Friendship Archives - Running for Autism

2013: Memorable Moments

December 26, 2013 By Kirsten

With just a few days left in 2013, this seems like a good time for me to take a look at some highlights of the last twelve months. The word “highlights” is a bit of a misnomer, though – a large portion of the year was filled with the most mind-bending stress. To be completely honest, I am ready for the year to be done. I am ready to wake up on January 1, 2014 looking forward to a year of new beginnings.

Not a lot happened in the first three months of the year. I was working overtime on a massive project, so for a while I didn’t really have a life. From time to time I went running, and that was going great until the day I gave myself an injury by doing a long run at race pace on icy sidewalks. As far as common sense goes, that was not one of my shining moments. I had to pull out of a half-marathon that I had registered for – not the greatest start to my season.

In April I ran a ten-mile race that can only be described as my worst race ever. It took place on a golf course, which was very scenic but had a scary number of hills. If the weather had been nice it might not have been so bad, but it was cold and windy, and it was raining. Instead of feeling down about my dismal finishing time, though, I was surprisingly upbeat. I had run this brutally hard race in terrible weather, and I had crossed the finish line. It was a testament to my determination. The hard-earned finisher’s medal I got that day is one of my favourites, just because of how hard I had to work to earn it.

In May, my life kind of spiralled out of control a little. Things were going reasonably well at the time: my running was back on track and my big project was a whisker away from being closed after a successful implementation. A few days from the end of that month, I got the shock of my life when I was called into a little office in the HR department and informed that I no longer had a job. I had seen it coming – much change was afoot at my place of work and they had been downsizing people for a while.

Something else happened in May that shook my foundations quite badly. One of my best friends, who I had known for seventeen years, passed away after a lifelong battle with Cystic Fibrosis. Fran was just shy of her 41st birthday when she died, and years of knowing that I would in all likelihood lose her did not make it easier when it happened. I have so memories that include Fran, including her first race and my wedding. Seven months on, I’m still having trouble adapting to a world that she no longer inhabits.

In June, my family and I went away to Niagara Falls for a few days. It was a break I desperately needed, and it included the Niagara Falls Women’s Half-Marathon. I had a fantastic race – although it was not my best-ever performance, my finishing time was respectable enough. The race was a perfect opportunity for me to run off a bit of stress.

July kind of passed without me noticing. I was worn out from stress and grief, and I was fighting what felt like a losing battle with depression. I applied for jobs without getting any responses, and my spirits sank lower and lower with each passing day. Ultimately, what got me through was running.

August started off on a note of terrible tragedy, when a friend’s seven-year-old son drowned in a river. He hung on in hospital for a couple of days, but in the end, his mother had to make the heartbreaking decision to let him go. I felt the kind of sadness that threatens to engulf you, like a heavy blanket that suffocates. I started worrying a lot – about my kids, about the twists and turns of fate that we have no control over, about friendship and whether I was doing enough for the people in my life, including the bereaved mother.

Luke

In September, I was supposed to travel to Ottawa to take part in the Army Run, a majestic half-marathon in the nation’s capital city. Due to illness and circumstance, the trip had to be canceled at the last minute. The disappointment was excruciating. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a big deal, especially when looked at beside all of the other stuff that had been going on, but at that point my coping skills had been eroded to the point of nothingness. I turned to my trusty method of stress relief and threw myself into my running.

A month later, my training paid off when I ran my main race of the season: the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront half-marathon. For the fifth consecutive year, I ran the race to raise funds for the Geneva Centre for Autism. Inspired by my son George, I ran my way to a personal best time. It was a truly fantastic race, and that day marks the point at which I finally started to claw my way back from the terrible depression that I had been going through.

In November I signed up for a novel-writing challenge called NaNoWriMo. I decided that what I really needed was a goal, and writing a book in thirty days seemed like a reasonable one. Every day when I woke up, I sat at my laptop and hammered out two thousand words, and by the time the end of November rolled around, I had a completed manuscript of almost 60,000 words. It was a first draft, meaning I would need to do a whole lot of work to make it fit for public consumption, but I had done it. That achievement did wonders for my confidence.

December has, for the most part, been kind to me. Yes, we had a pesky ice storm that cut out power for a few days and left a mess of fallen trees and broken branches all over the neighbourhood, but we got through it. Although there was the obligatory family drama, we enjoyed Christmas. We even got a picture of Santa that involved a lot of fun and no autism meltdowns.

