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A Letter For Amy

April 3, 2011 By

To my dear friend Amy,

It has been more than two months now since you held your beautiful Captain Snuggles in your arms for the last time. I was one of many people who had been sending out prayers, positive thoughts, positive energy, in the hopes of keeping him alive and with you. I like to think that although the brave Captain still left us, we collectively managed to shift the Universe just enough to give you some extra time with him. Maybe, during those long sleepless nights, you felt a warm aura surrounding you as people sent out virtual hugs for you. The outcome was not what anyone wanted, but maybe – just maybe – we made some kind of difference.

I was so desperate to help you back then, to do something that could be of some practical use to you. But with us living on opposite sides of the border, this was not possible. So I donated blood. It was a momentous occasion. I felt humbled by the fact that it had taken a baby’s tragic situation to spur me on to action, and at the same time, I felt good that it had spurred me on to action. David was still with us on that day when I made my first donation, and I had entertained fantasies of meeting him someday and saying thank you to him for making me a better person.

My heart shattered when I learned of his passing. I could not begin to imagine what this was like for you, what it would be like for you going forward. I confess that I did not know what words to say to you to comfort you, so I opted for honesty. I told you that I didn’t know what to say, but that I was thinking of you, and that I was there for you whenever and however you needed.

Please know that this has not changed. More than two months have passed since Captain Snuggles left us, but for you there must be times when it feels like the blink of an eye. Grief is such a personal process. Everyone goes through it in their own way, at their own pace. No-one can truly understand another person’s grief. I still cannot imagine what you are going through and how it feels, but I am still there for you. You will be in my heart and mind as you go through this first year of birthdays and anniversaries.

This is a big week for us. This is the week of the Captain Snuggles Blood Drive. This week, many people are going to donate blood (some already have) in memory of your beautiful boy. Every unit of blood has the potential to help up to three people. It has the potential to give up to three families that precious commodity of hope. Through the inspiration of Captain Snuggles, this week is all about giving life.

I know that the blood drive is not going to bring the Captain back, and it’s probably not going to make your grieving process any easier. But he will live on in the hearts and minds of all who donate, and all who want to donate but are medically unable to. There could well be people whose lives will be saved by this blood drive – people who, although they will never know it, will be alive because of this baby who has touched so many hearts.

I send you lots of love and hugs, and vibes of strength and peace.

Your friend Kirsten

Filed Under: Baby loss, Bereavement, Blood donation Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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2011 Running Season Is Off And Running

April 2, 2011 By

From left: Dave, Penny, me, Kim

It’s official! My 2011 racing season is underway! I kicked it off today with Harry’s Spring Run-Off – an 8km run in the hills of High Park. It’s a gorgeous run, really. You’d be hard-pressed to beat it for scenicness (yes, that is a word – doesn’t matter that I just made it up thirty seconds ago), but oh dear Lord, it’s hard. Especially if you’ve just emerged from a winter lean of runs, and it’s been mere days since you recovered from a bad cold.

What made this race different to most others that I have taken part in is that I ran with some fellow members of my running club, Kim and Penny, along with Penny’s boyfriend David, who is not technically a member of the club but is part of the furniture enough for us to regard him as such.

We all started together, but we separated fairly early in the race. Although I really enjoyed the fact that my running friends were there with me, I felt a need to run the actual race by myself. Running with someone else, I would have felt obligated to match their pace. Having just recovered from a cold, and in view of the fact that I need to do some work to regain form and speed, I wanted to run my own race, following a pacing strategy that would make sense to me.

I ran fairly easy for the first three kilometres, aided by a long downhill stretch. The downhill was followed fairly quickly by an uphill, which was not long as the downhill had been, but the gradient was steeper. After getting to the top of the hill, I was utterly spent – and I still had 5km to go.

Cripes, how was I going to do this?

Sheer grit and determination, same way I’ve completed many other races I’ve struggled in. I took it fairly easy for the next kilometre, and then I reached the magical halfway mark, which is a psychological wonder in any race. From this point forward, every step I took meant that the distance remaining was that much shorter than the distance elapsed. For the next 3km, the hills were rolling (up and down) but manageable.

Then…

1km to go…

The first half of the last kilometre started well enough, but then, with a mere 500 metres left, there was another hill to tackle. A nasty, NASTY one. You know the long downhill stretch I mentioned at the beginning of the race? It was the same hill. Only instead of going down, I had to go up. After having run for 7.5km. It was not pretty.

