Compromise

Some days I think about the compromises I made that got me to where I am and who I am today.

I'm not talking huge, life-altering compromises, but small, significant ones that looking back now I wonder - if I didn't make those, where would I be? Who would I be?

Where would I be if I didn't have to compromise a chance to live abroad simply because my sisters wouldn't also be given such an opportunity?

Where would I be if I wasn't busy compromising my pay cheque to keep my family afloat and I could have picked any school in the world instead of the school in my backyard?

Who would I be if I didn't compromise my deepest passions in order to be the perfect daughter?

What would my life look like if I didn't compromise risk and adventure for stability and a family?

I don't regret the choices I made (or in some cases that were made for me) - how can I without regretting every moment I get to spend with my husband and daughter, both of whom are my entire world?

But some days, the compromises are felt more than others...and the questions swirl...and all of the moments where a choice was given and decided become too hard to bear...

And I think - what Julia would I be if it weren't for all of the compromises I've had to make?

Full disclosure

I have built this space for me online - a place where I can come and share my thoughts about any old thing that I experience or that pops into my head (scary, I know). I haven't told many people about this space because it is freeing to release what's inside of you to the unknown world. It's nice having a space for just me.

But then I told my husband about it. And although I held my breath until he read my posts, he didn't get mad for the way that I represented him here and we're still happily married.

Today, I told one of my sisters about my blog. Her response: "I don't know my sisters at all!"

Of course, this comes on the heels of discovering the Youtube channel my other sister currently posts videos to, some of which are full of anger towards the current status of things in our family.

After her initial shock, she perused some posts and decided it wasn't so bad after all.

I hope. She could have been lying...

Anyway, what's done is done. She knows now. Which means, probably, that more people will know in short order.

My little alone space going to get a bit more crowded. And that's okay with me, I think (ignore my hyperventilating...I'm sure it's completely normal and that it will pass).

So, to those who are joining my not-so-regular blog, welcome! Make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever you find here, and please, please don't hate me too much.

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...

Renouncing

For the first time in my life, when asked what nationality I was, I said Canadian.

My sisters and I were raised to say that our nationality was Portuguese, regardless of the fact that we were only half Portuguese and that my mom was French-Canadian, a valid nationality to claim. Even now, when my sister is not speaking to my father, her bio on her work's website says that she has a large "Portuguese" family. No mention of our mom, who she calls daily.

Today, though, in an act of complete and utter rebellion, I said..."I'm Canadian." It didn't seem natural and in fact the statement stumbled off my tongue.

I feel naughty, like I'm going to get into trouble for stating the truth - I was born in Canada, I've lived in Canada my whole life, and my citizenship states I'm Canadian. For once, I chose my own nationality rather than the one I was given as a child or even my mother's.

It's actually kind of freeing.

Maybe this is how my mom felt when she announced to a room full of my father's relatives that she never changed her last name legally to my dad's, and therefore wasn't truly part of the family.

She survived that...I'm sure I won't get shot for being "Canadian" for the first time ever.