Over the next few days, I will be setting some goals for 2014. I have lofty plans that include running a 30K race and getting my book published. For now, though, I am enjoying time with my family, and in spite of the more stressful things that have happened this year, I am feeling grateful for what I have.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle. Photo credit for the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Half-marathon picture: www.marathon-photos.com. Photo credit for all other images: Kirsten Doyle.

Filed Under: 2013 Year In Review, Christmas, Death, Depression, family, Friendship, Job Loss, running, Stress, Writing Tagged With: autism, cystic fibrosis, downsized, drowning, geneva centre for autism, goals, grand scheme of things, half-marathon, NaNoWriMo, personal best, sadness, work

Farewell, My Friend

June 26, 2013 By Kirsten

What do you do when you receive word that a friend has died? What do you do with the memories that flood your head and collide with the cruel knowledge that you will never see that person again? How do you stem the endless flow of tears, and how do you deal with the hurt of loss?

When do you start to believe that they are really gone?

My friend Fran had cystic fibrosis. In her almost 41 years, she never experienced the feeling of being healthy. Intravenous antibiotics, nebulizers and hospital stays were a regular part of her life. None of that stopped her from living, though. Fran was not one to let chronic illness slow her down. Life was one big adventure to her.

There are so many things I could say about Fran. I could talk about the fact that she had one of most fascinating jobs I’ve ever heard of (she fixed helicopters). I could talk about the beautiful music she made and how honoured I was that she played the flute at my wedding. Or I could talk about the epic phone conversations we had from opposite ends of the country, and when we got together, the late nights of talking and drinking wine.

Or I could talk about the running.

Yes. I think I will talk about the running.

Fran started running in earnest shortly after she moved to Canada, and I kind of became her running mentor. A few months later, she flew to Toronto for a few days to celebrate Easter with me and my family. During her stay, we ran a race together. This race, a scenic lakeside 5K, was her first. Throughout the run, Fran kept having to slow to a walk to rest her lungs. At times she would have to stop entirely while she had violent coughing fits lasting for several minutes. When she was able to catch her breath, she would grin and start running again.

Fran finished the race in about 45 minutes. She was exhausted and her face was purple, but she had an enormous smile on her face that lit up the space around her. She was glowing with her accomplishment, and I was so proud of her.

Two days later, Fran woke up wanting to go running again. We laced up and I took her around my neighbourhood, letting her set the pace. We stopped often, sometimes because Fran’s lungs would go into spasm, and sometimes just to chat. I don’t remember what we were talking about as we ran the final stretch back to my house, but we were laughing so hard that we had to stop running to prop each other up as we walked towards the driveway.

It was with this image in mind that I went running just three days after learning of Fran’s passing. I hesitated for a minute in the driveway, and then set out, retracing the steps that I had taken with her. It didn’t take long for the tears to start streaming down my face as I remembered the conversations, the sound of Fran struggling for breath as her lungs constricted, and the special way she had of embracing life so completely.

I shed many tears while I ran, but in the last kilometre, something very strange happened. The music playing from my running playlist abruptly stopped mid-song, and a different song started – a Celine Dion song that’s not even on my running playlist.

Let the rain come down and wash away my tears…

How had this happened? My screen lock was on. How could the music spontaneously change?

Hush now, I see a light in the sky…

Was it really possible for loved ones to send messages from wherever it was they went?

I can’t believe I’ve been touched by an angel with love…

As I ran towards home, a new picture filled my head. I imagined Fran running beside me, healthy and strong, the way I like to think she is running now.

Filed Under: Death, Friendship, life, Loss, running Tagged With: Celine Dion, chronic illness, coughing, cystic fibrosis, embracing life, Fran, memories, race, song, tears

9 Memorable Moments Of A Lifelong Friendship

June 15, 2013 By Kirsten

Friendship

It has been said that people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Sometimes they are there for a specific purpose, and once that purpose has been fulfilled, they move on. Other people are there for a phase of our lives before the friendship drifts apart for whatever reason. Then there are those who are there for the long haul, no matter what life throws at either one of you.

Jenny came into my life when we were both 10. She is still there now, and we have made a pact that when we’re old, we’re going to sit on a porch on rocking chairs doing our knitting. Well, Jenny will knit and I will probably be doing some writing on an old-person tablet with extra-large font. I cannot knit.

