barbara dickson

“Mountains for Maddi” Book Launch

admin — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 22:03:03 +0000

Meeting Brad Pitt

admin — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 23:36:35 +0000

You Just Never Know

Have you ever had a day that starts out like any other but turns into something extraordinary? For better or for worse, a seemingly benign event turns your world on its head.

When I woke up Friday, September 5th, 2008, I thought I was going to have a day like the hundreds of days before it—help the girls get off to school, head to my favourite coffee shop to write for a couple of hours, come home to rest for the afternoon, fix supper, take a walk with my husband, David, watch some TV, check my e-mail, and call it a day well spent about 10:30pm.

The day started out exactly like I expected it to. The girls went to school, I did my coffee shop thing, came home, and rested. But that’s when any sense of ‘ordinary’ ended. From 2:37pm onward, my day, while not life-altering, became something you find logged in history’s annals under the column labelled ‘chance of a lifetime.’

Before I lay my head down that night, I would attend Brad Pitt’s Gala Presentation for his latest film “Burn after Reading” at Roy Thomson Hall. More astounding, I not only would secure the best seats in the house, I would live every woman’s dream.

Perhaps some would call my daily routine pathetic, a small sort of existence, confined mostly to my home. But I like to think I make the most of each day, doing what I can do within the limits of the debilitating progression of multiple sclerosis.

As part of my daily rest routine, I read the daily newspapers and work on crossword puzzles to keep brain fog at bay—a disconcerting symptom of MS. I was leafing through the first section of the Toronto Star—which, by the way, was free as a thank-you for my loyal subscribership!—when I found a full-page ad announcing a contest to win two tickets to the Gala Presentation of “Burn after Reading” at the Toronto International Film Festival that very evening. The random draw would take place at 2pm.

I looked at my watch: 1:05pm. Did I have the energy to boot up my computer and enter a contest I had absolutely no chance of winning? My eyes drooped, my head felt fuzzy, my body ached for sleep. I glanced at the ad again. The words, “If you don’t enter, you can’t win,” whispered through my sleepy mind. What did I have to lose but a few minutes of nap time? I dragged my body to the computer and at 1:25pm I sent off my entry.

Then I headed for dreamland…ignoring the telephone when it rang forty minutes later.

When the phone’s cacophonic peal started up for the third time in less than twenty minutes, I gave up napping. It was 2:37pm.

I picked up the receiver to find a nice-sounding woman named Merry Dang on the other end, telling me that not only had I won the Toronto Star contest, I was their Grand prize winner.

I kept trying to explain to Merry that, “I don’t win anything.” She must have made a mistake. She sounded much more confident than I.

Merry told me two tickets to Roy Thomson Hall would be couriered to my home within a couple hours. The gala started at 9:30pm but my husband and I should get there early as the seats weren’t reserved.

At 4:40pm I held two silver-coloured tickets in my hands. David and I hurried to get ready. We hadn’t had a chance to dress up in a long time so we relished the opportunity.

So began a magical night, the kind where fairy godmothers surely have a hand in.

David and I enjoyed a delicious supper at Il Fornello on King Street West, finishing around 7:30pm. Still two hours to show time. We sat on a park bench behind RTH for about an hour. But the wind picked up and the skies threatened Gustav’s ire, so we headed underground into Toronto’s PATH system. With a quick trip to the restrooms, we headed to RTH. Our intention was to find somewhere warm and dry to sit and wait until they allowed theatre goers in. We walked through PATH’s maze of interconnecting tunnels and shop areas. We bypassed the growing throng outside RTH completely.

Unexpectedly, the corridor we selected took us directly into the main lobby of RTH. Of course, security stopped us immediately. When I explained I had won a contest, had MS, and could they possibly please just give me a chair to wait, the wonderful TIFF volunteer not only offered me a chair, I was seated just inside the main doors.

My fairy godmother must have worked overtime because from my coveted perch, I’d be able to watch the celebrities, the patrons, and the thrill all transpire right before my eyes.

Not many minutes passed when a RTH employee decked out in a tuxedo approached. He felt I would be more comfortable upstairs on the Mezzanine level, since that’s where my seat was located. In addition, the lobby was about to get crazy with the arrival of Brad Pitt and the other cast members.

