The Night Ride

The happiness I felt at rolling along again was sadly short lived. While I received the luxury of sitting in the front seat, I quickly found that my driver was not nearly as courteous as the last driver. He had a certain tone to his voice that made my smile fade a little. I tried to focus on the road ahead gamely, but could not ignore the noises that soon began to filter forward from the back bunk.  

Things seemed to be going from bad to worse.

As the sun set, we drove along in darkness. Few other vehicles passed us by. We were in the desert, driving towards the coast and it seemed even more isolated now that the sun was gone. The only thing that illuminated the night sky was the truck’s headlights carving a path through the inky gloom. What was worse, was that with two drivers, one could sleep while the other drove, keeping the truck moving 24-7. There was always a set of watchful eyes. It did not escape me either, that it didn’t sound like the man in the back was getting any sleep. There was much rustling of bodies and muffled grunts. While I could not understand the actual words that were being said, I got the feeling that the young woman in the back was not interested in the advances that were being foisted upon her. I stared out the windshield, trying to figure out how I could best help the poor girl.

Then a hand materialized on my leg.

I instantly pushed it away, but my hackles were now up and raised high. “Oh lord, how the hell was I going to get out of this truck?” my brain desperately demanded. The lascivious smile of the driver made me recoil and pull tighter into myself. This was not good. Not good at all. The girl in the back seemed to be doing an adequate job of keeping the second driver away from herself, but things were getting decidedly dangerous. It was dark out. We were literally miles from nowhere and our apparent saviours had turned into fiends that were attempting to extract their fare for passage in flesh.

Then the drivers switched places. And so did myself and my other hapless companion. Now she was in the front seat and I was on the bunk, but sleep was the farthest thing from my mind. I was young, white and vulnerable as a female traveler at the mercy of these strange men. As fingers began to crawl up my leg, I kicked and began to pray. My words felt hollow and useless in a foreign tongue, but I used them none the less.

“No!” I said. “Stop it!”

And yet they still kept coming. I kept insisting on being left alone, trying to make myself as small and inaccessible as possible. My brain found the image of God, and despite not having had much use for his omnipotent powers in the past, I now began to beg favours at a rapid pace. I beseeched his sense of fairness, good and integrity. My body was taut and tense with the strain of resistance and my willing of a positive energy to intervene. My tone became more strident, as I pleaded with higher powers to please release me from this state of strife. As one side of my brain grappled with images of worst case scenarios, I distinctly heard my mother warning me against talking to strangers and the bad things that could happen. “Please, please”, I begged. Let this not be the time when she would be right!

Gradually, my molester began to lose interest in the chase. Perhaps sleep got the better of him, or perhaps his soul realized that what he was attempting to do was the wrong thing. Whatever it was, that night my Guardian Angels earned their places in the Heavens for eternity. I wanted to cry, sob or scream, but my fight or flight response had me wired into a ball ready to attack if necessary. I occasionally felt a hand explore to see if perhaps I was asleep or had changed my mind, but a swift shove let him know that I was not up for a night of ‘fun’. Long after he turned over and curled up to go to sleep, I lay tightly in the corner of the bunk, my breath ragged in my chest. I no longer considered hitch-hiking to be the free and easy ride I once thought of it as. I somehow felt like I used up one of my lives that night. In the end, I never wanted it back. 

making the call

Fighting back the tears

I reach for 

Help...

"Please help"

I can not do this anymore,

not alone.

I can no longer fight

the war that will not be won.

and I am bleeding...

the shaking begins 

 the story pours out

along with a single,stray, suppressed

tear

i can not do this anymore

i hurt, i ache 

with every beat of your heart

my fears explode

Your ocean drowns me

 nascent blisters pop

unrecognizable excuses of life 

into my face

I shudder - not able to turn away

please help - I can no longer do this

the life raft I offer

is faded, peeling from 

disuse

I can not do this anymore

...