When you’ve been friends with someone for 33 years, you collect a lot of memories with them. Today, in honour of Jenny’s birthday, I want to share some of those moments.

1. We were new kids together at school. We stood there side by side as the teacher introduced us to the rest of the class. We pretty much stayed side by side until we graduated high school.

2. When we were about 13, Jenny caught a bad cold that did some very weird things to her speech. This was during her phase of calling me “Spazzhead”. Try to imagine what the word “Spazzhead” would sound like when spoken by someone whose head has been stuffed full of bubble wrap. During recess one day, Jenny kept saying “Spazzhead” over and over, just because it sounded so funny. We were laughing so hard we couldn’t even sit up straight.

3. One Monday, Jenny came to school with her eyes red from crying all night. The previous day, her family had seen the immediate aftermath of a serious car crash on the highway. Jenny described the scene to me, and I was horrified just listening to it. For her to have actually seen it must have been absolutely traumatic. As she told me about it, she broke down in tears again. I could not think of any words to say, so I just held her.

4. When we were 12 or 13, we went on a school field trip to the zoo, and we were admitted right into an enclosure with blue cranes. For reasons known only to God and to it, one of the birds was instantly fascinated by me. The damned thing had me dancing in circles around the enclosure, never making contact with me but getting close enough to make me very nervous. Jenny’s attempts to help me were thwarted by the tears that were running down her face as a result of her laughing so much.

5. During my university years, I got myself into big trouble, but I didn’t tell anyone about it. While I was trying to pick up the pieces of my life afterward, I did something that hurt Jenny badly. It took a couple of years, but she forgave me and I had my friend back.

6. On a beautiful sunny day, Jenny said “I do” to the love of her life. She was, without any doubt, the most beautiful woman in the world as she walked down the garden aisle with her father. The wedding was small and simple, and the air was filled with love. When you looked at Jenny and her new husband, you just knew they were going to be together forever.

7. In my late 20’s, I used a sizeable bonus from work to fund a holiday to Greece and Wales. Jenny, who was heavily pregnant, did not follow my instructions to hold off on having the baby until I got back. As I was sitting down to breakfast in my B&B near Cardiff Castle, Jenny’s husband called me with news of the birth. It was quite a birth story with many anxious moments, but Jenny and her new baby boy were doing OK. When she asked me to be the godmother, I cried with joy.

8. When my dad died, I forced myself to hold it together. I had to go through the logistics of traveling alone from Canada to South Africa, and when I got there, I needed to be strong enough to help my mom deal with the aftermath of losing a loved one. As I stood outside the church before the funeral, Jenny arrived with her mom and came right over to give me a hug. It was only then that I allowed myself to cry.

9. Last year, I took another unexpected trip to South Africa following the death of a beloved aunt. In spite of the circumstances, there were some rays of sunshine during my time there. One of these was a day with Jenny. We had a marvelous time getting rained on during a bird show and then having a leisurely lunch together. That perfect day was capped off by a phone chat with my now-almost-teenage godson.

Jenny and I live on opposite sides of the world, but that does not get in the way of a friendship like this one. Today, this amazing person celebrates a birthday, and even though she is thousands of miles away, I am celebrating with her.

Happy birthday, my dear friend. Thank you for putting up with me all these years.

(Photo credit: Jixar. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Friend, Friendship, life, Memories, Wordcount Blogathon Tagged With: birthday, crying, death, friends, godson, laughing, lifetime, purpose, wedding

Rebuilding

December 20, 2012 By Kirsten

Today’s post is in honour of a very special person on a very special day.

I have known Margie for about a decade now, and in that time both of our lives have undergone some dramatic changes. We have leaned on each other through difficult times, celebrated accomplishments and engagements, and we’ve both resorted to “tough love” when the other one has been caught using negative self-talk.

Margie and I have never met in person, but we have spoken on the phone, we have exchanged many texts and literally hundreds of emails, and I once watched Snakes On A Plane vicariously through Margie (we instant-messaged through the entire movie while she watched, so I followed the plot without having to actually see the film).

When Margie’s life imploded a few years ago, I was there for her as best as I could be.

And when she started to rebuild her life – showing the most incredible strength, courage and determination – I was her enthusiastic and very willing cheerleader.

Today, Margie is going to the University of Arkansas at Little Rock to receive her Bachelor’s degree. She has worked incredibly hard to achieve this, and she has done it while parenting her two boys, holding down a full-time job, and building a solid relationship with her husband-to-be. Not to mention that she done all of this while building herself up from the inside.

