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 17^th 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 1^st 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

Imagination is the eye of the soul- Joubert

I still believe that generosity is its own reward
that kindness will prevail
that might- does not make it right
that a soft answer turns away the wrath
I still believe that there is power in gentleness
that there is more to us than flesh and bone
that life will bring more happiness if lived in peace and not possessions
I still believe people of gentleness and Faith can change the world
one unseen, unsung and unrewarded kindness at a time
I still believe in Love and nothing in my realm can make me stop Believing
 ~ Sentimental Studios

https://youtu.be/6oa619EG30k
Link to "Songbird" by Eva Cassidy
 
In 2001, I began to enter the uncharted waters of writing my first novel. At times, the seas saw me thru the fairest of weather, as I began to carve out the love story of Christian and Skylar.

As the compass of my writing broadened, I experienced life lessons and as heartbreak occurred, it became apparent the storms waiting for me- were expanding my abilities as a storyteller.

When I began to tell the tale of an unusual Sitka spruce tree to an Aboriginal man, who I had a chance encounter with; I shared how I had picked this particular tree to write a story about. He kindly replied: “We all have a spirit tree and the Sitka spruce has chosen you to write its life story.” 

Click on direct Link to Under the Sitka Tree Website: 

www.tlaltondesign.com

Years later, someone would sail into my life and turn my world upside down with his tales of world travels, beaches of white sand, never-ending flow of rum and escapades of wild trysts. He arrived for two weeks and in that time; he captured my heart as we embarked on our own adventures. We made plans to seek out the three sisters- Sitka trees- in Carmanah Pacific Provincial Park. I had stared many years at a poster of them, which were part of my inspiration for my novel. For the first time, as I gazed upon the natural cathedral splendour in the forest, I shed tears. As my arms wrapped around the brown scales of these majestic beauties, I inhaled the brackish scent clinging to them and was at peace, knowing my heartbeat was in sync with these trees. 

What began as the bare roots of my book- grew into a passion of unbridled enthusiasm to compose the story- which saw every spare moment I had, devoted to the craft of writing. I jotted notes on scrap pieces of paper, sketched certain things connected to my novel and over the years, I have amassed boxes of confirmation that I dedicated over a decade to Under the Sitka Tree.
 
When I started to write, I had certain characters in mind that would play out amongst the many pages I committed myself to. As I scribbled out time lines of a grand magnitude, it became apparent that I was the mere vessel of the epic tale, as characters morphed into others and some were deleted forever. 

There are occurrences which have also come to pass that were written into the original story, fourteen years ago. A unique skeleton key I created in my novel, fashioned itself to real life, many years later and found its way into my palm. The person who discovered this magical key was my daughter, Shayla. I clearly recall her coming up to me in a gift store and saying: “Close your eyes momma and open your hand for me.” Shayla knew certain things about my book and my wish is that I had shared more with her. She delighted in the look on my face, when I was stunned to be holding the key from my book, which had not yet been published.
Many unusual circumstances have happened with my first novel and I embrace every single one, as I know that a safe harbour awaits me in the end. 

In conducting my research over the years, I have come to learn parts of Canadian history which makes me proud of our country. Then, there are the secrets I peeled from our past- which revealed the ugly side of racism I was not fully aware of.
In our current times of struggling with equality, I am proud to have written a novel, which weaves the connections of our roots, to those who anchor us throughout our lives. 

The symbolism of Under the Sitka Tree is echoed in a variety of bird life, the remembrance enclosed in a poppy, the heart of a Rhodochrosite stone and a special brooch. 

When I first began to pen my story, I discovered an extraordinary box. From the moment, I lay my eyes upon it; I knew it would one day hold my book. It came with two keys and when I glanced closer, I saw a number inscribed on each one 11:11...the significance is the numbers are referred to the presence of angels.

The Dedication reads: To My Babygirl ~ Shayla Rae Dawn Driver.

 "A promise is a promise..."

Every author has a distinctive ceremony that they do, once a book is complete. Some light up that cigar they have been savouring since page one. Others crack open a fine bottle of cognac and inhale in the woodsy aroma, relishing in the nutty taste and the bit of heat that follows down their throat. 

