Erin's Journals

Just a thought… When you lose, don’t lose the lesson. [Dalai Lama]

Well hello, gentle reader – I hope it’s been a refreshing long Easter weekend for you and that you’ve caught your breath, getting ready for this new month of April with all of its ups and downs, including switching from heat to A/C and back to heat in the course of one drive.

This week Rob and I will be taking off on a birthday adventure for my boy, who’s turning an impossible-to-believe 70 years old this Thursday the 4^th.

Here he is after winning the “coveted” Golden Sieve Award at a hockey tournament a few weeks back. While he was humble in accepting it, I was just so proud of Robbie. Best goalie; forever keeper of my heart.

I had hoped to whisk him away for a romantic couple of days in Banff or something equally magical, but then I stopped and actually listened to what he wanted for this milestone: to return to Henderson, Nevada, and stay for ten days of mindless fun.

I’ve told you here before that we prefer Vegas-adjacent Henderson to the excitement of the strip and now we have even more reasons: hotels are actually charging for parking there, plus there are fewer of the nickel machines on which we like to play our video poker. Perhaps best of all, our dear friend (and my former radio partner) Mike Cooper is flying in for a few days to laugh with us, cry with us (not over losing) and just enjoy each other’s company. Rob is over the moon with excitement. And of course, so am I.

What I am decidedly not excited about is once again giving WestJet our travel money: in January we were waylaid for eight hours and our itinerary altered to include a few hours’ sleep in Edmonton before six of us, including two children, flew on to our family vacation in California. We appealed to WestJet to reimburse us the money we lost, even if only on the accommodations and wasted day of car rental and they have not only declined our request (twice), but have closed the file, telling us to take it to the snail-paced government body that handles these things.

I posted about my disappointment with our former favourite carrier last week on social media, having exhausted all otherwise civilized means of seeking compensation. People in general were helpful with their suggestions (one said that he moved up about four spots in the government appeal line-up over the span of months, so really, why bother?) and someone else brought up small claims court. (If we were at all litigious, we’d have sued ourselves into financial oblivion over Domperidone being prescribed off-label for nursing mothers, a practice which we believe may have killed our daughter.)

Honestly, though, I was more disappointed than anything: we really thought WestJet would come through and do the right thing. But as much as passengers’ rights are being touted these days, it seems we’re seeing less and less proof of them. Like so many other carriers, WestJet simply doesn’t care. That’s not including so many of their kind employees; we’ve all had a lot of really positive experiences with them. But once again, as in the case of so many corporations who have lost their perspective on the importance of customer service, WestJet has just given us the equivalent of the middle finger. Twice.

So this Thursday we’re hoping that the airline treats us decently in our direct flight to Harry Reid International. We just want to get there with our one suitcase apiece (no carry-on for 10 days, thanks) and arrive the same day we’re picking up Cooper at the airport. Why give WestJet yet another chance to foul up our plans? We live on Vancouver Island, and it’s the only airline that offers a direct flight to LAS. You grab those when you can.

One other note: many who responded, some more kindly than others, reminded us of the importance of travel insurance. During Covid, and at times when we were worried about having to cut short trips due to family matters, we would buy it; now, being healthy and unconcerned with external worries, we don’t pay the extra money because we figure WE will be fine. But a plane losing engine functionality when it taxis out to the runway and has to turn back, leaving us to wait eight hours for another flight? That wasn’t on our Bingo card in January.

Turns out it should have been. No more booking travel without insurance, ever. Lesson learned.

For a happy ending, please enjoy a brand new Drift tomorrow night as I introduce you to a story from L. Frank Baum (of Wizard of Oz fame) called The Sea Fairies. And on Thursday, Lisa Brandt and I promise you a brand new Episode 67 of Gracefully and Frankly. Do give them a listen if you have time; I promise they’re worth the 30 minutes (each) and can almost guarantee satisfaction – no insurance needed.

New journal (with Cooper pics, I promise) next Monday!

Just a thought… Some days there won’t be a song in your heart. Sing anyway. [Emory Austin]

Well, it’s been a week. I mean, not just since I sat down to share a few thoughts here with you, but a WEEK. You know what I mean.

The alpaca farm getaway was an almost total success. The weather turned chilly and rainy on Thursday but then Friday Rob arrived to the tiny cabin and everything brightened considerably. Plus, having used up all of the Cobb salad ingredients I brought and ate for five straight evenings while warming up ingredients on the outside grill (there was no kitchen or microwave in the cabin), it was nice to go out for dinner two nights in a row.

