Winter has arrived with a vengeance here in Winnipeg and I decide to walk to the dentist and hairdresser for my appointments. Thankfully, I have retrieved winter jackets and boots from last year's hiding places before the snow arrived. Suddenly everything seems to have changed and there is a different landscape...so strange...kind of like my life now, since Hardy left...

The tree with its silver branches standing alone, reminds me of how I feel these days--lonely and cold. Then I see another tree and the autumn leaves shining red and yellow against the snow laden branches show me that I have also experienced lovely and beautiful things that give me joy. 

The best gift of all is one I received from Hardy. I was going through the boxes he stored in the garage and to my surprise, I found all the letters I had written to him when he was in Congo, two years before we got married. Ours was a courtship by correspondence, after we had been introduced to each other and had one date. "the ones he wrote to me must be in my possession" I thought. I went to look for them, and found them in one of my file folders. 

The letters I sent to Hardy have a hole in them because he is a stamp collector and wanted to keep the stamps. He carefully rewrote the words he had cut out while retrieving the stamps. So typical of him! There are a lot of letters, (we wrote two or three letters a week for two years!) so I have a date with Hardy almost every evening after supper, reading his declarations of love for me! I feel like we are talking together again as I carefully read the letters according to the dates in which they were written. I was a student at Canadian Mennonite Bible College (Now Canadian Mennonite University) at the time and working at a Christian bookstore on Saturdays. Most of what I wrote to Hardy has escaped my memory, probably because of all the momentous events that happened after these letters were written. I share some things with my sisters when we get together for coffee and we have a good laugh.  Some words I share with my daughters and we shed some tears. Among Hardy's letters I also found a letter my mother had written to him without my knowledge! She asked him not to tell me about it and he never did!! Gotcha mom!

Hardy had a lot of sweaters and the grandchildren each picked a favorite and took it home with them. It was so much fun to see them prancing around in Opa's sweaters and sharing memories of him. My sister, the amazing quilter, is going to make us a quilt using some of Hardy's shirts. That certainly will help me get over the winter blahs!

Shortly after Hardy's passing, when my heart felt broken, the neighbour's cat came and looked at me through the door leading from the kitchen to the deck. This happened about three times, when I felt most vulnerable. He has never come back since!

How thankful I am for all the love shown to me during this heartbreaking, heavy time of loss. Hardy's former coworker in the Bible translation work, John Mwanga, who now lives in London, England, grieved with me, the African way, when I told him in a phone call that Hardy was no longer with us. Then he flew in for the funeral. It was so good to see him, and also Hardy's encourager and long time supporter and friend, Nancy Fehderau, who flew in with her daughter Becky from Ontario. They were the family Hardy lived with during his first year in Congo. 

Beautiful flowers and cards fill my house from friends far and near. I keep wanting to share them with Hardy, to tell him, "oh, look, here's a card from..." 

Gifts of delicious food came in abundance and it was so good not to have to cook for a while!

I felt like I needed to somehow acknowledge all this love I received in such abundance and to give something in return. I noticed that our little neighbour across the street had a birthday. I decided to give her a birthday present and went downstairs to the crawl space where my children's and grandchildren's toys wait silently for someone to play with them. The first thing I saw was the perfect gift for her, and she received it with a big smile!

Hardy would have approved!

 

In the Silence

 The poet, Karen Brodine, once said, “When you write things down, they become true.” 

Earlier this year I wrote a series of meditations for the devotional Rejoice. The  one I had written for September 6, on Hardy’s birthday, was entitled “God Will Take Care of You.” At the time I wrote this I had no idea what would take place in early September. The cancer that we had hoped was contained in the bladder had spread, and Hardy passed away peacefully, September 3, surrounded by his family.

 When I read the devotional, on the day of Hardy’s birthday, three days after he passed away, I felt it was a promise sent to me by God for that day, even though I had written it myself!

Below is the conclusion to my devotional.

In our scripture reading today, Elijah finds himself in a dangerous position just after experiencing a victory over the prophets of Baal. Despite God's mighty display of power, Elijah falls into a deep depression when Queen Jezebel promises she will kill him in an act of revenge. Taking refuge in the wilderness, Elijah meets God- not in the hurricane or the earthquake or the fire, but in the silence that follows. Elijah is able to relax under God's care and follow God's leading.

Elijah finds God’s leading in the silence that comes after the turbulence.

The silence can be deep and long and as Henri Nouwen writes:

“Real human grief means allowing the illusion of immortality to die in us. When those whom we love with an “endless love” die, something also has to die within us. If we do not allow this to happen, we will lose touch with reality, our lives will become increasingly artificial, and we will lose our human capacity for compassion.

