Odes to Our Fallen

Sometimes Facebook can be hard on my head (and my heart).

This morning as I was scrolling through my newsfeed, I came across a blog post, Canada Doesn't Need Yet Another Military Memorial

The blog post was about Canada's War Memorials and referenced planning of the construction of the National Memorial to Canada's Mission in Afghanistan.

The author pontificated that war memorials and museums were part of the military's propaganda system.

"Why do we build monuments to war rather than to its absence?" he mused. (Engler, 2016)

And I, in turn, found my myself musing as to why some people are so obtuse.

War Memorials are not monuments to war, in fact, their purpose is quite the contrary.

They are built as a testament to the true cost of war.

And to remind us that we must never, ever forget that cost.

If you have ever had the privilege of visiting one of our War Memorials, you know how moving an experience it is.

Profoundly so

In Vimy, France, you can almost hear the haunting echo of artillery fire in the distance.

In St Julien, Belgium, if the wind blows just so, you can almost detect a faint pungent smell of chlorine gas in the air.

And at the National War Memorial in Ottawa, you might feel the dampness of a widow's tears caress your cheek.

At every war memorial, you will find it hard to breathe.

Your chest tight.

Heavy with loss.

And sacrifice.

And the sorrow of thousands and thousands of families.

And a grieving nation.

War Memorials do not glorify war.

They honour the sacrifice of all of those men and women in uniform who have given their lives in service to their nation.

Our nation.

Whether they served under the Canadian Red Ensign.

Or the Maple Leaf.

I am not a war widow. My husband did not die in battle on foreign soil far from home.

He died in a training accident on Canadian soil.

I am an accidental widow.

There was no glory in my husband's death.

There is no glory in any death, accidental or otherwise.

Instead, a crushing loss.

The weight of which our children and I will bear the rest of our lives.

War Memorials do not glamourize war, they are not odes to militarism.

They are odes to our fallen-- the men and women who lay down their lives so that we might live in a world where we are all free to write and express our opinions.

And where we are free to disagree.

Our National War Memorial honours my husband and all of the other courageous Canadians who came before and after him.

For our tomorrows they gave their today.

Let their names not be lost to the knowledge of our nation.

My husband's name was Dan.

And the widow's tears you felt standing at the National War Memorial? They might just be mine.

Please Accept My Sincerest Condolences

When Dan joined the military, he knew he was joining a profession that entailed risks. When I married him, we discussed those risks.

Did we ever in a million years think anything would happen to him?

No, not back in those days, long before the war in Afghanistan.

We were young and naive.

During the Afghanistan years, that naivety was shattered as the flag-draped coffins returned home to Canada.

And we were forced to acknowledge the harsh realities of war.

While he was in Afghanistan, I would brace myself every single day. Just in case. And I would pray.

"Please don't let my doorbell ring."

I would lay awake at night and visualize what would happen if he was killed.

And then I would force myself to not go there.

Because there was far too painful.

And incomprehensible.

After Afghanistan, I became complacent. I stopped holding my breath when he left home. It never occurred to me that anything would happen to him, especially on an exercise.

And then one May morning, at the bottom of a hill, a LAV rolled over.

His LAV.

My doorbell rang that day.

And my husband returned home in a flag-draped coffin.

A few weeks after he died, my phone rang.

"Hello, Mrs. Bobbitt. I have the Prime Minister on the line."

A conversation that had been rescheduled because the day he was originally going to call wasn't convenient for me.

Then Prime Minister Harper started the conversation by apologizing profusely for having taken so long to call me as he'd been overseas.

And he offered his condolences. Sincerely.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss."

I cried as he said it.

Because I knew he meant it.

I could hear the heaviness of his grief over my loss in his voice.

He was genuinely sad for my loss. For my family's loss. For the Regiment's loss. For Canada's loss.

And I was genuinely touched.

He spoke directly to my children and told them how very sorry he was they lost their Dad. His voice cracked as he said the words.

We talked about how long Dan had served. Twenty-five years, a quarter of a century. We even joked about how old we were. And we talked about Dan's father's service. And about Connor going to RMC. His son was heading off to university as well. We were both parents getting ready for a life transition.

We talked about military life and sacrifice. And, yes we spoke about soldiering being a dangerous profession.

