The Things We Need To Say

When I was a kid, my mom would always tell me that time goes by a lot faster when you are older. I would always laugh (and probably roll my eyes) and tell her she was wrong. Then of course, I grew up and had kids of my own. And suddenly one day I realized that what she said was true. Time really does go by faster when you are older. Go figure, my mom actually knew what she was talking about. As painful as it was to do, I picked up the phone and called her and told her as much. I'm sure she didn't stop grinning for a month.

Even though I knew my mother was right, I didn't truly appreciate the value of time until after Dan died. It was then that I realized I had spent most of my adult life waiting for time to pass. Waiting for the next posting message. Waiting for the course to be over. Waiting for deployment to end. Waiting for the house to sell. Waiting for the kids to be out of diapers. Waiting for them to start school. It's very sobering when you realize you've spent most of your life waiting for your time to be gone.

Time that I will never, ever get back.

Sometimes you never realize the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

I write (and speak) about time a lot. Because it is one of the most important lessons I've learned in the last two years: to never take my time for granted. 

It's so easy to get caught up in the day to day stresses of work and raising families, in the waiting, that we lose sight of this valuable lesson. Sometimes even I slip and forget, until a harsh wake up call reminds me. When my neighbour dies of cancer at 61. When my friends lose a friend to a heart attack at 49. When my friends' daughter suffers a sudden, life altering illness. All tragic reminders that life can change on a dime and that we can never, ever take it for granted.

The trouble with time is you always think you have more. Until you don't.

The other day I posted a link to an article on my Facebook page:

• I love you
• I'm sorry
• I understand how you feel
• I believe in you
• I'm scared
• No
• Thank you

Such important things to say, but things that many of us struggle with saying. Often we put off saying them because they are difficult to say. It's hard to admit we've been wrong or that we're scared. It's hard to say no. Or to tell someone that we love them.

I've said these things more over the last two years then I ever have before. Because I am very mindful that I might never get the opportunity to say them again.

The truth is I am scared sometimes. Scared of that god damn snake I stepped on when I was walking the dog (seriously 3000 acres of dykes and I put my foot down on a snake. It was dead, incidentally. I'm not sure if it was from me stepping on it or not). Scared that I might spend the rest of my life alone in this big old house. Scared that I will mess everything up.

I've never been a widow before, I've never been a single mother before, I've never even really had to date before. And well, you don't know what you don't know. Often, I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do. And sometimes I end up saying or doing the wrong things. But I have learned it's okay that I make mistakes, we all make mistakes. And it's okay that I don't have all the answers, I'm not supposed to. No one does.

Fortunately, I have the most amazing friends, friends who are always there for me, even when I screw up. I'm so incredibly thankful for you. I actually don't know what I'd do without you. I can't thank you enough; for always being there for me, for always listening to me natter and for being my shoulder to cry on, and also for kicking me in the ass when I need it the most.

My three kiddos have heard me say all of these things (and more) many, many times. We discuss them a lot. They know that I actually don't know what I'm doing sometimes (well, a lot of the time. I just make it up as I go along). They also know I do the best I can until I know better and then I (try) to do better. They know because I'm honest with them. Because we discuss it. And yes sometimes our discussions even illicit some eye rolling (it's okay K, if we're lucky someday you will be able to call me to tell me I was actually right, and I was, of course). 

And I tell my kids I love them every, single day.

These are things we all need to say, while we can, before it's too late.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life wishing I had told someone how much they meant to me. Or how much I appreciated them. Or how much I missed them. And that should also be on the list.

• I miss you

The people we care about need to know that we feel their absence when they aren't with us. We can't always be with our people, especially when we live in different provinces (or countries) but we can let them know we miss them. And how much we value the time we do get to spend with them.

It only takes a few seconds to send someone a message to say thank you or to tell them that we love them, or that we miss them or just that we are thinking of them. And yet often we don't make the time. We don't pick up the phone to call because we are just too damn busy, with work and life. We'll do it tomorrow.

Only, sometimes, there is no tomorrow. And you didn't say the things you needed to say.

Instead, you are left with a lifetime of regret.

The very last text I sent Dan was "Eaves trough is up!"

Not I miss you or I love you.  Because I didn't know that would be the very last thing I ever got to say to him. I thought I had all of the time in the world to say all of the things I needed to say.

The trouble is you always think you have more time to say the things you need to say. Until you don't.

I'm sorry (the garage is a mess). Thanks (for putting up with me for all of these years). I miss you.

The eaves trough is up.