I made it up the hill (Determination? Stupidity? Act of God?), and as I reached the top I was about to stop and take a breather when I saw the finish line around the corner, maybe fifty metres away. Those fifty metres felt like about fifty miles, and when I crossed the finish line, I was never more grateful to be able to stop running.

I received my medal with gratitude, went to the food station and inhaled a banana, and went to a predetermined meeting spot to meet up with the others.

We finished the race with varying times, and happily made our way out of the park with our medals hanging around our necks – our badges of honour that proved to the world that we had earned the right to have aching legs and look like crap.

Was this race my best one? Not by a long shot. With a time of almost 57 minutes, my average pace was slower than it had been in over a year.

But I FINISHED, damnit! It was a hard race and I finished it!

And that, my friends, is good enough for me.

 

Filed Under: running Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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There Will Be Hills

April 1, 2011 By

My running has been very much on again/off again throughout this winter, and it’s been causing me some degree of stress. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to run, and I have still laced up the running shoes when I’ve been able to. It’s that life has just gotten in the way lately. We have had an interesting run of illnesses in my family over the last several weeks – hopefully the cold that I have had over the last week will represent the last of the winter ailments.

Add to that the fact that it’s been winter, and the weather has been – well, crappy. Toronto had a very cold winter, resulting in thick sheets of solid ice on the sidewalks that I have wanted to avoid. There’s no point in going running when there’s a good chance of breaking a leg. So much of the running I have done has been on the treadmill. Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. The thing is that I can only stomach the treadmill for so long. So I have done very few distance runs lately.

Brecause of this cold, I have not done any runs at all for about a week and a half. Usually I would, since the cold has been only in my head and hasn’t affected my breathing or anything below the neck. But I have erred on the side of caution because I have a race coming up tomorrow. I would rather rest and increase my chances of being well enough to participate.

And the strategy seems to have worked. Apart from a few residual sniffles, my cold is gone, and I will be able to run the race tomorrow. I’m not expecting it to be a stellar performance. It’s 8km, which I always find to be an awkward distance. It’s just too long for me to just go hell-for-leather from start to finish, but it’s too short to justify the pacing strategies that I use for longer distances. In addition, there will be hills. Lots of hills.

But still, this is a significant race. It marks the start of my 2011 racing season, and it will kick off my training for the Toronto Women’s half-marathon at the end of May. The Toronto Women’s half-marathon is a stepping stone to my main event of the year, the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront half-marathon in October – my annual Run for Autism.

And that, as we all know, is the reason I run. It is my way of doing something for the autism community.

What better day to kick it all off than tomorrow: World Autism Awareness Day.

The karma of that brings a glow to my heart.

There will be hills. Every single one of them will be worth it.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bazylek/5096924747)

Filed Under: autism, running, Running for Autism Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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There Will Be Hills

April 1, 2011 By

My running has been very much on again/off again throughout this winter, and it’s been causing me some degree of stress. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to run, and I have still laced up the running shoes when I’ve been able to. It’s that life has just gotten in the way lately. We have had an interesting run of illnesses in my family over the last several weeks – hopefully the cold that I have had over the last week will represent the last of the winter ailments.

Add to that the fact that it’s been winter, and the weather has been – well, crappy. Toronto had a very cold winter, resulting in thick sheets of solid ice on the sidewalks that I have wanted to avoid. There’s no point in going running when there’s a good chance of breaking a leg. So much of the running I have done has been on the treadmill. Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. The thing is that I can only stomach the treadmill for so long. So I have done very few distance runs lately.

Brecause of this cold, I have not done any runs at all for about a week and a half. Usually I would, since the cold has been only in my head and hasn’t affected my breathing or anything below the neck. But I have erred on the side of caution because I have a race coming up tomorrow. I would rather rest and increase my chances of being well enough to participate.

And the strategy seems to have worked. Apart from a few residual sniffles, my cold is gone, and I will be able to run the race tomorrow. I’m not expecting it to be a stellar performance. It’s 8km, which I always find to be an awkward distance. It’s just too long for me to just go hell-for-leather from start to finish, but it’s too short to justify the pacing strategies that I use for longer distances. In addition, there will be hills. Lots of hills.

But still, this is a significant race. It marks the start of my 2011 racing season, and it will kick off my training for the Toronto Women’s half-marathon at the end of May. The Toronto Women’s half-marathon is a stepping stone to my main event of the year, the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront half-marathon in October – my annual Run for Autism.

