Erin's Journals

With your gentle permission and understanding, I’m going to take the rest of this week as one to rest my mind and be back with a new journal and video journal for you on Monday.

Some good news though: my father’s nurses Wednesday night said he was doing well, making jokes and a “total sweetheart” so it sounds like dear ol’ Dad is on the mend and possibly on his way home.

Take good care and I’ll be back here after the weekend. In the meantime, I post daily at www.facebook.com/erindavispage.

And thank you.

Hugs, E.

Just a thought… Live so that when your children think of fairness, caring and integrity, they think of you. [H. Jackson Brown Jr.]

As usual, you can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

And it’s Monday; we made it through another Mother’s Day, but it’s my Dad who’s on my mind these days.

If you visit my Facebook or Instagram page (and thank you for that) you may have seen that I mentioned in connection with Nurses’ Day and Week that I’m grateful to the nurses at Kelowna General Hospital, especially Taylor, with whom I spoke briefly the other night.

My dad has been in there, first in a corner of the trauma ward and then in the Covid ward, for 10 days now. That’s a long time to be hospitalized in these days of scarce beds, which tells you what level of severity we’re talking. While Dad’s still on “room air,” as they call breathing without oxygen mask or intubation, his problem stems from a wicked infection that coincided with his Covid diagnosis. And so he’s become delusional. He thought it was 2013. And as much as I’d be happy to go back there myself, that’s not a good sign.

So we wait. My two sisters in the BC interior aren’t able to visit Dad because of Covid; does he know we want to visit or why we’re not there? Cindy and I are afar and awaiting any kind of news, like what happens next? He was living happily, mostly independently, until now, but if this infection double-whammy leaves deeper dementia in its wake, we’re talking about a whole new level of care.

The rumour mill has not a few, but dozens of cases of Covid in my dad’s residence. Of course, we’ll never know how or where he got it, but his lady friend also has it, and she’s missing my dad something fierce.

As I say, we all wait. Every morning I awaken to the dread of a message or a call with news I don’t want to hear, but am honestly expecting. Or, they are discharging him and we have to figure out what steps to take next in our father’s care.

All of this is so unfair. Not that Covid has hit our family; millions of children and loved ones have been through exactly what we’re experiencing right now. But that we’re being told to get on with our lives, and people are choosing not to mask, when the virus and its variants are still flexing their muscles. I know we can’t put life on hold forever, but when you weigh that against a life gone forever, it makes wearing a mask just such a small price to pay for someone else’s health.

I don’t know. Sorry not to be cheerier today. It’s just that kind – this kind – of week. I hope to be back with you Thursday.

Just a thought… I don’t regret the things I’ve done; I regret the things I didn’t do when I had the chance. [Author unknown]

I’m calling this one “Buy the Damned Card” and you will know why once you’ve read or watched. I say ‘watched’ because you can see a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Mother’s Day is a few days off. Maybe you’re expecting a card, maybe you’re sending one. Maybe you feel like you have more than one mom so you’re buying that other person a card; we picked up one for Mira to give her today.

Maybe you’re talented like my sister and you make cards. She made this…

…and it was so pretty that I cut the front off so I can use it on a gift for someone else. I have such trouble throwing away gorgeous cards.

Maybe your mom has died and you wish she was here so you could buy or make her a card. That would be me.

And maybe you’re like me in that you aren’t expecting a Mother’s Day card because the person who would have sent you one is no longer here. There is no Happy Mother’s Day; it’s just a Sunday that happens to be a special one for a lot of women. And I honour all mothers for that, including our daughter-in-law Brooke on her special day as mother to Colin and Jane.

But let me tell you about the one card I regret not sending: it was to the same person I regret not getting one from. Stay with me here.

When Lauren was celebrating her first Mother’s Day, I thought: Well, she’s not my mom, and my mother never sent cards to her daughters who were moms – she’ll get one from Colin through Phil. So I didn’t send one. Now, 7 years on, I regret not sending that card with a depth of feelings that really isn’t logical. But feelings so rarely are.