It takes two seconds to say I love you.

Say it as often as you can while you still have the chance.

Because you never know when that chance will be gone.

It only takes two seconds.

I love you.


"The regret of my life is that I have not said 'I love you' often enough"~ Yoko Ono

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Life Is The Flower

I had just started my run this morning when one of the neighbourhood ladies stopped to tell me the news. The man from The Little White House had died while I was gone last week. We stood there silently for a few minutes and then she asked, with tears in her eyes, "Monica, why is life so unfair sometimes?

Of course, I don't have the answer to that question because there is no answer. It just is.

I held back my own tears (and anyone who knows me well will tell you this was no mean feat) until I rounded the corner. I cried through pretty much the entire run. I cried for the man I never knew who won't get to golf this summer. I cried for his wife who will have to walk the dog alone from now on. I even cried for their dog.

I cried for my cousins (and their mom) who lost their dad a couple of weeks ago.

I cried because life isn't fair and sometimes it just sucks. Really, really sucks.

And then I stopped to wipe my glasses and realized I was standing by a patch of lupins. I've gone by them several times this week, but never stopped to look at them closely. Today I did. They are beautiful, the dark pink ones are my favourite, which is funny because I'm not really a pink kind of gal.

As I watched them blow in the breeze, I thought about how hardy they are. Resilient. They come back every year, no matter how harsh the winter is. The wind never breaks them, they may grow a little crooked sure, but they keep growing tall. Sun or rain, they bloom anyway.

I thought about how lucky I am to have this beautiful day. I was able to go out and enjoy it. I could go for a run, so many can't. I could stop and smell the flowers. And I did, literally and without getting stung, I might add (there were a shit ton of bees there). Now, that's lucky.

I actually had a chat with my neighbour last summer by that very patch of lupins, we even talked about how pretty they were. He didn't know then that he wouldn't live to see them bloom this summer. He didn't know that he only had a year left. Just one more moment in time.

There is never, ever enough time. And nothing is ever guaranteed.

Each day we get with the people we love is a blessing.

And yes, sometimes the endings come far sooner than we want them to.

Sometimes we are just meant to love each other, as best we can, for as long as we can.

Life is too damn short.

Today I was reminded of that.

I think I'll go plant some lupins in my garden so I'll never forget it.


"Life is the flower of which love is the honey."~ Victor Hugo

The Little White House

Over the last few months I've received a lot of messages; from soldiers, wives and widows, strangers and friends. Messages of support and encouragement. Messages from people who are moved and motivated by my story. And messages of sadness and sorrow. Messages from those who are struggling and have lost their way. So many heartbreaking stories. Oftentimes they just need to share their story with someone who kind of gets it. Sometimes they just need someone to tell them "you're strong enough" And you are strong enough. 

I've had a lot of people message me lately asking me for advice, wondering how I was able to triumph over tragedy and have a good, happy life.

I have a good, happy life because I made the choice to have a good, happy life. I know that makes it sound like it was simple, but of course it wasn't. Starting a second chapter of your life is far from simple or easy. It's a lot of hard work. It's exhausting and overwhelming, and a little bit frightening. But it is also meaningful, fulfilling and yes even exciting.

When people ask me for advice, I often worry that they think I have all the answers. I don't (I'm good but I'm not that good). Nobody has all the answers my friends, nobody.  And if they ever tell you that they do, just know that they are full of shit. Full of it. Really.

I don't have all of the answers but I do know this to be true: life is too short. I know I've said that before, but it bears saying over again. Life is too short.

We are all guilty of taking life for granted. Because we think there is always tomorrow. But sometimes there isn't tomorrow.

Sometimes you don't get another chance to tell that person you love them (you didn't because what if he doesn't love you back), or to call your mom (you haven't because you've just been too damn busy working and drinking beer with your buddies), or to take your kids on that trip to Disney you've been promising them for five years (you didn't because you really needed a second car, but you might take them next year). And then one day.... it's too late. There are no more chances. You never told him. You never called her. You never took them. And you never will.

There is a little white house at the end of my street. I pass it several times a day, and I often think what a perfect home for a retired couple. It's a cute little bungalow with a well manicured lawn and lovely flower beds. There's a beautiful bridal wreath bush in full bloom in front. The couple who live there moved in a couple of summers ago. They have a crazy little black lab that they got when she was a puppy last year (who incidentally is far better trained then Ginny ever will be). I often drive by them as they are walking downtown for dinner or coffee, or we pass when we are walking our dogs. They are always hand in hand. Always laughing and smiling. Clearly they are a couple who are madly in love and own it quite proudly. They make the most of every minute they have together. Every time I pass them my heart is warmed and I can't help but smile.

