Crawling Out of Bed to Blog at the Eleventh Hour.

Damn. It's the 28th again already.

Not that I've made it a rule, but I have been trying to blog each month on the 28th. But to be honest,  I really didn't want to today.

In an attempt to avoid it, I crawled into bed before 8:30 and watched two episodes of The Voice and last week's episode of This is Us.

This is Us. I love that show. But I want to hate it. I've watched it from the first day - although always in delayed fashion thanks to the life-changing invention of the PVR.

Sometimes I'd be watching a recorded episode and Albert would come into the room and I'd shut it off so we could watch something together. Or nothing at all.  And he'd say, "Go ahead and keep watching it."  But I never would. It's not a show you can walk in and just pick up on. There's so much jumping around from present, past and future it would really be impossible to keep up if you didn't watch it all.

In this episode the "past" scenes dealt with the first year of coming to grips with Jack's (the husband and father, for those who don't watch) death and adjusting to life without him. Well shit. So here I am crawling out of bed at 11:30pm to blog.

I'm avoiding blogging on October 28th because this day marks eleven months without Albert. Which means the one-year anniversary is coming next. And I don't want it to arrive. As if somehow not blogging will make it go away.

I don't even know how to explain this. The feeling of simultaneously wanting the pain to ease while wanting to hang on to it as if it proves your love or something. Wanting time to pass, yet wanting it to stand still.

I'll be frank. I don't want the one-year anniversary to arrive.

Not that I have expectations of myself. And I really don't give a shit if others have expectations. But I somehow feel 'safe' in standing under the umbrella of being "a recent widow." Like I'm still covered by Albert's provision - which he was really effing good at.

But in some obscure way I feel like when I step over November 28th I will be entering new territory. Territory I know nothing about. Being independent. And quite frankly, it's a bit scary.   I've been standing under this umbrella of Albert's protection for 39 of my 54 years.


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On another note...

I recently listened to a podcast by Dr Caroline Leaf, a noted communication pathologist and cognitive neuroscientist with a Masters and PhD in communication Pathology and a BSc Logopaedics, specializing in cognitive and metacognitive neuropsychology, titled "Why Swearing May Be Good For You"  (Click the link to listen to this life freeing podcast) I also recommend (even though I am not financially compensated to do so) that you read her books. (I confess the books are really intellectually advanced and they are way easier to listen to in audio version than actually reading if you are prone to falling asleep with a book in your hand.) She's also a Jesus lover.

Seriously. IF YOU FIND SWEARING LIBERATING... click HERE... even if you are a Jesus lover.

Happy No-longer-a-significant-day to you Albert!

Albert never really liked 'special' days. Especially if he was on the receiving end of the attention.

He hated the commercialism that accompanies most holidays and resented the calendar telling him when he should express his love, admiration or appreciation to his wife, his kids or anyone else. And for the most part, he did a pretty good job of encouraging and loving on people in random yet consistent ways, without relying on calendar dates.

Today is October 25. Here on earth Albert would be turning 59 years old.

He's probably doin' an extra jig around the throne of God because there is no counting of time and days there, and he doesn't have to open presents or blow out candles while everyone stares at him and takes his photo.

But truthfully, he was looking forward to this birthday. For his sights were going to be firmly planted on retirement day which would have come sometime next June. Officially, retirement wouldn't happen until a year from now when he turned 60. (Okay. As side note, this number sort of hits me upside the head in a moment of disbelief.) But with holidays, banked time and other assorted accumulations, he would have been finished work sometime in June. And he was counting shifts.

Actually, he began counting shifts about 15 months ago when he returned to work after a couple months off with a broken hand.

Every time he would work a shift, or put in for days off, he'd say, "Only 233 shifts to go." Or "knocked my shifts back to 218 remaining."  Yeah... he worked approximately 123 nights a year. And he actually enjoyed his job. And he loved the guys.  And he was grateful to Canfor for nearly 40 years of employment. And it's my expectation that they are grateful for his loyalty and service as well. I don't think he called in sick more than 10 days in those 4 decades. Mind you, he did refuse to work overtime, insisting they needed to have more employees to cover time off etc.