And that, as we all know, is the reason I run. It is my way of doing something for the autism community.

What better day to kick it all off than tomorrow: World Autism Awareness Day.

The karma of that brings a glow to my heart.

There will be hills. Every single one of them will be worth it.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/bazylek/5096924747)

Filed Under: autism, running, Running for Autism Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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Weekly Photo Challenge: Ocean

March 31, 2011 By

I thought I’d start participating in the weekly photo challenges. Some of the weekly themes are somewhat obscure, but this one – Oceans – is a nice one. Here are this week’s offerings.

Not really an ocean, but gives a hint of the vastness

Cape Town, South Africa.

Long Island - seeing the ocean for the first time

Couldn't resist this one - eyes the colour of the ocean

Filed Under: Photography, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,
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Ask me how I feel today…

March 30, 2011 By

Go on, I dare you! Ask me how I feel!

Well, since you ask… I am streaming with a cold, my head is congested, I am sneezing non-stop, and because of my upcoming wedding, I am stressed to the hilt.

And yet…

I feel GREAT!!!

So I have a cold. But it’s only a cold. I don’t have cancer, or multiple sclerosis, or HIV.

So I’m too sick to run right now, and will quite possibly have to miss my race this weekend. But I have two legs that work, and I am physically fit, and I will run again when this cold is gone. I have it way easier than my amazing friend Fran, who has become a runner despite the fact that she lives with cystic fibrosis.

And OK, it’s still a little chilly for my liking, and we’re still getting the odd snowfall in late March. But I live in Canada, not Iraq or Afghanistan or Libya, and all we get falling out of the sky is snow and rain, not bullets.

When I go outside, I have to wear a coat. When people in Japan go out, they have to wear masks to avoid inhaling dust from earthquake and tsumani debris, and they have to worry about radiaion poisoning.

I am stressed from wedding planning. I know people who are stressed from divorce, and other people, like my Mom, who grieve for their soulmates who are no longer here.

While we’re on the subject, every day I grieve for the wonderful Dad who raised me. I have a friend who grew up without a true Dad, but with a child rapist who happened to be her father by biology only.

I spend two hours a day commuting, and there are days when it becomes overwhelming. But I have a job to commute to. I can afford to feed my family and buy birthday presents for my children.

It is true, I do have a child with autism, and every day brings its own unique challenges. But I have my kids, and every time I hug them I think of my other amazing friend Amy, who sat at her baby’s bedside for five months before cradling him in her arms as he died.

So how do I feel?

I’d say my life is pretty darned good, and I am truly grateful for what I have.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/hurricanemaine/3429008592/)

Filed Under: life Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Ask me how I feel today…

March 30, 2011 By

Go on, I dare you! Ask me how I feel!

Well, since you ask… I am streaming with a cold, my head is congested, I am sneezing non-stop, and because of my upcoming wedding, I am stressed to the hilt.

And yet…

I feel GREAT!!!

So I have a cold. But it’s only a cold. I don’t have cancer, or multiple sclerosis, or HIV.

So I’m too sick to run right now, and will quite possibly have to miss my race this weekend. But I have two legs that work, and I am physically fit, and I will run again when this cold is gone. I have it way easier than my amazing friend Fran, who has become a runner despite the fact that she lives with cystic fibrosis.

And OK, it’s still a little chilly for my liking, and we’re still getting the odd snowfall in late March. But I live in Canada, not Iraq or Afghanistan or Libya, and all we get falling out of the sky is snow and rain, not bullets.

When I go outside, I have to wear a coat. When people in Japan go out, they have to wear masks to avoid inhaling dust from earthquake and tsumani debris, and they have to worry about radiaion poisoning.

I am stressed from wedding planning. I know people who are stressed from divorce, and other people, like my Mom, who grieve for their soulmates who are no longer here.

While we’re on the subject, every day I grieve for the wonderful Dad who raised me. I have a friend who grew up without a true Dad, but with a child rapist who happened to be her father by biology only.

I spend two hours a day commuting, and there are days when it becomes overwhelming. But I have a job to commute to. I can afford to feed my family and buy birthday presents for my children.

It is true, I do have a child with autism, and every day brings its own unique challenges. But I have my kids, and every time I hug them I think of my other amazing friend Amy, who sat at her baby’s bedside for five months before cradling him in her arms as he died.

So how do I feel?

I’d say my life is pretty darned good, and I am truly grateful for what I have.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/hurricanemaine/3429008592/)

Filed Under: life Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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33 Days

March 29, 2011 By

33 days to go.