I was never a person to believe in things happening for a reason, but over the last two years I've started too. I'll never believe that the accident happened for a reason. It didn't, it was nothing more than that, a fluke accident. But I do believe there is a reason why we meet the people we do, when we do. I've had the most amazing people come into my life over the last two years, people who have held me while I cried, who made me laugh when my heart was breaking, people who have taught me so much and helped me become the person I am today. I can't imagine what my life would be like without them.

Call it fate or serendipity or whatever you will, I believe people come into our lives because they are meant to. Maybe they are meant to change us, or we are meant to change them, or maybe we are meant to change each other.

And sometimes it's because we are meant to love them.

Sometimes maybe we're just meant to be there for each other and love each other, as best we can, for as long as we can.

The other day when I was walking Ginny, one of the neighbourhood ladies stopped me to ask me if  I'd heard the news about the man in the little white house. My heart immediately sank. Because when someone asks you if "you've heard the news", it's rarely good news. He'd become ill with a stomach bug a couple of months ago, and he just couldn't shake it. He went to the ER a couple of times, and was told it was just a virus. But of course it wasn't just a virus. It was cancer.  And it was already too late. There's nothing that can be done, no treatment or cure, just medication to manage his pain.

They got married a couple of weeks ago. I don't know why they hadn't before, maybe it hadn't seemed important or they just hadn't gotten around to it, and besides, they had time (there is never enough time). But time sadly, is no longer on their side. It could happen at any time. Today, tomorrow, next week.

You just never know.

They thought they would get to spend the rest of their lives together. Instead they spent the rest of his life together.

He's sixty one years old. He retired only a couple of years ago. He played eighteen rounds of golf a day. He was physically fit and active. He did everything right and he has terminal cancer.

Cancer didn't happen to him for a reason, it just happened.

I'm sure neither one of them ever planned on starting a second chapter but, well, sometimes things happen. And then one day fate (or serendipity or whatever you call it) led them to each other.

How lucky were they that they found each other when they did. They had a second chance at love and they took it.

For a few brief years, a moment in time, she was his person and he was hers. They were happy. They made the most out of everyday they had together.

Sometimes we're meant to be there for each other, and love each other as best we can, for as long as we can. And sometimes that's not long enough. It's never, ever long enough.

I don't have all of the answers but I know this to be true.

This morning I ran by the little white house at the end of my street. A wife lives there alone with her black lab. Her husband will never come home.

All we can do is to love the best we can for as long as we can. 

Life is too damn short.

"To be someone's first love is great but to be their last is priceless."~Anonymous

I'm Forty-five For A Moment

I turned forty-five last week. Forty-five, caught in between forty and fifty. I'm still not sure how that happened. One day I was twenty-five with a newborn son, and now I'm forty-five and he is twenty. In the blink of an eye.

At least I have my midlife crisis all over and done with. Not that I was planning on heading into a midlife crisis at forty-three, mind you. I'm not sure that anyone actually plans on having a midlife crisis, I'm just glad mine's behind me. And for the record, I didn't buy a Porsche, though I did buy a new Highlander last fall (which doesn't count because it took me freaking forever to make up my mind to buy it).

Forty-three was a hard year, in fact it was pretty awful for a few months. But ironically, I came out of it much healthier and stronger than I was when I went into it. Dan's death was a huge wake-up call. In the midst of all the chaos, I started taking care of myself. I ate a lot better, I exercised regularly, I lost a ton of weight. I actually enjoy working out now, and I cope so much better with stress because of it. Skinny jeans don't scare me any more! At forty-five, I'm fitter than I've ever been, physically and mentally. Quite honestly, I never thought I'd be saying that (especially the skinny jeans part).

I have to admit though, I have gotten a few more wrinkles and grey hair since I was forty-three. Well, the greys are hidden, the wrinkles not so much. To be honest, I hadn't really noticed them, mostly because I can't actually see without my glasses on (it makes it much easier to live in denial). But then one day I looked in the mirror when I had my contacts in. Dear Lord! Where the hell did they come from?

