Last night

Last night my sister collapsed, was unconscious, and rushed to hospital. My baby sister.

And I saw her, unable to speak, only able to cry when she saw me...tears and drool running down her face. And I was so scared. So scared.

There are no words to describe how that felt and I'm just her sister, not her mother. And again, my mother was my mother, the shining light of strength and organization. The one that stood up to the nurses when they were rude beyond belief. The one who talked endlessly about what happened. The one who sat and smiled and talked to my sister until she could remember how to talk.

The one who weathered the storm for most of the time without my dad. Because my dad decided not to show up right away. Because my dad was my dad - removed, distant, and angry, as he always is in the face of disaster or peril.

Because he looks down on our female displays of family, of coming together in times of need, of laughing and crying out loud. Because he doesn't know how.

I love my dad. I do. There is no rational reason for it - if we were strangers, I would never give the person my father is a second glance. He is awful to my mom. He is not the best father. He is absent. He is unemployed. He would not be my choice at family if I had one. But for as long as I live, he will be my dad.

And as my sisters and mother were abrupt and stand-offish when he got to the hospital (finally!), I realized something. He is out of his element. He doesn't know how to deal with emergencies. He doesn't know how to be part of a family. And he's learning, slowly, but is that pace fast enough for what our family needs now?

I think that after this latest episode my mom's decision to stay or leave might be accelerated a little, and not in my dad's favour. And for that I feel bad for both of them.

For my mom, because it has been her hope and her perserverance that has saved their marriage so far, and as she lets go, it will be painful for her. She still loves my dad.

And for my dad, for not realizing what a blessing it is to be part of a family. And that every time he has distanced himself from us is one more reason to cut the ties that bind. And that when we're gone, he'll be alone. But we will still have each other and our out loud laughter and tears and our flair for the dramatic and the loud.

And when he finally has the quiet he desires so much, I think he'll miss the noise, because that was the noise of love.


Have you ever?

Have you ever stumbled across a story or a moment that touched you so profoundly that you startled yourself with your emotional reaction? That happened to me today.

I was reading through blogs that I have come across in recent days, and I discovered Sarah and Derek's heart-wrenching story.

Now, I don't know Sarah or Derek, but I do know that it is heartbreaking and even now, a couple of hours later, I'm still stuck thinking of this poor young couple and their crappy situation. She is dying from cancer. He is holding her hand. They are in their early 30s. It's just not fair.

And who am I to mourn? I have never, not even once, met them or heard of their plight before today. But for today, I feel as if I know them. As if I can appreciate the pain they are in. And it is not in a self-centred, egocentric way, but in a caring, compassionate, humanity-filled type way.

I look at my marriage, at my age, at my dreams, at the future that I have planned in my head, and I think about what would happen if it were all ripped away. What would happen if it all ended suddenly? What would I do? What would my husband do? What then?

It takes a lot of energy for me not to worry. I'm a worrier by nature, which I fully blame my mother for, and every day as I let my husband slip out the door to go to work, I pray so hard for his safety, for him to come back to me. Even though I know that God will only give me that gift if it is meant to be, and that I can ask all I want, but in the end it is still up to Him.

And every moment that I feel the glow of love for my husband, for my family, for my friends...each moment filled with laughter, loving quiet, hope, dreams, plans, and goodness, I have to struggle to hang on to the moment now, not to think about the moment getting ripped away. Not to think about what the future may bring.

I struggle so hard, and yet here is a couple faced with my greatest fear, and her husband has the strength to say, "Safe travels, my love."

Will I have that strength? I don't want to think about it, because I'm not faced with that situation...and yet I can't help but worry...



This weekend my husband and I celebrated our 1-year anniversary. To celebrate, we turned off the phones, cancelled all our normal weekend madness, and spent time together. It was lovely.

We also got the pleasure of watching our wedding video for the first time (our best man owns a videography company, and gave us our wedding video as a wedding present...because he's a friend, though, we were patient enough to wait for a whole year before getting to see it).

As we watched ourselves move up the aisle, promise to God and to each other that we would always love each other, saw our family and friends who gathered there to support us, and heard our speeches all over again, I realized something: we had the loveliest wedding ever.

No, we didn't spend $80/person on the reception, like a dear friend of ours is for his wedding this summer. No, we didn't have a wedding planner to feed the best man his speech. No, my dress didn't cost me thousands of dollars. No, we didn't go on a tropical and exotic honeymoon. And no, we didn't eat the finest foods that are hard to pronounce, and even harder to eat properly.

But we did love each other. And we loved and knew every guest that was invited. And we were able to firmly say, that the best part of our wedding was free - the vows, and God, and us, and our family. And the rest, like the lovely flower arrangements, done for free by women who love us, and the hall decorations, lovingly looked after by our wedding party and their significant others, and the food, which was so delicious and, as most claimed, the best "wedding" food ever eaten, and provided at an incredible price by dear, dear friends of ours...well, all of that was just icing on a perfectly constructed cake.

I wouldn't take any of my wedding back. I wouldn't change a single thing. And now as we start thinking about a house and about having children, I know that the rest of our lives will be just like that. All of the good things, all of the best things, all of the things we can not live without, will all be free. And all of the other things that come our way will be the icing on an already perfect cake.

Happy anniversary to my husband, to our marriage. And a toast, for many years to come and many more moments to enjoy and savour.



You know it's real when...

...your husband IMs you, saying:

"Pleasant thought of the day: you are currently sitting in the coffe shop where i asked your parents if i could marry you."

Swoon, all over again.

Put in my place

I'm working at Starbucks today in order to better my and the hubby's chances at seeing Spider-Man 3 tonight (now I'm steps away from the theatre, instead of being 40 minutes away).

Little boy, who just threw as big of a fit over sharing a cookie as his daddy did, is staring me down, while drinking his too-big-for-him cup of water.




I am a gossip-monger. I love reading and hearing about celebrity news (and non-news), and looking at their photos, marvelling at the expensive bodies they prance around.

I admit it. I'm guilty. See my list of links - Shameless Gossip is there as prominently as Education and Faith. Guilty, guilty, guilty pleasure.

But when the gossip gets mean, when it gets vicious, and it gets beyond pleasure, but pushes it firmly into pain, I start to feel really, really bad. Because the people we are ripping apart are just that - PEOPLE.

I'm watching tv, and my innocent, mickey mouse produced news channel is saying that they have more dirt on Britney Spears. More dirt. As if there wasn't enough dirt on the single mother, who has experienced a mental breakdown, divorce, public embarassment, and constant harassment from paparazzi.

But that isn't pleasurable, anymore. If I could take the mic for one minute, I'd like to say, Leave the poor girl alone. Please. She needs to heal. Find her stride again. Learn how to be a good, healthy mother. Reunite with her family and herself. And most importantly, be able to breathe without criticism and stalking.

And yes, you're right, guy with the other mic. Maybe if she didn't dress skimpily, maybe if she stayed in her house and raised her babies, and maybe if she didn't ask for attention, she wouldn't be dealing with it. Maybe if she stopped making herself an easy target, it wouldn't be so bad.

But I ask you this: if a woman, who was running around in a teddy, got raped, would you say the same thing? Would you say, she was asking for it? I think you'd say, yes, in a way. But in another way, damn the man that couldn't keep it in his pants, couldn't resist, and couldn't avoid taking away that woman's freedom, dignity, and self-worth.

Aren't we just raping Britney? Raping her of her freedom, dignity, and self-worth? Shouldn't we have more self-control?

Yes, yes we should.