My Shield

"Just take it!" I begged. "It will make you feel better."

She turned her head with a scowl. Slightly feverish lids still had the will power to clamp down and resist. 

"I want dis," she stated. A different bottle was clenched tightly in her fist and she shoved it towards me.

Probiotics. T'would seem I have created a  monster. Telling her that the probiotics would help her body, has suddenly turned on me, when the antibiotics are now refused. I sighed and quickly tried to turn on a different tactic that would not disallow either formula.  

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!

I jumped and turned towards the front door. I could barely see a dark shadow hunched there. 

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!

Again, the insistent hammering came. I cautiously approached the front door, forgetting all about medicine battles. I flicked on the light on the porch and a man emerged from the darkness. 

"Let me in!" he hollered. 

His eyes were wide and had a wild glint to them. A thousand TV detective shows flashed through my mind, as I hesitated and backed away a step. The door was my defense and protector for myself and my children.

"Let me IN!" he yelled again. "Please!"

He looked over his shoulder and squeezed himself towards the door even more. I took a step forward to see what he was shrinking from and saw a dog. Only then did I hear it's insistent barking and see it lunging back and forth in my front yard. 

Now I was torn again. One side of me wanted to save this poor man being attacked by a vicious animal, but another side of my brain whispered caution. Why was the dog barking? Had this young man been trying to break into someone's home? Had he been up to some mischief and the dog knew and was protecting his space? 

The young man again turned to me and flashed a panicked look.

"Please, let me in," he begged as he pulled on the company logo of his coat trying to make me understand that truly he was in trouble and needed help. 

Hesitant, but unwilling to allow more carnage than necessary, I cracked the door open. With panting breath, the poor soul edged into the protection of my home. He explained that he had just been leaving a customer's house a few doors down, when he heard barking. Turning, he had seen a large black shape racing towards him in the dark of night. Not usually one to be afraid of dogs, this time was different. This dog was vicious in its menace and was aimed straight at him. Without another thought, he ran. Mine was the first house he came to. His eyes still focused on the big, black dog that barked and spun mere meters from us.  

He looked at me and said, "I'm sorry I scared you, but I was in a panic."

I nodded and watched the dog snarl and dance. "I would be afraid too", I thought.

"My name's Nathan," he stated. 

I could still see him trembling through his thick overcoat. A shape in the distance drew our attention though. A man was moving up the street towards us, calling as he came. The dog paused to look at the approaching man, but was not yet willing to release his quarry. 

"I have a dog at home," he stated,  "but it's not vicious like that! It would not chase anyone like that."

The other man reached the dog and talked quietly to it, trying to calm it down. 

"Sorry about that, " he yelled towards us. "Hope he didn't scare you."

The dog had scared Nathan, and me through association plenty, but the tension was diffused. The dog jumped and twisted, but finally allowed itself to be leashed by its owner. Only then did Nathan visibly relax some. We watched the dog get led away, then Nathan turned and apologized once more. 

"I am headed straight to my car and not getting out," he declared. 

With that, he was gone. I closed the front door and turned back to the room. My daughter still waited for her medicine where I had left her. Neither she, nor her sister seemed fazed at all by the explosive outbreak that had rocked the house. I went back to my nurse's duties, but my mind dwelt on the incident long after the house was silent for the night. I felt my singleness and vulnerability close around me.  Life was heavy in my hands. A prayer went out to my guardian angels, as I drifted off to sleep with the night wrapped close around me for a shield.

Happy Tourists

The sound of Arnie’s engine died away. We shifted and jostled in the van straining to see why all the land rovers and overland trucks were clustered in the area. Buffalos were interesting, especially in a herd as large as this one, possibly upwards of 200 head?  I am a far cry from being able to estimate herd sizes, but I was impressed none-the-less. There was an electric hum in the air though. We could hear people in the other vehicles chattering excitedly in hushed tones, but could not see what all the drama was for.