Growing up, I loved to watch “Another World,” my favourite soap opera. One of the characters was a romance novelist known as “Felicia Gallant.” She had a zeal for feather boas and an eclectic array of hats. It was my introduction to the world of writing in a fantasy setting. 

For me, I carefully selected a 2013 Riesling wine from Cedar Creek Estate Winery. What drew me to it was the little golden tree on the label that reminds me of the ‘golden spruce.’ The other correlation is where the wine is from; Kelowna- in the Okanagan- where I lived for nearly thirty years. 

The plaque reads: "Love is a journey...not a destination..."

I shared with my dear friend Lilian about how Shayla and I used to always have on our road trips, bags of Miss Vickie’s chips to munch on. Our favourite kind was Lime and Black Pepper. Lilian knew I was finishing my novel and I wanted the potato chips, so she kindly bought me a large bag to be paired with my wine :) 

It seemed fitting to commemorate this celebration with something rooted to the beginnings of my book. There is a bittersweet acknowledgement given to a love story that no longer exists in this realm. However, that is the beauty of storytelling- you are the master of those who you write about- their fate resides in your hands… as you type away, what shall transpire. 

Since moving to the Island, I have been loyal to my writing- starting my edits on Under the Sitka Tree.  It has not been smooth sailing. February saw me spiral into unforeseen grief of the losses of two people, who I have had to mourn and let go in ways, I only know how. As a result, I made some poor choices and for several weeks, was in a dark place. 

When at last, I came upon a new horizon- one filtered with light- I felt rescued by my faith. 

As I seek a publisher for my novel, I have in times of my adversity, been able to release the pain into my writing; which I see as a form of free therapy. What has evolved, is a courageous woman, on the threshold of success knowing: Even in the dark, you have the power to whistle ~Buechner 

By T L Alton

Healing Time

“I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

This past week I had to take some downtime for myself, away from my blogging. Being away last year for a month, in the midst of moving, then dealing with the holidays saw me have alot on my plate. In unpacking our belongings, I was once again forced to contend with the fact that my daughter is gone.
What I had not expected was how our former home is now being made with a different vision. In setting up our personal space, Shayla is in every corner...now though in a way reflective of good memories. In dealing with her collection of Betty Boop, pebbles, and other effects, I have been creative in honouring her beautiful soul.
The process of going through everything once again has at times been overwhelming, intrusive and challenging. In the past, I have trudged through it and ignored my own well-being as I had time lines to meet. Now, I am creating space for me; filling corners with my passion for reading, scrap booking and photography. What I have found, is healing in a way that is restoring my spiritual self; focusing on things that need to be set right instead of being fixed. The difference is I will never heal from losing my only child, but I will let the wounds repair themselves. I accept that my invisible band-aid will from time to time, be ripped off and expose me to the pain all over again. Right now I am walking into unknown territory; one in which I am freely open to concentrate on me and embrace the solitude. I have to continue to keep the promise I made to my daughter...if anything ever happened to her, that I would carry on and live, rather than give up!
As much as I have wanted to blog all week and share, I had to allow myself the time to sit in my pj's, slowly unpack and settle into new beginnings. Of course, I plan on returning to my writing as that is my main reason for reaching to others. I am filled with thankfulness to those who have let me know that I am not forgotten either. In the meantime, the best thing for me to do is to put myself first, knowing The Heart Pebble Movement continues on.

By T L. Alton

The Broken Ones

“No, you don't know what it's like
When nothing feels all right
You don't know what it's like
To be like me
To be hurt
To feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one's there to save you
No, you don't know what it's like
Welcome to my life” ― Simple Plan

The chorus to this song by Simple Plan echoes the desperation of 15 yr old Amanda Todd. The teenager who resided in Port Coquitlam, British Columbia ended her life after years of struggling with being bullied both in school and on the internet. This fall, Amanda posted a video on YouTube:  My Story, Struggling, Bullying, Suicide, Self –harm. A month later, her life was taken. After her death, her video has been viewed millions of times.  This young girl`s heartbreaking cry for help sadly was unheard while she was still alive. Now, with her untimely death and the motivation behind it has sparked an outcry across the world. While many have been quick to point out her life was taken by herself, social media is the catalyst in which she met an early demise.

