I know...

I’ll never forget the day I got the phone call that every parent dreads.  Lizzie has to go into emergency right now, it said… there’s a problem with her platelets.  I didn’t know much when I got that call, but I knew enough that an issue with her platelets could very possibly mean leukemia.  I know now there are worse words a parent can hear than that one (from second hand knowledge, thank… well, whoever it is you thank for that), but in that moment that was scary enough.

                We had noticed over the last few months that Lizzie seemed to bruise very badly, very easily, and the bruises seemed to linger longer than they should.  This came to a head when she slipped and fell while walking down a stone staircase, bruising herself very badly in the process; these bruises were very deep, and lasted far longer than seemed normal.  We finally took her in to get them checked out, and her doctor ordered blood tests.  It was these test results that caused that phone call; something wasn’t right, and in that moment it seemed like it could be very wrong.

                We figured out pretty quickly that while Lizzie’s condition was serious, it wasn’t nearly as bad as we initially feared.  Nights at the hospital were quickly unnecessary, and we began to spend time (more than we wanted, but less than so many others) at the BCCH Oncology/Hematology clinic, there for a few hours while Lizzie got her treatment.  We have been going there every three, or four, or five, weeks, as needed, for almost six years now, and that time there has made it clear that we are absolutely some of the lucky ones.  So many families, so many stories, all different and yet at the core all fundamentally the same; we do whatever we can, whatever we need to, to make our kids feel better.

                Over our time at BCCH, the stories of two families have stuck out for me, because of personal connections; these families are amazing, their stories tragic, and heartbreaking, and uplifting.   I won’t tell you their stories here;  if you want to read them, they can be found at these two links:  Jasper Mohan (http://jasperupdates.tumblr.com/ ) and Lilee-Jean Whittle-Putt (http://loveforlilee.com/ )

                Jasper was, by every account I’ve ever heard, an amazing young man who could have done whatever he liked in this world; personable, well spoken, hard-working, and absolutely brilliant. He fit more into his 15 years than many will in a lifetime, a statement which sounds so trite, and yet in this case is accurate.  I never actually met Jasper; we were in the clinic at BCCH at the same time one day, and I intended to introduce myself, but he was so busy talking to nurses, and doctors, and parents, and other patients, that I never got a chance.  You could literally feel the room brighten when he walked in, and see the effect he had on so many people in such a short time; again, sounds trite, but true. Everyone knew him, everyone wanted to talk to him, and even then, with what would turn out to be only weeks left in his life, he was up to the challenge, and more.

                Lilee-Jean’s story is one that has hit a little closer to home; I know the family, not well, but as we do in a small town where your parents have taught virtually every kid to graduate in the last 30 years.  LJ has taken a turn for the worse in the last few days, and it looks like her story may be coming to an end all too soon.  All that is left to do now is pray, for those who do; I hope those prayers, of the countless people who are including LJ in theirs, are answered.  Children should not have to go through everything that this amazing, strong, resilient little girl has.

                As a parent, these stories hit a lot closer to home than they otherwise would.  You hug your child a little tighter, tell them you love them a little more often, check on them in the night one more time, as if these things will keep them safe from all the danger the world has to offer.  We do it because it is what we can do, and hope that by controlling what we can, we will keep them safe.

                I found out pretty early on that there were things beyond my control, that we can’t protect them from the dangers that lurk in their own bodies.  I am one of the lucky ones, though; my daughter is bright, and cheerful, and in almost every way perfectly healthy.  She is growing like a weed, growing up way too fast, and becoming more and more amazing each and every day.  Taller, cheekier, funnier, smarter; more her, more the person that she is going to become, and I am thankful every day that I get to see it.

Because I know what it’s like to get a phone call from the doctor, telling you that your perfect little child isn’t perfect, and there may be something terribly wrong.

I know what it’s like to sit on a hospital bed while doctors poke and probe your child, doing their best but scaring and hurting your child, with you unable to do a damn thing.

I know what it’s like to lay awake through the night in a hospital bed, your child sleeping beside you, while you wonder if tomorrow is going to be the day you get the bad news, even as you hope it will be good.

I know what it’s like to check on your child in the night, almost afraid to look because you are afraid something has gone wrong, something very specific and real.

I know all of these things and a million more, things that 9 years ago it never even crossed my mind that I would have to learn.  And in spite of knowing these things… no, that’s not right.  I think it’s even more because of these things I know, I know that when it comes to circumstances like this, I don’t know a single goddamn thing.

