The Maple Leaf Forever

Today for Flag Day the kids and I decided to visit the cemetery and place flags on all of the veteran's graves. The cemetery was closed but we trudged through the snow anyway. It was a beautiful, albeit cold (well Nova Scotia cold) afternoon, but it was worth it.

As a general rule, we don't like being at the cemetery. Seeing Dan's name in granite is a harsh reminder of all that we have lost. But today was different. It wasn't about us, it was about them.

We placed flags on each of their graves and as we did, we paused and read their names.

Arthur. George. Cecil. John. James. Neil. Ralph. Stanley. Gordon. Vernon. Dan.

Husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, friends.

These men (there are no female veterans buried here) devoted their lives to serving our country and to the flag we honour today. So how could we not honour them in return?

It's our responsibility to make sure none of these brave men are ever forgotten. And, maybe, just maybe, others that visit the cemetery will see the red maple leaves and they too will stop and remember, and say their names out loud.

Today my frozen tears were not of sadness but of gratitude. How lucky are we to live in a country with Arthurs and Roberts and Johns and Dans?

We can never thank them enough for all they have done for us and our country. The least we can do is spend an hour with them on a cold winter's day. We owe them that much.

"Our brave fathers, side by side,

For freedom, homes and loved ones dear,

Firmly stood and nobly died;

And those dear rights which they maintained,

We swear to yield them never!

Our watchward evermore shall be

The Maple Leaf forever!"~Alexander Muir

I Could Never Be As Strong As You

"I could never be as strong as you. I could never do what you've done."

So many people have said that to me over the last almost two years. Often I hear it from people I think can handle anything. They seem so strong; they're so self-assured and confident, and yet they doubt they could make it through what I have.

Every single minute of every day someone is experiencing a tragedy; illness, abuse, rape, death. And every single day people rise in the face of these tragedies and not only survive but flourish. And we look at them in awe and say "Not me, I could never survive that. I could never be that strong." Perhaps it's human nature to underestimate what we are capable of.

I used to do the same thing.

Before I was widowed, I only knew one widow my own age. I met her several years ago when she just happened to move in beside us in military housing. In those days, a long time before the war in Afghanistan, there were mercifully few Canadian military casualties. My friend's husband was one of the exceptions. When I met her a few years after her husband's death, she was married to another soldier and moving forward with her life. We didn't talk about the loss of her first husband or her life as a widow. I didn't ask her any questions about it, partially because I didn't want to be intrusive, but also I suppose because I didn't really want to know, ignorance is bliss as they say and by discussing her husband's death, I'd have to acknowledge the possibility that it could happen to mine.

And I was young and naive. Of course, it wasn't going to happen to my husband, the mission he was on in Bosnia was SAFE. I marveled at her strength. She'd not only survived her husband's death but had married another soldier. There was no way I could do that.

I'd never be able to survive if anything happened to Dan, and I certainly would never be able to marry again, let alone to another soldier. I could never, ever be as strong as her.

And then one day my doorbell rang, and I was forced to learn just how strong I can be.

You never know how strong you can be until you have to be that strong.

As I stood at my front window that fateful afternoon, mentally preparing for what I was going to tell our children, I knew that this was NOT the end of my life. Our kids needed their mom, I couldn't let Dan's death take me away from them as well. And as I watched them walking into our driveway, knowing that I was about to break their hearts, I also knew it was up to me to help them put those hearts back together.

My path forward began that afternoon with the acknowledgement that my life was still worth living, even without Dan, as painful as that would be. I was so much more than just his wife and I AM so much more than just his widow. I wanted our children to know that life still had meaning, even without their father.

I knew that my actions would very much influence them. If I was negative, angry and bitter, they would be the same. And that's the last thing that I wanted for them.

I have tried to be a positive example to them since that day. Though there were plenty of times in the first weeks that I had to be stoic, I never wanted them to think being strong meant they always had to be tough and have a stiff upper lip. And for as many times as they saw me being stoic, there were many more times they saw me let the tears flow freely. I have never hidden my tears from them (Seriously what is it about commercials? They get me every time).

