Wednesday, November 18, 2015

A Heart of Redemption






There are moments in my life where the darkest secrets within, have been spilled out on pages of crumpled loose leaf paper, or written on torn notes passed to one another. Embedded on the worn sheets are more than coloured ink…they contain the formations upon which the spirit of friendship resides. 

In September, as autumn scattered across the canvas of painted foliage- bursts of yellows swelling with hues of sienna and crimson – I received a visit from someone I have known for thirty years. I am smiling as I type this as some of the stories are plucked right out of a steamy Jackie Collins Bestseller, while others are brimming with the salt of my tears, spilled over three decades of our union, as friends. 



With any solid friendship, there are times of strength and brokenness. We have experienced love in our lives and while I have never attained the joys of a continual true devotion- my dear friend Michelle’s soul mate and partner for life-Chris, has seen her living a fulfilled journey with him… planning their next adventure together.  

Inside the multi- layers of our bond, we also share the underbelly of relationships; knowing too well what violence against woman truly means. We have entrusted one another with dark matters of the heart, buried deep down and found in exposing our secrets; it feels like we have known one another for many lifetimes. 

There was an occasion when years of knowing one another, were interrupted by the misunderstandings, of my stubborn self. An instance on social media, where I was revealing about my health, took a misleading curve. When Michelle replied, I mistook what she said- as is often the case with on-line sharing. Instead of clearing the air, I chose to not speak to her as my hurt straddled my obstinate heart; I simply did not want to deal with it. This was foolish on my part and I admit to being a flawed human. 

This was someone who was there the night I was dumped on New Year’s Eve, when we were supposed to be celebrating my 17th birthday…a dear friend who came to my disastrous shotgun first wedding- with me bursting out of a crème dress that resembled a small tent. I would give birth to my daughter, one month later. Michelle came to visit when I was living in the Okanagan and saw Shayla growing up thru pictures and in person. 


The time that was taken from us in not speaking, was on my part and knowing what I do now, I can only be humbled that she returned into my life. The irony of how we reunited is filled with tragedy. I had been staying at a home of a mutual friend and planning Shayla’s Candlelight Vigil at McKinley Park. I had written about the 1st year of her passing and my friend had posted it on social media. At some point, Michelle was scrolling through the posts and to her sorrow and disbelief she read about the one year memorial for a little girl she once knew. Since the event was taking place soon, Michelle asked our mutual friend if she could attend. What should have been an uplifting moment of camaraderie and outpouring of her support, made me tore up as I realized how utterly stupid I had been to let some words on-line affect me- especially since they were never intended! I knew that some way this was meant to happen; us coming together and I felt sheepish that this was the timing of it all! 

We met at a local fast food place and Michelle had brought a red rose to place at the reservoir for my babygirl. We hugged and it was one of the hardest life lessons I was part of. She came out to the park, joining others and braved the cold. While my voice carried over the neighbourhood, I looked at my friend and knew that someday I would have to acknowledge what had transpired. 

The time for me to say from the depth of my heart, how tremendously sorry I am that I allowed my own negative thinking to cloud my better judgement, is now. Even though, time and time again, I could have spoken with her in person about the matter, I always skirted the issue- ashamed that I let years go by without Michelle in my life! I am so very sorry my friend had to find out on social media that my daughter had been killed in a car wreck! My hope is when she reads the following words; Michelle will see just how much I wish I could have changed a misunderstanding! 

Michelle, you are the one close friend who has been there for monumental events connected to Shayla. 



During my time in Armstrong, you braved treacherous roads to come visit me and gifted me with the most beautiful handmade Christmas wreath I have ever seen. With sparkling butterflies, silver and pink décor, you had loving placed an angel and even a pink fairy home- like the one I had created for my daughter, as part of it. 

It was you who came with me to get my first tattoo. After I saw your daughter getting one, I was inspired to have placed on me, something extraordinary that Shayla designed years earlier. 

