Impermanence

                   A dinner plate sized hibiscus flower at our last home; 2016. Truly reMarkable!

Is Death Life on Your Mind? Death and Life. Inseparable. It seems that talking about one always leads me to the other.

On her podcast, Sugar Calling, Cheryl Strayed interviewed Pico Iyer from his home in Japan.  Part of their conversation was about impermanence and lessons from the cherry blossom trees.  As Pico says, “Every life ends in death.  Every meeting ends in a separation.  But that’s not a reason to grieve, it’s actually a reason to find our beauty and joy right now.” 

Unlike Pico Iyer, I believe that grieving is necessary.  Like Pico, I believe in seeking beauty and joy.  I think of this as a braided cord - joy and sorrow. Though I, like you, deal with it every day on some level, impermanence is still something I fight.   Only a month ago, I anticipated buds to bloom on a star magnolia that I see from my dining bench.  Today, white petals lie on dark dirt. Part of me wants the beauty of full bloom to stand still.  Forever. 

In this daily-changing world, the question most on my mind is, will I see my loved ones again on planet earth? What I most want right now is to be with my people. Since I live on an Island, I’m not able to walk down the street or drive a few blocks and have a social-distancing check in. I know I’m not alone in this life experience of distance and yearning.

One of my favourite children’s books is called, Lifetimes by Bryan Mellonie and Robert Ingpen.  There is an underlying simplicity. Just the facts.  We each have a lifetime. Leaves.  Bugs. Fish. People. Beginnings and endings with living in between. This speaks quietly to my soul.

Now add feelings. Shattered hearts.  Despair. Add anticipation. Add questions.  Why’s. Add the wondering about the order of things. Expectations. Add mystery. This life-death thing is complicated for the human body, mind, and spirit.

Prior to Mark’s death, the death that made life feel uncertain, unsafe in the world, was when our 3-year-old neighbour drowned. Our son was about 2 ½.  One day they were toddlers peering through the gaps between the fence boards. Then, in the blink of an eye she was no longer there.

This death led me to Hospice training, volunteering with children who had experienced the death of a loved one, and eventually to working as coordinator of the children’s program at our local hospice.  My soul felt at home while sitting on the floor or around a table and listening to children share feelings and stories and wonder.  About life. About death.

Now back to this virus thing.  What if I die from a virus? Or one of my family? Shouldn’t having a background in nursing with extra training in critical care, having been immersed in death-life thinking through hospice work, and learning about building my immune system through naturopathic medicine keep me safe? Shouldn't I be able to keep my family from death? Shouldn't these life experiences guarantee me a lifetime of at least 85 years? Get me at least to 60? Life has taught me that the answer is, ‘no’. Knowledge can be helpful in navigating, but it's no guarantee of life. 

As I write, part of me wants to fight for control. I want to stop death from happening.  Just for today.  To one more family.  One more person.  Me.  Because even though I believe I’ll be reunited with my beloveds who’ve gone before me, I’m not ready to say goodbye to those who are living.  And even though I’m tentative to dream, I want more time for dreams to come true. At least one more trip to Hawaii with my son. Or a coffee together. Time. I want time and togetherness with my people.

So how do I come back to focusing on life?  Through my eyes, this requires that I surrender my fear and what I perceive as an untimely death. I hold on to my faith.  My belief in life after life.  Next, I look to the garden and the Creator behind all things.  Preparing to bloom is a Japanese Snowbell tree whose buds are profuse.  I can hardly wait until they come into full blossom.  I will still want to control how long they stay in fullness, however, by the end of May, once again, I will learn about impermanence. And life.

What has life taught you about life? 

Shaped by Trauma

“You can do the impossible because you have been through the unthinkable.”

Christina Rasmussen

Yes, I can do the impossible, but today I don’t want to.  I am tired. I am fighting this shelter in place thing.  I miss my son.  I miss my mom, my sister, my brother, my nieces and nephews. I miss Mark’s mom.   Nothing since Mark’s death has taken me out. I have moved, walked through my dad’s end of life, become an empty-nester, said goodbye to Reo, and am preparing to say goodbye to Mark’s mom.  But this. I am becoming aware that I need to take care of the frustration, the silent rage – the kind that can destroy one’s heart and cause one to lose hope.  

At the root of my anger is that same sense I had when pieces of Mark’s death investigation didn’t add up.  “I call bullsh*t.” (Yes, I said this.  More than once. I must have learned it from Erin B).  What is really going on behind the scenes?  Why are more doctors and scientists questioning what is being asked of us?

On this brutal and beautiful journey, today I come back to some sense of harmony by what I learned in the months and years following Mark’s death.

Truth. Truth has a way of rising to the surface. A word here, a document there. Clues, like breadcrumbs, along the path.

Surrendering. A big part of my spiritual journey has been learning to surrender to what I couldn’t control.  To what I can’t control.  I’m still learning that.  I’m learning to ask, as Suzanne Stabile says, “what’s mine to do?”  I’ve noticed that I’ve never been asked to be in charge of the world! 

Believing. I do believe in the Spirit of Love and Truth whom I know as God.  I hold on to the belief that Love wins. Truth wins. I’ve seen it over and over.  It’s what sustains me. 