But strength isn't just about letting yourself express emotions. Strength is so much more than that.

Being strong means knowing when to ask for help, when to lean on others and also when to stand on your own.

It's not about having all of the answers (God knows I don't have them all, I'm good but I'm not that good).

It's about doing the best you possibly can, and knowing that sometimes you will make mistakes along the way.

Strength is knowing there will be times you fall and that's okay because it isn't really about the fall anyway, it's how you rise afterwards that's important.

And strength is knowing that happiness (or unhappiness) is a choice, no one can make us happy but ourselves.

Strength is owning your happiness.

I recently received a message from a young, newly married military wife. She wanted to let me know how much she admired my strength and courage. And in an echo of a young wife I knew so many years ago, she told me she didn't think that she could be as strong as me. She could never survive if she ever lost her husband, and she definitely didn't think she could get married again, especially not to another soldier.

When I read her message, I realized I had come full circle. And so I told her what I'm sure my friend would have told me all those years ago if I'd had the courage to voice my own fears to her, I told her the truth.

 I survived my husband's death because I made the choice to survive.

I made the choice to accept the unacceptable. I made the choice to move forward with my life. I made the choice to be happy.

And though I may have somehow made it appear easy (I've heard that one a couple of times lately) it's not easy. Life rarely is. Sometimes it's difficult, and stressful, and complicated. But it's also wonderful, amazing and incredibly rewarding.

I hope my young friend never has to learn just how strong she can be, but if she does, I hope she too can make the choice to survive, to accept the unacceptable and to move forward with her life.

I hope that she remembers, even as happiness may seem to forget her for a bit, that happiness is a choice.

Life should be lived, not endured.

Ultimately we are the ones who are responsible for how we respond in the face of tragedy. We can rise up and do our very best, or we can admit defeat.

If we admit defeat, tragedy wins. I refused to let tragedy win.

Something awful happened to my life but my life is far from awful.

Strength is letting go of the life you had planned and embracing the life you do have. And I have done just that.

I may not know how the rest of my life will go, but I do know this. I'm strong enough to live it.

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."~Mahatma Gandhi

You Don't Look Like a Widow

"You don't look like a widow." You'd be surprised at how often I hear that one. I'm never quite sure if I'm supposed to be flattered or offended by that statement. And what exactly does a widow look like? The answer of course is invariably the same: old. The stereotype of the lonely, little old grey haired widow. I'm so glad I got my hair done this week. While it's true the majority of widows in Canada are over the age of 65 (which really isn't old), there are in fact far more widows under the age of 65 then you may realize. And no, you'd never know to look at any of us that we are widows, it's not as if we have a capital W branded on our foreheads after all.

Cancer, war, suicide, accidents. Every single day wives become widows. We come in all ages, ethnicities and religions. Some mothers, some not. Some working, some not. Despite these differences, we are all supposed to fit in the same neat little box called widowhood. But here's the rub: widowhood is not the same for each of us. Being widowed at 43, with three teenage children is not the same as being widowed while pregnant at 24, nor is it the same as being widowed at 83. Having your husband die as a result of cancer is not the same as having your husband die suddenly in an accident. All equally tragic, all equally sad and devastating, and all different. Each widow's story is uniquely hers, and  how we grieve is also unique to each of us. And yet we are still lumped together in one widowhood box, with the same expectations of how we should grieve and when we should move on with our lives.

This may shock you (but I doubt it): I don't much like the widowhood box. I don't like being told how I'm supposed to feel and when I'm supposed to move forward (because you don't move on, you move forward) with my life. The last time I checked, I was an adult who is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. But people still do it, all of the time. At eleven months I was told it was far to early for me to start dating. Too early for whom? Not for me, and shouldn't I be the one making that decision? Ironically, I wasn't even planning a date at that point in time. But you know, just in case.