Andrew and Chelsey, my thoughts and prayers are with you.  Stephen and Barb, I am so sorry for your loss. 

               

               

Moving On

I sit here in my living room, looking out at the view that I grew used to, but never indifferent to, and try to wrap my head around the fact that 4 days from now it will no longer be my view.  For six and a half years we’ve enjoyed a breathtaking location in the best part of one of the most beautiful cities on earth.  Sunrise, sunset, ocean, beaches, Stanley Park, and of course, downtown Vancouver, set against the backdrop of the North Shore mountains.  I’m sure there are better views around, but ours is pretty hard to beat.  Our place has its flaws, lots of them, but moving out of this apartment is extremely difficult.

As hard as it is to move out of the apartment, leaving my city is going to be even harder.  I’ve lived in Vancouver for 14 years, and in that time it has become home.   Like my country, it’s far from perfect, but there’s nowhere on earth I would rather live.  So many people see nothing but the flaws in this city:  it rains too much, it’s too expensive, the people are cold and unfriendly; it might all be true (although if you have a hard time talking to people, perhaps the first place to look is in the mirror), but if all you’re going to focus on is the negatives, then it doesn’t matter where you live, because everywhere has flaws.

Two events over the last few years made me realize just how much Vancouver had become my home, how much I cared about my city.  The first was the Olympics, when we hosted the world in one of the highest profile events a city and a country can hold.  Like everyone else, I watched in horror as tragedy struck even before the Games started, and like everyone from around here, I was disappointed but not surprised as warm weather and rain threatened to derail the events on opening weekend.  The Glitch Games, they were dubbed, possibly the worst Olympics ever before we were three days in… at least that was according to the London tabloids, those noteworthy purveyors of high-quality journalism.

Even as all this was happening, though, the feeling on the streets was different.  All day, every day, the city was full of people from all over the world, locals, tourists, officials, and athletes, mixing together to give the city an atmosphere that gradually began to overcome the initial problems.  By the final day, as thousands gathered in the streets, celebrating the golden goal and breaking into more spontaneous renditions of Oh Canada than I ever thought possible, the question was no longer are these the worst games ever, but are they the best ones to be held. .. and those of us from here no longer even cared that the question was being asked.  We had shown the world our best: our beauty, our personality, our resilience, and our pride of place. 

Of course, that pride took a beating not much more than a year later, as we showed the world the dark side of our city.  After our Canucks took us on a wild ride that sadly ended one win short of the promised land, the frustration of a region (for as anyone who rode Skytrain or tried to drive into the city that day can attest, it was far more than just Vancouver at work on that night) boiled over, and was set ablaze by a few assholes intent only on wreaking havoc.  Mob mentality took over, and we watched in horror as our city’s storefronts, any vehicles in the mob’s path, and our civic pride, were smashed and set ablaze by a few hundred drunken, foolish people, even as thousands more stood aside and let it happen, or caught it on their phones.  I sat at home watching the news in disbelief, almost sick to my stomach as my city was ravaged.

Of course, even before the fires had been put out, Vancouver was making plans to wipe this smear from its streets, if not from its heart.  Thousands of people, armed with whatever cleaning supplies they could gather, descended upon downtown to repair the damage, physical and emotional.  I headed down as soon as I could after work the next morning, and gladly joined in to help with the last of the cleanup, and add my message to the others that appeared on the plywood covering the broken windows on The Bay, and Chapters, and all the other stores that had suffered at the hands of the mob.  Again and again, the same message appeared:  THIS is my Vancouver.  Not the mob from the night before, but this one that had appeared in the morning, gathering to repair as best we could the destruction we had suffered.

And now, even as I sit in a living room that has been almost emptied, looking at a stack of boxes that will soon be loaded up and taken to a new city, I prepare to begin a new phase.  The timing seems perfect, considering the milestone birthday that is three weeks away, and the pending start of my first full school year as a teacher.  This new life won’t include walking down the hill to go for a walk at Kits Beach, or sitting on the deck watching the sun set over the ocean, but that’s ok… it will include my family, and a budding career that I love, and a million new adventures to find.  I’m sad to leave, but excited for a new start… it’s time.

Daddy, What Was That?

There was no reason why that moment should have resonated with me more than any of the million other questions a kid asks of their parents.  We were playing cards, just before my daughter went to bed, when the 9:00 gun went off in Stanley Park.  As she’s done so many times before, she turned to me and asked, “Daddy, what was that?”  As I answered the question, I was struck by the utter confidence she had that I would know what the noise had been; her Daddy would know, that look said, and he would explain it to her. 