Once again, I digress...

Much to his chagrin, we always celebrated Albert on his birthday in one form or another, some years more extravagant than others.

The year 2000, his 40th, was one of my favourites. The kids and I bought 40 gifts for him, varying from a pack of Thrills gum (The only kind he would chew, even though it tasted like soap.) to six months of guitar lessons with Phil Harlow, and everything in between. (Forty is a freaking LOT of gifts to come up with!)

Everything was wrapped and numbered. And the numbers were all entered into a bowl, and starting 40 days before his birthday (I'm too lazy to do the date calculations right now)  each day he had to draw a number and that was his gift of the day.

This was more fun for me and the kids than him - digging through the pile to find the corresponding numbered gift.

But without a doubt his most memorable birthday was his 35th... 1995.  A month or so before his birthday I asked him for his 'wish list.'  I'm not sure why I ever bothered to ask, as he never had one.

But that year, he actually had an answer.

"Whatever money you would spend on me, buy something for the kids."

And there launched our plan.

Together, that month we planned and shopped and wrapped a somewhat extravagant gift for each of the kids.

On the gifts we attached labels "To Pa, Love Ken" "Happy Birthday Daddy, Love Jed" "To Uncle from Tyler" and "I love you Dad, From Brandi" so we would know who each package was intended for.

We had a lovely family dinner and birthday cake. When it came time to bust out the presents, clever Daddy suggested that he didn't really like opening presents (not news to anyone) and asked if the kids would help him open them. We set the gift marked 'from' them, but intended 'to' them, on the table in front of each of the kids. And Daddy did a countdown "3-2-1" so they would all open at the same time.

Oh.My.Goodness. This truly is one of my favourite parenting memories.  We had even set up our newly purchased video camera (that was the size of a modern-day electric smart car) to capture the moment on VHS.  I'm sure I still have the video tape in the basement somewhere with no means to ever watch it again.

And Albert was so very blessed to give, in this moment where he was entitled to receive.

And by osmosis, all those around him were blessed beyond measure.

And that was just his way.

And though that birthday of Albert's was 24 years ago, I think of it often. And oddly enough, I think of it more at Christmas than I do on his birthday.

Christmas. When we celebrate the birth of Jesus. And often I wonder how the gift-giving amongst us earthlings, that often seems so materialistic and self-serving, can possibly be honouring to the One whose birthday we are celebrating. And then I remember 1995. The day a father selflessly gave up his birthday honour to witness and participate in the joy and surprise of his children.

It was honestly a life changing moment for me.

Happy no-longer-a-significant-day to you, Albert! I am so very grateful for all the life lessons I have experienced with you.

The Day the C-Bomb Dropped

I vividly remember October 16, 2018.

It's the day the C-bomb dropped.

Albert had worked what turned out to be his final nightshift with Canfor after nearly 40 years. We went together to his 2:15pm CT scan results appointment. My fervent prayer was to receive a diagnosis of a defective gall bladder that needed removed. His symptoms sort of lined up with that. I refused to entertain other possibilities at that point.

I've never had tons of love and confidence for our family doctor. But I truly felt empathic towards him as he delivered the diagnosis. What a difficult position to be in. To deliver this sort of news to someone and their spouse: things are far worse than we imagined, and I, as your doctor, am completely unable to do a thing for you. All while his eyes searched both Albert's and mine for our reactions while simultaneously preparing himself to respond to whatever our reactions might be. (I imagine as a doctor he has experienced all manner of responses from one end of the spectrum to the other.)

And just like that the bomb dropped.

Cancer.

And I could hear it ticking.

And then began the myriad of phone calls. Canfor- I won't be in to work tonight. Or possibly ever.

The kids. Oh the pain of making those calls to the kids.

And JimE. And MomZie. And the others...

Tick

Tick

Tick...

For 42 days that bomb ticked.

42 days.