And then we saw them. Lions. Seven big lions slowly sauntered out of the bush. They paid no mind to the humans and their vehicles strewn about. Their objective was the buffalo. They had dinner on their minds and we were privy to the meal plan.

In awe, we watched over the next hour as the lions slowly made their way closer and closer to the ever drifting buffalo herd. The sun made its way across the sky, but still the lions stalked their prey apparently unnoticed by the lumbering bovines. Other vehicles stopped to take in this awesome sight and a festive feeling filled the air as flashes could be seen from a multitude of cameras. We opened Arnie’s slider door to better see and photograph this lion hunt in the process. It was invigorating to watch, even at its slow pace across the savannah.

The lions fanned out keeping low in the scrub grass. Somehow they communicated between themselves and seemed to focus their attention to an area at the back of the herd. I know that predators tend to attack the old, weak or young and we guessed at where they would centre their assault. They inched closer and closer to the shuffling buffalos.

When the lions were about ten feet from the herd, the wind shifted. We were a ways off from the activity, but we could clearly see some of the larger male buffalos flick their heads and look around. Disappointment seemed imminent for all the effort that the lions had put in. We could see the lions tense and tensed with them as they debated making a last ditch attack. A hush had fallen over the human observers, but camera bulbs still flashed.

And then the gig was up. One of the buffalos turned and bristled. Four or five of the bulls broke off from the herd, that now hastened its pace away from the perceived threats behind it. They spied the lions and charged at them. The lions knew they had been beat and skulked off from the running bulls. The massive horns on the buffalos heads were an effective deterrent for most beasts to change their minds on an attack. No dinner would be had for the lions tonight.

My tale does not end there though.

It was thrilling to watch the hunt and just as awesome to witness the defeat of it. The lions retreated back towards the bushes from where they had originally emerged. There was no hurry now, so the big cats sauntered away from their spoiled dinner plans, but headed directly towards the watching vehicles. Again, cameras came to life as the lions drew near for spectacular close-ups. What a treat this evening game drive had been for many a happy tourist!

I watched the lions plodding along in fascination, until my mind clicked. I had the slider door open and seven hungry predators were headed in my direction after missing out on a potential meal. The puny sides of our little tin can would be no match for their razor sharp claws, but it would be even easier to snatch a quick bite with nothing in the way but a few articles of clothes.

I quickly pulled my legs back into the van and scrambled to my knees. I grabbed the handle of the slider door and reefed on it to pull it closed. It slid across, bumped into the side of the frame and bounced back.  The door had not closed. As I peered through the crack in the doorframe, I watched the lead lioness sprawl three feet from our front bumper. Another lay down behind us. Still more plunked down just to our left. My knuckles turned white on the handle of the door and my heart tripped into overtime. I could not open the slider to see if I could slam it shut again. What if it didn’t seal and all I accomplished was gaining the attention of the hungry felines that surrounded us?

A whimper escaped from me, as I clung to the handle. We could not start the van and drive away, as so many of the other vehicle were now doing. The starter had not worked on the van in months. Arnie required a push start  before he would acquiesce to spring to life. There was no way that Brett and Oliver would be jumping out of the van to push the vehicle far enough to have it fire to life. There were lions on either side of the front wheels! A passing vehicle informed us that two more males were lying in the bushes just beyond us as well.

Good  Christ, my mind screamed. What were we going to do!

Limp humour from the front seat did not lift my spirits, as the sun marched steadily towards the western horizon. It would be dark soon. Most of the other vehicles were gone as all vehicles were to be out of the park by 6:30 and it was quickly working its way towards 7PM. Brett called over to one of the straggling land rovers to inform them of our dilemma.

“Mind giving us a push,” Brett shouted. “In a bit of a tricky spot and the kombi is a push start at present.”

They conversed back and forth, then the other driver agreed to give it a go, figuring to shove us with his bush bar. I pictured Arnie’s bumper getting mangled days before we were set to sell out, but I preferred that to becoming dinner.