I actually knew a bit about grieving before Dan died. I'd previously lost both of my grandmothers, whom I loved dearly but their loss was not the same as the loss of my husband and the father of my children. I'd also studied grief in university (studying it and living it are two vastly different things, of course), so I was well aware of the stages of grief. Fortunately for me, I also knew the five stages of grief are bullshit. (You can read why here: No Stages of Grief.) Over the last 40 years, what was meant to be a guideline became an almost absolute. The author Elisabeth Kübler-Ross "constantly stated that the stages didn't all happen and not necessarily in order, if at all." And yet the myth of the stages of grief still persists, a myth that has caused me and many others a helluva lot of grief, for want of a better word.

Thankfully, the majority of the people in my life don't believe in the myth. They were the ones that just let me feel what I felt, they never told me how I should feel. They were the ones assuring me that life would be good again, they were always supportive, always encouraging.

But there are some who are still influenced by the myth of grief. When I made the choice to be happy, I was in denial or I was rushing my grief. When I said I wasn't angry, they assured me I would be. When I said I didn't feel guilty, they told me I would eventually. They seemed to have all of the answers and yet how could they? They're not me. I'm not sure if they are even aware of how much of an extra burden they placed on me. I certainly never told them. I should have. I went to a counselor because I began to believe there was something wrong with me: because I wasn't angry, because I didn't feel guilty, because I wanted to be happy. Think about that. Just stop for a minute and take that in. I thought there was something wrong with me because I wanted to be happy:

When you told me my life was going to be awful, you took away my hope for the future.
When you told me I must feel guilty for being happy, you implied that it was wrong for me to be happy.
When you told me what I should feel, you invalidated everything that I was feeling.

 I'm not sure who my counselor was expecting the day I sashayed into her office, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. She listened to my diatribe for about ten minutes before she raised her hand to stop me (I seriously thought she was going to yell UNCLE). "Monica there is nothing wrong with you, you are perfectly healthy." Silence. "Really? Are you sure? Because I think I might be crazy."  "You are NOT crazy" (don't worry, I was shocked too). When they talk about watershed moments, that was mine. I'm sitting there looking around her office; she has all of the right certificates on the walls, and this wasn't her first trip to the rodeo, so she clearly knows what she's talking about. There is nothing wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm going to be just fine. I have never felt so liberated in my life. It was as if a 40 pound rucksack had been lifted from my shoulders.

 I own my happiness. Me. It's my responsibility. Nobody else can ever make me happy, only I can do that. This may not be the life I planned, but it's my life, and it's up to me to make it a good one. I had to accept Dan was gone and never coming back. I had to let go of what should have been, and accept what is. And (this is the one I struggled with the most) it means that I have to accept there will always be those who will never truly understand my choices, and that's okay, they don't have to, it's not their life. I believe acceptance is the most important thing. When you find acceptance you will find peace. As a wise padre once told me, acceptance catapults us forward. Each of us finds that acceptance in our own time, and in our own way. Grief is as individual as a fingerprint. No two people will ever experience loss in the same way. We can never truly understand someone's loss unless we suffer a similar loss, and even then our grief will be different. We can walk the proverbial mile in some one else's shoes, but our miles will never ever be identical.

I hope you never have to walk that mile, but if you do, I'll be there offering you the hope that someday life will be good again, not perfect, but good (and it will be). And then I'll say something ridiculous to make you laugh. I can't walk that mile for you, but I'll come along if you'd like company. If you don't have the energy to put on your shoes, don't worry, you can lean on me while I help you put them on. If it's winter, I'll probably suggest you wear boots though, oddly enough snow is pretty cold on the toes. But hey, if you really want to wear sandals, I'm good with that too. After all, they're your feet. And it's your mile. It's up to you how you walk it.

Even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about it. ~Jacques Prévert

The Year Is Yours

It's hard to believe another year is almost over. It seems like only yesterday it was New Year's Day and here we are on New Year's Eve. In a blink of an eye, one year done, another set to begin. I tend to be sappy and sentimental anyway but I find I'm even more so at this time of the year. 2015 is a year that I will definitely look back on more fondly than it's predecessor, there were far more good days then bad though it did have it's moment's.

