tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24104071920733707072024-03-05T23:18:59.060-08:00The Day WasFor me, the day was when Kirsten sat me down and told me that a mass in her chest had been discovered. This was the first time of many that Kirsten would comfort me as she fought the Hodgkin's Lymphoma that became the centre of our lives. If I had known then that I only had five years left to be with Kirsten, I would have been devastated, inconsolable. If only I could have five more years with Kirsten now.ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-16466104717280084772014-10-18T13:28:00.000-07:002014-10-18T13:28:22.965-07:00Another moment with you.<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Kirsten,
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few weeks ago, I was paddling my kayak in Indian Arm. I was on the
return leg of a Cates Park-to-Deep Cove-for-lunch excursion.This felt
very much like an ode to our one fully successful trip with Suzy
Spitfire - that being a favourite memory of our life together. </span></span></span>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I
was paddling with an ease of rhythm and a strong sense of
tranquility. I was in the moment. In that moment, not as a sudden
realization or conscious thought, but as a waking dream, it came to
me that you were there with me. It enveloped me and it was beautiful.
I was happy and content.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">As
I continued to paddle, I considered why I was motivated to buy a
kayak and be on the water every other day during the summer. This
thought process gave me a new understanding of how you would never
leave me - your spirit, your sensibility, your nature, what was
important to you, who you were - I have those with me. We talked
about owning kayaks many times and that would undoubtedly have
happened. At that indistinguishable time of movement into awareness,
we were together on the water.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">I’ve
always recognized your ongoing influence, presence, and connection,
but somehow this seemed to resonate on a deeper and more significant
level. No, I'm not going to go buy a double kayak. And, yes I know the kayak/relationship analogy of each having our own boat; to fully enjoy our journey together without interdependence - a sense of our own strength and control being essential to a healthy relationship.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">It
will always seem unfair that we cannot hold hands anymore, but it
feels like I’m still sharing this life with you. Thank you. Having
said that, I’ve made some questionable choices of late (mostly
clothing-related) so, I will look for your further guidance.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Jesus,
I just turned to see Finn staring steadfastly at me like he knew what
I’m writing about… Or, he may just figure it’s dinner time. We
miss you.</span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Was the Day</td></tr>
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ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-81271085120436254272014-01-13T20:47:00.000-08:002014-01-15T21:52:57.764-08:00Three Years<br />
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<span class="Plain_0020Text__Char" style="color: navy; font-family: Calibri, Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">You never saw the school I work at now.</span> Half of the staff never met you and may or may not be aware of my grief. I live in an apartment that you were never in. About half my coffee mugs you never drank from. The band is doing songs you've never heard. Miles has a girlfriend of two years you have never met.</div>
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You would have turned 40 last week. I tried to imagine what we would have been doing on the day. Probably the tradition of a family dinner at The Boathouse. </div>
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I walked by our old house on the evening of your birthday. We may have been celebrating in that house. It’s harder to imagine what we would have been doing when there is so much newness between us. I feel strongly, though, that we would be enjoying life and growing together.</div>
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This is the first holiday season that I didn’t recoil at suggestions of a “Merry Christmas” and a “Happy New Year”. They weren’t such a personal affront. As I said last Christmas, this season has forever changed, but the change is ongoing. Such as it is with life, I suppose.</div>
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What hasn’t changed is that feeling of disbelief that you died. That deep untouchable sadness.</div>
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Lately, I have felt like I’m more awake - not just going through the motions. I think I needed to get to this place. Leading a life of going through the motions is not a great way to go. I’m sure you would agree. I may change my mind next week, but I don’t think so. It's good to have you with me.</div>
ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-14363913936410865202013-04-06T10:26:00.000-07:002013-04-06T10:26:29.593-07:00An Update For You<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kirsten,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s coming up on two years and two months<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">since we lost you - that is, you died. Not so much that you were misplaced.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Perhaps stating that you died might be a cathartic thing for me. Most of my<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">dreams of you, regardless of the scenario, have a tension - I become aware of<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">the fact that you died and I don’t want to let you know. That’s when the dreams<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">end.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that I’ve started down this particular<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">path, maybe this is a new and effective way to deal with the grief. I could see<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">you being strong enough to take the news and darkly humorous enough to be both<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">laughing and crying.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have many positive, even life-affirming,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">things going on. They give me a sense of accomplishment and fulfill fundamental<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">needs beyond those for basic survival - such as having fun. What seems<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">inescapable, however, is the accompanying feeling of emptiness, of being<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">not-quite-happy. I feel like I need to be satisfied with the idea that I’m<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">happy in theory. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have many examples of this state of<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">near-happiness. For instance, the band is going into a recording studio for<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">three 10-hour days starting tomorrow. This is an epic rock & roll<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">dream-type moment in our young lives. I am planning on enjoying it fully and<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">savouring the experience. That said, I am aware that I won’t be sharing this<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">with you - reporting back on the day, having you come in and check it out, and<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">you won’t hear these new songs.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">At this point, my career is really fulfilling,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">which, as you know, was not always the case. There were some difficult times<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">along the way when I seriously considered a job change. It was you who gave me<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">so much support and the strength to go on, including your sincere OK to walk<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">away from teaching. So, now that I’m at such a good place, it’s, again,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">bitter-sweet. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">This quasi-happy way of living isn’t just about<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">the big things. I was downtown this morning and decided to have brunch at the<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">new convention centre. The “having coffee, reading a book, doing some writing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">and generally having quality time at different places around town” experience<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">was supposed to be one that we shared during that fall when I decided to work<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">part-time. I will always feel sad that we didn’t get to have this time<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">together. So, as you can imagine, even something simple like having a coffee at<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Coal Harbour is emotional. During my breakfast this morning, I thought a lot<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">about you. I wondered if you would have been warm enough to sit out on the<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">patio. I watched the floatplanes land and take off, remembering when you<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">surprised me with a flight to Salt Spring Island. I thought of how great it<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">would be for us to fly to Tofino for a long weekend. I figured you would have<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ordered the BC Benny. I know conversation would have included the nearby<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Olympic torch. I watched an older couple walk hand-in-hand and thought, “if<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">only”.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been thinking a lot about what our lives might<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">have been like in other circumstances. I imagine that we would have sold the<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">house and there is a good chance that we would have ended up in the same<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">complex that I moved to. “Suzy Spitfire” would have been a major part of our<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">lives - lots of motoring up and down Indian Arm (yes, we would have bought a<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">new motor to avoid any more video of me paddling or us being towed). One of my<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">favourite memories was when we actually got the boat going and went to Deep Cove<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We met Miles and we<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">all motored back to Cates. I would have loved to have done that trip many times<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">over. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found this prose of yours on your desktop:</span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I am</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;"><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">I am writing to you now from this place of</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>strength. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>From this place of heart-thumping, heart-held tenacity. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">I am writing</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">to you now to remind you of the spirit that lives and breathes, rises and</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>falls, deep within and beyond these walls of the body. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">That lives out there,</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">amongst the woodland owls, the ancient oaks, the cherry blossom petals that</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>dance as if ballerinas poised in a slow curtsy to the ground. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">I am writing to</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">you now so, should you need me in the future, at a time when struggle overtakes</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>you, to say this: You are the owls, the oak, the cherry blossoms. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i style="color: #1d1d1d;">You always</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>were and you always will be, no matter the body that holds you now.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not sure when you wrote this. Perhaps<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">during that last summer we shared when you were feeling so good. I think that<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">you wrote this as a message for yourself in anticipation of when you might need<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">it. However, I’d like to use it for myself and offer it to anyone else who may<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">need it. If you don’t mind. Thank you. Your words are beautiful, poignant,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">profound and comforting. They are you.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This is the "Suzy Spitfire" video snip before the infamous <a href="http://www.cancersmancer.blogspot.ca/2010_09_01_archive.html" target="_blank">"1KM an hour" video</a>:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxZfwKs5brgemySW9W6lkxwrEkv26voRufVjBN04Zq4URdi4ItYe_XzZ0G1DNPOmnkptyraGR0SoCEho7idrA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-83657835150320838132013-01-08T10:33:00.001-08:002013-01-08T10:33:54.439-08:00'Tis the Season
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<span style="color: black;">It seems incredible that it's
coming up on two years since losing Kirsten. Time passing is supposed to be the
only real “answer” to how to deal with loss. It is true that, over the months,
I have been doing more and crying less. However, the idea of distancing myself
from Kirsten is hardly comforting. Even the thought of saying my wife died two
years ago, as opposed to saying last year, seems strange. What hasn't changed
is the feeling of disbelief that Kirsten isn't here. With the disbelief comes
the profound sadness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">“Getting through it” was again
my attitude when it came to the holiday season. Similar to the first Christmas
and Kirsten's birthday without Kirsten, this second holiday break caused high
anxiety leading up to it and a defensive shell during. December 24<sup>th</sup>,
Kirsten's birthday, was the most difficult time, but it was made more tolerable
by Miles being with me. After a very nice lunch with mom, Miles and I went down
to Cates Park to place tulips in the water. We had a moment of reflection that
was punctuated by a brown dog, who shall remain nameless, charging into the
ocean to inspect the flowers. Perfect. Miles had the thoughtfulness to stay
over that night, so we watched those Christmas classics “Total Recall” and “Resident
Evil:Retribution”. Perfect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black;">An interesting part of the
holidays was doing a CBC Radio interview on how, for some people, Christmas
isn't exactly “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year”. It was an interesting
process for several reasons. The first was the series of<i> </i></span><span style="color: black;">connections between the reporter, Pamela Post, the
Callanish Society and Kirsten - Kirsten being a former on-air reporter for CBC,
Pamela's ties to Callanish and, of course, our own experience with Callanish
(on-going for me). Also, I spend a lot of my time in a state of cognition when
it comes to the grief thing. I'm constantly analyzing, deconstructing, and
generally pondering my process of grieving - trying to decide what to do, how
to do it, what I'm feeling, what I should be feeling, how to cope best, how
long before people start questioning if the trips to Vegas are really about
grieving, and so on. So, to gather my thoughts enough to get across what I
wanted to get across really made me focus on what the holiday experience is for
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">I've only listened to the CBC
piece once. It’s a bit of a cringer listening to oneself on the airwaves.