I am truly honoured to be able to count myself among Margie’s friends, and I am so grateful that she has allowed me to be along for the ride from then to now.

Congratulations, Margie. May this amazing accomplishment open many doors for you.

(Photo credit: CarbonNYC. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Accomplishments, Friendship, Graduation, Rebuilding Tagged With: accomplishment, Bachelors degree, celebration, cheerleader, difficult times, friend, Margie

Lego On The Roof

July 29, 2012 By Kirsten

As a person who (a) suffers from social anxiety disorders and (b) is a bit of technogeek, I have very few friends who I have actually met in person, and quite a lot who I have communicated with only through the magic of the Internet. It is always a bit of a thrill when I can actually meet – face to face – one of my online friends.

Yesterday I got that opportunity, when a friend who lives a couple of hours away came to visit with her husband and little boy. We all had a wonderful time. My friend is even more fun in person than she is online, and we already have plans in the works to meet up again.

When this absolutely delightful family left, my husband went off to his factory to admire his latest handiwork, and I settled down in the living room to watch Olympic swimming and weave words into pictures.

The kids wandered onto the deck to play, and I was easily able to keep track of them from where I was sitting. All I had to do was turn my head from time to time to make sure I could still see them, and as long as I heard the thump-thump noise of their feet hitting the wooden deck as they ran around, I knew the status quo was being comfortably maintained.

At one point when I looked around, James seemed to be somewhat taller than usual. Also, he was holding a long stick. I was so comfortable in my seat, though, and since no-one was screaming I decided that it would not be necessary to actually get out of my seat. A verbal reprimand issued at reasonable volume should suffice.

“James, put the stick down!” I called.

“But then George will try to get the Lego off the roof,” he called back.

What???

I went out to the deck, and there was James standing on the table, poking at the roof with the stick. I stepped back a few paces and almost tied my neck in a knot in my efforts to bend it far enough, and sure enough, I just managed to make out the unmistakable bright yellow glint of Lego.

“How did it get there?” I asked, perplexed.

“I threw it there,” said James in a matter-of-fact tone, as if this kind of thing happened every day.

There are times when parenting should operate on a need-to-know basis, and I decided that this was something that I did not need to know. I went into the back yard and lugged the ladder onto the deck. I set it up, and stood there looking at it with growing anxiety.

Here’s the thing. I am absolutely petrified of ladders. I always imagine that something terrible will happen while I’m up on one. The thing will collapse beneath me and I will crack open my skull and break seventeen bones. Or it will fall over and I will be trapped on the roof forever, subsisting on bugs and droplets of water from the rain gutter.

If I didn’t get the Lego, however, George would have a meltdown of epic proportions. The fact that I got up on that ladder and made my shaky way to the top is proof that I love my children more than life itself and would do absolutely anything for them.

At the top of the ladder, I had a bit of a problem. Because of where I had positioned it, I couldn’t see where the Lego was. I had only one shot at this, though. Once I got down from the ladder, there was no way in hell I was getting back up again. So I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and ran my hand along the bit of roof that was within my reach.

My hand made contact with something hard. Hoping to God that it was the Lego, I grabbed it and tossed it down onto the deck. I then made my nervous way down the ladder, only allowing myself to breathe once my feet hit terra firma.

The thing that I had thrown down from the roof was indeed the offending Lego. I breathed a sigh of relief, half-heartedly reprimanded the culprit (James) and in a rare break from the norm, allowed myself a glass of wine before dinner.

My poor shattered nerves deserved it.

(Photo credit: aloshbennett. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Children, Fear, Friendship, Ladder, Lego Tagged With: children, ladder, Lego, online friend, petrified of ladders, play, roof, throwing

A Letter To My Younger Self

April 10, 2012 By Kirsten

I am participating in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, in which I publish a post every day for the month of April, based on health-related prompts.

April 10 – Dear 16-year-old me: Write a letter to yourself at age 16. What would you tell yourself? What would you make your younger self aware of?

Dear 16-year-old me,

I am writing to you from 26 years in the future. I am 42 years old, and a lot has happened in the last two and a half decades. The world is a different place now, and I have grown up a lot since I was – well, you.