I think he thought he was doing me a favour, protecting me somehow from the crush of frenzied fans. Didn’t he know that I wanted be one too? Who cared if I got trampled? What’s a little concussion when I could meet Brad Pitt? But my tuxedo man was insistent. He wanted me out of harm’s way. So, with a definite, defeated droop of my shoulders, David and I followed the gentleman to the elevators and up to the second level.

He glanced at our tickets and settled us in chairs near the doors to our section. I assumed the stars would sit in the front row of the main level, and I asked him if our seats in the balcony were at least close enough, without the use of a telescope, to know Brad Pitt was somewhere in the huge theatre. “He’s sitting in the section next to yours,” he said. My heart flipped. “So, if I sit on the right hand side of our section—?” I asked. His smile and nod was all I needed.

While we waited, we hurried over to an area on our level where we could look down into the lobby area below. We had a perfect view of the makeshift cordoned off area where in just a few moments Brad and his crew would walk by. We joked with other patrons who had gathered there, wondering aloud if, from our vantage point, we’d be able to tell if Mr. Pitt was balding.

The din below grew louder, TIFF employees started scrambling, and a burly body guard arrived. It wasn’t long now. With cameras posed, breath held, and hearts tripping, the Coen Brothers appeared, followed by Frances MacDormand, John Malcovich, Tilda Swinton and others.

Finally, Brad appeared. He looked stunning, more incredible in person than even those touched-up magazine shots. He was gracious with his fans, stopping and signing autographs. We yelled out to him to “Look up, Brad! Look up!” He looked up and smiled and continued on his promenade. And I’m happy to report he has a full head of hair.

As soon as he disappeared from view, David and I hustled to our section. We were able to seat in the second row from the front in the first two seats right by the stairs. Our RTH gentleman was right—the section right next to ours, separated by only a stair rail, had been reserved for the cast and crew of “Burn after Reading.”

Of course, the front row was reserved for Brad and his fellow celebrities. But the second row, at the end closest to my row (and me!) had three additional seats reserved for Brad’s guests.

My spirits dropped again when our section usher, an employee of Alliance Films told us Brad probably wouldn’t sit through the movie—he’d seen it already. He’d appear most likely on stage at the beginning to introduce the film along with the Coen Brothers and the cast, then slip in at the end of the presentation to receive any applause.

“Oh, well,” I breathed. Even fairy godmothers can’t do everything. I looked around the grand theatre and reminded myself how special and extraordinary it was just to be included in such an exciting ‘once in a lifetime’ event. Here I was, sitting in Roy Thomson Hall for a Gala Presentation of a TIFF film—I was helping make local history.

The house lights dimmed, the stage lights came up, and introductions were made. Cheers from the crowd went up as the Coen Brothers introduced each cast member. Then, just as quickly, the stage darkened, and the film began.

I settled back, ready to enjoy the film when movement to my right distracted me. Dark shadowy outlines of people filed down the stairs and silently filled the first few rows of Brad’s section.

The cast had arrived.

Trying not to look like a complete groupie, I nonchalantly strained my neck to see if Brad was amongst the crew. His seat sat empty.

Another “Oh, well” slipped from my soul. My fairy godmother had gone home. But I realized a few people were still feeling around for seats in the second row, across from me. I cast a sideways glance at them and my heart jumped.

Brad Pitt had settled in the second row, on the end, not more than ten feet from my seat. The only things separating us were a set of stairs and a banister.

I sat in stunned silence. The woman behind me went into quiet hysterics when she realized how close her heartthrob was. David leaned back and patted her knee in an attempt to calm her.

I watched “Burn after Reading” with my husband and BRAD PITT. I couldn’t help but mull over the bizarre turns of the day’s events. That morning I was packing school lunches. And just thirteen mere miniscule hours later, I was sitting watching a movie with Brad Pitt. I WAS SITTING WATCHING A MOVIE WITH BRAD PITT.

I caught David leaning forward to study Brad. I teased him, but silently, I desperately wanted to do the same. I must have sneaked a thousand half-glances to my right. Would he notice? Who cared if he did? After all, he was BRAD PITT!!

Time moved at warp-speed and before I could get past the fact that Brad was beside me, he stealthily moved from his second row seat to the front row in time for the end-of-premiere applause. I’m not sure but I might have clapped a little louder than my fellow patrons.