 When I moved into the house in March I was completely overcome by the finality and sadness of it all. I remember standing here, staring at the big empty living room and thinking, "I'm going to spend the next 40 years alone in this giant ass house." And then, as the tears were flowing (I think they were probably gushing like an overflowing creek at this point) my cell phone rang. A friend, who knew before I did how hard that day would be for me, called to remind me that I was never alone and that it was okay to move forward with my life and to be happy. And he was right of course (he often is, but please don't tell him that, I don't want his head to swell too much).

 For months, before I made a decision about anything I would purposely stop and think about what Dan would want me to do. Then one day in April, I found myself standing atop a rocky hill in Scotland. As I stood there I realized that Dan would never want me to spend the rest of my life worrying about pleasing him, he would want me to be happy and live my life. Ultimately, he would want me to follow my heart, trust my instincts and believe in myself the way he always did. And as it turns out, he would approve of all of the decisions I've made since he's been gone anyway (go figure). And so without guilt and without regret, I have moved forward with my life. Some days I take two steps forward and five steps back. Some days I am completely overwhelmed with the responsibility of full time single parenting. On others I think my life will always be a goat rodeo. And sometimes I actually feel like I'm living one of those cheesy made for television movies (with better quality acting, of course). But every day I laugh, even if it's through tears and every day I am incredibly grateful to have the amazing circle of friends I have.

I know I've said this before, but I'm reasonably certain I have more friends than any one person should be allowed to have. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I don't plan on giving any of them up anytime soon. My friends disprove the adage "out of sight out of mind" (as if I'd ever let that happen anyway) and even when they are far away, they are always there for me. I have become quite greedy of my time with them. I am acutely aware that we may never get the chance to meet again and so I grab any chance I can to be with them. A hastily shared coffee in passing, an evening or a day, every moment together a gift that I will never take for granted. This year I was able to spend a lot of time with many of my closest friends, I even got to take some of them to Canning, how lucky were they. As another year comes to a close, I thank it for all it has taught me, the time it has given me with those I love and for all of the memories we have made together. When I look back on this year, I will remember both my saddest day and my happiest day with equal fondness because one would not have existed without the other.

 Tomorrow we will welcome a new year, and all of the promise it brings. My New Year's wish for you dear friends is time well spent, that you don't get so busy that you forget to make time for those you love and for yourself, that you take time to just stop and be. Don't wait until tomorrow, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Time is a precious commodity you will never get back, please don't ever take it for granted. The year is yours my friends, I hope you use it well.

"Why do we treat the fleeting day with so much needless fear and sorrow. It's in it's nature not to stay: Today is always gone tomorrow."~ Wislawa Szymborska

Happy Life

As most of you know, I'm a pretty positive person. I always have been. Usually my gin bottles are half full. But sometimes even I have my moments, shocking I know but very true. I have really high expectations of myself, and am my own worst critic.

Fortunately for me I have some very close friends who kick me in the ass when I need it the most, they are my go to gals when I've lost my perspective and need a healthy does of objectivity. I can always count on them to tell me straight up when I'm being too hard on myself or being a jackass. All it takes is one "Seriously Monica" or "Fuck off Bobbitt" and  I know it's time for me to put my big girl panties on and deal with whatever issue is stressing me. And by the way, I'm not kidding, she literally does say that (I love that woman). How lucky am I to have friends who tell me what I need to hear instead of what I want to hear. In fact, I can actually hear them both right now saying, "luck has nothing to do with it" (I may have had this conversation with them both before). We all need to have someone who we can count on to be totally honest with us, no matter how brutally painful that truth might be.

And then there are the others: people who hardly know me or don't know me at all that feel because I am a widow I need them to tell me what I should or shouldn't do or how I should be feeling. It is one of my biggest pet peeves. I have had people say some ridiculous things to me in the last fourteen months (I can't make this shit up). One of my personal favourites was when one of the kids' former teachers told me that she was glad I had sold my house and was moving to Nova Scotia, "You won't marry another military man there because obviously you know the odds with military men aren't good." Obviously. I guess that means I shouldn't marry a man who owns a car either because I think the odds are probably higher he'd die in a car crash then a LAV rollover, just sayin. Oh and by the way, we do have navy and air force bases in Nova Scotia but maybe they don't count?