It was at that moment that the lions decided that it was time to move off. The ladies rose and walked off a pace. Brett and Oliver wasted no time in jumping out to race Arnie down the track and mercifully he sprang to life. As we sputtered to life and began to drive, I pulled the door back and swung it closed with a monstrous effort. With that click, I sank back shaking. I finally breathed a ragged breathe and felt adrenaline coursing through me. Lifting my hand, I saw it visibly shake and knew that the threat had been terribly real. We would not be lion steaks tonight though. We had definitely had the excitement that we had been seeking and could leave stating that we were indeed very happy tourists.

 

MK - What Have You done to Me!!

I went to meet

Ms Mary Kay.

On wares aplenty

my eyes did play.

Fine food was served,

but not to us.

We got rice

Drowned in thick, gooey sauce!

With faces washed

and colours picked

We dabbed and swiped,

Twas a palette thick.

Well, thick enough

to cause a fright,

as my eyes turned pink

later that night!

Oh woe is me

with delicate skin

For MK’s products

left my vision thin.

I type this now

with vision fair,

But this morning’s visage

was a different affair.

Puffed up eyes

And red rimmed lids

A spectre wild!

That’ll learn me kids!!

So, no makeup for me.

My face will have to stay bare.

Unless I want to appear

As your worst nightmare!