Having said that, Pamela did a wonderful job as a skilled editor and
interviewer. More importantly, she is a very genuine and caring person. I also
received a great deal of positive feedback from those who listened to the
broadcast. So, the pressure I felt to get this right for Kirsten was
alleviated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Regardless, I think Kirsten
would have had a good laugh at me being interviewed. When she was doing the reporting
gig, she would often ask me questions as she thrust her thumb/microphone in my
face. I choose to remember me being good-natured about this and not being
annoyed in the slightest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">As I've mentioned before, the
holidays tend to act as a focus for my loss. I have time on my hands and there
are a lot of built-in triggers. It's more than missing Kirsten. It's
remembering her last birthday when it was becoming clear that we were losing
her. It's remembering the Christmas before when Kirsten, Miles and I went to
Palm Springs. I'm so glad we had this trip and there are many great memories;
however, a big part of that trip, and all of the five years of living with
cancer, was an underlying sadness and despair. When I look at the photos from
that California Christmas, I have mixed emotions. I love the photos of us
hot-tubbing, racing around our Palm Springs resort in a golf cart and playing
in the surf when we took a side trip to Santa Monica. Yet, looking at these
images, I not only have a heavy feeling about missing her, I remember that she
stumbled when she played tennis, she didn't have the energy to stay out late,
she wasn't up to joining Miles and me on the rides - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the painful awareness that the cancer and the treatments had
taken their toll. The unspoken question: “Will this be our last Christmas
together?” was always a part of the holidays.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Speaking of heart-warming
holidays, how about this new one coming up in February – Family Day. Awesome. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Perhaps I should spend it in
Vegas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">As a side note (I did say I've
had some time on my hands to do some extra contemplating), I have been thinking
about food and its role in encapsulating <i>the process</i></span><span style="color: black;">. There are times when I decide that, because of all that I
have gone through and the incredible perspective I have gained, I will eat only
the healthiest of foods in a life-affirming gesture to be all I can be. After
all, how can I now live life except in the most extraordinary manner? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, I'll eat a roll of cookie
dough. After all, the consuming of cookie dough was a shared experience with
Kirsten. She was a big proponent of the 80% rule. We generally had a very
healthy diet with some exceptions. So, I go back and forth between The Phoenix
Rising From a Bed of Kale to screw it, I just need to eat something easy to find
comfort and get through the day. I’m not sure which one of these scenarios is
closer to the meaning of it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.cbc.ca/nxnw/featured-story/2012/12/21/a-callanish-christmas-when-grief-comes-for-the-holidays/">CBC Radio broadcast</a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjge3Zc645A4BNgfIVCXK3-zmHgGUy60CY9VKQH9hEqtLsHUZNA2ycUy9EhW6EY36QWFU0jfkQNy5DNlyOwmf85guMKulSTu-f_mB6EEEThnb77HO36ufP2rtmCXH7qij7OEt6k6pcSts/s1600/DSC_0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjge3Zc645A4BNgfIVCXK3-zmHgGUy60CY9VKQH9hEqtLsHUZNA2ycUy9EhW6EY36QWFU0jfkQNy5DNlyOwmf85guMKulSTu-f_mB6EEEThnb77HO36ufP2rtmCXH7qij7OEt6k6pcSts/s320/DSC_0002.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas in Palm Springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuqoIvRg_CulfqZeYgoF5zH8UpUcV38I2ZLiUsiafkHUqj6zOYuShUfwNVkVrxZMc4IXXcQ_2frkrPxuNoPxr8C_cF1tuM-HicSSDBlr00Ip4O52jt-ZDwEGGFLkkOVE7kJMNDI59yfw/s1600/DSC_0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuqoIvRg_CulfqZeYgoF5zH8UpUcV38I2ZLiUsiafkHUqj6zOYuShUfwNVkVrxZMc4IXXcQ_2frkrPxuNoPxr8C_cF1tuM-HicSSDBlr00Ip4O52jt-ZDwEGGFLkkOVE7kJMNDI59yfw/s320/DSC_0034.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Monica Pier</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<!--EndFragment-->ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-70980646669574132802012-10-29T20:48:00.000-07:002012-11-16T22:35:55.294-08:00At Home?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Family, friends and acquaintances ask me how I’m enjoying my
new apartment. This is a very good question. I have a nice set-up. As I sit in
my living room, drinking a coffee as a freighter sails by on Burrard Inlet, it
occurs to me that this scenario <i>should</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
make me feel good. I’ve always wanted a place with an ocean view. Often, the
sound of an eagle complements the setting. And the apartment itself is just as
I’d want it. Yet, when the question comes up, I have a very difficult time with
it. I could just say “I love the place; thanks for asking” and be done with it.
However, I can’t seem to bring myself to do that. This is something that I’ve
thought a lot about. Perhaps the apartment has taken on the role of the Petri
dish in which I consider the effects of the impact of losing a loved one to
cancer. It sucks to be my apartment.</span></div>
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I look around my place. I watch the boats go by. I hear and
see the beauty of nature all around me. I do want to feel that elusive
happiness. I’m also very aware that 90% of the world’s population would very
much appreciate any decent housing. Add to that the Buddhist teachings of life
- your existence being what you make of it, happy or sad. All that being said,
the apartment lacks a Kirsten. Perhaps it’s a matter of accepting that at this
time I have a low ceiling of joy and happiness and to be present in the now is
to just accept this space as is. My apartment just needs to hang in there.</div>
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Occasionally, I get glimpses of how I might live as someone
who, despite or because of experiencing loss, comes out of it as a stronger,
more focused person; the idea of having a new appreciation of life, living each
day to the fullest, <i>carpe diem</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, living </span><i>la
vida loca</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> or “insert cliché here”.
Admittedly, these fleeting moments of “seize the day” usually occur after a
couple of India Pale Ales. I enjoyed the love of Kirsten; I have amazing
memories; I have her influence; I have gained perspective. So, can I use these
things to inspire a meaningful, enjoyable life?</span></div>
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I read <a href="http://cancersmancer.blogspot.ca/">Kirsten’s blog</a> sometimes. It’s a powerful way of
reconnecting with her. It makes me smile and cry, usually at the same time. Of
course, reading some entries is more difficult than others. When I read her
last entries, I do so with all of the feelings of Kirsten’s last moments. I read
about how all she wanted to do in the end was to have the ability to take
Finnegan for a walk. This encapsulates how life is for me after her passing.
