time to go shower, eat, grab a coffee or just sleep in your own bed.  Understand that the act of dying is only the first step of a long journey of grief that will take time and energy to walk through.  Of all the kindnesses that can come from inside you as you support a loved one who is dying, make sure some of that kindness is bestowed upon yourself.
• So many good things can come out of sitting bedside. I was once again reminded that in every loss, something is gained.  We forget that, or don’t think to look for the gift.  In DD’s death, I lost my father in law, but I gained a sister.  There is a large age difference between myself, who was connected more through his first family and his daughter, who is from his second.  There was always love, admiration and knowing...but only to an extent, as opportunities for deeper connection were seldom available.  The experience of walking this road together let us get to know, admire and love each other in a completely new way and deeper level that has opened a doorway to a new, different relationship that will continue as we live his legacy.
• Just be present.   At no time are we pushed to be more present than when sitting bedside, with a dying loved one.  Allow that.  Forget the phones, the social media, and the list of things you could/should/would be doing.  There is nothing more important than what you are doing in honoring their life by honoring them at their time of death.  Leave space for what is most important to them; the stories, the memories, the hopes, dreams and even the regrets.   Even at 98, I was reminded that each of us wish we had done some things differently.  Each of us wants to know that those we love recognize we did our very best, even if it wasn’t by the book or what other’s might have expected of us.  Each of us want to know that we are loved and will be remembered, and that we made an impact and made a difference having existed.  Listen deeply to the words, then look in and between those words for the deeper meaning of what is trying to be conveyed, then honor that sharing, by being present and responsive.  In the days to come, the ordinary will be there to go back to.  Embrace the extraordinary gift of being witness when it matters most.  Learn from that gift and let it walk with you into the days ahead, and work hard to remember the learning.  Life will be so much more alive if you can.