 
There were many tears that day- on my part and much laughter- on yours! We agreed that would be my only tattoo to grace my body!

When the Memorial bench was going to be installed, it was you and I who went beforehand and as the photographs show that day, we had a brilliant time! Later, when it was finally placed there, you came and attended the dedication and released balloons for the little girl you once knew. 



On your travels with your husband Chris, you have done exceptional pebble releases over waterfalls in Quebec and on the very same beach Shayla once walked- Las Caletas Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.



This summer, in sharing you were coming for a visit, I completely changed my place around to show you how much I valued our friendship. I was honoured how in the midst of your hectic life and upcoming changes, you would find time for me. I went out and bought new sheets and a quilt, towels, and even made a basket full of goodies to place on your bed. Later when I told you I had appetizers for us, you laughed when I presented a tray full of skittles, jelly belly`s and chocolate covered treats! 




The goodies complimented the Ice wine you brought and the Damali Lavender wine we had to share in.

I was thrilled for your visit which was epic- 48 hours we spent together (this included driving from the Okanagan and hopping a ferry)! 

Beacon Hill Park


I treated you to Butterfly Gardens; you in turn bought us a fabulous meal at my favourite “Taste of Europe Deli,” where we ate homemade borscht, pierogies and sausages. I took you to one of my favourite places- Beacon Hill Park where we strolled along eating creamy ice cream from the legendary diner. I was thrilled to take you to my workplace and show you the gardens, I lovingly restored. Our walk along the ocean and blowing bubbles is such a cherished memory! 

Flirty Birdy loved Michelle!

My favourite place- Butterfly Gardens

Later back at my house, we sat and talked about the years we missed! You gave me another opportunity to speak about it, but I –who am never at a loss of words-, did not know what to say. Nevertheless, what you shared with me that night is something that opened me up to realize, I am not alone in things I have been subjected to. 

The evening we had, was spent with me wanting to share some of what you missed with Shayla and also her Celebration of Life. We were able to watch a video of my daughter dancing to “From Where You Are”- the sheer paradox of the song I spoke of with you. We had many laughs watching Shayla and I on our last trip together to Disneyworld; all captured on video and played out for us beautifully. The moment when you agreed to watch her funeral, which I have on DVD, I will never forget the tears shed- mother to mother, friend to friend. Your tender words of sadness conveyed to me just how much Shayla meant to you and her passing, affecting you with such a profound loss.

Since re-connecting, I have been privileged to see photographs of all of your gorgeous daughters and snapshots of their pregnancies, along with your grandchildren -sweet little Jaxon and newly born Zayla. 





At the end of our whirlwind visit, I presented you with a scrapbook I created with love- brimming with memories past and news ones forged. Every page tells a story and includes those who are no longer part of my life. It brought a smile to you when I presented it as your birthday gift. I know you understood it symbolizes the beauty of what we have shared, over the years. 

Spirit of Friendship Shakers from Butterfly Gardens
 Michelle gifted me




For me this post is a special tribute long overdue…to finally give you a reply and be at peace that even though I cannot undo my actions back then… I am dedicated to ensuring we are able to have many years of friendship- no matter what life may bring. 



By TL Alton


Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Petals of Commemoration



Over the past few weeks, stories of unbridled passion between war torn lovers, displays of sacrifice and photographs capturing World War II, have collectively found their way to me.
While I do have an outline and progression of what blog posts I want to pen next, sometimes as a chronicler of life, I find myself drawn to the timely nature in which a story needs to be shared. 

My intentions were to tell the visit of someone whose selfish nature exceeded the boundaries of friendship. In the midst of their own upheaval and new beginnings in their life, they spent an entire day of travel to come and share an epic 48 hours with me.  Yet when I began to write I was pulled in a different direction- if only for the moments contained within-in order for me to pay respect to those on Remembrance Day

Therefore, this writer will relay the other tale in my next blog post, with the hopes that my imparting of this story holds true to the inspiration upon which it came. 

