Childhood Memories

One of my favorite memories as a child is meeting Grandma and Grandpa in Westlock--driven by mom from Edmonton--so they could pick me up and I could spend some time with them at the farm.  We would often meet for lunch at the Alberta Cafe--and the food was always good.  There was always a free booth to sit at and I loved that I could have anything I wanted.  I guess that's what being with Grandma and Grandpa is all about! Inevitably I chose grilled cheese sandwich and fries--or fish and chips. I felt like a princess!

My cousin and I loved getting into mischief together at the farm.  We were less than a month apart in age and she lived close to Grandma and Grandpa, so she always came to visit.  We were forever exploring and giggling together.  I remember climbing into one of Grandpa's granaries and trying to swim around in it!  We had grain stuck everywhere!  Afterwards, I think I had a piece stuck in my ear for months.

The chickens always scared me--I vividly remember one of them chasing after me all the way to the farmhouse.  Grandma said they were just friendly and thought I had something for them to eat.  I thought I was allergic to them.  And I didn't like the way they looked at me without really looking at me. They had such crazy eyes! Cuddling the kitties was much more fun!

Grandma and Me

As a woman, I remember spending time with my Grandma on the farm long after my Grandpa moved to the nursing home and eventually passed with Alzheimer's disease. On one visit, pregnant with Blake, I woke up in the middle of the night to see deer grazing in the moonlight, feasting on the empty field in front of the farm house through the glaze of misty fog.  The peace I felt was beyond all understanding, and I still recount this beautiful vision in meditation. I continued to bring my babies to share laughter and love with their Great Grandma. And as they grew too big for their britches, I would continue to visit by myself, enjoying the simple pleasures of playing cards and watching TV with grandma.  I felt so blessed.  Her sometimes bristly ways and brisk sense of humor did not bother me at all.  Her life had not been easy, and I loved her to bits.

This Easter long weekend we drove through the country side to see Mom and Dad at Lesser Slave Lake.  As we passed by the farm turn-off these incredible memories came flooding back.  My grandfather was a pioneer who cleared this beautiful forested area by calloused hand to create rich farmland along the Athabasca River.  He and Grandma worked hard to feed four beautiful children, who parented nine grandchildren. There was always enough for all.  I am saddened that my Aunts do not remember this and that there continues to be a dispute over my grandparents' legacy since Grandma's passing in 2013.  I still feel the love of my grandparents deep in my bones and within my spirit. I hope with all my heart this love prevails, erasing the greed of a few, and allowing Grandma and Grandpa to rest in blissful peace.

The Road to the Farm

Pick some pansies for me

We planted a small apple tree the spring after you were born still. It has never failed to sprout beautiful white blossoms every year since you have been gone. This spring was no different.  But as the calendar flew through July, the leaves on the tips of your tree started to turn brown and weep.  I took a sample to the garden centre and was told it had fire blight.  Fungicides and herbicides were not recommended.  Instead, I was advised to be very aggressive and prune each branch several inches below the brown parts. In addition, we were told to bleach the pruning tool between every cut to prevent the spread of the disease, and hopefully save the tree. Unfortunately there was a lot of brown, and we had to severely prune the tree. Your dad did all the hard labor.  We felt awful doing it--it's fragrant spring blossoms have brought us a lot of comfort over the years. It was indeed grown with love in your memory.  

Last night as I was watering the flowers planted around your tree, I studied the tree and once again worried whether it would survive the winter.  And then a new thought floated into my mind.  As much as the tree was planted in memory of your short life, it's possible demise does not have to be symbolic of your death.  Instead, it would be more synonymous with the difficulties eventually faced by almost every living thing here on earth: such as sadness or illness. I know you live on...fluttering to a different measure of space and time.  To me, you are perfect--only knowing love, peace and happiness--free from mortal afflictions--safe with God.

And for the first time this summer you get to celebrate your birthday with Great Grandma Owens.  I miss her dearly. She made the most mouth-watering dad's cookies, bread and raspberry pie--soaked with fresh cream. And she loved to kiss the babes--no matter the age.  Enjoy those hugs and kisses Bret and know we are sending you lots too. Grandma always loved pansies--so please pick some for her today and she will bake you a masterpiece to celebrate your 19th heavenly birthday in style.  Happy Birthday Babe!