And this is how I found myself in the drugstore looking at anti-aging creams. Who knew face cream was so freaking complicated?? I asked the skin care consultant, who was all of twenty-three (if that) which one was the best. I explained to her that I had just turned forty-five and had discovered some wrinkles. Her response was to ask me how bad my face sagging was (seriously are you freaking kidding me? I said forty-five not eighty-five, thank you very much). Fortunately for her, she agreed sagging wasn't a problem yet (thanks for that) and led me to the appropriate line of products. She showed me the best ones, explaining to me the different options (and this was when Katty bailed on me because she was trying quite unsuccessfully not to laugh). "Think of it as taking a road trip, they'll both get you there, one's just going to take you longer. You can take the scenic route, or you can take the highway." I don't need the goddamn highway, I need the freaking autobahn! And obviously the freeway to anti-sagging while I'm at it.

I make jokes about being old all the time, but I really don't think I'm old. Mostly I just use it as an excuse for a bad memory, when really my memory isn't that bad, I'm just disorganized. I chalk that up to being creative. I'm sure there's a study somewhere that proves creative people are more disorganized, if I were more organized I would have saved a link for it. I've decided one of my goals for this year is to TRY to get more organized. Emphasis on try, Rome wasn't built in a year after all.

Last year when we moved into the house, I found a card at the bottom of a box of Tupperware I was unpacking. I'm not sure how it ended up at the bottom of a box of Tupperware (I told you I was disorganized) but there it was. I didn't recognize it at first but when I looked at it, I realized it was the card Dan had given me for my forty-third birthday, just a few months before he died. It was a classic Dan card. He found it highly amusing, me not so much (he would actually still find it highly amusing). I really can't make this stuff up.

Sometimes you find things when you need them the most.

I'd been so sad that week. Moving into the house alone was so much harder than I'd expected. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself because my life was literally and figuratively a mess, and then I found this card. Talk about perspective. He was right (of course he was). I'm still here. I got to be forty-three (as shitty as parts of that year were), and forty-four and forty-five and hopefully many, many more. Life really is a series of moments, some happy, some sad. If we're lucky we get a lot of them. I don't ever want to waste any of my moments. I want to make the most of every year I get.

We all complain about getting older but we shouldn't. Old age is a privilege denied to so many. Being forty-five really is so much better than the alternative.

So hello forty-five, I'm alright with you. Wrinkles and all. But if you could hold off on the sagging for another few years, that'd be great.

"Half time goes by, suddenly you're wise. Another blink of an eye, sixty seven is gone. The sun is getting high, we're moving on.."~John Ondrasik

One Hundred Years

You Only Regret The Chances You Didn't Take

I was out for my walk this morning when one of the old gaffers from the neighbourhood stopped so his dog could meet Ginny. Of course we ended up chatting for a while, well actually more than a while, because you know me, no conversation is ever brief.

It turns out he'd been meaning to say hello to me for weeks, in fact he'd even tried to catch up to me a couple of times when we were out walking, but apparently "for a shorty" I walk fast (that's what happens when you are being dragged by an 80 pound black lab). Some of the neighbours had told him who I was (it's like living in PMQs, only with retirees, everybody knows everything). He told me he often sees me out with the dog, and I always seem so happy. Apparently he didn't see me the day Ginny dragged me into the muddy ditch, I wasn't so happy that day.

As we were talking he told me a little bit about himself, and I discovered we have something in common. He's a widower. His wife of 53 years passed away three years ago, so he "can kind of understand what you've been going through. But it warms my heart to see you out there, living life. Life's too short to waste being miserable". Amen to that my new friend.

He moved to the neighbourhood last year too, "all the way from BC." Turns out he moved for "a girl" (he blushed when he told me). She lost her husband around the same time he lost his wife, and they'd all been friends, and "well you know, we decided why the hell not, we like each other, so I packed up and I followed her here, it was the best decision I ever made. You only regret the chances you don't take, you know. But I don't think I need to tell you that, you don't seem like the kind of person who will live life with many regrets. Something tells me you are going to have a wonderfully, happy life."

And there I am, on a Monday morning on Main Street in Wolfville, getting a hug from an old gaffer I've just met, crying because he's just so sweet and I'm once again reminded of how fortunate I really am. I wish all Mondays could start like that.

I've thought about our encounter a lot today. He's right, I really do try to live life without regrets. I make the most of every opportunity I'm given because I know I might never get that chance again. When I look back on my life, I don't want to say, I wish I had, I want to say, I'm glad I did, even if things didn't always work out. And sometimes they won't, and that's okay. At least I'll know I took the chance. Because like my old gaffer said, in the end, you only regret the chances you didn't take.

“IN THE END… We only regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make.”~Lewis Carroll

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