Madeline Claire. 

Two years ago today you made your debut into this world, and just over a year ago you departed it. In my mind there is this never ending tennis match between the few months of memories that I was allowed and the future that I had envisioned.

And as we have been approaching this significant milestone, never have I been in such distress. This is something l don’t say lightly as the past thirteen and a half months have been severe and arduous. But as the light and heat from the “bonfire” of our life’s devastation slowly burns out it has somehow brought me a little clarity. The cold and the darkness have settled around me like a blanket and the emotions flood my heart almost as fast as they spill out. In the middle of it all I know that I still love you.

I have sat here night after night trying to give an account of my feelings for you, but I can’t. It is like the pain is so intense and overwhelming that it has knocked the wind out of my words. Everything I try to write down to sum up how much I miss you and love you falls flat. It screams, “This is not worthy enough to occupy the space on the screen!” It taunts, “How foolish are you to think that you could do it justice.” It mocks, “Now you will never be able to prove how much you love her!”

I’m not sure why I feel like I have to justify how I feel about you. Maybe to clarify why the tears come so easy, explain the simultaneous joy and heartbreak that little girls bring, or understand the fear of never being able to move through this loss. Though mostly I think it is just because you didn’t get to live long enough to witness the depths of my love for you.

For all of my children that was my number one priority; even for the babies that we chose to care for while the grown ups in their lives were getting their shit together. I desperately wanted you to be confident in the security of my love. To live knowing it was impossible to be separated from that love. There was nothing that you could have done to change those facts and nothing I wouldn’t have done to make sure that you believed it.

In the wee hours of this morning I quietly snuck into your room and curled up on the rocking chair. Holding on to your blanket I wept as I sang your song. I am broken and I won’t ever be whole this side of eternity, but I love you Madeline, and I always will…

“… Who told you so dilly, dilly, who told you so?

‘Twas my own heart dilly, dilly, that told me so…”

She sat down on the bathroom stool completely exhausted, watching the last of the clean and adorable bare bottoms run away. The weekend had been full of driving and activity; and now it was Sunday night and time to mentally organize her even busier week ahead. She thought through all that still needed to get done and tried to find anything to take off the list. She had contemplated removing the ‘bathing boys’ line item that night, but the afternoons activities had left them quite dirty; and with no shower that evening it would have added ‘load of linens’ to the laundry list.

The boys were clean now and had flown off to their bedroom, as their towels turned into superhero capes, to change in to pyjamas. They returned to the bathroom for some minor doctoring and toenail trimming – which in her boys’ eyes was equivalent to lite torture. And even though she had no intention of trying to extract valuable information, this particular episode of torment revealed so much of their hearts.

Her young boys had many questions about girls and girlfriends. An older boy, whom they both admired greatly, had a girlfriend; and the boys had informed their mother that they had seen the couple kissing. She smiled at this, imaging their young little minds trying to wrap themselves around this whole new idea. They wanted to know about these relationships, how to know it’s right, and the when and who of it. And as she shared her wisdom they snuggled in, right there on the bathroom floor. Their faces rapt with anticipation.

She told them about waiting until they were older and smarter . She advised them to have many friends who were boys and girls, and about taking the time to get to know lots of different people first. She warned them of girls who may not like their brother or their mother and may not want to spend time getting to know the people they love. Even of those not willing to invest in the relationships that the boys valued most. They discussed the impact of dating someone who tears you away from your family. Most notably not having anyone to play Lego with, less time to wrestle, and having a sad and lonely Mom. Shyly, the eldest boy asked about Daddies. If there was a place to find new ones if you didn’t have one.

The parts of her heart that were still whole broke in that moment, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. She wondered aloud if they had both thought about this, but the younger brother wasn’t sure. She told them that finding a Dad, like any other relationship in life, is hard work. Pointing out the obvious, that their father had been such an amazing man that it wasn’t going to be easy to ever find someone to fill that role. The boys agreed that it didn’t seem quite possible, but she gently reminded them of someone that they knew who deals in the impossible.

The boys giggled and beamed as they began to list off all the miracles that they could recall from the bible. Daniel in the lions’ den, the parting of the Red Sea, Jonah and the whale, feeding 5000, making the lame walk, giving sight to the blind, and rising from the dead to save humanity. They sat quietly for a moment relishing in His greatness and the smallness of their problems.

