Paying it Forward

My blogging friend, Marsha, wrote a wonder piece yesterday about the idea of “paying it forward”. She feels, as I do, that one of the things that should come out of life’s challenges and tragedies is a sense that a person should put what they’ve learned from their experiences to use in helping others who are going through similar situations. It is something I did as a teacher. My life, and the lives of my family, friend and acquaintances, were examples from which my students could learn. Part of life is searching for the meaning and higher truths - enlightening one’s self, but the other part is taking that light and sharing it with others. The others are mainly family and friends and those you are in closest connection to on a daily basis, but some of us, I feel, are called upon to reach farther afield. For a while, I felt that the widow board was where I was supposed to be. I took note of those widows farther out than myself who talked about being called upon to be “widow-mentors”. I don’t think I am mentor material, but I had things to share. I tried to go back to the board recently. But I don’t feel overly inspired to read posts or reach out there anymore. Part of it is a left over resentment at the way I was driven from there. but more has to do with the fact that I am more interested in promoting growth and forward momentum than the idea that grief is a “do whatever feels best” and can “take as long as it takes” attitude. I do not believe either and much of what I have read in recent studies on bereavement is contrary to what is promoted at the site.

I turned to blogging for myself initially and then as a way to share with others who might be experiencing transitions and on journeys of self-discovery. And I still like the idea of using the blog, and myself in the process, as an example. But, I was a teacher for twenty years, and I miss the face to face interaction and being able to see and talk with people. Writing and reading is good but the human component is distanced. The parents group at Pilgrim’s Hospice has proved a tiny outlet, but the process is so scripted and the grief is a one-size fits all as though everything about loss is equal, and like so much of life - there is no such thing as equal. Losing a parent as a child is different from a teen/young adult and much different from the experience of an adult who has a family of their own. They are not comparable experiences. Losing a spouse to death is not the same as divorcing one or being divorced. Losing a sibling is not the same as losing a life partner. Losing a child is the most horrendous grief of all but the age of the child and the circumstances of the death are factors. We like to ignore the reality that apples and oranges really are different types of fruit because we are afraid of marginalizing and even more afraid that someone may not like us - but how helpful is that really? So, the parents group has widowed people predominantly, a couple of parents who have lost small children and someone who lost a parent. Rob and I are by far the most “experienced” grievers in the group in terms of time out from the loss. It’s a 12 steppy thing. Aren’t they all? And it works on the premise that there should be a group facilitator prompting with open-ended topics or questions and that emotions and experiences of everyone present are going to be very similar. Even among younger widowed people are emotional responses and experiences can be quite dissimilar so you can imagine what a group of mixed grievers is like in terms of having a discussion rather than just one person venting and the next person do the same. It’s like parallel lines. After the last meeting I sent a email to the director suggesting tactfully, as I am capable of that, that we might break into smaller groups at different points so we can share with those whose experiences are most like our own. It is difficult to really articulate your thoughts and feelings when you are weighing them constantly in an effort not to make anyone feel bad. For example, the person who lost their parent, both Rob and I have a shocking lack of empathy for her and Rob has even lost a parent himself. I think it stems from the fact that we accept that as we age, so do our parents and as a matter of course, they will age, get sick perhaps, and die. It is a loss. It will/does effect one and there is grief, but it is part of life. Losing one’s spouse at a young age - not so on the scale of what is expected. Same goes for the death of a child. I just can’t muster the empathy for this person or the situation and so I am trying to participate in the group knowing that I need to keep this to myself. The director liked my idea and will put it to the group to decide tonight. At the hospice group, I feel more like I am “paying forward” though perhaps it is more “paying up” in the sense that someone helped me along at different points in my journey and now I am called upon to repay the debt via others.

In the spirit of helping then, I went to a planning session sponsored by the city last evening. There is a need for grief services in our little town and I thought I could at least input a bit, if not volunteer at some point. It turned out that the model for the group was predetermined and it was more of a finite workshop than an actual support group. The group of women who attended last evening were the same type of mixed fruit bowl you get at most grief groups that are sponsored by social service agencies. The need to separate people in a more constructive way is not universally acknowledged. I left the meeting when it became clear to me that they were not soliciting ideas as much as participants. I was even a bit insulted by the leader of the group who made the comment to me, and another widow of my vintage, that perhaps the reason we didn’t want to participate was that we were in denial and were stuffing or blocking our feelings. Today I can chuckle a bit about that. Me? Stuffing? She needs to read my blog. But the thing that irked me the most was the fact that she was yet another one of those time-line people (four years to all better now) who believe that if one works hard and grieves according to the rules as laid down, they will one day be ready to resume life and live again. Nonsense. Life does not stop and wait for us to by ready and interested. If you wait for perfect or nearly so to live, you won’t. Live. Life happens all the time and whether we feel like it or not, we are living. We can choose to not participate and let moments/opportunities go by - and many people do this for may different reasons - but I believe we can live and grieve and that this is normal and healthy. And, I have to confess that her snide aside about my being married already colored my opinion of her and her ideas a bit.