I was not disconnected from family, friends and social media and did post a short video of me being surprised by the rather rude utterances of one of the alpacas. They were docile and lovely and it was a pleasure to overlook a yard with five of them, a few barns and a duck pond, with the Washington state Olympic mountain range in the background. Here’s our favourite, whom we nicknamed Ringo.

There were a few gentle outings: one day I made the short drive to Sooke and walked along the gorgeous Rotary pier there. It was a perfect day to shoot pictures and think of Lauren (whose 33^rd birthday was yesterday), while singing “Long and Winding Road.” Lead me to your door, indeed.

Most of my week was spent editing and producing new Drift with Erin Davis sleep story recordings, and last week’s Gracefully and Frankly Episode 65, as well as a best-of show that’s coming up in April when Rob and I are away for his birthday. I read two books and watched an entire series (Guy Ritchie’s The Gentlemen) on Netflix.

So, as we pulled into our driveway yesterday, I felt I’d accomplished everything I needed to do while I was away. Most of all, I came back well-rested and happy to be here.

There was something happening on the family front that caused a great deal of worry, but I’ll tell you first and foremost that the person at the centre of it is doing much better today.

Dad, who turns 91 in June, wasn’t feeling himself on Monday. He was taken to hospital in Kelowna and we learned he had suffered a mild heart attack. He recovered gently and, as of this writing, was expected to be released back into daughter Leslie’s care today.

A flurry of thoughts accompanied that message from Les that he was on his way to the hospital, not the least of which was, Okay, this could be it. And we’re all at peace with that eventuality, having seen Dad deteriorating for the last few years, as the tightening grip of dementia has pulled him away from us. But it seems that his physical strength and otherwise good health will keep his body with us for a while longer, even though his mind continues to fade away.

I wanted to tell you, though, about what he did when they carefully put him into the ambulance. In a nutshell, this is my father right down to his last cell. It’s also how I manage to be that person who’s always looking on the bright side, continuing to seek reasons to be grateful and counting blessings instead of losses. I know I’ve been blue the last few weeks but underneath it all is a sense that we’ve got this. We’ll change what we can and let go of what we cannot.

Here’s the scene: covered in a blanket, his gurney is lifted into the ambulance. And dad is SINGING.

He’s always finding a line from a song that fits a situation. For the life of her, Leslie can’t remember what song he was sharing and I would love to think it was “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder…” (totally fitting for a former Air Force and commercial pilot, and a tune he’s been known to burst into). And it’s so totally DAD. Make no mistake: he knew what was happening in the moment. And he chose to sing.

So often my sisters and I credit our mother with our strength: when one of the coven had a biopsy recently with the possibility of a cancer diagnosis, she said that she was worried for a bit and then decided that she’d have to wait and find out, and in the meantime there wasn’t a thing she could do about it, so she “chilled.” She took the stoic route. (And thankfully the outcome was negative!) I made the comment to her: “It’s a good thing we’re made of tough stuff…” and it is.

But you know, that resiliency, if I may be so bold, isn’t just from the strength and pragmatism that our mother drilled into us. It comes, too, from that eternal internal sunshine of our father.

Isn’t it amazing how, even in the throes of something like dementia, our parents can continue to teach us lessons?

Just a thought… On your darkest days do not try to see the end of the tunnel by looking far ahead. Focus only on where you are right now. Then carefully take one step at a time, by placing just one foot in front of the other. Before you know it, you will turn that corner. [Anthon St. Maarten]

Welcome to the final full day of winter. With spring’s arrival tomorrow, pat yourself on the back; you’ve made it through another one. And although many Canadians aren’t quite out of the wintry woods yet, there’s hope on the horizon. I’m relieved to tell you that the weather has finally pulled out of the grey and rainy doldrums here on southern Vancouver Island, and we’re feeling as bright as the daffodils that are dotting gardens and washing fields in their sunny yellows.

That is almost exactly how I was not feeling last week when I begged your indulgence and didn’t post a journal. And while I’ve struggled to deal with a bout of depression and overall sadness, I’ve also resorted to one of my favourite things: last-minute escape.

Our therapist reminds me that running away doesn’t solve a problem, and of course I know that; as Jon Kabat-Zinn wrote “Wherever you go, there you are.” But sometimes one needs a change of scenery to reset (and I’ll be taking my copy of this book with me).