In a way that moment was no big deal, just another question; and yet at the same time, it was a microcosm of what parents go through countless times, every single day.  Our children look at us as the people who solve problems, know things, and make things better.  Sooner or later (and it seems to be getting sooner and sooner these days) they will realize that their parents don’t know everything, can’t do everything, and can’t fix everything.  We try to hold on to that illusion for as long as we can, knowing that inevitably it will fade.  They will start to ask their friends, or their teachers, or look it up on the phones that are becoming increasingly ubiquitous, even in elementary schools (why an 11-year old needs to be texting their friends at 10 AM on a Tuesday I’ll never understand, but that’s a different post altogether). 

What I’m realizing I need to do, as time passes, is to eventually replace that blind faith kids have in their parents with clear-eyed trust and confidence.  I’m not a conditional parent, one that’s there if it’s convenient, or when she’s making all the right decisions.  I’ll be there no matter what.  The questions will get more difficult, Daddy will (sadly) become Dad, and my little girl will get bigger and bigger, there’s nothing I can do about any of those things.  What I hope never changes, what I will make sure as best I can never changes, is the trust in her voice and on her face when she asks me those inevitable questions.

A Word for 2013

I sit here relaxing on the couch with Lisa, after a long and enjoyable day with my little girl, another day filled with the laughter and joy that always seem to mark my ‘Lizzie days.’  This one felt extra-special, for some reason… perhaps because it was a bonus day, an extra one that was a direct result of me having the extended Christmas holidays that come with being a teacher.  I am a teacher… those words still sound a little weird, about as weird as the thought that I’m no longer a Starbucks employee.  It’s awesome, amazing, still a little scary at times, and still a little weird… not that I’d change it, of course, but I’m not entirely used to it yet… 13 years is a long time.

After putting Lizzie to bed, I was puttering around on the computer, and saw my mom’s open question about people’s word for 2013.  Words of inspiration, of purpose, have never really been my thing, although I can certainly see the value in them.   I’m not sure why I decided it was time to join in on the conversation, although reading my Aunt Sherri’s blog about her word for 2013 (peace) certainly played a part in my decision.

The list of words people put down as theirs for 2013 were amazing and inspiring:  compassion, kindness, courage, respect, adventure… all great words, and yet not words that struck a chord with me personally.  At first the prospect seemed daunting… so many words, so many possibilities.  And then a word came to mind, one that in a way seemed perfect, but also one that I thought I should look up, to see exactly what it meant.  Of course, when I looked it up, it was absolutely the perfect word for this year, for this point in my life.

I’ve had a rough couple of years, in some ways… struggles with work, with school, with time, with life in general have at some points seemed overwhelming.  I was buried by a lot of things, and getting through one day at a time was often a struggle.  “Survive” seemed to be the word of the year, again and again… but those days are behind me now.  The end of 2012 has seen a number of changes in my life, and 2013 will see many more, but these are all positive changes, changes of growth and opportunity.  My days of surviving are behind me.

With that thought in my head, I looked up the word “thrive.”  It seemed fitting, seemed like a good word for where I am right now, but I wanted to be sure.  It had a number of meanings, and each one seemed better than the last.  “Make steady progress”  “Be at the high point of one’s career or historical importance” “Grow vigorously.” 

In so many ways I feel like I’m on the verge of all those things, but especially the last.  I am going to grow vigorously in 2013… do more of the things that I love to do, get back to the things in my life that bring me joy.    I was an avid skier for a while, but for some reason that I can’t remember now, I got away from it… I’ve said for years that I wanted to get back into it, but it’s not the cheapest activity in the world, especially when you’re a full-time student with no ski equipment.  Season after season passed, and each year I said I hope next year is my year.  Well, this year will be that year… I went up for the first time since the 90s last week, and loved it… I’m going again on Friday, will buy my first season’s pass later this year, and if all goes well will be taking Lisa and Lizzie up with me by the end of the year. 

It’s a small thing, in the big picture, but it seems huge right now, because it’s so representative of where I was, and where I am.  I wanted to ski for years, but felt like I couldn’t, felt like it was an impossible dream, something that I would maybe get to down the road, when things were different.  Well, they are different now, and I couldn’t be happier about it.  To hell with what happened before.  I am exactly where I want to be.  It’s my year to thrive.