My dilemma then is how to go about giving back/paying forward. If we stay here in this area (a possibility now as Texas has become an “if”), there is the possibility of becoming a hospice volunteer at the Pilgrim house. and there is also the idea of writing articles and freelancing a bit in the area of grief.

If you are still with me after all this rambling, perhaps you have ideas or suggestions. I rarely hear from any of you aside from Marsha and Sally and TGLB - and of course my darling Rob, and that’s okay, but I’d like to know what thoughts there might be out there.

Oh, and my 10,000 blog view is fast approaching. If you happen to be the one to log on here and notice that you have tipped the counter to that big ole number - let me know it was you. ‘K?

Another Day, Another REJECTED Story

Strathcona writing group last night was a small turn out. There were just three of us, but we had a nice discussion about online literary magazines and submitting. The two women who were there talked about their submission process and how they keep track of things. They are both published authors and one of them is an illustrator as well. It makes me a tiny bit jealous, but also determined to push on. I WANT to SEE my writing in print. That’s one of the drawbacks, we all agreed, to the online literary magazines. The majority do not have a print equivalent and there is something about having a printed copy to hold and show your mother (especially if your mother is like mine and can’t even open her own email).

We read. They are mainly poets and very goods ones. My poetry always seems like a school assignment effort. I did take a poetry workshop one summer before I graduated from Iowa. I found the workshop technique a bit puzzling. I rarely thought about the meaning behind the things I wrote (I had done a writing workshop not long before the poetry) and was always amused by the things that the others would “read” into my work. Usually they were so far off in the left field that all I could do was say, “Right exactly. I was wondering if anyone would notice that.” Then I would go back to my apartment and reread my stuff and wonder if other writers just wrote and then co-opted the interpretations of others for future use. I remember the instructor was very impressed with my poetry. He encouraged me to submit them and sign up for more poetry classes. Another smile and nod moment. I am not a poet. I don’t like reading it. I don’t even really enjoy listening to it. When people at writing group read their poetry, I have to really force myself to listen and not wander off mentally. I just wasn’t born with a poetry gene.

I read my new work in progress. I think I wrote about it on my wordpress site. Both women thought it was a very good start. I am such a compliment junkie. I love to have people read and listen to my work and give me strokes. On the other hand, I don’t care much for the opposite. Rejection. Which is what I found waiting for me on the email when I got home. It was from the Matrix, a lit magazine out of Calgary. I had sent them the first story in my Sci-Fi series at the beginning for December and I already knew that they had rejected it because their new issue is out already. It was bland. Obviously what they sent to everyone but they did include the link to their submission call for the next issue.

Gallows humor. As a widow, I wouldn’t know anything about that.

Today there will not be much time for writing. I need to get to the gym and hustle home to clean up and get Katy ready for school. I am meeting Rob at our Subjoint to pick up veggies wraps before heading to a financial planning meeting that his company is sponsoring for employees and their partners (Canada recognizes common law unions and same sex marriages). It’s all about retirement, and Rob and I are all about getting plans in place for that. It is expected to go until 3PM and then it’s hustle home to meet Katy’s bus and get supper started. Tonight I am going into town to sit in on a planning session for a grief support group. I have always found the one size fits all approach to support groups of this nature a bit wanting and if I can input in the planning stages, perhaps I can alter that a bit. And perhaps not. My approach to grief is not, I have been vehemently told, a sound one. Whatever. Nothing ventured, as they say.

Family Day in Alberta

This last weekend was a holiday weekend here in Alberta as Monday was Family Day. Yes, they actually have a holiday devoted to spending time with one’s family. Last year Rob was in Grande Prairie with Farron and Jordan visiting with his in-law’s. Without Internet or reliable cell service, we spent most of that weekend out of contact for the first time since we’d started communicating with each other before Christmas of ’06. It was a very long weekend as I remember it. He did manage to sneak out to the truck and call me a couple times from the on-star phone, but it was nowhere near the marathon phone sessions we’d become accustomed to by then. It seems such a long time ago now.

This Family Day activities we attended were at the Dow Centennial Centre, which houses, among other things, the gym I workout at most days. The community sponsored events included stage demonstrations on the soccer field by local groups like the judo and gymnastics clubs. There were also booths set up around the edge of the field for churches and different volunteer organizations. Rob and I generally walked by the church stuff without making eye contact as neither of us is inclined to practice religion in an organized manner. Indeed, Rob isn’t inclined to practice it in the disorganized manner that I have chosen. In addition to these attractions there was also face painting , yoga, belly dancing, storytelling and of course there was someone making balloon animals. In the art gallery attached to the Shell Theatre lobby was a traveling exhibit from the Alberta Art Gallery and the Waiward Steel Pottery Studio held demonstrations and a sale in hopes of attracting people to sign up for classes. There was also free public skate and shinny skate and no Dow Center do would be complete without those inflatables that Katy so loves to jump around in and slide on.