Love Mom.
xo

Written in memory of Bret Nathan Munro--
born with wings 
August 27, 1995.

To Bruce

Twenty one years ago I couldn't wait for the time to come--for the day you were born and for me to become a mother for the first time.  Then when my water broke at home that evening, I was suddenly scared to death!  I wanted to run away--afraid of how painful childbirth might be--but I knew wherever I waddled to, my round belly would be going with me.  There was no escape.  So off to the hospital we went--your dad trying to avoid the potholes from the March thaw because it seemed like I could feel every bump on the road.

After we got to the hospital you decided to just take your time--at least it seemed that way.  After eight to ten hours of labor it was finally time to push.  I was becoming exhausted after an hour and 1/2 of pushing, so the doctor decided they'd better call in the anesthesiologist for a c-section.  The nurse suggested trying the vacuum extractor--and the doctor said we could, although doubtful it would work.  As I bared down and pushed, the doctor pulled.  And finally you were born just as the anesthesiologist walked into the room.  You came into this world with a little ring around the crown of your head that looked just like a halo--it was where the extractor held onto your head.  

Through your first breath and screams at the cold air, the nurse exclaimed, "look at those dimples!"  You had them right from the start.  And you had cute dimples in other places too--a sweet, pudgy little boy that I could hardly believe was ours.  My dad couldn't believe how many creases you had either.  It must have been all those dilly bars your pregnant mom gobbled up.  We named you Bruce after your dad's late father--whom I never I had the pleasure of meeting.  

You still take your time and have displayed incredible patience throughout your 21 years.  You were such an easy baby to take care of--seldom crying and forever grinning and showing off those dimples.  I remember an incident when you were about 9 months old and had a terrible stomach flu.  As first time parents, we were terrified when you projectile vomited across our bedroom.  But that alarm soon turned to relief as you broke out in a grin right afterwards.  

When you were four, it seemed like your proudest moment holding your new baby brother.  He had slept almost entirely until you held him--then he opened his eyes wide when he heard your familiar voice.

I am in awe of your witty, spontaneous, sense of humor; and your memory for sports and movie facts is truly astounding!  I could tell countless stories about how you've made me smile over the years, and for this I am grateful.

A handsome young man full of patience, wit and love for his family, today, on your 21st birthday, I realize how truly blessed we are to have you in our lives.  As your future unfolds I know whoever you choose to share your life with will be incredibly fortunate.  I am so proud of the man you have become.  

Happy 21st Birthday Bruce!

Love you!

Mom

xoxo

About Dad and Mom

I wrote these poems for my parents many years ago and just retyped them for one of my sisters--

I thought I would share them on my blog too.  :o)

About Dad
By Cindy Haugen 

Dad diapered and bathed us
when Mom worked at night
Then it wasn’t “macho,”
but he felt it was right.

When it thundered
he always found room in his bed
for three little girls
to lay their scared heads.

He taught his three girls
to ride bikes and to play ball,
to be good sportswomen,
to get up when we’d fall.

Dad always taught us
to pursue our dreams,
to be our own person,
to have high self-esteem.

He worked very hard
to make dreams come true,
funding our educations,
and helping us move.

He spared no expense
when his three daughters wed.
He was known to work hard;
“Not a risk,” the bank said.

Now Dad’s a fine Grandpa--
six grandson’s in all!
He’ll share with them wisdom
and how to play ball.

So the lessons in life
Dad taught us were clear;
be independent, work hard,
and get a career.

Take care of those you love,
stand up and be honest,
and my Dad’s special trait—
is to be very modest. 

After 39 busy years,
my Dad just retired.
Thanks for my dreams Dad.
You’re truly admired.


About Mom
By Cindy Haugen 

Mom’s done so much for her three girls,
there’s so much to recall.
She stayed home to take good care of us
from the time we were just small. 

Whenever we weren’t doing well
and feeling under the weather,
she’d cook for us—our favorite foods
to make us feel all better. 