*Photo from Moronface.com

Bringing out the Big Guns

buzzing slowed as activities ceased for the day

my activities could begin

I pulled on gloves bought at the store

grabbed the oven cleaner out of the bag

Sprayed

RAN!

~~~

Here's hoping that I make it. I discovered wasps busily making a nest in the venting bricks in my house. Lovely. I  tried to piss them off last night with a spray of the hose, but tonight I am going in armed a little heavier. I wanted to post tonight, in case my fingers are swelled up like fat sausages tomorrow. For other entertainment, swing by Monkey Man's place for his Sunday 160. Pray for me!

P.S  Maybe I should have a few less flowers to attract the little buggers 

Adventures off the Grid

Another day, another beach.  I wished all the goodness of my heart to the beautiful people I had met in Praia de Tofo, but it was time to move on. We headed North on the only good road in Mozambique and found shelter in Vilanculos. The road was getting progressively worse. We had weaved all over the road avoiding potholes that would have ripped axles, wheels and whatever it could have snatched, right off. We pulled into a little compound by the ocean to call home for a few days. The sight of an outdoor shower in the middle of the walled compound brought a smile to my face. As we had been camping by the sea, with no facilities to speak of in Praia de Tofo, a good scrubbing was in order. On checking in, it was suggested by the people that ran the camp to shower in the afternoon. A morning shower would be cold, as the large bucket was filled every morning. By afternoon, the water would have had a chance to warm up, therefore sun, soap and  sun-warmed water would cleanse our bodies and souls. Point noted. I luxuriated in a warm, sunlit soak later that afternoon and felt like a new woman.

First though, we stowed belongings in our quickly erected tents and went off to explore our new home. Again the locals seemed warm and friendly, with smiles offered from all we met. The charms of Mozambique were certainly working their magic on me. Unfortunately, other factors were working on Brett again though. Our first night there was a sleepless one for him, with little sleep attained by the rest of our travelling band, as we watched him writhe in pain. It was obvious that the kidney stones had not worked their way out yet. He needed to get medical attention. There was a small clinic in the village, but this would not be enough to help Brett.  The problem that we quickly discovered  was that there was not even a telephone here. The closest phone was in Inhambane, which was where we had left the day before; a full day’s drive away. We scrambled around town trying to figure out a course of action and discovered a small airstrip. Our hopes were dashed to discover a flight out, but full up. To charter a flight to Johannesburg would cost $1500 US and without a phone to call Brett’s health insurance company to get them to pay for the flight, it was a moot point. We did not have the cash between us to pay for it and that was the only method of payment they accepted. Brett could barely stand and had trouble catching a full breathe. It was decided that we would get him on the bus back down to Maputo where he could catch a flight to Johannesburg. Miki and I gave him money enough to get him there and prayed that he would be able to withstand the journey that led to salvation.

With teary eyes, we watched the bus depart headed South. In the hurried rush to get our ailing travelling companion attended to, we had made a rough plan. Brett would take the bus to Maputo, then continue on a flight to Johannesburg. We knew there that he would be able to find modern medical assistance to tend to his ills. Once recovered, he would make his way back up to Harare, Zimbabwe where we would reconnect. In the mean time, Miki and I, along with Oliver and a new Aussie travelling companion by the name of Rob, would make our way North. The dreaded highway towards Beira would be tackled and we would veer off towards Zimbabwe and eventually Brett.

Praying that Brett would be recovered soon, but knowing that we would have a stretch before we saw him again, we tried to distract ourselves by taking in the sights. We bumped into travellers that we had met back in Tofo, and they convinced us to take in a dhow excursion to Magaruque.  A dhow was described to us as a local sailboat. While it sounded enchanting, the day was not. The dhow was absolutely ancient and very tippy. The day was sunny and beautiful, but hot. We found shelter under beach umbrellas at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, but got run off by a very angry hotel manager. The next closest patch of shade did not accommodate the seven of us very well, so we moved on to snorkelling. It was magnificent, but we returned to our dhow captains dehydrated and severely scraped by coral, only to find that we had misunderstood our arranged meeting time. We had thought they had said 3pm, but were informed by the angry men that we were supposed to have returned at 13:00. Oops. With a new experience under our belts, we bid adieu to the day. A rough road lay ahead of us and we would need a good sleep to give us the strength to withstand the next leg of our journey.

A Grain of Sand

I went through my ablutions in preparation for bed; teeth, face, hands, eyes, check! I donned my PJs and looked forward to an early night to bed after a rocky introduction to Mozambique. Brett came into Miki and my’s room complaining of pains in his side. He was looking for anything that we might have that would take the edge off of his  throbbing woes. Miki and I dug in our packs and produced whatever we could from our personal pharmacies. He swallowed a handful of painkillers we offered him and headed to bed, hoping that they would take effect soon and allow him some sleep. The word hospital was mentioned, but he passed it off as something to look into in the morning if necessary.