How does this explain suffering? Mark’s traumatic death? Today’s uncertainty?  I’m not a scholar, but here’s what I know from the last 5 plus years. Suffering is a guarantee while I'm on planet earth. I have a choice to become bitter or better.  This Spirit of Love and Truth shapes me if I allow myself to be shaped.  To become more empathetic, to find my voice and speak truth, to ask questions, to seek justice, to be an advocate for another. I see this Spirit of Love and Truth in every encouraging word, every act of kindness, every, ‘how are you?’.  I see it in every act of courage, in the question-askers, in the seekers of truth.  I see it in each of you. Sparks of light in the darkness.

When I doubt, or slide into dark places, I come back to asking, “What if it’s true?”  That there is a Spirit of Love and Truth that hasn’t missed a detail.  This is what I relied on throughout Mark’s death investigation.  Immediate answers didn’t come, but eventually the truth surfaced.  Every detail came to light. In the meantime, I will hold on to, “this, too, shall pass” and wonder how the world and each of us will be shaped.   

How are you managing today? What is sustaining you?

Nicknames; part of me is still Miss Lynda

2012. Mark and I in Maui, celebrating our 26th wedding anniversary early.  Still one of my favourite pictures of us.

This piece is from a Memoir Writing class that I participated in last fall, 2019.

Thankfully, the nickname, “The Little Woman” became “Miss Lynda” at some point.  It was a name that, in my presence, my late husband Mark used most.   Miss Lynda had a tenderness to it with an underlying respect.  After his death, I discovered that amongst his close friends he used, “Leader of the Opposition”.  Though this makes me laugh out loud, the one that sustains me is, “Erin.”

As I passionately reacted, Mark might say ranted, about an injustice in the world, he would respond with, “Yes, Erin”. Being named after Erin Brockovich, the main character in the 2000 movie of the same name, is the highest honour. 

Though I look nothing like her and dress on the conservative end of the spectrum, we share some common attributes.  For example, we are each motivated to seek justice.  While Erin’s focus is on the environment, mine is on restorative justice.

In the movie, based on Erin’s real-life experience, she discovers that when large corporations fail to do the right thing, humans can be impacted in devastating ways.  Critical illness and death are the result of reckless actions.

 In my real-life movie, I discover that when large corporations fail to do the right thing, layers can be added to the trauma that occurs following the unexpected death of loved one.  Added emotional pain is the result of the negligent use of words in a Press Release*.

Erin is confident. She trusts her instincts.  I am less confident but followed my intuition which led to discovery of truth. My instincts proved to be correct.  “This shouldn’t happen to another family” urges me forward. I see this same unspoken motivation in Erin. A deep internal drive that leads to perseverance while seeking truth.

Erin has the courage to use her voice; she continues to advocate even today. A framed card in the location where I write, reminds me to ‘find my voice’ and ‘speak truth into hard spots’.  This, I am still learning.

Erin’s research results mainly in monetary compensation for families impacted by a large corporation. My research results in truth.  Truth is my compensation.

Though it is approaching five years since I last heard Mark call me, “Erin,” it is written on my soul. I follow the real Erin Brockovich on Facebook, and when I need encouragement to keep going, I watch media clips.  Who knew that Mark’s perception and one nickname would give me the confidence and doggedness to pursue truth about the investigation of his death.  “Erin” has shaped me and is still impacting me today. 

Who has positively contributed to helping you become?

(*a Press Release correcting Mark's location was posted to the Langley RCMP Newsroom on February 24, 2020)

Life. Brutal & Beautiful.

It looks like I opened up a blog in 2016, but never created a post. Writing is one of the pieces that got me through the months and years after Mark was killed.  I’ve hesitated to blog as I didn’t know what direction to go in. "Just begin" came to mind.  I have no idea how this will unfold. Let's see...


Today I needed to see a picture of my family at what is often called,  the happiest place on earth.  We visited in 2009 for the first time.  The past five years have taught me that the brutal can take over and have me miss out on the memories that make me smile the most.  This is one of those memories.  On top of Disneyland experiences, Mark and our son Brady enjoyed trips to explore car restoration places. Mark arranged for us to see John Fogerty in concert at the Hollywood Bowl. It was truly magical.

The Brutal.  On January 15, 2015, Mark took our border collie Reo for a walk in the neighbourhood. Reo returned, leash intact, and sat on the doorstep barking.  Mark had been hit from behind.  He died at the scene. The scene was the only way in and out of our subdivision where we lived together for 24 years less one day.

The Beautiful stepped in immediately.  Yes, right there in the midst of the brutal a member of the local fire department attending the scene offered to drive me to the hospital.  He stayed by my side as I identified Mark's body and waited for family to arrive.  The Beautiful arrived when my neighbour Barb came to sit with Reo while our son and Mark's brother left for the hospital.  More of The Beautiful showed up at the hospital in family and friends.  The Beautiful continued to make it's way into our home with friends and family and Mark's co-workers, his firefighter family, who showed up every day for the 13 days it took to wait for the celebration of his life. The Beautiful was in
an abundance of food and flowers and beautiful words written in cards and on notes. The Beautiful was several helpers for the required paperwork that follows a death.  The Beautiful brought a B.C. Alberta Guide dog named Janson into our lives.  The Beautiful created ‘Joy on Friday’s’ - Janson’s training days.  The Beautiful stayed and remains today.  I only need to view my contact list and know that I'm never alone.

What has life taught you about brutal & beautiful things?