Afterwards we stopped to pick up tomatoes for supper and hit the Staples for a copy of the tax program because it is really time to figure out what kind of cluster-fuck we’ve gotten ourselves into by shunning our own and marrying across an international border. Rob suggested that I run into the Safeway and he would hit Staples and thus save time.

“But I wanted to go to Staples too.”

“Why?”

“.....because....I like to go to Staples....”

(Laughing) “I forgot what a Staples addict you are.”

“I’m not. I just love office supplies.”

“You are so weird.” (Big grin)

It’s true though. I am weird. I love pens, pencils, notebooks, folders. If it is paper or has something to do with paper - I love it. I have no sense of organization at all, but I love wandering office supply stores.

After we had late lunch and tea, I spent some time out in the yard building a snow fort with Katy and Rob worked on finishing up the north side of the basement. When we moved in, a person couldn’t even access the basement for the stuff piled high, but soon it will be Katy’s play area and an exercise area for Rob and I. Progress.

I love long weekends.

A Picnic in Elk Island Park

We have been promising Katy a hike and a picnic lunch in the nearby Elk Island Park for some time, but until this week, it has been far too cold. Friday the weather turned and though not as warm as some of you in the southern 48 might think it should be to hearld the coming of spring, it has felt mighty good up here. Today we decided to skip our usually Sunday afternoon skating at the Moyer Ice Arena here in Josephburg and head over to Elk Island for a short hike and lunch. We fortified well with tuna wraps, grapes and baby carrots not to mention a thermos of Earl Grey and another with water for hot chocolate. Bundled and with Katy’s little green toboggan packed in the back of the Equinox, we felt ready to tackle the snow-covered trails.

We made one stop on the way and that was in the tiny town of Lamont which is just north of the Fort. We needed to pick up the Edmonton Journal because even if it is light on news beyond its own borders - we are newspaper addicts and have to have at least one paper coming into the house daily and well, the Globe doesn’t run a Sunday edition. In fact neither paper runs its big edition on Sunday. The biggest paper of the week is the Saturday edition for both. Lamont though is not much of a town. Rob remembers the ice rink there as being a vandalism target for the bored teens trapped by a lack of transportation, probably, and somewhere to go, likely. There is a grain elevator and railway tracks. A main street with a donut shop, a bank and a grocery. Very small. Not picturesque. It bills itself as the “Gateway to Elk Island Park”. And with that, enough has been said.

The park is a forested preserve for elk and bison herds. It’s mainly Aspen as this area is the transition land between Aspen parkland and boreal forest. There are plains and woodland bison here and they are kept in separate areas. They have flourished here to the point that this park has repatriated some of both herds to other areas that are trying to reestablish them. It’s part of the national park system and so there is a toll station at the entrance/exit areas. Trails are maintained and some of them are groomed specifically for cross country skiing. It’s snow up here a fair amount in the last few weeks so the snow we encountered was too deep for Katy to walk and we’d suspected she wouldn’t do much hiking anyway - thus her green toboggan.

Rob is always teaching Katy about something whether it is about drywalling or painting or the fact that there was a squirrel living in the area we were hiking through. He pointed out the food leavings and the collapsed tunnel the squirrel had been using to travel.

We picnicked at a spot that would overlook the lake in warmer weather but right now unless you knew it was out there, you’d have a hard time picturing it at all. It was a quick lunch. Just the wraps and hot drinks and grapes, and then back to the vehicle to tour the rest of the park from the warmth of the car. Katy and I are not quite so Canadian as we need to be for winter hikes yet.

As we trudged back to the main trail and then to the parking lot, a story came to me. It amazes me how this happens. How I can be doing something completely normal, like pulling Katy in a toboggan, and suddenly a story comes. Like a gift. A gift with a lot of work attached to it, but still a present from the universe just the same. I think it will be a creepy story. I just finished Stephen King's The Mist. A very quick read - day and a half at most as it is only a bit over 200 pages. Sadly it is something I could have started and finished in an afternoon or evening back in the day but I don't have the stamina - or the time - for such a quick turnaround these days. Anyway, I think some of the inspiration came from my reading too. I have always loved apocalyptic survival stories. Mine is not an end of days thing, but it is about survival and I hope it will be a little suspenseful anyway.

On the way back to the car, Rob stopped us to show Katy a picture of a bison and then a moose. There are stations on the trail in that give the history of Alberta and pioneers and some of the wildlife in the area. Katy really loves moments like these although Rob doesn't think she is always paying attention to him, she is. She is becoming quite a daddy's girl. Recently she has been telling Rob that she loves him. Spontaneously and not merely as a response. They say it takes several years to blend families. I wonder what they mean by that because I know so few "real" families that are "blended". Perhaps what they mean is that it takes time for people to get to know how everyone reacts in situations - what they are likely to do or say. Still, even though I can predict my siblings and parents, I wouldn't say that I knew any one of them very well, except maybe my mother, and I know they don't know or understand me at all.

As we were driving out of the park, we stopped to watch a moose grazing. Katy was quite fascinated and equally horrified when she was told that she'd had moose for supper the other night. The drive home was quick. We don't live far from the park. It was another splendid day.