I’m living with both the debilitating sadness of losing her and the realization
that I do have the ability to take the dog for a walk. Kirsten fought so hard
and so well to live. My grief makes me question the reason for living. Kirsten
would probably let me know that I’m over-thinking it and that Finn needs to go
out.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3XnEho2RvY63mbbmzvKgBohicILEqppzINlpX1jzLQcUL0uL-X-faTK3Yh7Oke2VZx9_t8nxtJg_OSBHUKa_Bh8kkkAvfHQWavPc-iz5xHFRkUqfwnG-OFk7CBNS3EK3ubbtAa5R5ko/s1600/DSC_0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3XnEho2RvY63mbbmzvKgBohicILEqppzINlpX1jzLQcUL0uL-X-faTK3Yh7Oke2VZx9_t8nxtJg_OSBHUKa_Bh8kkkAvfHQWavPc-iz5xHFRkUqfwnG-OFk7CBNS3EK3ubbtAa5R5ko/s320/DSC_0006.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ocean, ship, no Kirsten<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gvDCfyRoCMOABiQVqvKSH7pOTQsRRxWKqFwHiqkXXeJobWwgkppHJTir1UGDW9sYGPu-4KE6qGAKApRIySykUCOiZnrhGUdT4ZlDjzadL5Y-W2kUvlPp2xpRcMLGX55RlFsBiztY-Eo/s1600/DSC_0086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gvDCfyRoCMOABiQVqvKSH7pOTQsRRxWKqFwHiqkXXeJobWwgkppHJTir1UGDW9sYGPu-4KE6qGAKApRIySykUCOiZnrhGUdT4ZlDjzadL5Y-W2kUvlPp2xpRcMLGX55RlFsBiztY-Eo/s320/DSC_0086.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirsten</td></tr>
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<!--EndFragment-->ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-82572084455005678242012-08-23T09:08:00.000-07:002012-08-23T09:08:47.113-07:00Nine Years Ago Today<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5aq30RqSxQ3QIWIRT13bFjbZhbWLyIVdf5i87W5tG3Pngr-KvcUsSiTnFSosJzp7fy8QGDbBrDZVqEace8RDpuuZW6yWiQW6PuazY96izuEY8CAfylaxZFFYR9i4UnpHDxetgI8bvf0/s1600/DSC_0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY5aq30RqSxQ3QIWIRT13bFjbZhbWLyIVdf5i87W5tG3Pngr-KvcUsSiTnFSosJzp7fy8QGDbBrDZVqEace8RDpuuZW6yWiQW6PuazY96izuEY8CAfylaxZFFYR9i4UnpHDxetgI8bvf0/s400/DSC_0002.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 23, 2003 Tofino, B.C. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-13687312230543721722012-08-02T10:47:00.000-07:002012-08-02T10:47:29.445-07:00What would Buddha do?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">It's been a while since I've submitted a blog entry. I've had many written in my head. Depending on what was going on that week, day, or minute, the entry could have read as acute despair or positive outlook.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">Since the last entry, I have moved, bought a new truck, gone to Hawaii with Miles, been accepted for a new and exciting teaching position in September and been accepted into an SFU Masters program, and started making myself meals again. Overall, hard not to say I'm moving forward. So, with all of these things and more going on, is life without Kirsten easier now? The quick answer is no.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">It seems that living life and coping with grief co-exist without one dislodging the other. When I was on my way to pick up Miles to go to Hawaii, I started having a familiar feeling of gut-wrenching nostalgia, sadness, and depression about going on a trip without Kirsten. It occurred to me to say to myself that I should see this trip as not </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;"><i>without</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;"> Kirsten, but as a trip </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;"><i>with </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">Miles. That thought helped and we had an amazing time. It's not that Kirsten was not on my mind, in fact, she was always on my mind and Miles and I mentioned her several times (the last trip on a plane was when the three of us went to Palm Springs). It's just that I decided to focus on enjoying the moment, being present, and realized that there was nothing more important than that trip with my son.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">My experience as a father and Kirsten's as a step-mom were diluted as so much of our lives over that six years was about cancer. I have a responsibility to myself and others to not compound this loss by losing more precious moments. I realize that Kirsten's parents have lost their child and would give anything to have more time with her. I realize that Kirsten would want us to live. In fact, she would be pretty upset if we wasted our lives.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">As I said previously, I suppose I'm learning to live with both having such a loss in my life and living my life. I refer back to C.S. Lewis when he talked about the "wound" inflicted by the death of a loved one being analogous to losing a leg. Yes, it “heals”, but you are forever changed. There are constant reminders of the significant absence; there is recurring pain; you may learn to walk again, but it's never the same, and so on. This analogy is certainly one of the greatest descriptors of how I feel.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 16px;">I'm making the effort to live in the now and cope with my grief. It can be difficult to do when living in the now doesn't include the physical being of Kirsten. Buddhism proposes that we each make our own Heaven and Hell - that these are states of mind and how we feel, our happiness, is a choice. I really do love this concept and I believe it is a wonderful way of living. However, it's difficult to choose to be happy when I am not with Kirsten. Therein lies the dilemma.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDUE3VK-IE-2_ggqkVODducR_vdOjZcM2rSKOILGcmT5g2vhiVVLRlDZZn71505mKLFqU3-zG80cpCFNbrXBV9MCOpWjWFsXTnctgQY_Ms7o3bEdcSFNhDAQOUtdY8iNdUC2dgbjsf-g/s1600/DSC_0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRDUE3VK-IE-2_ggqkVODducR_vdOjZcM2rSKOILGcmT5g2vhiVVLRlDZZn71505mKLFqU3-zG80cpCFNbrXBV9MCOpWjWFsXTnctgQY_Ms7o3bEdcSFNhDAQOUtdY8iNdUC2dgbjsf-g/s320/DSC_0039.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Golfing in Paradise - not a bad way to process</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">This one is for you Uncle Ray</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmVqSO5cjTuw9UBMxuny6TVIEUXLa5mkZZu5q2FkQybHKr80LzHcNky0kesZh2NKxinFCbE9Xp87K11zsJcE07pOafws11WXYsrExwyQjqQ4kUdDxtLEFljSDsgqI-93TMcuo9SsmQd8/s1600/DSC_0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmVqSO5cjTuw9UBMxuny6TVIEUXLa5mkZZu5q2FkQybHKr80LzHcNky0kesZh2NKxinFCbE9Xp87K11zsJcE07pOafws11WXYsrExwyQjqQ4kUdDxtLEFljSDsgqI-93TMcuo9SsmQd8/s320/DSC_0008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">Notably, this is the first time without Kirsten<br /> that I wanted to capture the moment</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrSSLNfKC0-H3BEbxwrWRtgfKtxI_Wjv8XAHOeyxw7tCG_FNEP_OEIBC9C61A7i3c3gNkRCBz4fLrMa3N_qt1h0MWMbOLco08b4I2yz7anLsoxbW1Vwlc9ZisRPzf9_y-l-5AdIPx-jI/s1600/IMG017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrSSLNfKC0-H3BEbxwrWRtgfKtxI_Wjv8XAHOeyxw7tCG_FNEP_OEIBC9C61A7i3c3gNkRCBz4fLrMa3N_qt1h0MWMbOLco08b4I2yz7anLsoxbW1Vwlc9ZisRPzf9_y-l-5AdIPx-jI/s320/IMG017.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;">This is an ode to Kirsten and her love of the feet shot</span></td></tr>
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</div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-15420601424582429432012-05-27T16:52:00.000-07:002012-08-02T10:48:49.646-07:00Moving<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I've
sold our/my house and will be moving into my apartment in mid-June.
Up until recently, with some exceptions, I've managed the
emotional side of the move fairly well. Most of the coping can be
credited to a purposeful numbness. Almost out-of-body. I also like to
think that I did some things right. My realtor, Colin Hall, knew me
and my situation, I mostly avoided actually sorting through things, I had
friends and family around me, I walked the dog a lot and I focused on
what this move allows me to do, such as taking Miles on a trip to
Hawaii this summer. I also made myself understand that, regardless of
where I'm living, my loss and the process I'm going through is an
internal one. I could live on the beach in Tahiti, stay in this
house, or move to an apartment and I'd still have it all with me.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I
do know that this move is right for me.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Lately,
the emotions have made a comeback in a big way. I'm heartbroken. The
disbelief and associated sadness that Kirsten is not with me hits
hard. I think of what the experience of moving would be like with
her. It's palpable and very painful not to have her with me. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">If
we were doing this together it would feel more like an adventure.