And that Dan's death was a tragic reminder that accidents can and do happen.

Even at home on "routine" training exercises.

"Sometimes we forget how dangerous it is until a tragedy like this reminds us," he said.

He was right, sometimes we do forget.

I also received a letter from him in the mail. It was typed on the official letterhead from the Prime Minister's office.

On it, he had scratched out Dear Mrs. Bobbitt, and written in pen.

Dear Monica and family.

Please accept my sincerest condolences...

It was simply signed,

Stephen

I've thought of that conversation often over the last three years.

Whenever I see a flag waving against the blue sky,

or draped over a wooden coffin.

Dan knew the risks when he joined the military, as did I when I married him.

But I didn't know the true weight of our flag.

Until it was folded and placed in my arms.

How could I possibly?

See You Later Old Man

How do you sum up a life in just a few words?  There were so many more things I could say about my dad, so many more stories I could tell. I hope I did him justice.

Shortly after Dad was diagnosed with cancer, I asked him what his funeral wishes were when the time came. I knew Dad well, and I knew I had to approach it like one of his long term projects.

Short and sweet was his response.

 “Kind of like me,” I said.

He looked at me with that little smirk of his. “No, I never said that.”

Of course, I’m sure he knew if I was speaking, it was unlikely to be either short or sweet.

To his oldest and dearest he was Bobby. To many he was Bob. To his grandchildren, he was affectionately (and appropriately) Grumpy. To my brothers and me, he was Dad. And to our mother, he was Robert, especially when he annoyed her, and he seemed to have a real knack for that. Of course, he’d had fifty-seven years of practice.

Bobby was the youngest of five and the only boy.

From the minute he was born, his sisters were told to “take care of Bobby, don’t hurt Bobby. He’s special.”

That really explains so much about Dad.

Little Bobby often terrorized his sisters and had them in tears, but somehow they were always the ones to get in trouble. Never him. Of course not, Little Bobby could do no wrong.

When he was younger, Dad’s favourite cohort in crime was his cousin Roseanne, who was just a few years younger than him. She was more like his twin than his cousin. They were always getting into mischief and blaming it on their poor cousin Garnet.

Dad never lost that mischievousness and was always teasing or tormenting someone, usually mom or me or one of my girls.

Dad was an understated man. Always in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, and an ever present cup of coffee. Day or not, he was always drinking coffee.

An introvert, he was never really comfortable in large crowds. He was a bit of a recluse, especially as his hearing got worse. It’s not that he didn’t like people, he was very friendly and kind, but he usually liked them in small doses and on his terms. If he liked you, he liked you. And if he didn’t, well, you’re probably not here today. 

He didn’t have a lot of time for foolish people—they “walk amongst us” he would lament, shaking his head. If only common sense were more common.

Of course, Dad was always up for a good argument— of which we had our fair share.

 He loved to be right, “You’re just like your mother,” he’d tell me when I disagreed with him.

To which I would reply, “Yes, and a little bit like my father too.” 

That would usually end the discussion; even he couldn’t argue with that one.

But when he was right, he was gleeful, “I told you so,” he would boast as he wagged his finger at you. Yes Dad, you certainly did. Many times, in fact.

Dad was most comfortable in his basement with his tools and his machines, of which he had many. I’m not sure how, but somehow he still managed to cram more junk down there.

“I’m cleaning it out,” he would say.

He’d been saying that for twenty years and it is no emptier now than it was then. Apparently, it was a work in progress. You can’t rush these things. 

And besides, the trouble was “you just never know, you might need that tomorrow.”

He could fix or build just about anything he put his mind to.  He was always fixing stuff for his family and friends; he never minded helping anyone out—he was quite generous that way.

He certainly had his own unique way of doing things. There was the easy way, and then there was “Bob’s way.” And he did like to do things his way. The more complicated, the better; which drove my poor brother’s crazy.  Partially he did this to keep them occupied, but also so they would learn to look at things differently and figure it out for themselves. Because that’s the way he learned—by doing, and by dreaming.

He would start a project and then halfway through he would move on to the next. The challenge to Dad was in figuring out how to build it or do it—once he knew that, well then it wasn’t so exciting anymore, so he’d move on to the next project. And that is why there is a half-finished windmill in their backyard. Yes, a windmill.