For me this week, that scene change is a country cottage in Sooke, BC (one of my favourite places on southern Vancouver Island) that is a few minutes’ drive from the ocean and also happens to be on an alpaca farm. I mean, what is not to like about that? I’ll find out, and you’ll hear more this Thursday when Lisa Brandt and I talk about it, as I’ll be doing my part of Gracefully and Frankly episode 65 from there. The hosts assure me that the WiFi will let me do what I need to, and I’ll bring plenty of work (editing, writing, etc.) to do while I’m away. I’ve also downloaded three books.

Of course, in addition to leaving Rob, Livi and Dottie behind, I’ll also be missing this Thursday’s visit with our dear, dear friend Mira.

I know I haven’t mentioned her lately, but she’s doing well, is healthier than anyone might hope to be at 98 years old and is one of the bright spots in our week that doesn’t include grandkids.

Our visits are just so filled with love – from the hugs at the door to the kisses as we depart a few hours later – that we can’t imagine a week without seeing Mira. And now we’ve managed to add to her joy with yet another furry face on our visits.

Mira loved when we introduced Dottie (who’ll be two years old on the weekend, on Lauren’s birthday Sunday), and was even more delighted when Livi joined our family. Far more chill than Dot, but somehow less shy, Livi and Mira have bonded in a way none of us could have predicted. I mean, look at these two!

Mira wishes she could keep the dogs for us when we go away, but of course she’d want to walk them, and I find it challenging sometimes to manage these two on their leashes, never mind Mira’s use of a walker and her occasional unsteadiness. But visits fill her need for puppy love and she couldn’t believe that after a lifetime of never letting a dog lick her face, she was allowing just that during our last visit.

How could she resist? When we open the elevator door to her condo home in downtown Sidney, we unleash the dogs and they just tear down the hall to greet Mira, who’s waiting there in the open doorway. One day I should video it for you. What a sight to behold: sheer unfettered joy in so many ways!

And as much as I’ve not really felt like getting dressed or going out, that time we spend delivering prepared meals to (and ultimately visiting for a few hours with) our Mira reminds us that we’re here not just for ourselves but for each other. And when we feel like it – not when someone tells us to – we can count ourselves lucky for those true heart connections.

Have a beautiful spring. May the weather reflect the calendar for you sooner than later, and we’ll talk to you tomorrow on Drift with a new story (The White Cat) and the our aforementioned upcoming alpaca adventures with Lisa on Thursday’s G&F. Take good care. Get your face licked.

Just a thought… A happy life is not a life without struggle, it’s a life of meaningful struggle. [Mark Manson]

This is a day on the calendar that I always said, in my corny fashion, tells you what to do: March Forth! Of course, I’m using a homonym there, but bear with me; it sets the table for this week’s blog.

It was five years ago this week that this book came out (followed by soft cover in 2020) and went to #1 on the Globe and Mail non-fiction best-sellers’ list.

Like much of our lives, its publication and reception still feel like a dream, and one for which I will never stop being grateful. I was tempted to try to pitch a 5^th anniversary update, but you know most of them: my stint in rehab to try to get my self-medicating under control, and to deal with the reasons behind my drinking, the life-after-radio developments that include three podcasts, one of which has branched into video. They’re all accomplishments of which I’m proud and, again, extremely grateful.

But there was a little icing on my book’s fifth birthday cake last week, when this arrived in the mail.

Last year, a tweet alerted my Gracefully and Frankly podcast partner Lisa Brandt (also an author) and me to a program offered through the Canada Council for the Arts. It tallies how many times a writer’s work has been taken out or downloaded to read or listen to from the library and then provides compensation. I didn’t expect anything this year, and I was delighted to realize that people (like you) are still sharing in our story.

So I wanted not to take this time to boast or gloat (hopefully you know that’s not my style) but to thank you. To each person who shared their copy of my book or recommended it to someone who had lost a loved one, especially a child: thank you. We (and I say “we” as Rob was an integral part of this book’s creation and success) only wanted readers to know that there is hope and life after loss, that they’re not alone in what they encounter and that, yes, it does get better or at least the sheer awfulness shifts into ways that are slightly more manageable.

Now, through therapy, I’m realizing that we still have a distance to go as we approach the nine-year mark of Lauren’s death in May. In addition to the message we share, we still feel a huge responsibility to make sure that prescriptions for the drug that is pushed on struggling nursing mothers like Lauren are accompanied by the proper testing to make sure they don’t suffer from Long QT or other undiagnosed heart ailments.