 I have to say the latest one left me speechless, hard to believe I know but it does happen occasionally. A few weeks ago I was sick with a nasty throat virus and stopped at the drug store to restock on pain meds when I ran into an old acquaintance from university. She asked me how my summer was going and I told her the girls and I were having a great summer and we'd just had an awesome visit with our Norwegian friends. Her response to this was what left me speechless. "You must feel so guilty for being so happy with Dan being dead and all." (I'm so glad she clarified that last bit for me, you know just in case I'd forgotten).

 I'm standing in the middle of Shoppers Drug Mart (ironically on a day when I'm actually not even feeling particularly happy): my throat feels like I've swallowed a thousand shards of glass, I've haven't had solid food in almost a week and even worse have only managed to swallow two and a half cups of coffee in the same time frame, and this chick, whom I barely know is telling me I MUST feel guilty for having a good life. Seriously, are you freaking kidding me?

 Speechless and trying desperately not to cry, I did manage to answer. "Actually no, I don't feel guilty at all. In fact, I haven't felt guilty once all year." Usually I just let this shit roll off, like water off a duck's back, but not this time. I'm totally blaming it on caffeine withdrawal and hunger. I'm annoyed with myself (of course) for letting it bother me but you know what, it did bother me.

 I've thought about it a lot. In hindsight I really wish I'd told her not to be a jackass (because everyone needs someone to tell them when they are being a jackass) and to not assume she knows how someone feels unless she's walked in their shoes. What got me was the assumption that I had to feel guilty for being happy. Because I'm a widow and widowhood is obviously a life sentence to guilt and unhappiness. Evidently I missed the memo on that one.

 I've decided it's a good thing I wasn't widowed 100 years ago. If people think I'm outrageous now just imagine what they would have thought of me back then. They'd have had me locked up in an institution somewhere... Mrs. Hennessy's Home for Happy Widows. She's happy, how scandalous. Lock her up here, quickly. Dear Lord.

 Just because I'm happy doesn't mean I'm not sad. Happiness and sadness are in fact not mutually exclusive, you can be both at the same time. I know because I feel them both all of the time. I will always be sad Dan is gone but it doesn't mean I can't have a good, and yes, very happy life. Seriously he really would be the first one to kick my ass up one side of the street and down the other if I were any other way. If you knew him, you know this to be true. So thanks gals (and the jackass at Shoppers Drug Mart) for reminding me of that.

 Every day might not be good (especially when you can't swallow your coffee) but there is always something good in every day. My gin cupboard is, in fact, never empty. Amen to that.


Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be. ~Abraham Lincoln

Life Goes On

On May 9, 2014, I kissed my husband goodbye, not knowing it would be the last time I would see him alive. Twelve days later he was gone, his life tragically interrupted in its prime as so many sadly are.

When he was deployed I was always waiting for the doorbell to ring but I never expected it when he was out in the field on exercise. When he left for Wainwright it never occurred to me that anything would happen to him, he was only going on an exercise after all. In fact those were the first words I said when they told me. "What are you talking about? He's only on an exercise."

I never thought it would happen to us, but really why not us? We were no more immune to tragedy then anyone else. That's the thing about tragedy it doesn't give a rat's ass about any of us. Tragedy didn't care how wonderful a man Dan was. It didn't care that he was a loving husband, father, son, brother, friend. Or that he was an outstanding soldier and leader. Tragedy doesn't discriminate, it's random and unfair. The doorbell rings and nothing is ever the same again.

Telling our three children that their father was gone will always be the worst moment of my life and it is indelibly etched on my heart. In that moment and every other since, my main priority has been them and making sure the loss of their father did not destroy their lives.