He recently told Shawn he could get that windmill running. Shawn told him he didn’t think he was smart enough to do that without Dad here to help him.

Dad responded “I’m not that smart, I just sat down with a little determination and figured it out. Anyone can do that.”

 Shawn disagreed, “You’re the smartest man I know.”

“Well, you don’t know many men then.”

He wasn’t just the smartest man we knew, but one of the funniest. You honestly never knew what he would come out with.

One day my girls noticed a broom on the roof of the garage.

“Hey Grumpy, why do you have a broom on the roof of the garage?”

Without missing a beat he replied, “That’s your Grandmother’s. She overshot the driveway one night when she was coming home.” 

Mom didn’t find that nearly as amusing as we did.

And that is what we will most remember about Dad, his humour and his determination. He held on to both until the very end. He was so determined to hang on—for himself, for our mother, and for us. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving us.

“I worry about your mother,” he would say over and over. I promised him she would be well taken care of, and she will.

As much as they loved to bicker, what old married couple doesn’t, he would have been lost without Hazel, who rarely left his side these last few months.

Dad’s greatest treasure was us—his family. We were his pride and joy. He was so proud of all of us, his children and his grandchildren, and our accomplishments. He loved us all fiercely and ferociously, and even though he might not have said it when we were younger, we always knew. And we always knew he was there, waiting for us whenever we needed him.

He was always a shoulder to lean on.

And now that shoulder is gone.

But Dad gave us all the tools we need to go on without him-- his strength, determination, stubbornness, and his sense of humour.

“Don’t ever stop laughing,” he would say. “You have to keep laughing.”

That we will Dad,  that we will.

“And where we go you can be sure,

In spirit, you shall never be alone.

For where you are is what matters most to us,

Because to us that will always be home.”

We’ll see you later Old Man.

We love you.

What Grieving Friends Wish You Wouldn't Say. 10 Things Not to Say to A Friend Who Has Lost A Spouse

by Monica Bobbitt

When someone experiences a loss of a loved one, we want to comfort them and offer them support. But often, those words of condolences can do more harm than good.

Here are ten things not to say to someone who is grieving:

1 I know how you feel.
No, you actually don't. Even if you have suffered a similar loss, everyone's grief is unique to them; different relationships, different circumstances, different people--different grief.

2. If I were you.

But you're not and you can't possibly know what you would do in that situation. Also, see #1.

3. Call me if you need me.

Someone who has just experienced a loss is very unlikely to reach out to you for help. It's better for you to call them, leave a message if they don't answer. "I'm here for you. I'll check in again in a few days." Sometimes just knowing you are being thought of and are not alone is more than enough.

4. What do you need?
A grieving person in all likelihood has no idea what they need. There are so many things that have to be done, pick one and offer to do it. Groceries, pick up/ drop off kids, laundry, cleaning, mowing, shoveling. The list really is endless.

5.They are in a better place.
Really, a better place than here with the people who love them? Not everyone shares the same belief system, so don't assume the grieving person believes in your views about the "afterlife."

6. It was God's will.
I'm no theologian but just no. Also, see #5...not everyone shares the same religious beliefs.

7. They had a good/full life.
Don't assume you know what kind of life they lived. They may have suffered for years with a debilitating physical or mental illness, or they could well have died with anger and regret.

8. They had a long life- while this may be true, it is never easy saying goodbye to someone you love, no matter how old they are. We all want more time with the people we love.

9. You'll get remarried.
No one can ever replace the person they have lost. Even if they do get remarried or have another child, that doesn't mean they no longer miss the spouse or child they lost. Also, you don't actually have a crystal ball to predict the future.

10. Nothing at all.
Silence isn't always golden, especially when it is in the form of avoidance. It's actually hurtful. Don't avoid a bereaved friend because you don't know what to say. If you don't know what to say, start with "I'm sorry."

Grieving the loss of a loved one is the most excruciating pain someone can endure.

The best way you can support them is to be present, listen, and allow them to grieve in their own way, at their own time.

After all, it's their grief, not yours.

Let them own their own grief.