I don’t want to tell you too much about the next few years of your life, because as painful as some of it will be, it wouldn’t be right for me to change it. I am who I am today because of some of that stuff. You have to live through it, knowing that you will survive your worst times and come out stronger for it.

However, there are a few things you should know, that will make it a bit easier for you to navigate the next 26 years.

1) You are not fat, no matter what anyone tries to tell you. You are a beautiful young woman, and this body image problem that you have is just going to cause problems for you later in life.

2) When you go to that birthday party that’s coming up and drink a truckload of beers, Mom will smell your boozy breath from a mile away when she picks you up. Especially when you open your mouth to make lame excuses for why you’re tripping over your own big toes.

3) When they bring in the school’s first computer later this year, pay attention to it and learn how to use it. Computers will become a massive part of your life so you may as well start now.

4) That hairdresser appointment you have next week? For the love of God, cancel it. Believe me, you do not want a perm. It will take the phrase “big hair” to a whole new level.

5) If you meet a good-looking guy in the hallway of the medical centre, don’t talk to him. He’ll just cause trouble for you. Don’t fall for his flattery.

6) You’re allergic to mangoes. Like, seriously allergic. If you avoid mangoes, you will avoid anaphylaxis and a trip to an Israeli hospital where they’re very nice but don’t speak good English.

7) Things will happen during your University years that will be very hard on you. You will not be as alone as you will feel, and if you ask for help, you will get it. Don’t try to go through it alone.

8 ) Just because one therapist is mean and judgmental, that doesn’t mean they will all be like that. Don’t try to deal with depression alone for twenty years before you get help.

9) Find out as much as you can about autism and take your first child for screening as soon as you see the signs. The doctor will try to get you to wait for another year. Don’t listen to him. Threaten to sit in his office gathering dust until you get a referral.

10) Post-partum depression is a terrible, scary thing, especially when it goes undiagnosed for over a year.

11) Take care of your feet. You’re going to be getting plenty of use out of them. When you really get into the running, your feet will not be your most attractive feature. Wear your callouses and blackened toenails with pride.

12) You don’t realize yet that you are a runner. When your inner runner emerges, go running with Dad every opportunity you get. Later in life, you will hold onto the memories of those runs like treasures.

13) You deserve happiness, and you deserve to be treated with true respect. Don’t settle for anything less.

14) Enjoy your sleep while you can. When you become a mother, you will yearn for it.

15) In a few years’ time you will go to Israel. It will be one of the best times of your life and you will meet some people who will become lifelong friends. Enjoy it and store as many memories of it as you can.

16) The degree you do at University will have no relation to your eventual career. That does not matter. The degree will be useful to you in other ways.

17) Spaghetti mixed with ketchup does not make a gourmet meal, and you will get some very strange looks if you make it for your parents as a special treat.

18) Don’t try going on antidepressants without the guidance of a therapist. As the depression lifts, some other feelings will emerge that will seem scarier. You will need help managing those feelings.

19) The person who has been your best friend since you were ten will still be your best friend when you are 42. Your friendship will survive a rift and you will be there for each other through many major life events. Treasure this friend, because she really is a gem.

20) Life is too short for bullshit. Don’t bear grudges, don’t procrastinate, and make the most of every opportunity you have.

21) Take care of your teeth. When Mom lectures you about flossing, she’s right.

Enjoy your youth, Younger Me. It will be gone all too quickly, and you want to have some good memories of it to carry you through the darker patches of your life.

I’ll see you in 26 years’ time. Enjoy the ride!

Regards,

Older You

Filed Under: Advice, autism, family, Friendship, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Memories, Mental Health, running, WEGO Health, Youth

Butterfly

April 5, 2012 By Kirsten

I am participating in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, in which I publish a post every day for the month of April, based on health-related prompts.

April 5 – Ekphrasis Post: Go to flickr.com/explore and write a post inspired by the image. Can you link it to your health focus?

When my son was first diagnosed with autism, we enrolled him in a local daycare centre on the advice of his speech therapist. He needed the social aspect of it, she said. He needed the group lunchtimes, the circle times, and all of the other elements of being part of a group of children. We were nervous about letting our sensitive, vulnerable son out of our immediate orbit, particularly since the daycare had never had a child with autism before.

To their eternal credit and our eternal gratitude, the daycare welcomed George with open arms. The director of the centre arranged for all of her staff to be trained in how to work with special needs kids, and George was very happy there.