Several weeks ago, I worked Elections Canada. My day began as I awoke at 4:30 am. Work commenced at 6 am in a gymnasium full of strangers- collectively referred to as Poll Workers and Deputy Returning Officers (DRO’s). Over the sixteen hours, as a DRO, I took voter’s identifications, their oaths and swore people in who required it. There were no breaks; with the long day proving strenuous for many of those in the gym. I made sure I voted and had a say in the election. Towards the evening- after 14 hours of asking people their names, addresses and identification, I was beyond tired. As my next voter made his way to the table, he already had his ID ready. It was worn and yellow, matching his crumpled wallet that looked like it had survived a battle or two, over the years. He was a man of distinguished presence, with his silver wisps combed over in a proficient manner. After asking his name and following protocol, his gnarled fingers tentatively reached into his weathered billfold. He placed in front of me a black and white snapshot, with the edges curled; I stared at a young, fine-looking man in uniform. On the bottom of the photograph were the words: World War II. My reaction pleased the elderly voter and he proudly declared, “That’s me when I served my country.” Before I had a chance to respond, he brought out another picture. This one showed a young couple on their wedding day. He tapped gently on the photo and openly sharing with everyone, he chimed, “That’s my wife and I on our wedding day! She can’t come out to vote anymore, so I am here for the both of us.”

Of all those sixteen hours I worked on Elections Day and the voters I helped serve, this is the one man who made the whole experience, unforgettable! 

Last weekend, I attended Remembrance Day Service at Saanich Baptist Church. I have been to many events, as my daughter was in Air cadets for over five years. When she put on her uniform, Shayla was transformed into a young girl serving through her squadron, with respect for her community, fellow comrades and country. By far, the service at SBC was the best I have ever witnessed. Lt. Paul spoke of his experiences, followed by the bugle echoing The Last Post, it was a poignant day of remembrance. There was a reading of In Flanders Fields, which connected everyone to the thoughtful collaboration of the Worship Team- including a rendition of Amazing Grace that I was deeply moved by.

 After, I spoke with a kind hearted lady whose name is Elaine. She candidly shared her own experiences of World War II and what her family contributed to the Red Cross. Elaine shared how her entire family- including her husband, all knitted items for the soldiers. She was delighted to tell me how they put packs of smokes into the knitted cloths, along with fudge and other sundries. Her family’s participation in offering soldiers, little tokens from home, brought a great deal of satisfaction and pride. 
 
Later, as I reflected on Lt. Paul’s words; something occurred to me about his message in the freedom of being able to practice our faith. 

As a female writer and a Christian, even in times of adversity, I still have the opportunity to express myself on my blog. I have the liberty of choosing what I say without censorship or fear of retaliation. As a woman of faith, I can state what my beliefs are and not be drug out of where I am staying, or be put on trial for what I share. 

Despite there being times in my life when others have tried to silence me, I can ask for the Lord to shelter and guide me, with no serious repercussions. 

All of this is possible, because countless rows of soldier’s graves with crimson poppies surrendered their own lives, for my freedom. My labour of love- my words- come as a result of men and woman who have served Canada. This solemn reminder is for me to always be mindful of those who came before me.

Another group of dedicated soldiers are the First Peoples troops. They hold a significant record of wartime achievement. There were those who were commissioned as officers, while others were battle-hardened platoon leaders and combat instructors. As many as fifty soldiers were decorated for bravery on the battlefield. Many acquired renowned status as snipers and scouts, utilizing pre-war hunting skills in addition to wilderness expertise. Corporal Francis Pegahmagabow, an Ojibwa from the Parry Island Band was the most decorated as he received the Military Medal along with two bars for his bravery and effectiveness as a sniper.
After serving their country, soldiers struggled upon returning. Many First Peoples soldiers returned from the war hoping that their sacrifice and achievements on the battlefield would lead to greater recognition and improved living conditions at home. Federal policy extended many post-war benefits to Aboriginal veterans, but not as many as those accorded non-Aboriginals. Nor did the war herald a broader breakthrough in civil liberties for First Nations. Many Aboriginal veterans, including Francis Pegahmagabow, became politically active in the protection of their communities and the advancement of First Nations rights.