"Easy for you to say God needed another angel—since God didn’t ask you for yours."~Angela Miller

Chat soon,
Monica

To learn more about grief, resiliency, and life after loss, follow Monica Bobbitt on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/agoatrodeo/

The Time to Plan is Now: Things You Can Do to Plan for the Death of a (Military) Spouse

I had absolutely no idea how much work death involved until my husband was killed in a military training accident three years ago.

Up until that time, I thought I was prepared. We had wills and powers of attorney, we had life insurance, and all of his military paperwork was up-to-date.

We'd even sat down and had that dreaded "what if" he doesn't come home conversation (at his insistence), so I knew what he wanted my life to look like after he died.

But there were so many things I didn't know. So many things we didn't discuss that we should have.

Hindsight, of course, is always twenty-twenty.

Nobody wants to think about someone they love dying. It is sad and scary and overwhelming. And so we avoid discussing death.

We don't do ourselves any favours by avoiding that conversation.

Because the harsh reality is: death does happen. It is an inevitable part of life.

Sometimes it swoops in suddenly and unexpectedly; other times it is a long-drawn out affair.

Cancer, heart attack, suicide, training accidents, war.

None of us are immune to death. None of us.

Death doesn't care if we are twenty-three or forty-three or eighty-three.

And it doesn't wait for us to be prepared.

There are several things we can do now, while we have the chance, to help us prepare for that day.

First, and foremost, make sure your legal affairs are up-to-date. Verify that any current wills and powers of attorney are valid in the province you currently reside in (laws vary from province to province). If they are not, arrange to do this with a lawyer as soon as possible.


Legal Documents

• Will 
• Executor/Executrix. Many spouses/partners decide to be each others' executors. If you decide to appoint someone else to this role, discuss this with them first. Being an executor is an enormous responsibility (and a huge time commitment), some may not be up to the task. Ideally, appoint someone who resides in the same province as you do. Also, be sure to appoint someone you will have a good working relationship with.  
• Power of Attorney
• Personal Care Directive (medical)
• Guardianship of minor children
• Custody Agreements
• Organ Donation

Military Documents

• Primary Next of Kin (current addresses and contact info)
• Dependents
• Memorial Cross and Memorial Ribbon recipients
• Most recent will/ power of attorney
• SSIP (make sure the correct beneficiary is named)

Once you have all of your legal affairs in order, prepare an Estate Binder. Include all of the following information:

Copy All Essential Documents

• Birth Certificate
• Driver's License
• Passport
• Social Insurance Card
• Health Card
• Health Insurance Coverage
• Marriage Certificate/Death Certificate
• Credit Cards
• Property Ownership Records
• Mortgage Records
• Military Records
• Power of Attorney, Personal Directive (medical).

List of Where to Find Original Documents

• Safe-deposit box and (with a list of the contents and who has access to it)
• Combination or key to safe, filing cabinet
• Will, Power of Attorney, Personal directive (medical)
• Any personal letters of instructions
• Birth certificate, marriage/divorce certificates, education and military records
• Insurance policies (health, life, automobile, home)
• Tax returns
• Personal loans
• Mortgage paperwork
• Titles to any properties
• Automobile Registration

List of Important Contacts

• Name, address, phone number, and email for Primary Next of Kin
• Name, address, phone number and email for Executor/Executrix of your estate
• Name, address, phone number, and email for attorney, financial planner, accountant
• A list of beneficiaries with address, phone number, and emails 
• Family Physician- name, address, phone number (especially important for those caring for the surviving spouse so they can arrange medical assistance, if needed, such as sleeping pills or anxiety medication)

List of Important Accounts

• Bank accounts (make sure all accounts are joint with your spouse). Include account numbers, address and phone number of the financial institution, also include online login and passwords.
• Insurance information, including health, life, automobile, homeowner/rental. Include account number name, address, and telephone number for each agency.
• Mortgage Account. Include account number, name, address and telephone number of the lender.
• Credit Cards (including stores such as Home Depot, The Bay). Include account number, name, address and telephone number of the lender. Also include any online banking information, username, password.
• Investments. Include account number, name, address, and telephone number of institution/investor.
• In Trust Accounts. Include account number, name, address, and telephone number of financial institution.
• Any already existing Veterans Affairs Canada accounts and case manager name and number.