Mom taught us we could do anything.
We were proud that we were “girls.”
She ensured we had lego and cars
and played ball despite our curls. 

When I was at an awkward age,
Mom drove the extra mile
to get my acne treated,
to improve my buck-toothed smile. 

She would sew a special outfit,
or create a new hair style
to help us hold our heads up high,
to make us feel worthwhile. 

Mom taught her girls to work real hard
yet make the time for fun,
to be good cooks and gardeners,
to get out—enjoy the sun! 

When I faced my hardest time
I saw behind her tears
the desire to just take my place,
to quiet all my fears. 

She’s been there on my darkest days
helping me to cope,
to stand up on my two feet,
to manage and have hope. 

But most of all, the greatest thing
Mom taught us, now we know,
is how to be a loving mom,
to help our boys to grow. 

Now Mom’s a loving “Granny”
to six wild little boys.
She’s busy playing “chase” with them
and spoiling them with toys. 

Mom, thanks for being our best friend,
for showing how you care,
for listening,
 for your good advice
and for always being there.

The Song I Remember

The thunder rumbles

and the raindrops tap

a familiar refrain

on my window pane...

the song I remember.

 

 

Happy Birthday young man.

Born still August 27, 1995

Love you babe.

 

 

Death Walk

It hurts to watch

the silent death walk,

skin spread loosely over bones.

"I'm eating," she claims.

Please don't lie

as you casually kill yourself.
It's like hearing screeching nails on a chalkboard.

The truth will set you free

and reflect light into your empty eyes,

to behold the beauty I see.

 

The Simple Beauty of the Human Spirit

On the hospital unit I work on we had a lovely elderly lady who was, unfortunately, very confused.  She was on our unit waiting for a bed to become available in a long term care facility. Often she would talk to someone we could not see.  And at other times she would be incredibly frightened, curling up into a little ball and cringing at whatever she perceived was clawing at her.  It broke my heart to see her so terrified. 

Amazingly, she responded well to touch--the gentle stroking of her hair, or caressing of her hand, covering her in a warm blanket, and telling her it would be okay.  Her faded grey eyes would light up, she would smile and sometimes say, "I wondered when you would come."  We sat her near the nursing station in a reclining chair, so staff could keep a close eye on her and give her the comforting attention she needed.

Another patient on our unit was recovering from a severe stroke and also waiting placement.  The stroke left this elderly man wheelchair bound, but he became very good at shuffling his feet to move his wheelchair around.  His face was permanently contorted into a mask; open droopy mouth, tongue swollen and protruding, drooling, and speech mostly incomprehensible.  Regardless, the kindness and wit in his sparkling blue eyes was remarkable.

On a hectic Friday afternoon, unknown to staff, our elderly lady was having one of her terrifying hallucinations.  When the buzz settled down I looked up and saw our gentleman holding her hand, looking into her eyes and nodding reassuringly.  She smiled contentedly at him and grasped his hand in both of hers.  He stayed with her until supper came.  We were all moved by the sight, and thanked our patient for being a true gentleman.  Some joked about love being found on the unit.  But it really wasn't that.  Rather, it was two lonely souls touching each other at a very raw, uncertain time. 

Looking back on that afternoon, I am not sure who was most blessed that day:  the confused, panic-stricken lady who was instantly comforted, the elderly man who felt needed despite his frustrating disability, or the staff, who were reminded of the simple beauty of the human spirit. 

Some days at work can be very draining.  But afternoons like this make it all worth while. 

In the end, only kindness matters.

~From "These Hands" by Jewel~

__________


Too often we underestimate the power of a touch,

a smile,

a kind word,

a listening ear,

an honest compliment,

or the smallest act of caring,

all of which have the potential to turn a life around. 

~Leo Buscaglia~

Shrouded in Haze

"Not everyone is meant to stay in your life forever."

I guess that's true--but it's a hard pill to swallow.

Some losses are succinct, and cut to the bone: someone you care deeply about moves away, or (heaven forbid) dies. 