There would be a lot of excitement about the possibilities of where
we would end up and how that would impact our life style. I do have
feelings of excitement as I make my own decisions, but the bottom
line is that, no matter where I end up, this is not what I wanted.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Along
with the new apartment, I'm moving forward in my career and
education. I realize these are good things and I know that it's OK to
enjoy them. I do feel good about moving forward, but it's tempered by
grief. I give myself permission to feel positive; however, the
sadness and despair are not emotions that I can just decide I will
not have.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7g9Hz1_0RciGLpnjKFuSS0IEroNWu8Sjq4pDUt9SuV0fVjR2naz69UeeRwKXuF4Adffi0o9XGJ8Z5G1Nuy6d8mTISNrLX42Cp7sLd1VgCSjgVWo8s2HvzloWjqdh8zl4ywsDfbqk3hLI/s1600/DSC_0050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7g9Hz1_0RciGLpnjKFuSS0IEroNWu8Sjq4pDUt9SuV0fVjR2naz69UeeRwKXuF4Adffi0o9XGJ8Z5G1Nuy6d8mTISNrLX42Cp7sLd1VgCSjgVWo8s2HvzloWjqdh8zl4ywsDfbqk3hLI/s320/DSC_0050.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">backyard concert, summer 2010</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYUrNaRClso4XlBQ92WuMsZWdDCqu0RB_JkajBwzurGVy1_BSf7N2PCihdGR5yG4gsNO7DSFRCffX_Za3RU1t5RyOoeZr2WbbPcucHk7GkKj8L6vk0d55C3s-UwROfSrlIuu13QOgBo9U/s1600/100_2200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYUrNaRClso4XlBQ92WuMsZWdDCqu0RB_JkajBwzurGVy1_BSf7N2PCihdGR5yG4gsNO7DSFRCffX_Za3RU1t5RyOoeZr2WbbPcucHk7GkKj8L6vk0d55C3s-UwROfSrlIuu13QOgBo9U/s320/100_2200.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirsten was in charge of both interior and exterior design</td></tr>
</tbody></table>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-17464499101365359732012-02-10T21:28:00.000-08:002012-02-16T22:11:13.023-08:00A Letter To Kirsten<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dear Sweet Pea, Soul Pea, Darling Face, Button, Kirsten Powell, Bun,</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I miss you. I'm so glad we were together and always will be. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oceans carry hopes, dreams, and wonder. Deep, powerful, beautiful, unpredictable. We were drawn to the water. It was who we were together. </span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">What does it mean that I love you so much and that you are no longer here? I know what you would want. I know what would make you proud, make you happy. I feel your presence in all of my thoughts and actions. The most difficult part is that every new experience I have is without you. Songs you didn't hear, places I visit alone, decisions I make, Miles becoming an adult, Finnegan staying a puppy, your parents’ new house, the possibility of my new apartment, life. Somehow, I need to reconcile that you fought so hard to live this life and I find it so hard to do the same without you.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Can I really, as I say to many, use your strength to go on and embrace life? Or, will I spend the years finding ways to manufacture something like happiness and meaning to slow the undercurrent of sadness and emptiness? </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I wonder if you now know the answers to everything. I probably don't even know the questions, let alone the answers. Perhaps you have continued on your path. You may already be back in this world, or another. I can't believe that you are no longer. To misquote CS Lewis, if you don't exist now, then you never did. I feel strongly that you did (wouldn't you be proud that I'm reading books to help me process). </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Is finding the point of life simply making a choice to do so? </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">If we </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">were</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> destiny, was your leaving a part of that destiny?</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Sometimes I wonder what you would do if this whole thing was reversed. Firstly, I have the fairly strong idea that you would have been, how do I put this... not necessarily, always the best nurse. Secondly, you would have as much trouble as I do in coming to terms with the sense of loss. You would have had fewer trips to Vegas, but you would have been going down to Washington State and Oregon fairly often. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You would gain strength in looking after the dog. Possibly, you would have another dog by now. One which is less covert in its affections. Her name would be Beatrice.</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">You would look to the ocean for its timelessness, movement, and tranquility. You would write reams of poetry and prose dedicated to yours truly and other such deep, meaningful subject matter. You would be sad. Your family would be that much more important to you. You would feel that you have perspective in spades, but you would still get pissed-off when some idiot keeps his car running in the ferry line up. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">You would spend a lot of time, thought and effort on animal rights, which would help ground you in a sense of purpose. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know I would be with you. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Perhaps this experience would actually help you to see glimpses of clarity in the murkiness of life. You might find a balance between making life all it can be and removing the guilt associated with not making life all it can be. Not so much carpe diem, as let's see the diem for what it is. An </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">opportunity </span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">to carpe without some perceived Universal pressure to carpe. Use the day. It's yours to use. I like to think that I'd often be part of that day. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You love me and always will. If it was reversed, I'd want you to miss me, to have me in your heart, and to take me with you through a meaningful life. There would be reminders of me. Sometimes as a subtle, gentle hint, often as a strong, poignant moment. I would want you to be happy. To live.</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Kirsten, sometimes I will place tulips in the ocean and be with you. Though not on any particular day. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">How should I feel about every sunset and sunrise that I experience without you? Should I feel sad and nostalgic? Or, should I cherish each one that much more? </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I pulled into a small, quaint town on Vancouver Island to get lunch. With dog in the back, I circled the main drag to get an idea of the place. I understood that some of my trepidation going into this new experience came from my nature rather than just your not being there. After I was fairly satisfied that I had seen most of the locations that promised a meal, I decided to park and walk. I sat in the truck for several minutes. Calming myself. I </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">was </span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">armed. I had a book, a writing pad, and a pen. I could go through the doors of a chosen establishment and sit down, by myself, with some purpose. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Walking around town, I found that I had to constantly take deep breaths and try not to cry in public, again. I was trying to balance my memories of you with being in the moment. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Your presence was felt. This was our wheelhouse. There was nothing better than our trips to new places. So many places, so many memories. One of the strongest feelings I had on this walkabout was the knowledge that we would have gone into several of the shops. I chose not to go in on my own, but I would have gone in with you </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">almost</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> as if it were a mutual decision. I would have enjoyed going in. Our lives were often a shared experience. Not in that unhealthy co-dependent way ( I know, I was the one who leaned more in that direction). </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was a reason why we did the “two peas in the pod” declaration so often. You were not perfect, I was certainly not perfect, we were not perfect together. What we were, however, was together in a darn-near spiritual sense. Soul peas. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We would have envisioned our lives in this town. Where we would live, our careers, our hang-outs, our way of life. I still imagine that with you. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I grieve for the life we had and could have had. The possibilities, the ups and downs, the spectacular and the mundane. Becoming stronger as individuals through our shared lives. As I walked through the town, I realized my life right now can be both in sharp focus and in a surreal haze. I can see some truths, but they slip away easily. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Getting back to the whole “I'm not perfect" thing, I wish I had been more perfect. You said many times, in your adorable way, that I was a good husband. That sentiment was the best thing I have ever heard (well, tied with being a loved dad). You know/knew my heart and I am content in knowing that I truly, deeply loved you. Having said all of that, I can't help but wish that I hadn't had those selfish thoughts of being tired of the whole cancer gig. I felt self-pity that this disease was a huge part of </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">my</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> life. I also want to have it all to do again and this time be absolutely present, to savour every moment with you. However, that's not the way life works. I know you would say that I did just fine. But, I still have these feelings of regret.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I am very aware that my time with you made me a better person (at least to myself). I realize too that this continues. Who you were will always strengthen me. Perhaps that is a reason for, at some time, being happy again.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I miss you. I love you.