Dependent Children 
Make sure each child has his/her own:

• Bank Account 
• SIN (necessary for both VAC and CPP benefits)
• Also know the location of important documents: Birth Certificate/Baptismal Certificate, Passport, Adoption Paperwork
• School name, address, and grade
• Childcare Provider- name, address, phone number
• Emergency Contact- name, address, phone number
• Family Doctor, pediatrician, counsellor - name, address and phone number

List of All Online Accounts

Include user names and passwords.

• Email
• Banking
• Facebook
• LinkedIn
• Twitter
• Instagram
• PayPal
• Pinterest
• Army.ca
• News Websites
• Online Subscriptions
• Other 

Notification List 

This is especially important in the case of a military death as family and close friends may be located all over the country (world) and may be difficult to contact. The military will wait until you give them permission to release your loved one's name, but it is nearly impossible to contact every person in this time period. Once the name is released, news of the death will spread rapidly, usually via social media.

• Prioritize your notification list
• Notify the most important people (children, parents, in-laws, siblings) on that list personally 
• Delegate family members to notify other family members (you will not want to make all of those calls yourself)
• Delegate friends to notify friends

THE CONVERSATION YOU NEED TO HAVE

Sit down with your spouse or partner (this should also be done with your parents so you know what their wishes are) and have that all important conversation.

This is a difficult conversation to have, but it will help ease the stress on the surviving spouse when one of you dies. It's much better to make these decisions together than to have one of you bear the burden of making them all alone.

Burial/Funeral Plans

• Location of burial (National Military Cemetery or other)
• Open (if possible) or closed casket
• Cremation or burial
• Type of casket 
• Type of urn
• Visitation or no visitation
• Religious or non-religious service
• Military Service
• Pallbearers
• Honorary Pallbearers
• Speakers/Eulogy
• Hymns/Music
• Readings
• Poetry
• Reception
• Headstone- military or other

Organ Donation

This is an all too often overlooked topic, but it is extremely important to know your spouse's wishes in this regard.

• Due to the circumstances of the death, organ donation may not be possible
• You can register here Canadian Transplant Society

Financial Plan

• Assets
• Debt
• Insurance 
• Monthly Expenses
• Estimated monthly income (difficult to know precisely; amount is very much dependent on if it is a service related death)
• Emergency Fund (will you have enough to live on for the first few months until all benefits are in place. Also important to note, military pay will be frozen and not automatically deposited into your pay account on payday)
• Will surviving spouse need to return to work (if not already working)

Where Will You Live

This is especially relevant to military and RCMP families who are most often living away from home, and family and friends, at the time of death. Most couples haven't yet planned for where they will retire, and in many cases, where you had planned to retire may not ultimately be where you want to live after your spouse dies (trust me on that one). Moving alone after your spouse dies is very, very different than being posted or retiring with your spouse. Also important to note, there is a time limit on when you can make your final move and have it paid for (usually up to two years after the death of the member).

Life After Loss

And last, but certainly not least, discuss life after loss. It really is the most important conversation you will ever have with your spouse.

No one needs permission to move forward with their life but is so reassuring to know your husband or wife would want you to move forward with your life, be happy and eventually find love again. It is also reassuring to know they would have approved of all of the decisions you make. Discussing these things with your spouse before they die helps you move forward without guilt after they die. When others question or criticize your decisions, you can stand tall and take comfort in knowing you have honoured your spouse's wishes.

We can never be truly prepared for the loss of a loved one. But we can save ourselves so much extra grief if we just take the time to plan for that day. 

The time to plan is now.

Don't put off until tomorrow what you should do today because tomorrow could be too late.

"You can always change your plan, but only if you have one."~ Randy Pausch

The Hardest Dance

I'm a terrible dancer, I always have been. I'm ridiculously uncoordinated. I always want to go left when I should be going right; right when I should be going left. Usually, I just give up and do my own thing. It's easier that way.

Moving forward with your life after your spouse dies is like learning an intricate new dance, without an instructor (or a YouTube video) to teach you the steps.

But with an audience to judge your every move.

Forward and backward between your past and your future. Side to side between your old life and your new one. 

I worked really hard to learn this dance.

Forward forward.

I practiced the steps over and over again until I made myself dizzy. 

Back back. 

Sometimes I messed the steps up.