Other losses are shrouded in haze: you lose a friend because they are not who you really thought they were.  When they suspect you know they are not a person of integrity, and they are fairly certain you will address concerns with them, suddenly they pull away.  They dodge out of Dodge, so to speak.  Cowardly, but understandable, given the circumstances...they run for cover.

But rejection cuts no matter how you slice it...even though you realize you are far better off without chameleons in your life and need to surround yourself with light.

Still, you grieve a loss like this as you would any other.  But what you really miss is what you thought you had--a loving friendship with a sincere, forthright person.  Truthfully, you miss a fictional character.  For me, this experience has certainly made me appreciate my true friends so much more deeply, and for this I am grateful.

And so I will be gentle with myself as I ebb and flow through waves of sadness--as my heart cleanses, and heals and makes way for a new friendship to fill an empty space.  A real one. ♥

Christmas Thoughts

When I was a little girl I loved playing with the cats at my grandparents farm.  I enjoyed rubbing their bellies and listening to their gentle, rhythmic purring.  I would pick them up and wrap them around my neck and carry them into the house, where grandma didn't want them!  By the end of our play time I would have an itchy, red rash around my neck and my eyes would be bloodshot and watering.  Grandma would say, "Cindy!  Stay away from those damn cats!  You are allergic to them."  I would tell her, "No I'm not, Grandma--I'm allergic to the chickens."  I hated the chickens--always clucking loudly and fluttering violently around in the chicken coop.  And they would chase me all the way to the farm house--I'd be out of breath and crying, terrified to death!  I couldn't understand how I could be allergic to something that brought me so much joy.

At Christmas we were often the first house to have lights on on our block.  I remember when I was in grade three my two sisters and I were up even before the crack of dawn and ready to open our stockings.  We waited patiently for mom and dad to get up.  When their bedroom door finally opened, out strolled a little black kitten with a tiny diamond of white on her chest, looking like she owned the place.  I said, "Is that for me???"  And mom and dad said she was.  I was so excited!  I never dreamed I would ever have a kitten with my allergies!  It was my most memorable Christmas ever!

Thankfully, over time I seemed to develop a tolerance to my kitty.  I didn't rash up and my eyes no longer watered.  "Taina" was the most wonderful pet.  She would sleep with us under the covers and make you so warm you'd have to throw off the blankets--my own personal heating pad.  There is nothing quite like the unconditional love of a pet.  Through my temperamental teenage years she would lick away my tears.  And when I was fifteen and (although unknown at the time) I had a cyst on my ovary, she knew I was sick and would sleep on the side with the pain.  She lived many, many years.  I was married with one child before she passed away.  Taina was such a blessing to our family and my life.

Now that I'm a parent I chuckle to myself and sometimes wonder what on earth my parents were thinking??!  What if it hadn't turned out so well?  What if I developed asthma and became really sick?  Regardless, I am so grateful they took the chance.  Mom often says it was the best $10.00 she ever spent when they picked Taina up from the SPCA.  This act of love for me gave me many, many moments of unbridled happiness and entertainment which I will forever cherish.  Thanks Mom and Dad for making my Christmas dreams come true!

Merry Christmas everyone!

Life is a Circle

Several months ago I was placed part-time on a very busy medicine unit at the hospital, to assist a coworker with her heavy caseload.  As we started to become more familiar with each other, we shared the reasons we were drawn into social work.  I indicated that I chose this profession because when I was a little girl, our family fostered a little boy from the reserve.  This four year old boy came to our home with a soiled diaper, matted hair and cigarette burns.  He was developmentally delayed and not toilet-trained.  Although I was only about six at the time, I vividly remember he was terrified of the vacuum cleaner, and he loved it when my grandpa rolled him back and forth on the floor.  He experienced his very first haircut while he was with us, exposing his big brown eyes.  Even though he wasn't with us for very long, it was hard to say good-bye, and his memory led me to want to go into the helping profession.  In fact, I wrote about him in an essay for my University application.

With my coworker on the unit full time, and myself half-time, we soon developed an easy method of dividing our caseload.  I simply asked her to pass me the files she would like me to assist her with at random, since she knew the unit best.  One day she gave me the case of an adult male.  I went into his room and as I began my assessment and we started chatting, it was clear to me this man was cognitively delayed, even though there was no indication on the chart.  I could sense something strangely familiar--just a "gut feeling."  And it dawned on me that his first name matched the first name of my former foster brother.  

