I miss you so much, Mom ...

Today, I'm driving my friend GB to the Ottawa Marathon. He's co-captain of my charity team, Operation Triumph, which raises funds and awareness for cancer. It's his first marathon and I'm so proud of him! I was supposed to run it with him but I've had a strange hip injury that's kept me off running. It'll be strange to be there as a spectator ...

In 2007, GB did the same favour and drove me to Ottawa so I could run the marathon. It was an especially emotional race for me because I was running to symbolize Hope that my mom would be strong enough to fight her cancer again ... she had just been diagnosed with metastisis to her lung and we were looking at viable treatment options.

But unfortunately, there weren't any ...

On April 24, 2009, at the young age of 66, my mom slipped away quietly from this world. She courageously fought a three-year battle with a horrible disease and inspired me to be a better person ... to be more patient, more loving, and more giving and I thank the Universe for this precious time that I have had with her.

Mom, I will be thinking of you tomorrow as I watch the runners go by ... and I will laugh remembering your comments and worries about my racing such long distances ... but you never told me to stop. And I will remember how you awoke early to see me off for my most recent marathon in Toronto last fall ... and how you had the most delicious bowl of soup waiting for me when I got home after finishing ...

Who would have expected that the grief from missing you, Mom, would far surpass the sadness I felt for you when you were ill? I cannot cry hard or loud or long enough to empty this horribly deep pain from my heart ...

Native American Prayer

I give you this one thought to keep
I am with you still – I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not think of me as gone
I am with you still – in each new dawn.

I will always love you, Mom!

People never really die ...

Haven't trained in I think over a week. Every day I keep telling myself I'll get out there again but somehow the sadness and exhaustion hold me back and I end up seeing friends instead to seek comfort and to distract myself from what has been happening.

My good friend, Michael Rudder, was severely injured in the horrible terrorist attacks in Mumbai. Super amazing person, incredibly spiritual and generous, charismatic and totally hilarious, open-minded, and open-hearted ... always willing to help people and would never hurt a fly. He was in India on a spiritual journey to learn more about meditation which he has practising for 35 years. He didn't deserve what happened to him ... and neither did any of those innocent victims in Mumbai.


To those who survived, I am sending positive healing vibes and love, lots of love. And to those that didn't ... I am somehow reassured by a friend's words ... people never really die, they just change forms ...

Death is very finite

The man on the hill passed away Saturday.

My "lil' brother's" father passed away last Thursday.

At the visitation, I saw one of my runner friends, Mercury. His wife who was also mother to one of my best friends passed away last summer unexpectedly.

My swing dance friend CM passed away last summer from cancer. Very sad - she was only 35.

My mother's future is still in question because of her liver and cancer. Another friend, just a few year's older than I, has cancer and is dealing with it courageously, no complaints at all from him, just appreciation that he has one more day. Another friend's mother just got operated on for cancer ... I will cross my fingers for her. I share my friend's sadness because I was there in the same place a year ago, so sad and worried about my own mother.

And then of course, there is my near-death experience with my car crash.

DEATH. It's not quite the same when we hear about it. It's not the same either when we see it on television or in a film. Seeing the man on the hill die rocked me right to the core.

Made me do a lot of thinking. I don't want to have any regrets when I die, things I wanted to do and say ... I don't ever want to look back on my life and wonder what if? All we know for sure is that we have RIGHT NOW.

It was a morbid weekend and having not had the time to deal with it, Monday came and I was EXHAUSTED. On top of it all, my headache refused to leave.

A friend PB cheered me up Sunday night with a fantastic supper, osso bucco, aren't I the lucky one? We followed it up with some tango dancing ...

Today, I felt less affected by the morbidity of the weekend and met up with JC for a quick half hour swim. I guess the eleven hours of sleep I got did me some good. "What a hardcore weekend you had," JC said and gave me a hug in the pool.

I am so fortunate to be alive and to have good friends.

The Man on the Hill

I took my sons snowboarding at Bromont today. The snow was amazing and though it was quite chilly, it wasn't freezing! Bundled up quite nicely in several layers, we were having a great time, until one of my sons didn't quite make it to the bottom of the hill.

Turns out he twisted his knee slightly during a little fall, but erring on the side of caution, the snow patrol took him down the rest of the slope. I went to pick up the car on the other side of the mountain to meet them.

When I reached the parking lot, an ambulance passed me, lights flashing, sirens howling. I thought for a second, "No, this can't be ... it's just a twisted knee - I hope it's not broken!"

Worried, I quickly parked the car and made my way to the first aid cabin. I peered inside and saw a man lying on a table. He was urgently being administered CPR. His face was all bloody. I suddenly realised what was happening. Great sadness overwhelmed me and I felt the urge to cry.

Just then, a woman from the snow patrol approached me and told me my son had been moved to another area, for obvious reasons. My son was oblivious to what was happening in the cabin just beside him, feeling better having had his knee taken care of. My other son made mention of hearing on the walkie-talkies that a man was unconscious.

As we were getting into the car, a man on a stretcher was being taken out of the first aid cabin. A yellow blanket covered his face and body. His red ski boots peered out from the other end. The ambulance drove off, no flashing lights, no wailing siren ... and I knew he had not made it.

Incidents like this add a solemn perspective to life.