This is my second Remembrance Day on the Island that I will be attending. Being in a new area, I will make my way to another Cenotaph and stand with others in silence, to honour those who have come to pass and those who continue to serve. 

Should my gaze fall upon a young lady, dressed in uniform, marching proud…I will fondly remember Shayla and all of the sons and daughters, who are forever missed- no matter how they were taken from this world. 

By T L Alton

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Summer Therapy



There’s a quote by Alexandre Dumas about the pursuit of happiness that says: “Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales- whose gates are guarded by fiery maleficent dragons- we must fight in order to conquer it.”  

"Softly in her sleep, pictures of the life she's longing for slowly appear
She's seen them all before but somehow never quite this clear
She just smiles, she don't want the world..."


This summer, while earning my ‘stripes’ with work and independence, I also sought refuge in the perpetual flow of festivals, events and historical attractions, which abound on the Island. It was my involvement in activities, which helped me in dealing with life impacting choices. Decisions I had to settle on that resulted in me going forward on the board of Life. Standing in the mirror, I gazed at my pattern created by Shayla long ago, which was inked on my body. Over the past months, I have made my way thru the ripples surrounding the circular tattoo my daughter drew. Navigating the design she created-much like a Rubik’s cube-moving through one thing- propelled something else to change in my life. 
 Interwoven with my grief was a Zen balance of placing the loss of Shayla aside and allowing my new identity to emerge- one beyond my bereavement. 

Who am I? A childless bereaved mother? A woman without the roots of a family? A lover without a soul mate? 

Every event I attended brought me defining moments where a transformed version was breaking thru the physical surface. 




In the summer, I attended the annual PRIDE Parade, because intolerance is not just ugly, it is downright shameful to judge another person on who they should love. Given the stigma, hate crimes, suicide rate and bullying associated with this lifestyle; I lent my support over something connected to my daughter. Shayla stood up for the underdog and was relentlessly harassed for it! During the day, I was fortunate to have a chance encounter with a young lady. She seemed heavy with despair and the words I spoke came from the centre of my deep faith. After, we hugged and I left feeling what I shared may have impacted her, in a positive way. 

Another event I went to is the Buskers Festival because I enjoy the performing arts and seeing live events. I relished in the week long festivities, within the inner harbour. This was my second year attending and always there are crowd pleasers and fan favourites. The English Gents – a comedy duo actually from down under- were by far, the group people were talking about! The world class act performed an array of daring acrobatics, even to the point of being so daring to show off in their Englishman pants- underwear, while sipping tea!






My passion for gardens saw my feet saunter amongst royal roses, blooming irises and Japanese gardens at the grounds of Hatley Castle. Another day was well spent at Government House, where I had afternoon tea with my dear friend Lilian, at the 19th century Carey Castle Mews




My time was precious as I worked many hours. It was a treat to attend a local market and buy produce from the many farmers, whose bountiful goods thrive on Vancouver Island. I shared in many conversations with those who livelihood is centered on their farms. Across from the church I attend is a stand where everything is handpicked, washed and sold in an abundance of flavour and fresh harvesting. 


One humid day, I drove to several markets along the way, before going to a beach I had heard many locals rave about. Known for its breathtaking panorama of the ocean and adjacent islands, what the sea held for me that day was glorious! As my bare feet touched the finely separated rock and mineral elements, my eyes fixed upon a discovered treasure. Within my view was a castle fort of driftwood and smooth stones- where I could hang my tassel wrap, butterfly pouch and dig my toes into the sand. 