</span></span></span></div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-85693659134603472832012-01-25T15:56:00.000-08:002012-01-25T15:56:31.769-08:00Memories<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">When Kirsten's mom and I were talking recently, we both arrived at a potentially powerful realization. I say potentially because it's one thing to realize something and another to actually accept it. What we concluded was that Kirsten would not want us to remember her as someone who was sick. Moreover, the more our thoughts are of Kirsten dying of cancer, the more our thoughts of Kirsten being full of life are pushed out. Kirsten did so phenomenally well in dealing with the incredible challenges that the cancer and the treatments put in front of her. It would be a discredit to not think of her as the strong, creative, and beautiful person she was (have I mentioned how awful it is using past tense).</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Having said all of that, it's very difficult to get there. So much of my life with Kirsten was concerned with all things cancer. Life decisions, vacations, celebrations, dinners, walking Finn, waking up in the morning; we were never without it. So, even when I remember the wonderful moments over the last five years, those times still have cancer. </span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">I will find comfort and strength in remembering Kirsten as an amazing part of my life. However, I struggle with the loss. Most of the time I'm trying not to drown in depression and a sense of pointlessness. I do have moments when I feel strong and that's when I feel Kirsten's presence the most. She fought so hard to have quality of life. I do want to honour that. </span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I will, when I'm ready, look at our wedding video and photographs from before Kirsten's </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">diagnosis</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">. And, I will cherish memories of Kirsten </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">throughout</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> our relationship. I will remember her as the strong, creative, beautiful, and life-affirming person she was. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Much the same as it felt when Christmas and Kirsten's birthday were coming up, I've been anxious and very emotional as February approaches. Going to Calgary in December felt like the right thing to do, and it was. It also feels right to spend the week in February when Kirsten passed last year away from our house </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">and</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> on my own (with dog). Kirsten's friend</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Zoe</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> and her mom were gracious enough to offer the use of </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">their</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> cabin on Vancouver Island, so, that's where Finn and I will go. I will be facing another ferry ride, a trip in the Jeep, driving on the same road we took to get married, walking on a beach, having a pint in a pub, watching a DVD, contemplating the future, making everyday decisions, all </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">without</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Kirsten, yet entirely with Kirsten.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">Sometimes I feel a need to look at photos or hear Kirsten's voice on video. It is mostly painful. Excruciatingly so. I cry, I feel sick, I feel the depth of my sadness. Yet, I laugh, I smile, I remember with such fondness. And, it's OK that I remember that I wasn't always totally receptive to her patented "slow panning/with commentary/ending with an often unflattering shot of Ian" videos. One of the hardest aspects of looking at these photos is that I know what Kirsten was going through when they were taken. A photo of Kirsten sitting amongst flowers was taken during our stay in Montreal. So much of that time was incredibly difficult for her and those that loved her. However, what I can already see is how important it is to realize she was happy, we were happy, and she was an amazing part of my life.</span><br />
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</span></span></span></div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-75530295651830998322011-12-18T08:34:00.000-08:002011-12-21T06:36:24.230-08:00Happy Holidays<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Well, my Christmas break has started and Kirsten's birthday is coming up on December 24</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><sup><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">. It's the latter that's the most daunting. Leading up to the break,</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> I've been really anxious. Usually, being at work demands that I'm in the moment and that I'm “on” as far as being together around the students. However, during the last few weeks leading up to the holidays, it was increasingly difficult to feel in control. The anticipation of dealing with the holidays without Kirsten has been rough. It's not that Christmas makes me realize what I'm missing; I already know that. I suppose it's just one more time, event, season that focuses my loss. Again, it's been critical to be surrounded by so many understanding, thoughtful, and caring friends and family. I'm very grateful for that.</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Kirsten had her favourite store in Deep Cove where she encouraged me to shop for her presents. Something along the lines of it would be difficult for me to buy something there that she didn't like. This time last year, and for the last several years, I'd be heading down to shop with a rare confidence. Most likely, Kirsten would be getting something with birds, elephants, inspirational words, retro 20'</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">s imagery, or stars for her Christmas and birthday gifts. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">In recent years, Kirsten organized giving gifts to a family in need. I was really happy that her mom carried on that tradition and know Kirsten would also like that we kept it going. </span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I don't know how I'm going to handle Kirsten's birthday. It helps reduce my anxiety knowing that I did get through our anniversary, Miles' birthday, and my birthday. It also helps that I'm going to be at my brother's in Calgary. With my brother and his wife, it will be a low-key time of watching movies and having a beer or two. It also feels right to be in a different setting. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Christmas holidays, birthdays, or any given Tuesday, I suppose it doesn't really matter. I'm feeling more and more a heaviness that Kirsten is actually gone. </span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.42cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rLCxEqJxD7tgB4reloX7wXPjqZOsAS6UpxyNM1uTiV9nTUpFMtoonYiJwgzWNQ8XwZydmqSQyQB0iJckQir4QkjCVg5CJ2qYALOr72EsIiDlofBNqaft9NJ08HqLFByX4uRCsRxk8vQ/s1600/100_1485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rLCxEqJxD7tgB4reloX7wXPjqZOsAS6UpxyNM1uTiV9nTUpFMtoonYiJwgzWNQ8XwZydmqSQyQB0iJckQir4QkjCVg5CJ2qYALOr72EsIiDlofBNqaft9NJ08HqLFByX4uRCsRxk8vQ/s320/100_1485.JPG" width="295" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2007 </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4SGEEc6f4Pq5p9qNEMEB7kXXgjmSFAJfQVw7H7141SokEF8E5WvlODDYzyGFilBvtctrrMYAUao5VbS8YZNTdK-LPk7en_cxT6B7W2MSexUMX-Ii3d2qI0KVIFvzT0HbNCYXGHvqMho/s1600/100_1992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4SGEEc6f4Pq5p9qNEMEB7kXXgjmSFAJfQVw7H7141SokEF8E5WvlODDYzyGFilBvtctrrMYAUao5VbS8YZNTdK-LPk7en_cxT6B7W2MSexUMX-Ii3d2qI0KVIFvzT0HbNCYXGHvqMho/s320/100_1992.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2008</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TnBjs2mL70WcAuiM2WVI4hlxGt1f9xNyO_AGAzCscOyKwSgMb8JjlAK6YkI5B7Ff4oUFSY1V7tW1oG-Tkd44SsAY6-JPBvVpvzPZTv-vH8_N2AXNTll-QpVZeEGdQfr8B4mPQYF9wqw/s1600/100_2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TnBjs2mL70WcAuiM2WVI4hlxGt1f9xNyO_AGAzCscOyKwSgMb8JjlAK6YkI5B7Ff4oUFSY1V7tW1oG-Tkd44SsAY6-JPBvVpvzPZTv-vH8_N2AXNTll-QpVZeEGdQfr8B4mPQYF9wqw/s320/100_2018.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A happy birthday PET scan - Yes, they booked it on the 24th.<br />
Kirsten was amazing at keeping her sense of humor</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjoq0HMJ4z9a2Dqz2B7U9bB45QkMcZe-zkFQiln2wx_OHTC8M5NpSR4Ee48vVlwmyIT0LBwqGapXcsHeqaqBxvdozS7R2tk5nEtzGyagSmdJ9v0K6pbB1jEX_I1rK3YQ8EEDh3NXZrkw/s1600/DSC_0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjoq0HMJ4z9a2Dqz2B7U9bB45QkMcZe-zkFQiln2wx_OHTC8M5NpSR4Ee48vVlwmyIT0LBwqGapXcsHeqaqBxvdozS7R2tk5nEtzGyagSmdJ9v0K6pbB1jEX_I1rK3YQ8EEDh3NXZrkw/s320/DSC_0026.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2009 Christmas as is should be</td></tr>
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</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.42cm;">What Happened In Vegas</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">The trip was as predicted. A distraction, fun, enjoyable and sad (ranging from mild nostalgia to overwhelming heartache).</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before I left for the airport, I had a morning meeting at school. I had an opportunity to share my vision and ideas concerning what the North Vancouver School District's alternative program might look like in the years to come. My opinions seemed well received and the discussion was affirming and exciting. I left the meeting feeling hopeful about the program, good about myself, and positive about my career path. All good, except for the simultaneous feeling of deep emptiness. I desperately wanted to share the experience of the morning with Kirsten and listen to her feedback and words of support. She was so good at being there for me. </span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">This set up an emotional drive to the border and on to the Bellingham airport. In </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">our </span></i></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Jeep, feeling the immense emptiness of not having her next to me, I was compelled to say out loud “I miss you Sweet Pea”. Seconds later, as I was trying to hold it together enough to keep driving, Eddie Vedder started singing "</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Hard Sun"</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">. This was the song that Kirsten requested to have playing while those that loved her placed flowers in the ocean in her memory. Nice one, Kirsten. I like to think that she was letting me know that she was still there for me and I could still use her strength and love to go on. Of course, there was the thought that she added, “Vegas again? Really?”