Before Dan left for Afghanistan I promised him if anything happened to him the kids and I would have good, happy lives. Real happy not pretend on the surface happy. I've never broken a promise to him (except for the time I promised him I'd keep the garage clean but come on that was such an unreasonable thing to expect) and there was no way in hell I was going to break this one. There are no rule books on how to move forward with your life after loss (although lots of people have an opinion on what you should do), and the military doesn't issue joining instructions on how to become a military widow.

And so I did the only thing I could. I accepted Dan was gone, and that nothing would ever bring him back.

I stood up and I did what I had to do. I didn't run from the grief or hide from it, I met it head on each and every day. I haven't always gotten everything right (but who ever does?) but I know at the end of each day I did the very best I could that day. It hasn't been easy, and there have been times that I have stumbled along the way. I have leaned on my friends when I couldn't carry the burden alone. I have learned not to listen to the (very few) people who say "if I were you" because (fortunately for them) they aren't me and it's not their journey, it's mine.

Shortly after Dan died a dear friend told me life would be good again, maybe not perfect but good. And he was right, life is good but it was never perfect to begin with. Nothing ever is. It's just imperfectly ours.

Happiness doesn't just knock on our door and ask to come in. It's a choice we make, and we have to work at it, every single day. We can choose to be miserable or we can choose to be happy. And being miserable is not who I am. Dan loved life and he lived it to the fullest. He always said life was for the living, and while it "was only natural I would pine for him (what woman wouldn't) don't waste so much time pining for me you forget to live." And I haven't forgotten.

I lost Dan but I have never lost myself. Sorrow has touched my life, but it doesn't own it. Dan took a part of my heart with him when he left, and I will always be sad that he is gone. But shattered hearts do eventually heal and life, well it goes on. Something awful happened to me but my life isn't awful.

I have so very much to be thankful for. I have three amazing, strong, resilient, healthy and happy children. Our home is still full of love and laughter (and bickering. Dear Lord). I have wonderfully supportive parents who thankfully didn't ever hear the expression you can never go home again because they let me move home twice this year. I have in laws who love me as if I'm their own. I have amazing friends who are always there for me no matter where they are or where I am. I have a beautiful (almost finished) house in a great neighbourhood with awesome neighbours (no flooded yards here). I have a very successful business that I (sometimes) love.

If anything, this last year has taught me to never take anything for granted. I know all too well how fickle life is, and that it can be gone in one heart shattering instant. I have no idea what the future has in store for me, none of us do. But I do know this: at the end of my life, I won't wish I'd spent more time grieving, I'll wish I'd spent more time living and loving. And that's what I intend to do. I will never get this moment or this day back again. I'm not going to waste one precious second of it.

Last month in Scotland I stood beside one of my dearest friends atop a rocky peak. Climbing a steep hill wasn't on the top of my list of things to do on a beautiful sunny morning in Edinburgh but she really wanted to go and I wasn't going to let her down. I hate heights, in fact the only thing I dislike more are snakes, and I can tell you emphatically that you will never ever see me cuddled up to a snake (even I have limits as to what I will do for my friends and I absolutely draw the line at snakes).

As I stood there looking down at the spectacular view of Edinburgh, I was happy and most importantly, I knew it was okay for me to be happy. Dan would have loved being on top of that rock pile, and he would especially love that we took the most difficult route up (a classic Dan move). I thought about how frigging proud he would be of me, not just for climbing that damn hill but for everything I'd accomplished this year. And I know how relieved he would be to see how well our kids are doing. He was so proud of the three of them, and he'd be even more so now. I know he would approve of every single decision I have made since he's been gone (well, he might raise his eyebrows at my choice of builders but besides that). I kept my promise, but he knew I would and I can almost hear him say, "See Mon, I told you, you've got this." And I do. I've got this.

Dan crammed more living into his 43 years than most people do in 100. He made the most of every single ordinary day. His was a life well lived. And that motivates me to live mine every single day. And I hope it will you too. The best way for us to honour his memory is to live life to it's absolute fullest. Now. Not tomorrow. Today.

Don't wait for the perfect time because there is no perfect time. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. 