Domperidone was even mentioned in last week’s episode of The Good Doctor when Sean’s wife considered taking it. Thankfully, her husband said it wasn’t recommended in the US, (though she pointed out that it’s used in Canada and Mexico). I wish the writers had used the word BANNED, because it is banned in the US, but thank you to those folks who emailed me to give us the heads up that it was part of the show’s discussion.

The fact that you’ve accompanied us on this road, shared our story and given us support, concern and kindness is never taken for granted.

We will always choose gratitude; it’s the only way we’re surviving whatever life still throws at us.

As you March Forth, may your triumphs – whatever their size – far outnumber your challenges.

Just a thought… My grandchildren believe I’m the oldest thing in the world. After two or three hours with them, I believe it too. [Gene Perret]

I’m writing you in the midst of hosting a seven-night Banana Camp.

Send supplies:

• • Four Crates of Sleep

  • A Costco-sized Flat of Energy Reserves

  • A Backpack of Patience

Thank you.

Last week our grandkids’ mom, Brooke, and her husband had to fly back to Ontario to attend to family matters; it’s our opportunity to attend to theirs here.

Wednesday of last week, the kids had their first of seven sleep-overs. Just to remind you, Colin is now nine years old, while Jane is four-going-on-fourteen. Both are great kids: well-behaved and good humoured, loving and compatible with each other. And they both go-go-go from about 7 am until they drop at 9 pm.

In between a ball hockey play date and a Lego museum visit, a theatre movie and numerous TV baseball and hockey games, the kids have kept themselves busy between meals with playing, arguing occasionally (mostly about made-up rules for made-up games) and creating piles of laundry.

Add to the cacophony a third dog – their Sammy – and we have controlled chaos as well as reminders every hour why humans usually become parents in our twenties and thirties, when our energy reserves are easily double.

Grandparenting is a whole different level of joy, fatigue – and yes – of stress. There are rules to learn and try to adhere to, years of parenting experience that both help and hinder, and the dance of making sure the kids are being spoiled, but not so badly that their parents will have days of de-Banana-ing ahead of them!

I do have to share with you an email my podcast partner Lisa Brandt and I got from a listener named Pauline. If it hadn’t come from someone we trust, I would think it was some internet hoax. But we’ve written back and forth with Pauline, and this is legit. Be careful you don’t get whiplash from shaking your head so hard. Here we go:

Lois is over 70 and her son at 45 married recently and they will be having a baby girl next month. As you can imagine Lois is counting the days when she can hop on a plane and visit the family when her granddaughter arrives. Before she arrives, however, she was given a list of do’s and don’ts.

1. 1. No kissing the baby for the first 6 months.

   2. She is not to say the baby is cute or beautiful or make a comment on any physical attributes the baby might have. They will raise this child to focus on her mental abilities and not her physical looks. They made it clear this is the only way to raise a daughter in a ‘man’s world’.

   3. This child will not be watching television nor grow up with a cell phone.

   4. Lois is not to make suggestions or give advice on how to raise this child or old fashioned talks on ‘how it was done in her day’… as they have read all the books.

   5. Lois is not to direct questions to the new mother as she will be too busy with the baby. All questions i.e. ‘where’s the coffee mugs?’ are to be directed to her son. He will be around during this visit to answer any questions Lois may have. and the list went on….

I won’t lie – we encountered at least one rule from our own daughter that made us roll our eyes so hard we couldn’t see straight for days. (That rule was rescinded in fairly short order.)

To Lois and anyone else facing declarations from new parents, my only advice is to smile and nod and do your best. It’s always the best approach if somehow you screw up and inadvertently test the limits. Keeping peace and bonds between you and your children and grandchildren is always the most important thing.

Footnote: last week I mentioned the contents of this email to an acquaintance with a four-month-old strapped to her chest. She said no, she’d never heard of the “no kissing” rule, but said that she and her husband had not read one book about parenting and were doing it by heart. In a time of parents doing things according to the latest book, going back to instincts seems a revolutionary stance! But as long as the kids are loved, well-fed and cared-for (which includes fully vaccinated), isn’t that truly the most important part of parenting?

One More Footnote (or feetnote, now that we’ve got two): Carly said she has lost count of how many times she’s been offered Domperidone, the drug that our daughter was taking in her efforts to help her nurse Colin when her heart stopped. Carly thinks of us every time. Please talk to your nursing daughters about its potentially dangerous side effects.