I told my coworker I thought it might be him, and at her urging I phoned my mom that night to ask his last name.  It was this patient!  I informed my manager of the situation.  I wanted the very best for this patient but at the same time didn't want to do anything unethical; he was my client.  My coworker was reassigned the case and I knew she would take good care of his needs.  He desperately did not want to return to the reserve, and he eventually ended up living away in an assisted living facility, away from his extended family and in our region.

As the weeks passed after his discharge, I felt a calling to be involved in my former foster brother's life.  I couldn't believe the coincidence--of all the hospitals he could go to in the province, out of all the hospitals in the city, out of all the units in our hospital, and of the cases my coworker could randomly pass to me--it was truly a miracle.  And I believe things happen for a reason.  

I called the Alberta College of Social Workers to discuss this dilemma and asked if it was okay to disclose my previous relationship to the patient and become part of his life, especially since he was estranged from his biological family.  They agreed and confirmed the hospital staff, myself included, conducted ourselves ethically.  I went to this man and told him who I was.  He asked why I hadn't told him sooner, and I explained to him that I didn't want to influence his decision on where he wanted to live--I wanted him to do what was best for him without my influence.  

Over the last little while, we have shared some laughs and some short memories from when he was with us.  I can't believe he remembers!--but the details he shared were undeniable.  I spoke about this with another coworker who has extensive experience working in child welfare, and he said we can never underestimate the positive impact a healthy home has on a child, even if he was only there for a short while.

My former foster brother has the most infectious giggle and gentle spirit.  I have helped him pick out winter boots, coat and mitts, we've gone for coffee, and he came for supper with my family to watch the Grey Cup.  He calls regularly and we have forged a new friendship.  Things happen for a reason, and I feel my life has gone a full circle--I am helping the person who has helped me become a social worker.  I am truly blessed.

"Everything the power of the world does is done in a circle.

The sky is round and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball and so are the stars.

The wind, in its greatest power, whirls.

Birds make their nest in circles, 

for theirs is the same religion as ours.

The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle.

The moon does the same and both are round.

Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing 

and always come back again to where they were.

The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood,

and so is everything where power moves."

~Black Elk, Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux~

(1863-1950)

Happy Birthday Bret

It's hard to believe you would be 17 today--my sweet middle child.

When I look at your two brothers here with me, I can't help but wonder what you would look like.

  

Would you have dimples like your big brother or a strong jaw like your father? 

Maybe I would have a son with blue eyes, glowing like your great grandpa's or grammies'. 

Would you have dark hair like gramps' or fiery red hair similar to your little brother's?  

Perhaps I would have an extra driver in the house to help run your little brother around.  

And what would you choose to do for fun--play baseball or hockey like the other boys?  Maybe neither--perhaps you would be a music fanatic--beating the drums or pounding the piano to the measure of your own tune!

Unfortunately, you were not meant to be here on earth with us--but as your mom I can't help but wonder...

What I know for sure is all you have taught me:

Time is precious--spend it wisely.
It's okay to cry.
Love transcends all we see.
Don't let anyone "should" on you--sometimes we need to do what feels right in order to heal and it doesn't always fit with what other people think.
You are always with me in my heart, fluttering to a different measure.
Comfort can be found in the simplest places: ivory apple blossoms, the silver sparkle of sunshine on snow; the melody of the wind playing with the leaves, the dance of a butterfly, or the easy stream of rain on my face.  

Thank you, child of mine, for these wonderful treasures you left behind. I am forever grateful.

Love you forever,

Mom

xo

Wish Bones and Back Bones

"We teach people how to treat us."  ~Life Law #8 by Dr. Phil McGraw

At first blush this statement seems way too simplistic.  True, Dr. Phil has a gift for getting to the heart of matters--but surely this life law ignores the complexities of relationships, especially abusive ones. I used to think this statement blamed the victim--and somehow implied one deserved mistreatment.