</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps not a typical passenger on a flight to Vegas, I spent my time thinking about my life's purpose, what I'm going through, Kirsten, not having Kirsten, how it is that my suffering can seem so immense when, universally speaking, I'm so insignificant, how much life and death occurs in a relative blink of an eye, and what the point of it all is. Yay for vacations.</span></span></div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-87954005045950832512011-11-06T15:40:00.000-08:002011-11-06T15:40:10.436-08:00Notes<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hockey Players and God</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was half watching a post-game interview with a new Vancouver Canuck. He was discussing the struggles involved in being traded to our hockey-crazed market in one of the most livable cities in the world to play a game for millions of dollars. Feel the pain. He concluded that he could get through this with the knowledge that his being traded was God's plan. Well isn't that wonderful. Finally, an explanation of why Kirsten was afflicted by a cancer that no one could cure. Why she, we, suffered. Not to mention ongoing genocides around the world, AIDS epidemics, and bus crashes. He was up to His neck in the goings-on of hockey player trades and salary negotiations. I will rest easier.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Square Plates</span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let's face it, if left to my own devices, there is every chance that I would not have invested in square plates. Kirsten, on the other hand, felt that she was ahead of the designer curve and the square plates became an important part of who we were as people.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">As was the case with the square plates, I was more than happy to let most, the majority of, the vast majority of, purchase decisions be on Kirsten's square plate. And, as was the case with all but a few purchases, I'm not going to mention the wooden chicken, I loved them as my own. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So, what do I do with these square plates? I have used them a few times over the last few months. When I do, there is a strong sense of sadness, loss, nostalgia. I have given away several meaningful items and have been glad that I did. I feel these items can carry on a life, be appreciated, and possibly evoke a sense of Kirsten for others. I don't want to give away the square plates. </span></span></span> </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUmkraWre0J8SyjGHvuTOMfbtR1Kn-h_MxJs_fkictdxrGxcQkSzoKttOvvDGhHX6Om5imab_-cVLdhBui3XzOIjN1CIJiXr1kUdNegZBldhHe4JOG4lBNK-wJvT0ZJsxKhH_dY-JCkE/s1600/the+house.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUmkraWre0J8SyjGHvuTOMfbtR1Kn-h_MxJs_fkictdxrGxcQkSzoKttOvvDGhHX6Om5imab_-cVLdhBui3XzOIjN1CIJiXr1kUdNegZBldhHe4JOG4lBNK-wJvT0ZJsxKhH_dY-JCkE/s320/the+house.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also have some feelings to process with the round plates </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I use them sparingly now, the feelings I get are fairly overwhelming. Perhaps, after a time, I will use them and enjoy the memories that go with the square plates. Now on to the picnic basket.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDa2F2Ou3myGfHlkizyz4Q5jsV66_jp9m3QZXB8dlzYic4tB24T3KQ-NsQl_URhvU96_TOEOrnWVkvGX5vtUaDXj0pMEF1TKYulv3S4_jwjR8o97iRfrupJbJp-lPxo9LtOLDuNL9a6WI/s1600/chicken.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDa2F2Ou3myGfHlkizyz4Q5jsV66_jp9m3QZXB8dlzYic4tB24T3KQ-NsQl_URhvU96_TOEOrnWVkvGX5vtUaDXj0pMEF1TKYulv3S4_jwjR8o97iRfrupJbJp-lPxo9LtOLDuNL9a6WI/s320/chicken.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooden chicken, paint color, and stick. All Kirsten.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Squamish</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">They say that a grieving person should not make any major decisions in the first year or two, which seems like good advice. I could be living on a boat right now trying to remember why I decided a 54-square-foot living space that tends to make me feel nauseous was a good idea. However, a major distraction for me is contemplating the idea of moving.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I suppose that if I'm not lying in the fetal position in a heavily sedated state, I'm “moving on”. Writing that term made me feel nauseous. I'm never going to “move on”. I'm never going to “heal”. However, I'm going to continue to live my life. I'll make purchasing decisions (wish me luck), enjoy moments and loved ones, have fun, work, play, and, I suppose, living with the grief will become easier.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">So back to the distraction of looking at future housing and lifestyle possibilities. Squamish does have Kirsten connotations. I know, what a surprise. I enjoyed looking at some of the buildings that I could perhaps call home and was especially excited when I discovered an appealing little restaurant for sale (after all, buying a restaurant would be a great way to simplify my life).</span> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I shared my excitement with a few friends after returning from the road trip. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Throughout this experience, I was aware of the sadness of not having Kirsten with me, but it was bearable. However, the next day I woke up with a feeling of dread. It was a sense of betrayal for being excited about future possibilities. I was also feeling sorry for myself for not having my partner to share the future with. I realize that there is no betrayal and that it would be Kirsten's wish for me to live my life and move forward. It's so difficult.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZW9v-wmx2B6JqLLUGSusIonwZILuKhY6kSvuitxATA7S6xUo1gEPDYJkiCmWHpFWfgiC8xQUwYmLnSVFi9f2a81R49Iu2d1lW6_nCxccOgK5MJ_y1TNjifMSE1_1CziGVcmkK58MywPA/s1600/squamish.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZW9v-wmx2B6JqLLUGSusIonwZILuKhY6kSvuitxATA7S6xUo1gEPDYJkiCmWHpFWfgiC8xQUwYmLnSVFi9f2a81R49Iu2d1lW6_nCxccOgK5MJ_y1TNjifMSE1_1CziGVcmkK58MywPA/s320/squamish.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squamish connotations</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">On how I'm doing….</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lately it seems that the reality of Kirsten being gone is hitting me harder than ever. A realization that she actually died hits me over and over again. It's very surreal and painful to write, say, or accept the term died. The finality of it means I'm not going to wake up from this, and it's part of my life always. At this point, it's almost all my life is.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.42cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.42cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Vegas</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.42cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've mentioned Kirsten's specific request regarding me not becoming a degenerate gambler and I want to assure everyone, especially mom, that repeated trips to Sin City should not necessarily raise red flags and involve an intervention. Yes, I'm going to the gambling mecca again. However, I'm still paying this month's mortgage and I'm still making sure I can buy my daily $5 dollar coffee. I decided on Vegas as my go-to place largely because, when I picture myself alone on the beach in Mexico, I get this sad, pathetic thing going on. Playing poker is a decent distraction and I feel less like a knob for being there on my own. As long as I remember not to get a table for one, I can get by. Also, I often feel like just getting away. That's a laugh.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Days before leaving I'm in that mode of “why am I doing this?”. This seems to be a feeling that I have with almost everything I do these days. Thankfully, I've been able to go through with various commitments and always feel better having done them.</span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The upcoming trip to Vegas just is. It's something I decided to do, so I'll go and be distracted, enjoy moments, and be sad that Kirsten isn't with me. Pretty much the same as when I'm not in Vegas, only more neon. </span></span></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj9VhzOGOXL8mYevjaldwr9_g3tfbmZUtWIubsOVgRaRPcSFwO2Q3Ytmu3EE9DqVP5hztI05ltwm9BCTBKxMY2uVTQrf1tegNMgSbkmMMFm6Y7kVmRly1-zeHV2OTZUP67QUxQ3LNSYw/s1600/vegas1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj9VhzOGOXL8mYevjaldwr9_g3tfbmZUtWIubsOVgRaRPcSFwO2Q3Ytmu3EE9DqVP5hztI05ltwm9BCTBKxMY2uVTQrf1tegNMgSbkmMMFm6Y7kVmRly1-zeHV2OTZUP67QUxQ3LNSYw/s320/vegas1.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vegas connotations</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0RQC7F45_O-ouiRhjfvv_yhXSGV1XH4On4s_CsFaPfzxiq-WhAFtl2O8qygAn8OjBfKULzSJzNgc7Qo-9IAzO_bYqwklNyr5CymxMENTFDXEKZPjArnw-xa2WjMEzuuo61TlZR04mQI/s1600/vegas2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0RQC7F45_O-ouiRhjfvv_yhXSGV1XH4On4s_CsFaPfzxiq-WhAFtl2O8qygAn8OjBfKULzSJzNgc7Qo-9IAzO_bYqwklNyr5CymxMENTFDXEKZPjArnw-xa2WjMEzuuo61TlZR04mQI/s320/vegas2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">table for two in the Venetian</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-57983686741860054542011-10-14T12:58:00.000-07:002011-10-14T12:58:26.988-07:00Supporter's Club<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">Well, I promised I'd write about puppy dogs and cotton candy in my previous entry - it's not going to happen. I'm sad. Profoundly sad. I'm getting through the days, but It's a struggle. Everything I do, see, hear and feel re-states that I'll never be with Kirsten again. It's so difficult, however I can't imagine this time without all of the incredible support that I receive.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">Kirsten and I were always so appreciative of all of those who were there for us over the years. Knowing that people near and far were thinking of us, having food delivered, receiving thoughtful words and so many offers of anything we needed, gave both of us strength. Many said that they wished they could do more or had the words to make things right. Just hearing those sentiments was very helpful. Of course, the only thing that could really have made things better was for Kirsten to be cured and no one had the answer for that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">The encouragement that I've been receiving since Kirsten's passing has been inspirational. I am so grateful to so many. Thank you all. If I was to thank everyone individually or recall every helpful moment, this would be a blog entry of the epic novel variety. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">It was evident how much I needed support as friends and family surrounded me in those first moments of loss. As my mom and I have talked about over a cup of tea, of the few things in life that are actually important, meaningful relationships have to be the most significant. Such is the relationship with my son, Miles, who has been so loving, giving, thoughtful, and uncompromisingly compassionate. I'm so fortunate to have him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">I have been trying to find a way to deal with the sadness. There is nothing I can do that truly takes away the pain though I do realize how important a laugh or a distraction is. It's also an important part of this process to talk about Kirsten and how I'm feeling. They say that grieving takes as long as it takes and that my experience is not unique. I'm going to need my family and friends to continue with Project Ian for a while longer.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">By the way, if any of my family or friends needs my support, I'm available.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Geneva; font-size: 10px;">My amazing friend Kat sent me this quote: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">"Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief."</span><br />