With a piece of elongated driftwood offering support for my back, I settled in for the day. My observations of where I was kindled sentiments, as I took in, all the grandeur. As I dug my toes further into the beach before me, I felt something. Intrigued, I began to extradite with my feet, then using my hands, I pulled out what had literally been hidden right where I sat. This was a gift from the heavens -after I had made the difficult- yet freeing decision to let go of my daughter’s Memorial Stone at McKinley Landing. It was a phenomenal fragment of smoothed granite, which held glints within it, just like the one handpicked for Shayla’s monument. Knowing I would never see the memorial stone again, I was given a mini-version… a reminder of what had evolved between me and the larger one, over the years.  


 My buried treasure, once unearthed had found a place, instilling the word Peace upon my heart. 

On my summer list was a visit to The Butchart Gardens. Last December, I had walked amongst the twinkling lights, as it was on the “12 days of Christmas,” itinerary my daughter and I had plans to share.  




At the Bed and Breakfast I worked for, the gardens were always at the top “To do” of world- travellers. I went on a night when the skies would be lit up by the renowned Butchart Gardens fireworks.  


As someone who saw the fantastic, visually explosive show in Disneyworld, with Shayla by my side, I could not imagine me being swept up by any other display. I was left in awe of the flickering stars emitting colourful sparks, while the noise of swirling objects floated on by in front of a massive crowd. The forests were painted a red glow, with the illumination of coloured flames.  A changeable display of Roman candles, Crossettes, Dahlia and Ring types of effects, lit up near the ocean. The ½ hour pyrotechnics hit me like lightening- as I sat on my knees I was cleansed in the visual creation of ground and aerial fireworks.
Afterwards, I was invited to step into the illuminated night grounds and explore another side of what The Butchart Gardens has to offer.


It was an unforgettable night where amongst the strangers, I never felt alone.



Road trips have become a favourite of mine- like slipping on a pair of old worn jeans, I never tire of  climbing into the driver’s seat to go exploring. On the way to Port Renfrew, in the quaint area of Shirley, is a whimsical eatery called “Shirley’s Delicious Café.” Rising to the rafters are the memories of countless visitors, whose lives are no longer detached, upon entering.


The decor inside, has the interior bathed in a tapestry of vibrancy, which flows from one wall to another. As I struck up a conversation with an employee, my gaze was diverted to a wood piece hanging on the wall. Exhibited on it was my beloved Sitka Tree and I knew the drive was worth it to come to this place. 



After having a wholesome meal, the leftovers were packed as there was so much food. In my time there, I came to understand the depth of Shirley’s existence. It has something within it that imparts on those who visit- a sense of spiritual community. Inside, where the tables of people sit together, immersed in food, conversation and art, one needs to be mindful of the heartbeats from the woodlands encircling it. Upon leaving “Shirley’s Delicious Café,” I let my footsteps be carried away. As the oceans songs echo through the trees, I settle within the essence of this business… reminding me that not all who wander are lost.

Reflecting back on this summer of transformation and the levels of loss I allowed to resurface, I contemplate the decisions I made, spurred on by taking the GriefShare course. How I finally dealt with the eight boxes of my daughter’s stuff arriving and sorting through the remnants of her life. 




Turning one pile of donation into 20 bags; I gave away her things going to a variety of charities, including Saanich Baptist Church, where I attend. 


The stuff I chose to keep is very personal; reminders of the deep bonds of mother and daughter that have never been disconnected. 


Shayla's corsage, Pearl necklace and earrings from her Prom.



Who am I? I am a Christian. I am a gifted writer. I am worthy of being loved. I am a Survivor.

Spending time in solitude has given me reassurance that none of the above would have been made possible without my faith, friends and the acceptance of a decision I made to walk away from the man I loved. I have discovered when I stand firm in my convictions that something in return has to be let go. In doing so, there are new reasons and moments to stay where my feet are planted- not looking back. Instead of filling my sand pail only with pebbles, it is important for my well-being that I place amongst the stones, other hidden treasures. Like those I discovered this summer of growth- each experience telling its own story. 



 By T L Alton