During the summer months, the kids would be taken to play outside at the end of the day while they were waiting for their parents to pick them up. I would get off the bus from work, pick up my boy, and walk home with him. One day, I picked up his backpack from the darkened daycare classroom as usual, and went out to the playground. I always tried to arrive undetected so I could watch George at play for a few minutes. In typical autistic fashion, he always did his own thing. He played among the other kids, but not with them.

On this particular day, I got to the playground just in time to see a few of the other kids preparing to have a race from one tree to another. George stood apart from the kids, watching them shyly. When the daycare teacher said, “GO!” the kids scampered away from the start line while George stood by on his own.

My heart constricted with unbearable sadness. The whole thing seemed to underscore the isolation of autism, and I felt a sense of unjustness that my child was standing there on his own. With his lanky frame and long legs, he is a natural runner. He might have won that impromptu little race.

Damn autism, I thought. I knew these other kids well enough to know that prior to lining up for the race, they would have tried to encourage George to participate. But being locked in his own world, he would not have known how to. Outwardly, he seemed perfectly happy, but I couldn’t help wondering about that. What was going through his mind as he watched those other kids at play together? Did he feel any sense of isolation? Did he wish he knew how to join in?

I started thinking about sports teams and group activities. Was George ever going to be able to be part of a soccer team or a high school band? Would he travel in a pack of teenage friends or would he sit by himself in the high school cafeteria? Would he be excluded from birthday parties? Or would some group of well-meaning kids include him in their group and look out for him?

How was my child, with his autism and his social communication deficits, going to survive in a social world?

This is a concern that is with me more or less all the time, despite assurances from his teacher that he is starting to tentatively reach out socially at school, that he is getting better and better at participating in social activities, and that he is, in fact, an extremely well-liked member of the student body.

A few days ago I saw something that made my heart soar. Me and my husband were out for a walk with the kids, and we saw the teenage boys down the road shooting hoops in their driveway. Before we could stop him, George ran up to the boys and held out his hands for the ball. The boys good-naturedly obliged, and like a true natural basketball player, George bounced the ball on his knee and then threw it towards the hoop as if he did this every day.

The hoop was too high for George to have any success, and the boys offered to lower it for him. We told them not to worry and we went on our way, but not before the boys had invited George to play basketball with them any time he wanted.

When things like this happen, my vision of the future shifts, as if I’m looking at my son’s life through a kaleidoscope. I start to see possibilities that were previously hidden to me, possibilities that simply may not have been there before George grew and developed into them. Instead of seeing the kid who stood on his own while everyone else had a race, I now see the boy who, just for a few moments, joined other boys in a basketball game.

If I had, just a year ago, seen the picture that inspired this post, I would have thought, “George is probably never going to do that. He’s probably never going to romp around with friends or be invited to take part in impromptu soccer games.”

Now I look at that picture and realize that I am seeing the emergence of George as a social being. Maybe he’ll always be shy, and it is very likely that he will always need to be surrounded by people who will look out for him.

But his personality, his character, the very essence of who he is – that is emerging bright and beautiful, like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon.

Filed Under: Acceptance, autism, Childhood, Friendship, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, Possibilities, Social Development, WEGO Health Tagged With: autism, basketball, children, communication, friends, possibilities, social communication, social development, special needs

Blog Beginnings: A Funny Guy Made Me Do It

March 17, 2012 By Kirsten

Tim “Red Barren” Carter, who gave me the idea for my blog

Two years ago today, my blog was born. When I wrote my first post, I didn’t really give much thought to where it would all lead me. I wouldn’t have even started the blog if I hadn’t been pushed into it.

Here’s what happened:

Over a decade ago, a super-cool dude by the name of Bruce started a super-cool ezine called Really Good Quotes, and I was one of the original subscribers. In the early days of the ezine, Bruce did everything himself: the research, the writing, the sourcing of quotes, and the compilation of the issues. Five days a week he did this.

After a while, Bruce realized that it would be nice to have a life, so he cut back from five days a week to three, and he started enlisting help. He recruited a couple of writers and asked me to be the editor. And so it became my responsibility to collect everyone’s submissions and format them into something resembling a respectable ezine. When I’d been doing this for about a year, Bruce offered me my own column. I handed off the editing responsibilities to a guy named Cliff, who does it far better than I did (and writes an awesome column to boot), and I started focusing my attention on writing.