The theatre darkened again and I sensed shadowy movement beside me. The crew and cast were leaving, obviously to get ahead of the crowd. I strained my eyes in the dark. Where was Brad? I felt my heart thud in my chest. Somewhere a clock must be striking twelve because in just a few seconds David’s and my magical night would quietly slip back into the pumpkinseed everyday existence that the vast majority of Earth’s human race call reality .

I couldn’t let the night end without one last ditch attempt to prolong the magic. I stood and snapped a picture in the blackness. The flash revealed Brad standing, his back toward me.

I waited.

I sensed he’d turned to face me.

So I did what any living, breathing warm-blooded Canadian woman would do—I thrust out my hand.

And Brad took it.

“You did good, Brad,” I said, the calmness of my voice surprising me, and loving the horrible grammar I used. I forgave myself instantly—after all, who could hold me accountable—Brad was holding my hand.

“Thank you,” he said back.

And as quickly as he took my hand in a strong, confident handshake, he let go, and was whisked away.

The lights came up, and with the crowd mulling around us, I could almost hear the last soft chime of a distant clock striking twelve.

I smiled a sweet, satisfying smile at David. “I just met Brad Pitt. Let’s go home.”

What’s the moral to this story, other than “If you don’t enter, you can’t win” and “What do you have to lose?”

It’s this: You just never know when life will offer you a sweet morsel, a once in a lifetime experience, an evening when even fairy godmothers grow a tad green with envy at your grand fortune. Seize the day. Make it count. Life is fleeting. When you’re offered a chance at adventure, grab hold and enjoy the ride.

You just never know.

Until next time, may your step be light and your day bright,

Barbara

From a Mother’s Heart

admin — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 02:00:03 +0000

For Mother’s Day this year I thought I’d share a letter my mother wrote to me. She had tucked it in amongst her belongings and I discovered it the day after she died. Her words say so much about her character, about the value of life, and about the certainty of death.

Dear Barbara,

I know you will miss me but don’t be too sad. Just think as if I have gone away for awhile and you will see me again.

I want you to remember the good times we had together, the leg slapping laughs that we shared and the wonderful trips we were privileged to take out west and in the States. I was so happy that you were willing to take me along. Thank you very much.

Barbara, please don’t cry too much. Remember you have a family depending on you and you must take care of yourself in order to care for them. Keep in touch with your brothers and try to get everyone together once in awhile. Take care of your father; I love him very much as I love all of you. My children and grandchildren mean the world to me.

It would be nice to live and watch the little people growing up, but God’s will is best, and whether He chooses to take me soon or later on, I am ready. And I know that one day we will all meet again.

I will be waiting for all of you.

I want to leave a favourite Bible verse with you. Romans 14:8 – “If we live, we live to the LORD, and if we die, we die to the LORD. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the LORD.”

God bless you and keep you in His loving care.

All my love,

Mom

Happy New Year!

admin — Wed, 09 Jan 2008 16:32:21 +0000

With the flip of a simple page on our calendar, with a drop of a silver shimmery ball in Times Square, we’re thrust into a brand New Year, whether we’re ready, or whether we like it, or not. It doesn’t take long for the New Year to settle in and make itself at home in our daily lives. How easy it would be to let the promise of a New Year slip away into the dreariness of January.

If you haven’t made any plans or promises to yourself to do something completely new or different in 2008, to do something scary or spectacular, stop reading and pause to consider the endless possibilities that await you in the coming weeks and months ahead. They say that time waits for no man and that there are basically three types of people inhabiting planet Earth: those who make things happen, those who watch things happen, and those who haven’t a clue what’s happening.

Put yourself in the first group and touch the world. Give yourself away through some volunteer work, have coffee with a friend you haven’t seen in years, mend a broken family relationship. Take that once-in-a-lifetime trip you’ve always wanted to take.

This year, I wish you will be surrounded by the unconditional love of family and friends, luxuriate in the peace that comes with good health, and relish the joy that comes from knowing you are at peace with God.

If you are lacking in any of these three areas, there’s an easy way to make it all good: God is the easiest to get right. Everything else falls into place after that.