In fact, the painkillers did not do a thing. Brett wiggled and flopped on his bed, but the pain just got worse. Ten minutes after I had turned the light off, Brett was knocking at our door again. He was ashen. The pain was worse. He wanted to go to the hospital; Now. We scrambled back into our clothes and hurried to the van with vague directions to the hospital. Luck was not on our side this evening though. We hustled into the van, but Arnie refused to budge. The van would not turn over at all. We pushed it half-way down the street huffing and puffing all the way, with Brett writhing in agony in the driver’s seat. Our commotion caught the interest of several passersby and Miki managed to flag down another motorist for assistance. She scooped Brett out of one vehicle and into another and they were gone. Oliver and I were left to tend to our inept vehicle. There were others that had noticed our plight though, and we soon had a gang of street kids help us push Arnie back to the motel for the night. Of course, their ministrations came with a fee and we found ourselves ripped off handing over R10 and 50 000 metical (it should have been more like 5-10 000MT). In the grand scheme of things, it equated to a pittance, but Oliver argued with the youths, as I sprinted off in the direction of the hospital.

Now as you might recall, we had just arrived in Maputo that afternoon. We had wandered around the area surrounding our Pensao a bit, but I was far from familiar with the city. A lone, white female sprinting through a run-down city after dark is probably not the smartest plan to undertake, but my vision was clouded with Brett’s tortured visage. After losing myself momentarily, I miraculously found the hospital. The next step was tracking down Brett within the walls of the hospital, but that too was achieved. When I finally came upon Brett, the doctors had hooked him up to an IV. The problem; kidney stones. The doctor explained that the hiking that he had done in Mbabane had probably served to dehydrate him, which aggravated the stones. He administered pain killers and explained to us about kidney stones. They are often fairly small and found in the urethra. They can be similar in size to a grain of sand, but their power is much more potent. The doctor explained that kidney stones are one of the most painful experiences one can go through, akin to heart attacks and giving birth. The pain comes from the crystal-like stone passing through the urinary tract system. Most times the only thing that can be done for someone suffering is to hydrate them to help the stone pass more freely. Ultimately, the only solution is for the stone to pass. That required time. It was advised that Brett spend the night in hospital to rehydrate and monitor his pain level. After watching Brett relax with the effects of medication, Miki and I headed for home. We would be back in the morning.

Wandering a path not always easy

   I just came in from struggling, straddling  and sweating my cargo roof rack into place on top of the van. Frig, it's hot out there! I am quite proud of myself for getting it up there though. I thought I would have to get some help to hold it in place while I screwed the bolts on (we shall see how good a job I did when I drive down the road - don't drive behind me as I drive over any bumps!). I did it all by my little ole self though, with no help, but an occasional breeze to keep my morale up.

   As I wiped the sweat off my brow, I stood back to admire my handy-work. I could not help but think back to  a lady I know, who is going through a difficult period in her life. I believe she is in her late 60s and her husband apparently is in the process of beginning a cancer journey. They have yet to give a formal title to the kind of cancer he has, but there is a tumour floating around by his kidneys that is approximately 3-5" large. Not mm or cm, but INCHES! For one not familiar to tumours and their size, that is huge; about the size of an orange. I have mentioned at various points in my blog some of the trials I have traversed in my own life with cancer. It is not a pleasant disease and it affects many, many people in the world. 

   Why I think of this lady today, as I claim triumph over a difficult task, is because she is very dependant on her husband. She has a driver's license, but generally does not feel comfortable driving any real distance. She can clean, but cooking is not a skill that she can claim with any true sense. As meal time approached recently, she suggested that she would make dinner (a simple meal of barbequed hamburgers). Someone commented that she would have to start the barbeque and she retorted "oh well, I can't do that! You better do it G." I was floored. She could not even start the barbeque! Perhaps she is not comfortable handling propane, but really it is a fairly straight forward task. What is she going to do if her husband dies? We all die, but with his failing health, one would assume he will succumb sooner rather than later. She is even afraid of confined spaces (elevators to be exact) and worries about what she is going to do if he is admitted to hospital for surgery and is up on the fifth floor for recovery. How will she get up to the fifth floor? At said point, I am aghast.