Over the years I've come to realize this is not at all what Dr. Phil intended.  Instead, this life law empowers people to take responsibility for the boundaries they set in their relationships.

The most common example of how this works is in parenting our children.  Our little ones learn very quickly what behavior will and will not be tolerated.  For instance, I may decide I will not allow my child to yell at me--and so if my son does this, I will work to extinguish this negative behavior by giving him a "time out" or refusing to consider his request until he speaks to me appropriately.  He will learn, by the boundaries I set, that he cannot treat me this way.

The same holds true for the teacher who sets the tone of his/her classroom.  Some teachers are okay with noisy chatter and others prefer peace and quiet.  Any experienced teacher will tell you that it's important to set out these expectations early on in the school year.

Why should our interpersonal relationships be any different?  If we turn a blind eye to lying and infidelity, to controlling behavior and name-calling, can we really expect to be treated better in the future?  One of my friends spoke of this old adage a few weeks ago, "Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me!"  It is especially true when we try to shape our personal and professional relationships.

Dr. Phil says, "You either teach people to treat you with dignity or respect, or you do not."  I think we sometimes lose sight of the power we have to shape our destinies in our relationships.  He suggests we take ownership of how people treat us and try to recognize what we are doing to reinforce negative behaviors.  It is never too late to renegotiate the boundaries we set in our relationships; and it's important to be clear and firm. As Dr. Phil so eloquently writes:

"The worst thing you could do is make a lot of noise about changing things, only to revert to the old, familiar, destructive patterns. To talk about change and not to do it is to teach that person to treat your statements and declarations lightly. You will teach him or her to be patient, confident that you will soon give in. Where your relationship standards are concerned, commit to yourself that, although it may be difficult to effect change, you must not compromise. To compromise in this area is to sell out your most precious commodity: you." 

If you find yourself putting up with undesirable behaviors, you need to ask yourself why you think you deserve this treatment.  In my work with abuse victims, I have discovered that sometimes we ignore the behavior not only because we don't realize how intrinsically valuable we are, but also because we keep hoping for change that sometimes never comes.  As such, we then make excuses for the mistreatment...it was the alcohol talking...he's been under a lot of stress at work...I shouldn't have provoked him...I haven't been meeting her needs so she went elsewhere...

I love this empowering quote by Kansas-born writer Clementine Paddleford (1898-1967), "Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be."  It's not okay to lose ourselves and compromise our worth.  If you discover yourself in a similar situation, you need to find your backbone and draw a line in the sand with it.  If you are having trouble, there are many resources available to help you create your own destiny--look for assistance.

Source: http://www.drphil.com/articles/article/131  

  

Ode to a Sweet Soul

Sometimes freedom only comes

as the eagle soars over your grave.

Left behind are the downcast eyes

of the orphaned,

bearing the legacy of rusted chains

and pain unspoken.

RIP sweet soul

...fly free.

Protecting the Heart

A young couple, Quinn and Sarah, were on the Dr. Phil show yesterday.  Their relationship has been plagued with insidious violence for years.  Imagine a world of rabid name-calling, kicks, infidelity, savage punches, sharp slices with broken glass and stitches to patch up gaping wounds.  Many of us cannot fathom living in such insufferable chaos.  The couple has two young girls who witness the abuse, and are victims themselves.  And believe it or not, the perpetrator is Sarah.

Also on the show were Quinn and Sarah's mothers, both equally concerned about the abuse to Quinn and their granddaughters.  As a way to explain her behavior, Sarah talked about how she was physically abused by her father growing up--brutally beaten with a belt many times.  In fact, Dr. Phil indicated Sarah's dad had been brought up on charges for the abuse.  And yet, Sarah's mother vehemently denied there was any abuse to Sarah when she lived at home.  How could this mother continue to refute the abuse to Sarah when there was ample evidence to substantiate it?  Is she just a liar?  And how could Quinn remain in such an violent relationship, putting his beautiful daughters at risk as well?  

When I worked in the area of family violence, I was asked these types of question many times.  Why do victims stay?  Why do they keep going back?  Why do they protect the abusers?  These are easy questions with complex answers--whole books are written on the topic.  The show today was a poignant example of one reason violent relationships are sustained: denial.