In my quest to touch the world through the hearts that stop by my website, I’ve added:

A video called ‘An Ode to Newfoundland’ to take you to a place in Canada that remains as beautiful, both in its scenery and its people, as it did five hundred years ago when John Cabot landed at Bonavista.
A poem written by my great-grandfather almost 100 years ago about his harrowing shipwreck experience aboard the ‘Purple G’ schooner. His reflections remind us that life is precious.
A photo gallery of the abandoned tunnel system under the city of Scarborough that once ran under a top-secret WWII munitions plant called GECO.
A ‘Hearts of Stonebridge Cove’ page. Stonebridge Cove is the town where a new series of novels will be set. Founded in the early 1800s, the town perches precariously along a steep bluff rising from the Atlantic Ocean, the surf pounding the shore, and the breath-taking view of the sea from the parkland at the top muted only by the limits of our short-sightedness. Although Stonebridge Cove has grown to include a leading-edge regional hospital, it still overflows with small-town appeal and big-hearted residents. In the coming weeks and months, you’ll meet the characters of Stonebridge Cove and find a photo gallery of the town.

God bless,

Barbara

When the Dealer Deals Your Last Hand

admin — Tue, 24 Jul 2007 01:59:27 +0000

This poignant contemplation on life was entrusted to me with the request that, due to the sensitive nature of its revelations, the author remain anonymous. It is a tribute to a man who lived his life the only way he knew how, as a gentleman.

Reminiscences of an old man about illness and the foibles of life with its many existences

“In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” John 17:33.

It is interesting that during my recent serious illness and stay in hospital, several changes in my personal status seemed to have taken place without my guidance or intervention.

“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” Psalm 27:1.

Illness is a very demanding malady as it creates in the mind the feeling that you are no longer the robust person that you had always imagined. In my case, I soon realized that my status in the home had drastically altered. No longer was I the cook, kitchen operator, and general “in charge” factotum, but in fact, my role had changed from being a provider and doer, to being cast in the role of “dependant.”

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”Job 1:21.

As a dependant, any previous participation was gone, and my requests were in the realm of being a distraction, a pest, an interruption of an established routine, and a needy element that was disrupting the normal flow of what had once been a rational household.

“Do not cast me off in the time of old age; do not forsake me when my strength fails.” Psalm 71: 9.

The great loss of weight and difficulty in breathing, along with total loss of energy to accomplish even the smallest of tasks, has been most discouraging in my recovery. However, I have to realize that I have suffered a serious illness and my body organs have taken a severe pounding from the many drugs used to combat the diverticulitis and congestive heart failure. So, it is one day at a time, and I shouldn’t get discouraged too early!

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith,” Hebrews 12:1, 2.

During the Christmas stay in the hospital I lived through several very traumatic experiences that caused me to review life and its many foibles.

Gasping for the very next breath with congestive heart failure is stressful in the extreme, but having to walk through your own feces on the continual trip to the toilet is just dreadful and disgusting. The embarrassment of wearing diapers may not be wished for, but was very necessary. The shame of calling for help, when everything has spewed up your back, down your legs and all over your genitals, is so very distressing and humiliating to one’s ego.

“Let me not be ashamed, for I put my trust in You. Let integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait for You.” Psalm 25:20-21.

At times like this, peripheral vision disappears and each moment is dreadfully focused on survival. Little things become huge. A nurse holding your hand, rubbing our back and saying a few words of encouragement is everything at that very moment and so meaningful.

The overall joy of being cleaned up, and wearing a fresh diaper meant volumes. Resting under a warm blanket, although still gasping for every breath, was like reaching an oasis. Each little item, each further moment, meant so much, and that refreshing sip of cool apple juice in the early dawn light tasted so good knowing that you had lived through a night of abject hell and fear.

“Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.” Matthew 25: 40. A simple act of kindness by a nameless nurse touches a dying man’s heart and blesses him and her.

The margin between fighting on or giving in to weakness becomes a very real choice and could easily be made in the wrong direction.

“I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. When I lie down, I say, ‘When shall I arise, and the night be ended?’ For I have had my fill of tossing till dawn. My skin is cracked and breaks out afresh.” Job 7: 4, 5b, 11b.