I find solace in nature, this beautiful season when the leaves turn color, the geese prepare for their long journey south, the sunset is brilliant and the harvest moon a golden globe. I want to enjoy my own autumnal years and have them reflect the beauty we see in nature. I need to grieve the passing of this season, but I can also choose to enjoy its beauty.

 

One Day at a Time

 The much anticipated annual family week at a cottage finally arrived and is now already a thing of the past. We knew ahead of time that we would not be able to participate the way we had in other summers due to Hardy's illness. As his main caregiver, I could not leave him for a week. However, the children made a plan for me to spend one full day there, while one of them stayed with him for the day.  I enjoyed every minute and will live with the memories now.

Above are the "twin" cousins (one month apart) who have worked so hard to finish high school this year and now are on the cusp of life's new adventures. My advice to them is to "live one day at a time." Their Opa's advice has always been: "Every day is not the same!" Hmmm--seems like that is not working for him right now, as his days are pretty much the same!

The youngest grandson (and youngest in the family) is great at entertaining us all. He decided to dress up as Oma with her cool hat and shades!

A boat ride down the river was absolutely wonderful

Of course I had to visit the garden, which was as beautiful as always, but no milkweed this year, which was too bad. I have a Vexierbild (picture puzzle) for you. Can you spot the insect? It's not hard once you know it's there.

My project for the afternoon was to make a batch of "Rollkuchen" (a type of Mennonite bannock eaten with watermelon or Borscht). I recruited my two faithful helpers from last summer to do the deep frying while I rolled and cut.

The hours and the days flew by, and now our Ontario family is on the road back to their home after tearful goodbyes to their dad and their Opa. 

Aufwiedersehen

A Perfect Gift

I was cleaning up in the garage, easily filling up the garbage and recycling bins long before the pick up day when I came across a treasure. I have no idea how it ended up in a box in the garage, but there it was; a beautiful writing pad. I found it on Canada Day, July 1. A writing pad with a Canadian theme!

"How long has it been since I've sent a handwritten letter in the mail?" I asked myself. It's just so much easier to send an email or a text. But this notepad was calling my name and I couldn't resist!

 

I found a nice pen and began writing a letter to my children and grandchildren in Ontario. The younger ones can't even read or write the cursive script which I learned in grade four, writing with a fountain pen that had a cartridge for refilling. I had already mastered the old German handwriting (Gothische Schrift) in my village school in Paraguay, writing on a slate with a "griffel" (slate pencil). Knowledge of this script came in handy when I was working on my MA in German and researching old manuscripts. Fellow students from Germany were surprised that I knew this script since they  no longer learned it in their schools.

I spent my Sunday morning writing this letter, which turned into my July blog posting. Until this morning I had no inspiration or joy to write a post, and thought it would not happen this month. But here it is, a gift to me and a gift to my readers!

"Father of Lights, you delight in your children...and every good and perfect gift comes from You."

https://www.letras.com/vineyard/525020/

From an Octogenarian

 

Yes, I am an octogenarian as of May 26, 2023 !  I'm grateful to have reached this milestone, and also quite amazed and somewhat shell-shocked. 

I am the oldest of five sisters. We gathered to celebrate and to reminisce -- to reflect on what life has brought to each of us. My youngest sister made a lemon poppy seed cake, a favorite of mine. My second youngest sister hosted the event and we had a delicious lunch of quiche and salad. She makes sour dough bread and gifted us each with a loaf. The sister next to her gave me flowers. 

Our mother has a birthday the same month as I do. She was an only daughter with five brothers and always longed for a sister. She loved it when we sisters got together.

The sister next to me in age, who took care of our mother in her last years, put together a display of some things she still has that were mom's. We each picked something from that display to take home with us.

        

My mother's hands were always busy. She was a seamstress, so there was her pincushion and her thimble, a wooden mushroom to put in a sock when she mended it. She loved flowers and plants. Children and grandchildren gave her jewellery, and there was a scent she always wore when going out. We breathed in the scent and reminisced. 

At home our celebration was a bit more subdued, due to husband Hardy's cancer diagnosis (see my May blog posting) which leaves us all with a lingering sadness. But there were some wonderful surprises that day as well. A young couple from Poland dropped by with gifts from their mother who was our tour guide when we took a trip to Poland and Ukraine. They hope to make Winnipeg their home and this was their last day. They didn't know it was my birthday. They only stayed briefly, just for ten minutes, because they came by bus and this was their last day in Canada. After they left, we reminisced with our grandchildren about that memorable trip when we were able to visit both Hardy's birth place in Poland and mine in Ukraine.

Hardy remembered flowers and a card.

.

A dragon-fly brooch from daughter #3 reminded me to be strong!

Grandchildren Ivan and Sasha helped with garage cleanup. Best gift ever!