<br />
<div style="font: 11.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">- C.S. Lewis, <i>A Grief Observed</i></div><div style="font: 10.0px Geneva; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 10.0px Geneva; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Nailed it.</div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-35417373463944154282011-09-15T22:31:00.000-07:002011-09-15T22:31:22.682-07:00Back To School<div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Heading back to school is always an adjustment from the sweet freedom of the summer. This year I was looking forward to getting back to more structure in my day, the incredibly supportive staff (more like an extended family), and the necessity of being in the moment with the students. A paycheque would be nice too. However, just as I was anxious about starting summer holidays without Kirsten, I have also been anxious about this change. </div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Entering September seems to have brought the pain and sense of loss to the surface. It probably has to do with going back into routines that I'm so used to sharing with Kirsten. The mornings before work, coming back to the house and talking about our days, and looking forward to all of our plans. Difficult. </div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">What also brings a heavy feeling is thinking back to this time last year. We had decided that I would only work three days a week for the dual purposes of taking off some of the pressure I felt and for us to spend more time together. </div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Over the five years, I have had periods of time away from work and have had great flexibility to be with Kirsten when I needed to. Again, so much appreciation for my friends at work. Despite the flexibility, five years with the trauma that Kirsten, and those around her, had to go through took a toll. Also, one of the great challenges of supporting Kirsten was trying to find a balance between being there for her and dealing with “normal” life, such as making money to pay the mortgage. I was never able to find that balance to my own satisfaction. There were periods of time when I felt removed from Kirsten's health care.</div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Last year, it felt right, despite the added financial burden, to have more time at home. We had such amazing plans to take advantage of our extended weekends. Taking our laptops and books to coffee shops around town, small getaways, adventures in Suzy Spitfire, dog-friendly walks, kayaking, finishing touches on the house, photography jaunts, and so on. So, I feel deeply sad that we didn't get to do those things. In September, with the exception of getting her to appointments, Kirsten's health pretty much prevented her from leaving the house. </div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">I certainly have a feeling of being cosmically ripped-off from having a long life with Kirsten. I know that we only scratched the surface as far as our experiences together. Not to mention that the plan was for her to be wheeling me around in my twilight years. I feel specifically gypped that we didn't get those days together last fall as we planned. </div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">At this point, I'm really struggling not to feel crushed by the grief and somehow get enough strength to get through the fall. I'm overwhelmed with the sense of being alone. It's daunting to think I have birthdays, Christmas holidays, and a year of not having Kirsten all ahead of me.</div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 15.0px Georgia; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">My next blog will be about puppy dogs and cotton candy.</div><div><br />
</div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-28000492880456884142011-09-03T09:36:00.000-07:002011-09-03T09:36:38.620-07:00Cates Park/Ode to the Dog<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There is no better setting to write about my grieving process than Cates Park. Of course, this is the place where Kirsten envisioned having all of us meet to remember her and to support each other. Her very thorough list of how she saw that day unfolded perfectly. So much love and such incredible tributes.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">To be honest, as it approached, I just wanted that day to be over. I was barely able to function, let alone be somewhat responsible for such a monumental day. (I still don't know what to call it. Not a funeral. A celebration? a gathering? Cates for Kirsten? They all suck.) However, that day of love and support became an important part of the healing process.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kirsten's previously mentioned list was a real gift. No guess work needed. You may read in to this that, no, Kirsten did not trust me to plan this thing. So what if I would have played a RUSH soundtrack? Of course, Kirsten did trust the right people for putting together her farewell (that's not right, either). In particular, Janie from the <a href="http://www.callanish.org/">Callanish Society</a>, the amazing writers and friends from Callanish, our friends and family were all phenomenal. Kirsten didn't actually have “sunshine in the middle of winter” on her list, but it made me wonder.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This park, which is only steps away from our house, is where I asked Kirsten to marry me. I know that there are more spectacular ways of going about it, but, on that day when we had the park to ourselves and the tide was higher than I've ever seen it before or since, it was magical. However, it has been a struggle to find comfort and happiness in such memories. It feels like I'm living in two worlds. One is where I feel so grateful to have known, loved, and been loved by Kirsten. Where there is hope that I can channel Kirsten to help me live my life to the fullest. The other, that co-exists, but often overshadows, is one of deep despair and emptiness.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Taking the dog for a walk in Cates was something I did on the day Kirsten died. I sobbed uncontrollably. As I walked on the beach that Kirsten and I walked on so many times, I wasn't sure if I would be able to keep moving. 742 walks later, I guess I kept moving. I give much of the credit to Finn for giving me a focus, a purpose for doing something healthy, and for being a presence in an otherwise empty home.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I assured Kirsten that, if she passed, I would not become an alcoholic or a degenerate gambler (define “degenerate”). Part of what helps me to keep moving is thinking about making Kirsten happy. Certainly, the mutual benefits of taking the Finn out would be one of the things that would make her the happiest.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I can't walk on the beach without having Kirsten with me, looking for the next meaningful rock to present itself to her. This is the most painful and the most beautiful place.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The ocean at Cates Park is where, when I was 10, my family and I spread the ashes of my dad. When we are ready, this will be one of the two places that we spread Kirsten's ashes. This was also on her list.</span></span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyIOvhbTVdQNZpvKnnrgL6D1jzB8wq6Q1UKkD7LRnqi2J7ZpOMnsXDBnzhluSqGsNayPjya4l3kWzPTL0nUu9FkAbUkHM-Z6J7q5jhX8or7hWi79fbxJaTduMM8FCevVo9bmUeX1duDUo/s1600/DSC_0020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyIOvhbTVdQNZpvKnnrgL6D1jzB8wq6Q1UKkD7LRnqi2J7ZpOMnsXDBnzhluSqGsNayPjya4l3kWzPTL0nUu9FkAbUkHM-Z6J7q5jhX8or7hWi79fbxJaTduMM8FCevVo9bmUeX1duDUo/s320/DSC_0020.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this rock travelled to the stone circle of Callanish, Scotland</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYj1bVIpQc21ko6_l46KvUzVtREGBPQwLHwS70XsbcyvCMqksxgT4YXELW0vRzLd3h8t7Asi1dk1GrdTUYcjEwqRQIlclgWnDvsoXw1JkxPZC7QwkyPx1ouV2xW-TuUEGlO1327zrp2E/s1600/DSC_0023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYj1bVIpQc21ko6_l46KvUzVtREGBPQwLHwS70XsbcyvCMqksxgT4YXELW0vRzLd3h8t7Asi1dk1GrdTUYcjEwqRQIlclgWnDvsoXw1JkxPZC7QwkyPx1ouV2xW-TuUEGlO1327zrp2E/s320/DSC_0023.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dog<br />
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</tbody></table><blockquote style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwMoufv8RpPrUAwX03bDR_kNPG9KauTzhi1kJVSfCqvnc4TXyU9_cHojArQiZU_vV1hYgmA4IkvrLrPfp2knw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></blockquote><div><div style="text-align: center;">Thank you so much, Nic</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