Lauren didn’t send me one that year either. Wrapped in difficulties trying to feed Colin – a problem that led her to take a prescription that we believe stopped her heart (Domperidone or Motilium if you’re not familiar with our story; please get your heart checked if this drug is prescribed for you) – I’m sure she just didn’t have a chance to get out and buy one. We did our social media thing that day and shared loving tweets.

As you likely know by now, she died in the hours after her first Mother’s Day.

For weeks, I hoped against hope that a card from her would show up in our condo mailbox, just one more bit of proof that she was here, that we shared a life, that my daughter loved me. It never came.

I am grateful to have a plastic zip-up bag, repurposed from a bedding set, that I keep those cards in – those tokens of love and creativity from childhood on.

But if you’re holding back, it’s not too late. Just buy the damned card. Someone once wisely said, “What is grief, but unexpressed love?” Don’t add another reason to grieve, ever. Buy it. Make it. Send it. Email it. Make the phone call. You will not regret it, and how often in life do you get a promise like that?

Happy Mother’s Day. I’ll be back with you on Monday.

Just a thought… So I was having a garage sale and there were three pair of jeans out – size 8, size 10 and size 12. A woman asks me, ‘Do you have a size 14?’ I said, ‘I’m wearing them. Come back next year.’ [author unknown]

You can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

Welcome to our first journal of May. And why does that joke fit? Well, our neighbourhood’s annual yard sale was advertised widely on social media and with signs on major roadways near our place a week ago.

We didn’t have a lot to sell: Rob and I have given away almost everything we could find over the last year, as I proudly represent and give to Declutter.Diabetes.ca (of which I’ll be reminding you in the days ahead). But a week ago Saturday, with just a few days’ notice and on the heels of Rob having done some massive basement organizing, it seemed a great time to pass along some things that we wouldn’t be able to leave at a drop-off location or put in a collection box.

Like what? Things like a colour laser printer that didn’t work after we moved five years ago, but could with a bit of patience. (It was free, after all.) We had four unused speaker stands. An almost-new dog pen, things like that. So we put our stuff in the garage on Friday night, marked prices with painter’s tape and a Sharpie and went to bed.

I couldn’t sleep, thinking about the sale. Why don’t I have a long table? Would we be spending more than we earned if we ran out to buy one in the morning? Stuff like that.

The weather gods, who were not kind during April’s rain and chill, were smiling: it was sunny and breezy. And, boy, did people show up! I’d heard that our neighbourhood sale was big, but I had no idea there would be actual traffic jams on our sleepy little street.

A short night was followed by the first sign that we didn’t know what we were in for: at 8 am Colin told us he’d been looking out his window at all of the people wandering by.

Okay, so the 9 am start was just a suggestion; folks were shopping at 8 am.

We didn’t get one coffee into us before throwing on clothes and sneakers and getting the stuff moved out to the driveway. And right away, people were picking up the things we’d put out. In fact, from 9 ’til about 12 it was steady traffic; we finally gathered up a few of our remaining items, and a couple of things from neighbours, to deliver to Declutter.Diabetes.ca in the weeks to come.

All in all, it was a few hours’ work (not counting the sorting that led up to it) and garnered us enough to make sure it was worth our while. We’re already planning for next year!

One shopper even gave me a tip: she lives in the tony Victoria area neighbourhood of Oak Bay. On their neighbourhood sale day, she puts her stuff out at 6:30 am and the early birds clear it all out; by 8 am she’s shut down and can go spend her newfound earnings on other people’s stuff! I won’t be getting up early enough EVER to do that, and it may not be viewed as fair, either, but it works for her.

Side note: about half the people coming by had on masks. We were careful with distances and hand-washing and took precautions to make sure that we didn’t get or give more than just bargains.

Here’s something we did get: more than one couple introduced themselves as our neighbours. I even met a woman named Valerie who was a former listener from Toronto. It was lovely to meet her face-to-face and when I asked how she knew where I lived, she said she could tell from our views shared here (like the one below) and knew that our area was having a big sale. Then she drove by, spotted me and we connected in person. What a treat!