This wall hanging, bought at an MCC sale by my eldest daughter, now hangs at the entrance to the kitchen. It never fails to calm me when I feel stressed.

Celebration is only possible through the deep realization that life and death are never found completely separate. Celebration can only really come about where fear and love, joy and sorrow, tears and smiles can exist together. Celebration is the acceptance of life in a constantly increasing awareness of its preciousness. And life is precious not only because it can be seen, touched, and tasted, but also because it will be gone one day. Henri Nouwen

A Vulnerable and Holy Place

Here it is already a week into May and I'm having difficulty beginning my monthly blog post! That is unusual, but our family is finding itself in a situation that seems indescribable. Words elude me!

When the cancer specialist's secretary called and asked us to confirm our decision to have palliative care instead of chemo for Hardy, I lost it. It felt like I had just confirmed a death sentence!

So I keep busy and it helps me to regain my equilibrium, to manage my fear and uncertainty and my grief at what is to come. There is so much to do!  Husband Hardy (whose second name is hoarder--note the alliteration!) never throws anything away, so I have been in the garage filling the garbage and recycling bins to the top every week.

When I'm not cleaning out the garage, I'm in the backyard raking leaves, stuffing them into bags, composting. The other day there was a dead mouse just lying there in the middle of the yard. Normally I would have freaked, called Hardy and he would have taken care of it. Instead, I just stood and looked at it. It was so perfect. I wondered how it had died, as it had no marks on it. I marvelled at how beautiful it actually looked, before I scooped it into the garbage bin. 

Writing is usually a healing process for me, but I had no words, except one: The word palliative, repeating itself in my head. My sister took me out for lunch and I told her about it. She looked at me and said, "We are all 'palliative.'  I could die tomorrow, you could die today. None of us are exempt from that process, we just don't think about it."

I needed to hear those words to get my equilibrium back.

She also gifted me with a book that day. This book released something in me and helped me write about how I feel.

"When people allow you to know about their pain and talk about it, take your shoes off. You're standing in a holy place. Be humble, be kind, when someone shows you vulnerability."                                    [Amani Gohar]

"Hope is the Thing With Feathers"

We knew it was coming, but when it arrived we were still shocked. Our snow shovelling team quits at the end of March, and here we were with this huge dump of snow everywhere!

The Easter bunny came like he was supposed to, right onto our deck, but no Easter treats for us! He was eating all the bird seeds that had fallen from the bird feeder. He lives under the deck in winter. In summer he enjoys living under the two tall pines in our front yard  with his ever growing family, nibbling on things he's not supposed to. We are well into April, but it feels like midwinter in more ways than one.

I looked out our window at these two beautiful trees in our front yard and I was suddenly overcome by sadness. Subconsciously I think I always compared them to us, Hardy and me, a couple who has weathered many a storm and come out the stronger for it. We have sheltered our young and watched them outgrow their shelter, watched them as they raise their own young, our precious grandchildren. We have counted our losses, but together we have not been overwhelmed ... until now, that is.

We hear the doctor tell us that Hardy's cancer has spread from the bladder to other parts of his body. He gives us some options. We hear his words but they don't really register properly. We go home and have some Easter bread and coffee. We enjoy being together. We take a nap.

The next day it hits us like the winter storm. We are overwhelmed by grief. We tell ourselves that love is stronger than death, that there is a resurrection. But we grieve our separation and we are afraid. Afraid of death, afraid of being alone ... .

Last night I dreamt that Hardy told me he was going on a trip. I said I wanted to come along but he said I couldn't. 

Still in my dream, I got up to go to the washroom. My dad was in there (he passed away in 2005). He accompanied me back to the bedroom and sat on the bed with me the way he always did when I was a teenager and got into trouble with Mom. It was comforting.

I had another dream. Mom was in it (she passed away in 2008). She was preparing for a family dinner and we were late, a trait not tolerated well in our family. She was telling Hardy that he needed to be better prepared so he wouldn't always be late!

I felt like they had both come to tell me everything would be alright. I hang on to that.

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land, 

And on the strangest sea; 

yet, never in extremity, 

It asked a crumb of me. 

                                                               Emily Dickinson

                                                      

We gave this yellow gerbera to our daughter for her birthday last March. It thrived all summer but then languished and almost died when it was brought inside. Grandson Ivan looked at a gerbera I had taken into the house, which was doing well. I told him I gave it lots of water. He said he would try that. It worked like a charm.  He sent me the picture above. 

"The process of life demands that some things pass away to make room for others. The leaves fall, to be replaced, next spring, by new buds. Generation succeeds generation. Last year's dying fruit is this year's seed. It is the pattern of creation." 

                                                                      Saint Augustine