With the continual fight for breath other parts of your body start to show their effects. The brain is somewhat starved of oxygen and one suffers from slight dementia. Angles appear at the end of your bed, while off to the left, the grim Reaper leers his skeletal toothy grin from under his cowled cloak. In the far distance, yet still over the horizon, one imagines the glow of the Pearly Gates awaiting their summons. So you lie on the bed utterly and totally exhausted waiting for the dawn that will hopefully bring some relief from this time of dreadful torment, fear, and trauma.

“In disquieting thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falls on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones shake.” Job 4:13, 14.

Under this diminished mental sanity your long past monsters now appear, parading across your memory, mocking your agony with every step. Like huge ugly, dirty hippos rising from the muddy lake of regret and despair, they force their way into your memory. Those angry words spoken under the stress of caring, worry and concern that can never be taken back—and never be forgiven.

“Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Your loving-kindness; according to the multitude of Your tender mercies, blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is always before me.” Psalm 51: 1-3.

The dreadful heart wrenching agony of loss is indescribable. Wading through the morass and heavy fog of grief with the knowledge that one so close—your beautiful, so very young wife—has gone out of your life, dead to cancer, is too horrific to contemplate.

“Oh, that my grief were fully weighed, and my calamity laid with it on the scales! For then it would be heavier than the sand of the sea—“ Job 6:2, 3a.

It seems the very lamp of life is fluttering. No one—no one who has not experienced this horrendous grief, can honestly know of the total depth of one’s sole and the void left there forever. Yet pervading through this grief is the knowledge that tomorrow you must get up and pull on your socks because you are now the only one, the sole provider for your children—cook, consoler, safety net, and advisor. You are now the only parent and responsibility beckons.

“And the LORD God said, “It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him.””Genesis 2:18.

And then they come—the well-meaning ones. They hug, kiss, and shake your hand, and smile, trotting out those trite hackneyed “Hallmark card” sayings that no doubt make them feel better but most have no idea of the underlying churning feelings. You let them go without comment, because this is not their battle, this is not their war. Perhaps theirs will come at another place and at another time.

“Though I speak, my grief is not relieved; And if I remain silent, how am I eased? Job 16:6.

Sadly, in this race of life, there are no rest stops, no pullovers, no waiting areas where one can rest your head on the steering wheel and take a nap. The race of life sadly allows no breathers.

“Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28.

Later, through this journey, and in thoughtfully happier times, one is abruptly awakened to the shocking fact that you are no longer the man you thought you were. Someone has taken your place and now find yourself no longer on the A-Team. You have been replaced in the mind of others.

“He has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.”Job 30:19.

You are aware that someone else attracts the attention you once held. Someone with perhaps more money, more interesting conversation, or with other assets that you no longer possess, is ahead of you. Someone to E-mail morning and evening, with little bon mots of information you are now no longer privy to, as before, You have been replaced and your stature has been downgraded. The truth is all too abundantly clear. You are now just an ailing decrepit old man, married to a much younger attractive woman.

“Like a lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.” Song of Solomon 2:2.

As you walk over to the gaming table, you are all too aware that your assets have gone and those bargaining chips you once held have already been played. Picking up your cards from the green cloth, you slowly spread the cards like a seasoned gambler and realize the blunt truth. In the last hand of life, there are no aces.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me;” Psalm 23: 4.

Biting your lip, you cry a little and then smile, because you know now there is only one game in town. A bright positive outlook—for all to see.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30: 5b.

Signed,

The Face in the Mirror

All Scripture taken from the New King James Version

Remembering My Mother

admin — Thu, 22 Feb 2007 00:09:07 +0000

In Memory of my mother, Olive, who was born February 12th, 1931 and died June 25th, 1995.

I first wrote this remembrance in 1996, the year after my mother died. Eleven years have passed but the essence of its message hasn’t changed, and while my grief has lessened, the loss of my mother has left a little part of my heart forever broken.

I miss you, Mom.

I miss you when…

…I can’t ask you how you kept living when your mother died. Somehow I didn’t realize how tragic losing your mother was. Now no one else realizes how tragic losing my mother was. I know better now.

I miss you when…

…I want to tell you that I know better. I want to ask your forgiveness for taking you and your love for granted. You loved me and mothered me so unconditionally. Did I ever tell you that you were my very, very best friend?