Over the years I have discovered that denial is like a blanket that covers the shame of domestic violence for victims and bystanders.  Once safe, I have had women sit in my office and recount horrific incidences of abuse.  One story would lead to another, and sometimes with gentle probing, a kind touch and an empathetic ear, the flood gates would open up.  I vividly remember one woman responding, "Wow!  I had completely forgotten about that until now...isn't that strange?"

It's really not all that strange, under the circumstances.  Victims tend to minimize the abuse as a way to cope, and sometimes the mind blocks it out completely.   It actually makes sense.  How much would you want to remember having a shotgun held to your head by the one person you loved and trusted?  What if that same loved one knocked your teeth out, or gave you an STD stemming from multiple infidelities?  And what if you stood by and did nothing while your husband beat the tar out of your daughter?

Denial and minimization of abuse can sometimes be diagnosed as Disassociation.  In addition, this type of psychological disconnection is a common symptom of PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Dr. Marlene Steinberg, co-author of The Stranger in the Mirror: Dissociation--the Hidden Epidemic (2001) makes the argument that dissociation is more widespread than was originally thought as a response to trauma, affecting over 30 million worldwide (http://strangerinthemirror.com/dissociative.html).  She states it is often is misdiagnosed as depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, sleep disorder or attention-deficit disorder, thus resulting in years of suffering.

Whether you call it denial, disconnection, dissociation, detachment or minimization--we cannot underestimate it as an important reason victims become desperately stuck.  Sometimes the mind takes over and protects what the heart cannot bear...and so the cycle continues.

“Hope is a higher heart frequency,

and as you begin to re-connect with your heart, 

hope is waiting to show you new possibilities 

and arrest the downward spiral of grief and loneliness. 

 Listening to your still, small voice in your heart

will make hope into a reality .” 

~Sarah Paddison, The Hidden Power of the Heart~

A Lesson Learned

Today I went back and forth with myself, deciding whether or not to visit a patient that is no longer on my caseload, and who is now under hospice care.  I try to be very conscious of the boundaries I set with my work, but his extended family is all out of province and he does not have a wife or children to provide support.  We developed a good connection in a short period of time while he was in acute care, both displaying a "tell it like it is" mentality enveloped in mutual respect.  I eventually decided to go--worried he would have few visitors in his final few days on earth.  Besides, I had an appointment in that area of town--maybe it was meant to be...

I am glad I went.  Although the cancer had metasticized and he was in a lot of discomfort, he said he wanted to "back off" from the pain medication because he had "a lot to think about."  I asked him what he would tell himself if he was sixteen again.  He kind of skirted the topic by sharing what life was really like for him at that age, having just lost his Dad and living with an alcoholic mother whom he loved fiercely.  It sounded like chaos.  But with his incredible spirit he managed to obtain his high school diploma and get a trade.

Unfortunately, he inherited his mother's propensity and led a hard and fast life down that same path--escaping his pain and unfounded insecurities.  He was successful in living the fast life he chose--always finding work to finance the fun.  This brought us back to present day and his losing battle against a cancer that sometimes rears its ugly head in response to a reckless lifestyle.  And so I asked the question from a different angle; what would be the soundest advice he could give my two boys, aged 18 and 14.  His clear blue eyes welled up with tears as he said only two words: "slow down."

As our visit came to a close, he gave me some last minute instructions and I did the same, reminding him, "say what you need to say."  He cocked one eyebrow, smiled and said, "You know I'm good at that," to which I responded, "Yes, I should know that by now."  After we hugged good-bye I walked out into an unusually warm February afternoon and stared up at the brilliant blue sky that reminded me of his translucent eyes.  Then I remembered something my junior high science teacher told our class one day.  At the time my classmates and I thought it was very odd.  Out of the blue Mr. Shandro told us..."Remember to slow down and smell the roses."

Slow down.

Water filled my eyes as I realized I didn't come today just for him.  I came for me--to relearn an old lesson and to validate some recent choices.
Thank you kind sir.