Forward forward. 

But I kept practicing until I had the dance figured out.

Then I went to the Regimental Ball last year. And I discovered that the dance was actually a lot more complicated than I realized.

I hadn't learned the side step at all.

It's not a step you can learn in an evening (gin doesn't help with that).

Although I did try. Unsuccessfully. 

I'd been back to the Regiment a couple of times over the previous two years.

Still, I hesitated when I got the invitation. It would be the first Regimental social function I went to by myself, and that was a little bit daunting. I'd been invited the year before but my heart wasn't ready. But this year was different. I was in a really good spot emotionally and mentally. I was moving forward with my life; I was becoming more comfortable with who I was. And I was excited to see some of my closest friends who were going. 

I knew there might be a few awkward moments, I'd come to expect those. But surely it wouldn't be that bad. After all, it had been two years. 

It was that bad. And then some.

The awkwardness became apparent early on. There were several people who just didn't know what to say to me. Do they ask how I am or not? Do they mention The Elephant in the room or not? There were some who couldn't even look me in the eye (widowhood actually isn't catching).

And then there were those (casual acquaintances and some I'd never met before) who felt compelled to offer me unsolicited advice.

The evening turned into a complicated foxtrot, one that I hadn't practiced for. 

"Have you started dating yet?"

Side to the left.

"No one in uniform will ever date you with that last name."

Side to the right.

"I'll never forget the day Dan died." 

Back back.

"Online dating is the only way you will ever get a date."

Side to the left.

I wasn't fast enough to keep up with the steps. I didn't even know the steps. 

Quick quick. 

The dance was making me dizzy (or maybe that was the gin?)

I tried desperately to regain my equilibrium but it was too late.

Before I knew it, I'd danced right into the elephant. 

Actually, it was an elderly gentleman wearing a kilt. He looked remarkably like Santa; his face round, his kind eyes glistening with tears.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Dan was a fine, fine man." As he hugged me, he started to cry. And then his wife hugged me, and she started to cry. 

And I'm trying desperately not to cry as I'm consoling them. 

Not here, not tonight.

In an instant, two years were gone. I was catapulted back. I'd stood in that exact same spot accepting condolences two years earlier after the funeral and memorial. 

I could feel my composure start to crack. I choked back tears as I made my way to the bathroom, hoping to keep it together, hoping that no one would notice. 

Of course, I didn't. And they did. 

I tried (unsuccessfully) to ignore the stares and pitying glances, the whispered comments.

I knew they didn't quite understand what I was feeling. And how could they really? They'd never had to dance in little silver shoes.

I was just so tired. Tired of talking about Dan's death, tired of consoling people, so tired of being the one people looked at with pity and sadness.

In that moment, I wanted to be anyone but me. And I wanted to be anywhere but there.

But you can't run away from yourself.

I knew I couldn't run away. It wouldn't fix anything. 

No matter where I went, I was still going to be Widow Of.

I only had one choice. I had to stay and finish the dance. 

I tried to salvage what was left of my dignity and pride- which wasn't much, and returned to the dance floor. Well, actually I went to the bar, which in hindsight wasn't my best move. 

It actually ended up being the strangest move of the night.

As I was ordering my drink, an old gaffer sidled up beside me.

I'd spent enough time around old gaffers to know this one was no Santa, and he reeked of whiskey.

A widower, he informed me, clearly still struggling with his loneliness. He'd had a girlfriend but it hadn't worked out. "You could be my girlfriend. You'd probably kill me though." He followed that up by assuring me he could still "perform" just in case I was wondering (oddly enough, I wasn't). And how exactly does one respond to that? Good for you?

I honestly didn't know if I should laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Or cry at the utter sadness of it all.

I cried.

I didn't even bother to try to hide the tears this time. What was the point?

I cried for me and I cried for the drunk old gaffer at the bar.

I cried because sometimes life after loss really just sucks.

And starting a new chapter in your life is hard. It might just be the hardest dance of them all.

I had been so excited to spend the evening with my friends. Instead, I spent half of the night talking about my husband's death (uplifting) and the other half hearing how bleak my future romantic prospects are (equally uplifting).

I cried because for just one night I didn't want to think about all that I had lost or how hard it is to move forward.