Through this whole process, I became friends with the other writers on the ezine. We were a close-knit little group from the start and our friendships started to extend beyond the bounds of Really Good Quotes. One of my fellow writers – a guy who, sadly, is no longer with us – was called Tim. Tim had a heart the size of Texas and he was an amazingly funny guy. He was also a technogeek, so in addition to being a friend, he became my unofficial tech support person.

It was Tim who got me into writing outside of Really Good Quotes. My older son’s autism diagnosis came when I was in the midst of post-partum depression, and I felt myself buckling under the weight of everything. Tim contacted me during this dreadful time and told me that perhaps I needed an additional forum for my writing. He offered me a space on his website where I could write whenever I wanted. There was no requirement to post, there was no pressure and no expectation. I simply had a place to go when I needed to vent.

One day more than a year later, Tim told me I needed to spread my wings. He wasn’t booting me off his site, and in fact he wanted me to stay and continue posting, but he felt that my writing was good enough to warrant a wider audience. He encouraged me to sign up with one of the well-known blogging platforms that came complete with a large community of bloggers. At first I was resistant to the idea. It sounded like more hard work than I was in the mood for.

Tim’s idea would turn out to be a bug that, once planted in my mind, kept nagging at me. After a couple of months, I thought, What the hell? I signed up, and here I am, celebrating my blog’s second birthday.

Many things have happened since then, both in my blog and in the broader context of my life. I have seen all kinds of growth in my kids, I have watched my son beat out all of the doctor’s predictions, and I have done some growing up myself. I have run all kinds of races and beat my own personal best times. I have voted for the first time as a Canadian citizen, I have tied the knot with my long-time partner and I have taken on extra responsibilities at work.

As far as my writing goes, I still write for Really Good Quotes. I am also a writer and scheduling editor for World Moms Blog and I participate regularly in the Indie Ink writing challenges. I have been invited to participate in the Health Activists Writers Month Challenge which runs in April. I have been voted as one of the Top 25 Canadian Mom Blogs. And very soon, my website will be going through an overhaul. I am excited at the prospect of launching a new look to showcase my writing.

I feel like I am entering a whole new phase and I cannot wait to see where it brings me.

Happy 2nd birthday, blog!

(Photo used with the kind permission of Kristen Carter)

Filed Under: autism, Birthday, blogging, Encouragement, Friendship, Indie Ink Writing Challenge, Milestones, Post-Partum Depression, Really Good Quotes, Uncategorized, World Moms Blog, Writing Tagged With: anniversary, autism, beginnings, blogging, friendship, running, writing

Journey–Part 2

February 24, 2012 By Kirsten

On Wednesday I started chronicling my recent trip to South Africa. I intended to put everything in one post, but as it turned out, a lot of activity was packed into my ten days there. This is an account of my last few days.

Wednesday: I have been looking forward to this day ever since I arrived. My friend Jenny picks me up and we spend the day together. Why am I so excited about this? Because Jenny and I have been friends since we were ten. We live far away from each other now, but something as paltry as distance isn’t going to change the fact that she is my best friend and always will be. We go out for coffee, then take a walk around the bird park. We watch a live bird show – part of it, anyway, before the rest of it is cancelled due to rain. After that we head indoors and have lunch together. It is a great day, one that concludes with us resolving to have a joint 50th birthday celebration in some exotic location. We have a few years to nail down the details.

Thursday: Mom and I head out early to do the shopping we were going to do on Tuesday. We buy presents for my boys and food for the memorial that is planned for tomorrow. Then Mom drops me off at a shopping mall, where I have arranged to meet up with my friends Faye and Njabulo. I used to work with Faye and I was in Toastmasters with both of them. We spend hours drinking coffee and talking. Eventually we go our own reluctant ways. I do a bit of shopping before meeting up with my cousin Philippa, who is visiting for a few days from the coastal town of Knysna that is now home to her. We have coffee, do more shopping, and then head home to have dinner with Mom.

Friday: My brother arrives at a prearranged time, and the three of us drive out to my aunt’s house. We have a small private memorial planned – just a few us of us, all family. With my brother protectively carrying the ashes, we go up the hill behind her house. My brother says a few words that bring smiles and tears to the rest of us, and then we scatter the ashes under a tree – the same tree where both of my grandparents were scattered many years ago. My aunt’s final resting place is absolutely gorgeous, and the rain has held off for this occasion. We go back to the house and share memories. This is just the kind of final farewell that my aunt would have wanted.