Then she promised them that she would never choose someone who didn’t love them as much as she did. That she would spend the rest of her life alone rather then have a mediocre dad.

She kissed them and told them how much she loved them, and that they would always be at the top of her list. They snuggled closer and told her that they knew.

Reminiscing back to last year. Thinking of all that had already happened by this time and all that was yet to come. Doubting that I will ever truly understand how I had the strength to walk that day let alone stand up and say these words:

Oh my sweet baby girl. You were the joy of my heart and I long to hear your gentle chatter and laughter as I hold you in my arms. I cannot fathom how long that I have to wait to see you again. And my gracious husband, you brought out some of the best in me and loved me knowing all my short comings. I cannot believe you are gone. I was the lucky one.

I wanted to speak today so that people could understand the love that Colin had for his family, friends, and students. 

Family time, with his own kids or extended family, was a priority for him. And he loved us with a willingness be honest and real. There were many sacrifices that most of us will never know that he made for our happiness. Even times when I felt frustrated and overwhelmed with his extracurricular commitments, I had NO doubts about his devotion and love for me and our kids.  

I remember discussing one night how our lives would change if we won the lottery and he said “Well, I would still want to teach and coach just maybe a little less.”
It became a joke that when I caught him quiet I would guess if he was thinking about school, his basketball team, or the Calgary Flames. 

He truly had found a career that he was made for. Not only was he naturally gifted as a teacher and coach, but his heart was burdened for the lives of every child he came in contact with. For me it was impossible to be around Colin long enough and not become passionate about what he was passionate about. I now know that he not only changed my life but countless others.

Lastly, I want to talk about his greatest love. No, not the Calgary Flames, but his saviour Jesus Christ. But to understand that I have to touch on something that is a little taboo at funerals, and that is my husbands struggles and weaknesses. Not that I want to speak ill of him, but for everything that we can learn through his success I believe even more can be learnt through his faults.  

One of Colin’s biggest struggles was always feeling like he wasn’t enough. As a young boy he asked Jesus into his heart, and he told me how every time he screwed up he would feel so much shame and fear that he was sure he wasn’t saved. So he would pray again. Over and over, so much so Colin once told me he could never remember how many times he had been “saved”. His shame would drive him far away from God, yet he always yearned to make that relationship right so he would try so hard to be good and do right.

In the last few years Colin had the opportunity to be freed of this lie as he began to understand the truth of Gods love for him. He began to understand that God cared nothing for what Colin was doing or not doing for Him but more for Colin’s heart. He felt the burden of perfection and doing good lifting. He learned that on his own he was not able to live that perfect life, and that he did not have enough strength and ability. But because of who lived inside of him he was free from that burden.

The peace and joy that this gave him was contagious. As he would sit and read the bible to our boys, they loved listening to him tell about the greatness of his God. As it encouraged me to spend more time in the Word and more time investing into relationships with others.

Because of the perfect love of God within Colin he was able to love me, and love his children, and love his family and love his friends, and love you! That is what made him be the man he was. That was the source of all his strength and compassion, and joy, and peace.  

And I can say with absolute certainty that, this is what he would want you to remember:

There is no fear in love;but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love.

That and Go Flames Go!

I will see you again my loves. Of that I am certain.  

An/ni/ver/sa/ry: the date on which an event took place in a previous year.

As I near the first anniversary of the day we lost Colin and Madeline forever, I’m finding it so hard to be present in each day and moment as I constantly feel this pull into the fog of the past. My mind is clinging to my last weekend before our lives were meteorically impacted. It’s become like a movie playing over and over in my head. Each detail crisp and vivid. There wasn’t really much besides their deaths that would make those days stand out, but now those memories are extraordinarily precious. 

It was the second week into summer vacation and Colin was running basketball camps Monday to Friday. It usually took him a few weeks after school ended to really relax and get into holiday mode. And by Friday he was ready.

We had an exciting weekend ahead, and I remember worrying that it was going to be too busy. Colin BBQed hamburgers for supper that night and then we walked over to the midway. We took in the sights, the boys went on some rides, and we ate mini donuts and cotton candy. After the kids were in bed we snuggled on the couch and caught up on some PVRed television.