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</span></div></div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-19419617089774820842011-08-26T15:18:00.001-07:002011-08-29T20:53:24.979-07:00All That's New Again<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is a major topic. Doing everything for the first time without KIrsten. Some of these things occurred almost immediately, like walking Finn in Cates Park. Others happened as it felt OK to do, such as our trip to Seattle. And, there are many things that may or may not ever happen again, like taking out Kirsten's beloved boat, Suzy Spitfire.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'd imagine that this will be a reoccurring topic in the blog.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I just got back from a really difficult first trip back to the Sunshine Coast. Firstly, I'm very grateful for the friends that I visited on Savary Island. They were so generous, thoughtful, and supportive that I'm glad that I had this experience despite the pain that comes from associating places with Kirsten and the full sense of loss that goes with it. So, it's no small thing that I feel my time spent with these loving people more than compensated for the challenging trip.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I do realize that the alternative to having places, people, and things being really painful reminders of my loss would be to have had no experiences with Kirsten, to not have loved her as I do, or to be so heavily sedated that drooling would be my only form of response. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The difficulty of this journey, as was the case with several other trips I've taken, started with the packing. So hard. We loved going away together. She's sort of ruined the idea of looking forward to car trips, taking the ferry, getting on a flight. So selfish.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The first part of the trip was the Horseshoe Bay ferry terminal. Kirsten and I had so many amazing vacations that started at Horsehoe Bay. To the Sunshine Coast, Bowen Island, and Vancouver Island. The latter, of course, including the trip to Tofino to get married. Just the two of us on a beach in Tofino on a perfectly drizzly west coast day eight years ago on August 23rd. This trip to Savary was on our eighth anniversary.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Horseshoe Bay itself was also a place where Kirsten and I had many great times. Sharing oysters and wine, taking photographs, having a coffee on the pier, realizing that when the ferry is leaving at 1:00, we really should be back to the car before 1:00 (yes, we were those people responsible for the empty car in the ferry line up). This is the place were we had a very romantic moment at the beginning of our relationship as we stood in the pouring rain (if you want to picture me shirtless with rippling abs, that's fine). Like in so many places, we laughed here, cried here, shared our dreams here and fell deeper in to love here. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This was also the place that we, Kirsten's mom, step-dad, step-brother, and Miles would come for Kirsten's birthday meal every December 24th. So ,yah, this was the start of my trip to the Sunshine Coast with out her.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">They say that having new experiences is an important part of the grieving process. Although I think that this is true, in some sense it's impossible to have a truly new experience and, moreover, these things have to happen when the time is right. Perhaps the next time I go to the Sunshine Coast, it will be easier, but, right now, I feel like I can wait another 10 years.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In anticipation of this trip being difficult, I told myself that I'd take Kirsten with me. As I sat on the ferry, I even closed my eyes and pictured Kirsten sitting beside me. Too much. Too soon. Of course, thinking of Kirsten can be comforting and I'm so grateful to have such amazing memories. However, at this time, the sadness of not having her physically with me and the ongoing realization that I will never have these experiences with her again is overwhelming to say the least. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On to the Sunshine Coast. So, up until this point I hadn't totally lost it. Starting the drive towards Gibsons, I knew it was coming. The Sunshine Coast was one of our favourite places to go and there are strong memories up and down Highway 101. Some of those memories were from a time well before any diagnosis of cancer transformed our lives. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This particular memory was from the beginning of Kirsten's pursuit of me. We were spending New Years with a group of friends at a hotel off of the beach just outside Gibsons. So, there it was as I drove by, the place where we celebrated a new year and where kirsten and I had the talk. This particular talk was about what we would do when she heads back to the University of Regina while I stay here and continue my flegling teaching career. We went for the committed, long-distance, boyfriend/girlfreind set-up. As an aside, this commitment was solidified during my spring break when I chose to fly to Regina over going to Mexico with a group of female teachers. Please re-read the previous sentence to gain an understanding of the depths of my love for Kirsten. So, as I passed the Hotel, it was all there like it was yesterday and the emptiness of the seat beside me was too much. I lost it.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As the landmarks continued to come and go I really questioned my decision to take this trip at this time and on my own. It was all I could do to get to a place where I knew being in the company of friends would help. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On Savary Island, I woke up on the 23rd and imagined that day eight years before. Each day after, I've also imagined our days as newly-weds. It was the beginning of a journey that we chose to go on together. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The only way to have avoided the almost impossible depths of hurt and despair that I feel now is to not have started that journey. To marry Kirsten is something that I would do over and over again. She <i>is</i> with me forever.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKW9rA1QYaH4gYvK_nR4rKxgzBM_qRD2Q4RoQLHG1FWqNBgKjWm2U4Vm2dIBRZ2GI-ir94TGJxw53Yf4102TwRJ4Pu-g8nrAK7f89-Rt9wHJJzartfZZAbq4Bs-U-olVUZ0D25hFFTQes/s1600/Galiano.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKW9rA1QYaH4gYvK_nR4rKxgzBM_qRD2Q4RoQLHG1FWqNBgKjWm2U4Vm2dIBRZ2GI-ir94TGJxw53Yf4102TwRJ4Pu-g8nrAK7f89-Rt9wHJJzartfZZAbq4Bs-U-olVUZ0D25hFFTQes/s320/Galiano.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical, hold the camera out shot of us on the ferry</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmYW-PWyJROiBndwnq7lmysqCjd7T8dJ5NrUg9CuWCsShNQllXHaolcBpFdNiub_nKmTV4N7r2WQEcSlIiZC7d50ZpGz9Ms5mqZhVcRM6ESs9thyphenhyphenAcNzFS02r4Zmq3jGbnUPynDTDhEc/s1600/100_1877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmYW-PWyJROiBndwnq7lmysqCjd7T8dJ5NrUg9CuWCsShNQllXHaolcBpFdNiub_nKmTV4N7r2WQEcSlIiZC7d50ZpGz9Ms5mqZhVcRM6ESs9thyphenhyphenAcNzFS02r4Zmq3jGbnUPynDTDhEc/s320/100_1877.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how we liked to camp on the Sunshine Coast</td></tr>
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</span></span></span></div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2410407192073370707.post-57710204363937211202011-08-26T15:15:00.000-07:002011-08-29T20:54:53.526-07:00Kirsten's Blog<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So, I resisted just adding my entries to Kirsten's blog even though It would have meant an immediate 42 something thousand hits. However, that voice inside my head was very clear that I needed to leave Cancersmancer the hell alone. I do love that Kirsten's voice is still there to guide me ever so gently.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Something that is very comforting is knowing that Kirsten lives on in the hearts and minds of so many. Her legacy as a friend, poet, journalist, animal rights activist, outspoken critic, cancer combatant, patient advocate, and loved one is undeniable. Her presence touched many, both in person and through her writing. One of the most amazing examples of this was the impact of her blog on a group of scientists, doctors, and administrators at <a href="http://www.seagen.com/">Seattle Genetics</a>. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I received an incredibly moving email from one of the lead chemists soon after Kirsten's passing that offered condolences and an invitation to visit when the time was right. Seattle Genetics developed and manufactured a drug, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_135398543">SGN 35 (</a></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/2011/08/19/us-seattlegenetics-idUSTRE77I5VG20110819">Adcetris)</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;">, that Kirsten was on as a part of a trial. She did very well on the drug for many months. This gave us an opportunity to enjoy renovations (enjoy?) to the upstairs of our house and have a great summer in 2010. Invaluable.</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kirsten's blog had found its way to Seattle Genetics which, as we learned, was very motivating and inspiring to a company dedicated to finding a cure. As I, Kirsten's mom and step-dad were introduced as Kirsten Not Kristen's family, the power of Kirsten's writing was evident. I'd think that it's safe to say all present were very moved by the visit. The idea that Kirsten is in the collective conscience of these caring people who are doing such important work is very comforting. As we were leaving we received hugs and best wishes. One of the scientists told us through tears that she will be even more driven to find the drug that would have saved Kirsten. Amazing. We have thanked the people at Seattle Genetics many times and I will again, now. </span></span></span> </div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One last note about the visit. Obviously, what was missing was Kirsten. She would have loved them and been so appreciative of their work. Also, I can only imagine how good her blog entry would have been considering the trial drug was developed from the chemistry of a variety of sea slug. </span></span></span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGE8umAQH0lPukUkTlc89VaQc1IRgcG7XMXfUP6UzlJROMP9dyyLPx77HAwbBsrGtRlv8ALxuC98vMjPZWZmW3XhCdtJi1rjOlenRg4EsQTmSdqRTf3LPihyiD3s19_s7FHNr-M2Jyz0/s1600/DSC_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGE8umAQH0lPukUkTlc89VaQc1IRgcG7XMXfUP6UzlJROMP9dyyLPx77HAwbBsrGtRlv8ALxuC98vMjPZWZmW3XhCdtJi1rjOlenRg4EsQTmSdqRTf3LPihyiD3s19_s7FHNr-M2Jyz0/s320/DSC_0013.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirsten and Finn at one of their favorite places, Point Roberts</td></tr>
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</span></span></span></div>ipowellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18339349691899751491noreply@blogger.com