Saturday: My friend Caroline picks me up and we go out for brunch. I haven’t seen Caroline for about twelve years and she looks just the same. We have a great time catching up, and then she comes back to the house to have tea with me and Mom. After she leaves, Mom and I go out for lunch with my brother. It will be a long time before I see him again, so I am glad of this opportunity. When Mom and I get back to the house, my aunt and cousins come for tea. I finish my packing, and then Mom and I tearfully say goodbye to each other before my cousins drop me off at the train that will take me to the airport.

I returned to Toronto on Sunday afternoon, feeling jetlagged, exhausted, and filled with the sadness that comes from leaving behind a grieving mother. I wish I could split myself in half. I am so happy to be back here, with my husband and children. But I wish I could have spent more time with Mom. I feel like she still needs me, and I hope she knows that even though I am far away, I am always at her side.

Filed Under: Bereavement, family, Friendship, Memories, South Africa, Travel Tagged With: ashes, bereavement, death, family and friends, south africa, travel

Journey–Part 1

February 22, 2012 By Kirsten

This time two weeks ago I was sitting at Heathrow Airport waiting for my connecting flight to Johannesburg. I was bored out of my skull, having spent seven hours drifting aimlessly around the Internet and walking around the duty free shops looking at stuff I didn’t want and couldn’t afford to buy.

Eventually my flight left, and I arrived in South Africa early the following morning. The next ten days or so were a whirlwind of activity. I spent time with my mom and my brother, went out with people I haven’t seen for an inordinately long time, and said goodbye to my aunt as we laid her ashes to rest.

It is worth recording what I did during this trip, because I am not getting any younger and I do not want these memories to get lost in the busy-ness and noise of my regular day-to-day life.

Thursday: I arrive in South Africa. My brother picks me up and feeds me non-airline food. It feels odd to drink a cup of coffee without air turbulence making it splash all over my face. I absently wonder whether pilots plan to hit turbulence right around the time coffee is being served. My mom picks me up from my brother’s place and takes me to the house that was home to me for many years. I meet the current instalment of dogs and cats, and have a glass of wine with my mom before going to bed and failing to sleep.

Friday: Today is a sad day. My mom and I go to the funeral home where we meet up with my aunt Mary and my cousins Alison and Ivan. We go in to pay respects to my aunt. Little do I know that the image of her bruised and damaged face will come to haunt me after a few days. She was so beautiful in life, and that is how I want to remember her. In the evening, my brother comes for dinner. He is working too hard, and he looks too stressed. We all relax together for the evening, the three of us. I feel the absence of my dad. I feel like he should be there with us. Maybe he is.

Saturday: My brother takes Mom and I out for the best cappuccino in town, and then Mom and I head back home because we’re expecting a visitor, Pieter. I have known him since I was about ten, when his late wife Tanya became friends with Mom. In the afternoon, my brother picks me up and we go out for a movie. After the movie we go to a rooftop bar to have a drink and chat. We have a great time. It has been far too long since we went out, just the two of us.

Sunday: I go for a trail run by the river. The altitude makes it tough, but I love the sunshine and the beauty, and I deem the run to be a success. When I get back, I go out for breakfast with Mom and my cousin Alison. Later in the day, my friend Wayne picks me up and we go for lunch. It is great to see him. I met him when I went to Israel twenty years ago and we have been firm friends ever since.

Monday: My birth father Ron takes me out for brunch. I saw him seven years ago at my dad’s funeral, but I have not had much contact with him since. We have a good time and a lovely chat. In the afternoon, two of Mom’s friends come over for tea. One of them I have known all my life; the other I am meeting for the first time. A good time is had by all.

Tuesday: I have a day with Mom today. The plan is to go to her hairdresser salon – run by her long-time friends Willie and Martinus – and then to go shopping. I am delighted to see them. They have been true friends to my mom for many years, and Willie cut my hair last time I was here seven years ago. Willie takes one look at me, and telling me that I’m far too young to be walking around with grey hair (God bless him), he makes an executive decision to colour my hair for me. Mom and I end up spending most of the afternoon there, talking, laughing, and getting our hair done. There is no time for shopping at the end of it, but we do stop on the way home to make sure we have wine. It’s all about priorities.

Continued on Friday…

Filed Under: Death, family, Friendship, running, South Africa, Travel Tagged With: death, family and friends, flight, south africa, sunshine, trail running, travel