Saturday we had waffles for breakfast and headed back to Main Street for Madeline’s first parade. She thoroughly enjoyed the floats, the boys loved the candy, and we saw many familiar faces as we sat in the shade. We walked through the vendor market and children’s play area on the way home. And then spent the rest of the day playing in the backyard and swimming in the pool.

I ran two errands that afternoon; one to the grocery store to pick up some watermelon for Sunday; when I was there Colin texted me a picture of a recipe that he wanted to make for supper so I picked up all the ingredients that we didn’t have at home. The other was to visit the farmers market to order a matching headband and some sandals for Madeline’s outfit for my sisters upcoming wedding. Never imagining that they would instead turn into her funeral clothes.

The kids got to bed a little late that night, but quickly as they were exhausted from all the activity and sun. Once they were fast asleep and dreaming, I got to work preparing for the next day. We were heading to my parents place in Three Hills the next morning to see my family. My sister and her fiancé; my brother and his family from BC, including their brand new baby girl. Even my eldest brother’s family from Africa were there, only he was missing as he wasn’t due back in Canada for a few more days.

The very last text message that Colin ever sent me was from that night: “Come outside. Soooooooooo nice.” To be honest, I debated it for a moment. Thinking about all that I had to do before the next day, and how exhausted I was. Oh how grateful I am that I went downstairs and out the back door to the deck. Colin was sitting there with a glass of wine for each of us. And it truly was a ‘10-O’ so nice out there. We sat and drank our Merlot. We reminisced about the weekend, and imagined the summer ahead. He talked about his week at camp with the kids, and all his plans for the next year. We discussed our twelve year wedding anniversary coming up and our plans to do something extra special for our 15th. We laid out all the projects that we planned to do around the house, and promised to make sure to take time to do fun and spontaneous things with the kids.

Sunday morning, after breakfast, the kids all ended up playing together in the bonus room, Colin jumped in the shower and I went to finish packing. When he was clean he grabbed me and tried to convince me that since we would be missing our traditional Sunday afternoon “nap” we should make time for it before we left. I took a little convincing, as I was worried about the kids, and being late, and messing my hair. Having no idea that it would be the last time I’d ever make love to my husband. And then we all buckled up and drove off.

Most of you know the rest of the details, from personal accounts, news stories, or secondhand versions. And everyone knows how it ends. How that lazy Sunday drive turned into a sudden tragic nightmare.

Subconsciously, I wonder if I’m hoping that these memories will be cathartic and make things less painful. I know that isn’t possible. Though I can rationalize that no good can come from only focusing on the devastating loss; instead I need to relish in the joy-filled, love-soaked, memory-rich, and laughter-sprinkled weekend that we had. All the special moments that we enjoyed together before we were ripped apart.

How I wish that was the only anniversary that we had to celebrate.

Today has been one of those days where I just want to curl up in some big strong arms and be completely weak for a moment. Or two.

On a day when we are celebrating Benjamin’s preschool graduation, I am consumed with the future and all its uncertainty. At a time where I want to be present because these special moments are so fleeting, I am consumed with someone’s past blunder that is being dragged into my future. And the deep cuts of the loss of Colin and Madeline will be felt forever, but the tragic story of those scars could be closed if our justice system had any teeth.

The boys and I could be saved adding the insult onto the injury if people would be willing to own their consequences, and not be willing to bury the truth with distraction.

These are the times when I ache for the physical presence of someone who made me feel little and shielded and cherished. To help give me the strength to continue extending forgiveness and mercy and grace.

This day should not involve a visit to the cemetery for 5 & 6 year old boys, but that is what they wanted to do. 

We made a good team you and I. The “winning” is not as easy without you here, but I am giving everything that I have; and we haven’t lost yet.❤️💔

With all the pain, suffering, and tragedy in this world I am amazed at how much credit it gets. One can scroll through their Facebook newsfeed or Pinterest to pick up such pearls as “Stars can’t shine without darkness.”, “The hardest times lead to the greatest moments.”, or “Adversity is opportunity disguised.”

And all of these statements are meant to comfort those in the midst of great trial or depression. To be the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel for anyone who is moments away from giving up. Personally, I have no desire to give justification for my trials. And as I was scrolling through pages of motivational memes on Google, it hit me that there is an unsung hero in all these cute proverbs. Something which, in its absence, leaves each of these mini pep talks meaningless. And that missing truth is love.