   Over the course of the cancer journey that I went on with my husband and grief journey I have struggled with since he died, I have had many challenges. Understanding diagnoses, assisting him in his mobility, undertaking more household chores when he was unable were all things that I just did, because I had to. I did not want to, but I did not have a choice. Well, that is not exactly right, as my Mother pointed out to me at points. Another choice could have been to walk away, but that would never have happened. To me it was not a choice. She pointed out the strength it took to be there for my family, that some just do not have. Since my husband died, I have taken on all the cooking, cleaning, bill payments and general running of my household. Again, I have not wanted to do it all and at points was very close to throwing it all away, but somehow I have found deep reserves of strength to push me through. My house is not cleaned as often as some, but I pay my bills on time and make most of our meals from scratch. I do it because I have to. Again, there is always the option to leave, which to me is a non-option. I have a certain level of pride in the fact that I go beyond the mundane chores and accomplish other tasks that need attending to. I painted my living room in the winter mostly by myself. When I had my basement renovated the winter before, I again did all the painting. I have organized having the furnace  and hot water heater replaced, a shed built, and every room in the house (but my bedroom) painted. I have lifted furniture on my own muscle, when I perhaps should have asked for help, but am learning that I do not have to always do it all solo. For me it is not a matter of knowing how to do something, it is more a matter of knowing that I cannot do everything and stepping back to allow others to do what I cannot. There is no glory in being a martyr, I have been told in not so many words. 

   So when I look at this woman, who will be in such a disastrous place when her husband dies, I feel a certain level of anger, confusion and disbelief. I have wished and wanted someone to be there for me to help with running my household, spending quality time with and enduring this thing called life. I am sure that someone will enter my life at some point, that I will want to share and care with. I am learning to like and love me and respect my abilities and weaknesses. Really though, I am content to spend time with me, getting to know me and my path. I would love to have more companionship, but I do not need someone to survive. That level of dependence is scary for me and I just cannot fathom it. I had someone ask me if I had talked to this woman directly, and admitted I had not. In crisis, you survive as best you can and she seemed to be pulling back from her usual outgoing self. I could not and did not want to put myself out there and tread in my own recent memories. I cannot change her world. She will have to survive it the best she can and all I can offer her is the strength to face the day. 

   I realize I have gone on here, but just want to offer a link to a support system that has buoyed me up over the years for any of you challenged by a cancer diagnosis. Wellspring is a wonderful organization that offers emotional support to individuals, family and friends of anyone dealing with cancer. It is a Canadian organization that has branches all across the country and I have utilized their services often. I have not always been as strong as I am today, but they have been there to hold me up whenever I have had a need. As I have trudged a cancer path, I know how difficult it can be. Any of you that need an ear are always welcome to chat. Peace to you all.

Normal

   An epiphany of a sort has been creeping in this week. Perhaps it was highlighted by the loss of a sweet woman in the blog-o-sphere. This woman brought back many images of me and my family in my darker days. She battled cancer and sadly succumbed to the disease last week. I follow a few blogs that were touched by this woman and her family's plight and many candles have been lit for them. I too walked the chaotic path of cancer within my family unit and was overwhelmed by its power. That time period will be with me always and I feel deeply and with such sorrow for any that have to walk that path. My cancer journey was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life, but the grief journey that followed was even harder. I was shocked at the amount of work that it takes to process grief and am often still surprised by the knock and reminders that will live with me forever about these difficult days. I would never have believed how many tears could be shed, but I somehow survived and face a new day every day of my life. 

   What has struck me this week is something different though. Weeks before my husband was diagnosed, we had just had our first child. Ten months before that we celebrated our love by tying the proverbial knot (no need to do the math -she was our honeymoon stage gift!). Our days before that were filled with wedding planning and home renovations to our newly purchased home in a new town. For a period of about five years, I think that I hit a ridiculous number of stressors (good and bad) on the scale of stress factors. I seemed to only be able to function if we were going through some change or transformation. When Brad died, a big piece of me went with him. The death of my cousin a few months following, was just another in a long line of stressors that I just could not deal with any more. I caved and leaned on whatever supports that I could. Other friends and family disappeared at that time, but time refused to stop. I held on treading water and with help have moved through a seemingly insurmountable amount of carnage. And now...

   Now, I am normal.