I miss you when…

…I see a woman about your age and I have the irresistible urge to hug her. Especially if she’s standing at a bus stop, or carrying heavy shopping bags, or out alone at night. You worked two jobs for many years to help care for us. Sometimes you didn’t get home from work until one in the morning and you had to be at your other job by seven. You took the bus everywhere since you didn’t know how to drive (it wouldn’t have mattered, since we couldn’t afford to own a car anyway.) It’s hard to drive past a bus stop and not stop. I’m thankful to the kind people who offered you a ride home now and again.

I miss you when…

…The lilac bushes in the front garden burst anew with lavender blossoms each spring. You planted those bushes as a gift when I bought my first home. Every time I smelled their delicate aroma, I remembered your sweetness. I’ve moved on, the house was sold, but every time I pass a lilac bush on the street, I pause to smell their fragrant blooms.

I miss you when…

…I feel like I’m blundering my way through motherhood. I desperately need your advice and encouraging words. Everyone has their own idea of raising children. That’s fine. I don’t want their advice. I want yours.

I miss you when…

…I see or read something funny, especially if my girls did something hilarious. We used to have such great times together, laughing until we had tears rolling down our cheeks, barely able to catch our breath. It’s been hard finding someone to laugh with.

I miss you when…

…I visited Newfoundland and I realized you had lived in a different time and place. What were you like when you were a little girl? How I long to hear you tell me a story of growing up in the little town of Musgrave Harbour. From icebergs and boats, to fish and wintry weather, from schooldays to…anything. I felt so connected to you there amongst the partridge berries and sea spray.

I miss you when…

…I try to trace our family tree and there is no one to ask who your grandparents were. Your entire family is gone now. The richness of the generations before you, the generations that helped shape your traditions and values, are lost. It didn’t seem to matter when you were alive, who you came from, or what part of Ireland your ancestors called home. Somehow, it matters now.

I miss you when…

…I look into the mirror and you look back. I hear you in my voice, in the words I speak, in my mannerisms, in my hands. And I see you in my girls – your twinkle in their eyes, your upside-down smile, and the essence of your soul passed from you to me to them.

I miss you when…

…I look at my littlest one and know that she’ll never know her ‘Mama’. You only lived to hold her a couple of times. Her grandmother will only be a name, a picture and a few treasured stories. We named her after you.

I miss you when…

…The girls reach a milestone, like a piano or ballet recital or a school graduation. I can’t share these with you. I know you’d make a fuss over them. All of my moments of joy are mingled with sadness and loss.

I miss you when…

…I reach a milestone in my life. I long for your support and pride. I pursued my dreams, just like we talked about before you died. But not being able to share my successes with you leaves me feeling empty, incomplete.

I miss you when…

…I drive by the old apartment that you called home the last fourteen years of your life. I remember the pictures of your children and grandchildren proudly hanging on your humble walls, and those wonderful Newfoundland meals of Jig’s dinner, fishcakes, scrunhins, and Grandmother’s raisin buns. I treasure Dad’s homemade furniture and remember your soft voice permeating the air. All I have now is old photos, sweet memories, and a quiet graveside.

I miss you when…

…I see anything to do with cancer, whether it’s a campaign poster, or a palliative care ward, or an article in a magazine. I cringe when anyone I know is going for ‘tests’. I’m angry that they couldn’t find a cure for you, Mom. They’ve made great strides in treating your cancer, but no cure. People are still dying.

I miss you when…

…I’m having a bad day. You took the news of my diagnosis of a lifelong chronic illness harder than I did. You were there for me during those early years, helping me any way you could. Even though you worked two jobs, you gave me every free minute, helping with supper, or laundry, or taking care of the girls. When you were dying, you asked everyone that came to visit you, to please remember to take care of me. You never thought of yourself and your own immediate needs.

I miss you, Mom. I feel as if I’m still your little girl that needs to curl up beside you and get a hug and who eagerly wants to give one in return. I hold onto my children knowing how precious life is.

Someday we will meet again, in a place where there isn’t any cancer or disease, where there isn’t any grief or sadness, where there is only pure joy.

Until then, I cling to the One Who holds you in the palm of His hand. I remind myself that He holds me, too.

I love you, Mom.