Struggle and pain without love is just the birth place of bitterness. Sadly, we have all witnessed this horrible reality, and at worst lived it. And the fact is, adversity does not deserve the credit. Suffering and loss are not the great gurus of personal growth and character development.

Love is. Sacrificial, unrestricted, relentless, autogenous, merciful, and steadfast love. Love that flows in to and out of. And when it is tangibly demonstrated, in grand and subtle ways, it can turn darkness to light.

The predictable text each night checking to make sure you are ok. The understanding at coffee for unexpected tears. Patience shown for a little boys outburst. The persistence to keep reaching out even after another ‘no’. Flexibility extended because you are a new single parent. An army of people committed and ready to carry you, day in and day out.

THIS is what allows us to walk through tragedy. THIS is what love looks like when it is lived out. And THIS kind of love, is the reason why the “Hardships prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.” claims have any relevance.

Parenting well, is hopeless at the best of times. This is something, that after over six years on the job, I can state with certainty.

And these aren’t really the best of times.

The other morning as I was getting ready upstairs, my morning rituals were interrupted with screaming and crying from the play room. For the most part my boys enjoy playing with each other, their closeness in age and this past summer’s events have drawn them together tightly; but they are brothers and will fight as passionately as they love.

As I listened to their words and accusations, I was immediately struck by one thought: I need more love and grace in my relationship with my boys. The conviction of that thought was instantaneous, and there was no hesitation in my guilt.

Now I don’t believe that every bad thing that my children do is all my fault, but I know that my example and my attitude bear a lot of weight. I have the influence to set the tone in our home, and the power to change it as well. Even when I think that I am hiding my feelings, it amazes me at how Emmett and Benjamin will pick up on my impatience, indifference, or intolerance. And, whether they realize it or not, then turn around and demonstrate those emotions to each other. It devastates me to watch them hurt one another; and I realize it is often I that has taught them the undesirable skills of how to best do that.

Then I am struck with equal parts frustration and exhaustion. Wondering how am I supposed to do this on my own. As it is a two man job; two very strong, well-paired, healthy, rested “men”. Cue the flood of overwhelming inadequacy while I allow myself a momentary pity party.

Next I thank God for everything He has given me and I go downstairs. I get on my knees, I hug my boys, and through tears I humbly apologize for my example. I remind them that this is not the way that we treat people. We may even brainstorm better ideas and solutions to the woes of that moment.

Lastly, we take turns forgiving each other, and THAT is when the hope comes.

This afternoon a little bit of my fortress broke. To be honest I knew that the pressure had been building all week. I had been displaying a lot of my typical avoidance behaviours. Days packed from morning to night, housework and yard work done simultaneously, staying up late so that I would fall asleep as my head touched the pillow, trying not to emotionally connect to anything.

It started back months ago when I received the invitation in the mail. I immediately tucked it behind my huge stack of paperwork. Then many weeks later it resurfaced and I saw that the RSVP deadline was looming. Thinking there was no way my boys would choose anything over Football Camp I thought it was safe to leave the decision to them. When camp was passed over I consoled myself with the thought that it was still over a month away. But then this week came, all the other distractions were gone, and I was on a crash course heading straight for it.  

I tried to get as much as I could between me and today. Some things were successful and some things were not; but as I drove to Calgary today I was hurdling, at least, 110 KM an hour towards this reality. And as I pulled into the parking lot of the Alberta Children’s Hospital, for the first time since last summer, walked through those front doors, passed the room where Madeline breathed her last, placed her picture with the handful of others, and heard her name read in memory; it broke. 

My wall; carefully crafted, superiorly maintained, with round-the-clock guards could not handle the pressure. And through the cracks I could reach in and pull down that box. The one where I have placed all my heartbreak in losing a child. The one that in all my grief I have not felt that I could take the luxury of even sitting with. Equal parts fear and practicality have kept it inaccessible.

This afternoon at the Celebration of Life service I was able to rest a moment with the contents of that box. The pain was searing and debilitating; and yet there was beauty and healing there too. Being in a room with others who share similar losses at the end of their tragic stories. Meeting staff who were with my daughter for her last hours on this earth, and whose lives have been forever impacted by that brief encounter.

That box is safely back behind the wall, but I can still catch a glimpse of it. And now I know that when I am ready to sit with it again there is a good chance that I will survive. That’s something.