This is not a dress rehearsal, it's the only life we get. Don't waste it on bitterness, anger and regret. Tell your people you love them, over and over again. They need to know. And if you're lucky enough to get a second chance at love, be brave enough to take it, it's so worth the price we some times have to pay for it. Take the time to enjoy all of those seemingly inconsequential little things. I know it's not always easy to find the time, but do it. Climb that damn hill (but for the love of God be careful, you know I worry about these things). Go for a run in the rain. Go for a walk off of the beaten path. Wear a ridiculously ugly shirt in public (seriously if I can wear cheetah print leggings in public you can so wear an ugly shirt out to dinner). Make up a crazy ditty and sing (badly) it out loud. Twirl (hurl) someone around the dance floor. Play a board game (fight in a box) with your kids. Enjoy drinks with friends.

In the end, it's love and all of the simple, ordinary moments woven together that make life extraordinary. And Dan's life was extraordinary of that there is no doubt. So tonight raise your glass to him. An incredible husband, father, son, brother, friend, soldier. Gone but never ever forgotten. Skål!


"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on."~Robert Frost

A Beautiful Day

It was one of those mornings, a Tuesday that was more like a Monday but worse. I was going in 13 different directions at once but getting no where and in the middle of it all, Ginny was barking incessantly (as only Ginny can) for her walk until I couldn't stand it any more and gave in and took her. It had snowed again last night, which was definitely not helping my mood, and it was still snowing while we were out for our walk. For the first 30 minutes of our walk, I was mentally stressing about all the crap I needed to get done today. And then I met up with one of the old gaffers from my neighbourhood.

I love old people, which is a good thing as I'm surrounded by them here and at the Legion. I see this same old guy literally every time I go for a walk (yes I'm well aware this means I have the same daily routine as an 85 year old man). Sun, clouds, cold, wind, rain, snow. He's there with a smile on his face. Every time I see him we exchange hellos and discuss the weather (as all good Martimers do), and everyday regardless of said weather he tells me it's a beautiful day. I'd been busy over the weekend so hadn't seen him for a few days. "Well there you are" was the first thing he said to me this morning. "I was wondering where you had gotten too. Beautiful day isn't it?" Neither one of us can see out of our glasses because they are wet with snow and he's standing there with a grin on his face telling me it's a beautiful day. I have to admit I wasn't seeing it. In fact I wasn't seeing much of anything at that point in time. And I told him as much, "Sun, clouds, cold, wind, rain, snow, you always say it's a beautiful day." "And it is" was his response, "It's always a beautiful day when I see you." And I am mush.

What a charmer, as most old gaffers are (except the creepy one at the Legion who has a thing for curls and was trying to touch my hair). I'm adopting this one though, he's a keeper. I'm reasonably sure he's a widower, he wears a wedding ring but he's always alone,even when I see him driving in the neighbourhood. And that just makes him even more endearing to me.

 I have a huge soft spot for old people who are widowed and alone. Because that is going to be me someday. In the blink of an eye that will be me.

 I hope somebody will stop and say hello to me when I'm 85 and shuffling down the street. I thought about him all the way home. I'm sure to him it seems like only yesterday he was 44. Time's funny like that, it flies by. We're already a quarter of the way through the year. Yesterday it was New Year's Eve (so much gin) and today the first week of April is over.

When I got home from my walk I went out back and sat and watched the snow falling in the woods down below. My old gaffer was right, it was a beautiful day. The snow was falling softly on the trees and the birds were singing in the branches. I thought about New Year's Eve and the list of things I promised myself I would do this year. I've already accomplished a lot of them. I've laughed, a lot. I've hugged old friends and new ones. I've had coffee with friends. I've visited somewhere I've never been before. I've felt the sun warm my face (in Ireland of all places, go figure). And today I caught snowflakes on my tongue (and glasses) and made a snow angel. Yes, I made a snow angel (my neighbours enjoyed that immensely, by the way). Snow angels in April. Which makes me wonder what I'll be doing in June. I can't wait to find out.

Kindness is like snow, it beautifies everything it covers.~Kahil Gibran