   This week I looked at myself and noted that I have nothing going on in my life. I am working part-time and am happy with that. I am writing in this blog and working on two books when I can. I do yoga, participate in a drum circle and am part of a book club. I have two beautiful daughters that I love more than my life. They give me a reason to get up in the morning and put a smile on my face when I am not scolding them for some little thing that is normal for children their age. I have friends that enjoy my company and family that cares about what I feel and do. My worries and stresses are the everyday bland kind of stress that everybody goes through. My grief is still mine, but it does not rule me anymore. I face the day and the worst of it could be deciding what to make for dinner, scheduling a vet appointment for the cat, or making sure the bills are paid on time. All normal. Normal. Wow. You probably do not understand why this affects me so, but it is an epiphany that I noted for me this week. I am just like everyone else. I can shed tears for others today and do, but my life is okay just the way it is. And I think I like it.

What You Can do to Help

    Last night I was chatting with a friend of mine on Facebook. She knows that we battled cancer in our household and asked if she could ask me a question. "Question away", I said. Well she had a friend who had been recently diagnosed with cancer and was in the beginning throes of the chaos that a cancer diagnosis brings. I am a member of Wellspring and often spout the benefits that I have reaped from this wonderful place. If you have never heard of it, it is a cancer support centre that offers emotional support to those in need. It offers many programs to its members and is free to anyone who has cancer, is a caregiver or friend of someone dealing with cancer. They have been a lifeline to me in my journey the last few years. She was asking me about what exactly they offer and what I knew about children's programs for families dealing with cancer. Ultimately what she wanted to know was "how can I help?". She, like so many others, is afraid of saying something wrong. The unfortunate part of that is that often people just back up and leave you alone, for fear of making you upset. That, in my opinion, is exactly the wrong thing to do. Imagine yourself being faced with a life changing/challenging/threatening disease and having surgery/chemotherapy/radiation thrown at you in a short period of time. Once diagnosis has been made, speed is of the essence and there is no time to sit back and analyse what this means to you and how you feel about it. Seemingly the rest of your life is asked to be put on hold, so that you can tackle the disease. This can become your life. Everything else takes a back seat. It is different and scary and makes you feel alone. This is not a time when you want people to abandon you. You may not be able to fix the problem that is rearing its ugly head, but you can still do something.  I wanted to share the chat I had last night, but unfortunately  lost it. Then I remembered that many moons ago I pondered what was beneficial for me when I was going through the crisis of cancer. I thought I would share those thoughts with you here. Make of them what you will and take whatever you need to;

What You Can do to Help

• 
  
  Listen
• 
  
  Offer hugs, compassion, empathy
• 
  
  Food
• 
  
  it is the last thing one worries about when dealing with a crisis, but important
• 
  
  Shovel snow
• 
  
  Cut grass
• 
  
  Don't be afraid to ask questions, even if they seem odd or dumb
• it is my life however chaotic and your interest is better than pretending nothing is going on and nothing is wrong (EVERYTHING is WRONG!)
• Help with babysitting if appropriate or visit with the sick person so the caregiver can get a break
• Keep calling and keep offering
• some days I am stronger than others and some days I might need more than I've got
• Offer to go to doctor appointments, so the caregiver can get a break
• Offer help with picking up medication, groceries or going to a class together (ex. yoga, meditation), even doing the laundry might help
• Make some days "normal" just by visiting, going for coffee or a drink
• normal is gone, but stability is desperately sought after

I then highlighted in my little book important people to me and why they had been important. I guess it won't hurt to share that either.

My Important People were

• Cris (close girlfriend with children similar age)  - babysitting, playdates (normal), talking about anything, asking questions, Hugs
• Kerry (out-of-town sister)  - daily phone calls and love, listening, visits during crisis with meal making
• Mom (out-of-town) - empathy, love, offering personal insights from her experience (my Father also died from cancer when she had two girls under 5 years of age), regular visits, presence during crisis, meals, laundry, "normal" phone calls
• Carole (yoga teacher and cancer survivor) - asking questions, empathy, sharing personal experiences
• John (friend) - help with painting, listening, offering love
• Jim (husband's co-worker and friend) - regular calls and visits, help with household projects, smiles, love
• Neighbours - friendly smiles, encouragement, help with house maintenance (raking leaves, snow shovelling, coffee/drinks)
• Wellspring - listening, sharing experiences, hugs, safe spot to cry, remind me of loving kindness to self
• Daycare - child minding, help in crisis, listening

This list is not comprehensive, but is what struck me at the time. Some of these people were helpful before and/or after Brad died. I share just to give examples of what might help. I also thought this might be more interesting than my fair of the last week. Be well my friends.