Return of yard sales. Spring, sunshine and reconnecting. I wish you all of this and more as we immerse ourselves in May. Have a lovely week and I’ll talk to you Thursday.

Just a thought… The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others. [Gandhi]

As always, you can watch a video version of this journal on my Facebook page, or here on YouTube.

This is National Volunteer Week here in Canada and the theme this year is “Empathy in Action.” Another theme I might offer: “Love lives when you give.”

I’ve happily volunteered for different causes throughout my life. I’m not telling you that for a pat on the back or anything, but it’s all part of giving back in thanks for a full and blessed life. Truth be told, early on I volunteered with a bit of selfish suspicion: I hoped that if I helped with causes surrounding breast cancer, children’s health, Easter Seals and so on, maybe I’d be protected from needing those same charities one day. Sounds strange and maybe even selfish, but that was always in the back of my head.

As many will tell you, that’s not how it works. You do it just to do it; not for some magic talisman. But the secret is, it really is good for you. And that message has never come home more loudly and clearly than it has in the person of a little 96-year-old woman who has such a strong grip on my heart, it has brought me to tears.

Every Thursday, Rob and I deliver prepared frozen meals from a community centre to several seniors who have signed up for the service. We are among many people who do this for clients throughout our little area; I’d say we range in age from the younger end like me, maybe up to 80. And we do it with love, time, masks and gloves. But when we signed up for this at the beginning of Covid lockdowns, we never imagined what we would get in return.

For every person to whom we just say “Hi, hope you’re doing well,” there’s someone else who’s happy to have a bit of a longer visit at the door. We’ve had two clients who’ve died in our time delivering and others who have moved on. Doors opening, doors closing.

But one little lady – and I’ve mentioned her before – had me very afraid that we were going to say good-bye three weeks ago.

It began when we got to Mira’s apartment building and there was no answer from the outside keypad. We tried a few times, and then rather frantically called her phone. Still no Mira. A passerby asked who we were looking for, and then told us she’d been taken to the hospital. (Sidney is small; have I told you that?)

Our blood ran cold. He told us to go visit a store a few doors away; Mira’s neighbour and friend volunteers there (as does Mira on Saturdays, if you can believe it) and she was able to tell us that our friend had been coughing something awful and she was taken to hospital. She was there when we spoke to her son, whose number we were glad to have.

That night, Mira came home with bronchitis, refusing to stay at the hospital. She just wanted to be at home. The next week we delivered soup to her and she could hardly talk, her colour was terrible and she was not looking good.

But one week later, she was about twice as good, although only about 80% of her usual good health. Still, just visiting with her for an hour-and-a-half, sharing stories and updates on our adventures and, of course, asking if there was anything – anything at all we could do for her – it was like a dream.

I had honestly started to brace my heart to say good-bye to her. And I hadn’t realized how fragile this heart of mine is. We’ve had losses and good-byes since Lauren died, but Mira has just got me so darned in love with her kindness, her wisdom, her tenderness and compassion and, of course, a story so filled with tragedy and yet gratitude and grace…I don’t even want to think of losing her.

Yes, she’s 96. And two-thirds. Older than Queen Elizabeth. Sharp as anything and winning bridge the weekends she is healthy enough to play. Walking the 1000 steps to get to the grocery store or drug store. Volunteering herself. Beloved by so many that, when she was ill, she was surprised at how full her phone messages and inbox were.

I told her that she is so loved and now she has gotten the gift of hearing it. Many people are praised after they’re gone; Mira has heard it over the past few weeks. And I’m suspecting she really knew it when, while sitting next to her on her lovely little couch, I put my arms around her, my head on her shoulder and tears just started to flow.

I love this woman so much. If the only good thing in our lives to come from volunteering is spending time with Mira, hearing her stories of life in a work camp as an adolescent and teen, her family stories and her day to day thoughts, it would be enough. So much more than enough, as we’ll experience again later today.

Empathy in action? I’ll say. When you volunteer, you truly do get so much more than you give. And on that note – I’ll wish you a gentle final weekend of April.

Back Monday with some garage sale stuff: my very first and so much to learn.