Amanda`s death resonated with me as it brought back terrible memories of my daughter`s life spent warding off the evils of bullies who were her own peers. Shayla was a larger than life girl in many extraordinary ways. The day she was born she was 10 1bs, 10 oz., she measured in at 2 ft long. When she was brought to me in the hospital, she was already wearing 4 month old baby clothing. Along with every ripple and large body, Shayla had a massive golden heart to match. She loved to make people laugh and it became her security blanket, when other kids picked on her for her bulky size.

I know now reading through her journals that my daughter encountered bullies from Kindergarten up until her 2^nd year of University. Never wanting me to worry, Shayla masked her pain with being the `class clown`…playing her role became as natural as breathing. I recall her coming home, her cheeks flush and stinging from the tears falling down. I always asked what was going on, but Shayla would shrug it all off. Then one day, I thought I would surprise her and go pick my babygirl up from elementary school. I parked and was waiting at the side of the road, when another mother came up to me and casually mentioned that even though Shayla was in Grade 4, she played with the kids in Grades 1 and 2, so that she was not teased by her classmates. My heart was crushed when I saw Shayla come from her class and immediately went to the younger kids to hang out with.  To this day, it angers me to think when I brought this to the Teachers and Principals attention, Shayla was blamed. She was a goofy kid, seeking attention and nobody wanted to play with as she went out of her to be noticed. Looking back now, I am thoroughly convinced that some of those in authority were just as much as to blame as the bullies! My child was called fatty, stinky, ugly, a weirdo. She hid so much thinking it WILL get better…It HAS to she wrote.

In High School, a mentor to Shayla would find her curled up under his office desk, bawling excessively and let her be as he knew this was her `safe place.`  The bullies were now bigger, more threatening and had means of social media to menace their victims. The caustic, primitive words of elementary were now replaced with slut, stench, hideous and freak.

Upon going to University, Shayla was thrilled with the new beginnings. She believed life would be different, while her peers more accepting. Finally she would find a sense of companionship with those she would share classes. The first time I received a desperate call from my daughter, I wanted to get into my car and demand the bullies to stop. It was only a handful of girls, yet they were putting a vulnerable, young girl through hell! If, miles away I felt helpless, who knows how much misery Shayla was enduring? Since she was living in a tiny jail-like dorm room at university, it was as if that area became her cell. Only after her death, did I find out the true degree of what occurred that first year. I don`t think those responsible for the tormenting realize the pain they caused her, but the glaring words in her journals reflect a girl masking the pain, by putting up walls and being `mouthy` back to them.  Shortly after Shayla passed away, I acquired her laptop. The poetry and images expose the ugliness of bullying for what it is- a cat and mouse game, in which the mouse is already caught in a mousetrap, while the cat evilly tortures the wounded victim. While all of this caused me a great deal upon my grieving, I also found something that made me realize that try as they might to take away Shayla`s care-free spirit, they had failed miserably! I have numerous video footage of my daughter in her white washed dorm room, singing songs of empowerment! In the many videos, her voice fills the corners of her tiny room. I started to cry when I saw my babygirl as I was overwhelmed with her again in motion. Then my heart burst with pride seeing the tank top she was wearing. When Shayla had come for a visit, she fell in love with my shirt. I gave it to her and it is the one in the videos, my daughter is wearing.  The front of it expresses everything Shayla stood for what she believed: `PEACE, LOVE HOPE. `

The sad irony of the bullying case of Amanda Todd is this beautiful young, girl-who no one noticed before- is now a name spoken across a nation. For in life, her haunting word’s I HAVE NOBODY, I NEED SOMEONE, is contradictory to how now she has the world`s attention…

I offer my heartfelt sympathies to Amanda Todd’s family and friends; no words can convey the unimaginable loss all of you are feeling.

I Dedicate this song to those who FEEL ALONE, in hopes that others REACH OUT to let them know they are Not Alone!

 Dia Frampton - The Broken Ones: https://youtu.be/Zz04teo1j9k

 By T L. Alton

You Must Be the CHANGE You Want to See in this WORLD ~ Gandhi