It’s all coming up so quickly. 33 days until I tie the knot with my beloved, and there’s still so much to be done.

Decor and flowers to be arranged.

Hair to be arranged after my hairdresser backed out.

Cake to be arranged after my probable cake person backed out.

Limo service to be arranged.

Guest favours to be sorted out.

Wedding night hotel to be booked.

Child-related logistics to be sorted out…

Seating charts to be done and place cards to be printed.

And that’s just the stuff that I can remember off the top of my head. It doesn’t count all of the stuff that I have no doubt not thought about…

I can do this. Of course I can.

33 days is plenty of time.

Filed Under: Wedding Tagged With: , , ,
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33 Days

March 29, 2011 By

33 days to go.

It’s all coming up so quickly. 33 days until I tie the knot with my beloved, and there’s still so much to be done.

Decor and flowers to be arranged.

Hair to be arranged after my hairdresser backed out.

Cake to be arranged after my probable cake person backed out.

Limo service to be arranged.

Guest favours to be sorted out.

Wedding night hotel to be booked.

Child-related logistics to be sorted out…

Seating charts to be done and place cards to be printed.

And that’s just the stuff that I can remember off the top of my head. It doesn’t count all of the stuff that I have no doubt not thought about…

I can do this. Of course I can.

33 days is plenty of time.

Filed Under: Wedding Tagged With: , , ,
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Garage Door Racing

March 28, 2011 By

From a very tender age, George has been fascinated with garage doors. Garages themselves hold little interest for him, but the doors are an endless source of interest and entertainment. Right in the beginning, when he was barely old enough to walk, he would insist on being able to watch the garage doors open and close. Understanding this, of course, was a challenge for us, since George had no functional language to speak of at that time, and could not communicate his desires. We had many, many meltdowns borne of the fact that our boy had this thing he wanted and could not ask for. We accidentally discovered the issue when someone happened to close the garage in the middle of a meltdown. As soon as the door started to move, George instantly calmed down.

George is not fond of garages that are left open. They are pointless to him. An open garage does not have a visible door for him to examine in its minutest detail, and even now, when we are at large in our neighbourhood, we have to watch George to make sure he does not take off in the direction of any open garage he happens to see. If he gets into an open garage, he starts hunting around for the mechanism with which to close it, and this can create an awkward situation for the homeowner whose garage is thus targeted.

In the last couple of years, George has been able to satisfy his garage door obsession by watching YouTube videos featuring – you guessed it – garage doors. You would be amazed at how many videos there are dedicated to this subject. Many of them are demonstrations of garage door opening systems presented by salesmen or manufacturers. That’s good enough for George: he watches the videos over and over, and gives the appearance of actually absorbing the words that are spoken by the presenters. It wouldn’t surprise me: George’s speech is not up to much, but his receptive language is actually quite good.

About six months ago the knowledge came to me that there is such a thing as Garage Door Racing. My son found it on YouTube. To participate in this unlikely activity, all you need is a double garage, and two people, each one with a garage door controller. You start with both doors open, and when the signal is given, each person presses the button on their controller. The person whose door is completely closed first, wins the race.

I know, I know.

But clearly someone enjoys it.

About two weeks ago we started a new phase of the whole garage door thing. George found a YouTube video featuring a guy cutting into a garage door with a jigsaw.  He immediately went off and gathered several long pieces of Lego. He stacked them together in a tower that I later realized was a fairly realistic emulation of a garage door. Then he found a toy jigsaw that someone had given to one of the boys. Armed with the Lego and the jigsaw, he returned to the computer and played the video again. Except this time, he copied the video by “cutting” his version of a garage door with his toy jigsaw.

Since then, he has spent many happy moments pretending to cut his door, both with and without the computer. I am encouraged by the pretend play, even if the pretending is of a somewhat unconventional nature. Gerard is encouraged because his son is showing an interest in power tools.

Today we ran into a bit of a problem. Because I have a cold and took a sick day, I was home when George’s school bus dropped him off this afternoon. He came inside, and without even taking his coat off, he ran into the living room, retrieved his toy jigsaw, and then ran back to the front door and tried to go outside. It turned out that he wanted to use his toy jigsaw on the actual garage door.

Great. That’s all we need. Already I am picturing a day when I come home to find our garage door chopped up into pieces.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dumbledad/3398173944)

Filed Under: autism, Garage Doors Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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