I was devastated for days afterwards. I felt so defeated.

I felt like I would never have an identity other than as Lieutenant Colonel Bobbitt's widow. That I would never get to be Monica again; that no one would ever look at me and see me for myself, but rather just my last name.

Always Widow Of

Someone (who is not a widow) even went so far to suggest that maybe it would best if I reverted back to my maiden name- perhaps that would make it easier. As if that would somehow make me not Dan's widow anymore? Or make me not me?

I was so disappointed in myself. Because I was supposed to have the dance all figured out.

I'm the strong kick-ass motivational speaker. I'm not supposed to have emotional breakdowns in the middle of the Officer's Mess.

We are always hardest on ourselves.

Of course it's understandable I broke down. I was at a social function (my very first one). And I'd had a couple of drinks (maybe more than a couple). I naively never expected that people would speak to me about the actual day Dan died. Dan yes, but the day he died no. I wasn't emotionally prepared for that one.

The truth is, I very rarely speak about that day. When I do, I've had time to prepare myself; I have my defences in place and I'm definitely not drinking gin.

There is a time and a place.

And the Regimental Ball is definitely not it.

Moving forward with your life is hard, it doesn't come with a rule book. Sometimes it is two steps forward and three steps backwards. And the truth is, I don't know all of the steps. And you know what? Neither does anyone else.

I've worked really hard on establishing my own identity since the Ball last year. I will always be Dan's widow, but that is not I am.

I'm off to the Regimental Ball again tonight.

I'm better prepared than I was last year. I've gotten a lot better at the side-step over the last year. I've had more practice. And I've learned that sometimes gin is not my friend (as sad as that is to say).

And I'm dancing in different shoes tonight. The old ones lost some of their silver sparkle last year (and they hurt my feet). I bought some pretty new ones. Gold this time. Hopefully that damn elephant doesn't scuff these ones up too.

It's a new night, so the dance won't be the same. It never is.

I know I won't know all the steps to tonight's dance. I might even trip over my own two feet again.

And that's okay.

I know I

will never master the dance.  No one ever does. All we can do is lean into the music and make up our own steps as we go along.

Three Years

Three years. 

Three years ago today my doorbell rang. It feels like forever ago but just yesterday at the same time. A posting and a half.

Three years ago today they told me my husband would never be coming home again. There's been an accident. His LAV rolled over. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. 

Half of his ashes are buried beside his comrades in the National Military Cemetery. The other half in Nova Scotia, under the shade of a maple tree. His ashes are there but he is not there.

He is here. 

He has always been here.

He is the laughter of our children. He is in their smiles and the way they move and speak. Are you sure Mom? I'm not so sure.

He is a thousand memories. Hello old man, I'm your dad. A walk across a flooded field. An empty chocolate chip bag. Two fingers banging on a keyboard. Have you seen my blackberry? 

He is the words of an old familiar folk song. We'd fired no guns- shed no tears. Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier, the last of Barrett's Privateers.

He is always here: always encouraging me, always believing in me, always guiding me.

He is the light that led me out of a dark hole in Wainwright. You can't stay here. You promised me you and the kids would have good, happy lives. 

He is there to give me a gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) nudge when I don't think I can go any further. Just a few more steps. Keep going forward.

And he is there to help me get back up every time I fall. You ARE strong enough. You've got this.

He is there, reassuring me when I don't have all of the answers. No one has all the answers Mon, not even me. 

He is there when I don't know if I should take a chance. What if it doesn't work out? You'll never know if you never try. You know it is so worth the risk. Don't live your life with regrets. 

He is there beside me every time I stand at a podium and speak to a regiment or a room full of military spouses. Tell them, they need to know. He is in every soldier's hug I receive.

He is a red Remembrance poppy worn over a grateful heart. For your tomorrow, I gave my today.

He is a bugle's lonely cry and the mournful wail of a piper's lament. Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.

And he is the Canadian flag fluttering in the wind as it flies so proudly from sea to sea to sea. Oh Canada. I will always stand on guard for thee. 

He is always here.

He will always be here. 

This morning as I ran, he was there, his voice whispering in the gentle ocean breeze. Good girl. That's it. Follow your heart, it knows the way.

Always.

I promise. 

Three years. Forever and just a day.