I Love You

Every time I was going to tell myself "I love you Donna.", the ugly part of me showed up.  The "I don't care." part.  The "You're no good." part.  I got so angry I wanted to beat that part of me with a sledge hammer until it could no longer utter those negative words.

Who knows when this was written.  A long time ago, thank goodness.  DDP

Elvie (the beginning)

The light of the torches disappeared.  They rode hard all night.  Occasionally an invisable branch tore at the skin on her face, like the slap of a ghostly hand.  Elvie rode a little behind the others now.  She could feel the metal of the old key against her breast, warming itself by extracting the heat from her body.

Her mind wandered back to their earlier stop at the bridge.  A piece of metal had flashed in the light of the torch.  It lay at the end of the bridge almost hiden by the engraved rock.  As she took the net from Hughes hand, she quickly bent down to retrieve the object.  Once in her hand, the tag twisted and she had just made out the word 'Elvie'.  Her heart beat quickened now as she relived the moment.

"What can it mean?", she murmured half out loud.


November 2001

Thoughts on my Papa's passing

The day you died, Papa!  I have regrets about the day you died.  I was busy.  I was very very busy.  Why didn't I stop?  Why didn't I just STOP?  AND BE.  WITH YOU.

Looking back, I wonder about many things.  You weren't able to keep any food in your stomach.  It happened suddenly.  You were living on boost and the bread and rice puddings I prepared that week. I had also arranged for an saline drip so you wouldn't become dehydrated.  We arranged for some tests in the hospital, just overnight.  The Dr's. thought is might be something simple.  You wanted to go.  You wanted to feel better.  Determination was one of your strong points, Papa.  Looking back at the day you went into the hospital, I wonder if at some level you thought I was taking you there to die.  Did you?

You were only there for a day.  We hired R, who had stayed with Mamma, to be with you over night.  I didn't want you to be alone.  The next day, the Dr. called and said they wouldn't be doing the tests.  You wouldn't be coming home.  I held the phone in stunned silence, trying to pull some rational responses together.  "Why not?"  He tried to explain.  I wasn't ready to hear.  "You will have to come in and see for yourself."  I did.  The door of your hospital room moved easily under the weight of my body.  I leaned slowly and carefully on the door, preparing myself.  Finally I say you, sitting in a chair by the window.  I froze.  My brain stopped.  My heart stopped.  There in front of me sat an old old man.  I could barely recognize you.  Your energy was almost gone.  Half of you had already departed.

I hugged you.  "Come on Papa", I said with my arms around you, "we are going home."  You looked shocked.  "We are?" Your face was questioning.  "Can I?" you asked.  "Of course you can, and of course we are."  My bossy self was taking over.  I had already informed the Dr. I was taking him home.  He agreed.  "You will have to wait here for a little bit though, Papa."  "I can't take you myself.  An ambulance will bring you home.  I will go now and make sure everything is ready."  You lookd distraught.  Perhaps you thought I wouldn't come back.  Perhaps you thought I would leave you there to pass on alone.

It was a cold November day.  Gray and cold and windy.  I stood in the doorway of your home as the ambulance people unloaded you in your pajamas with bare feet dragging on the patio ice.  I was enraged.  I would have given anything to bundle you in my arms and carry you close to me like a child in the warmth of a blanket.  I was tense and frustrated.  I didn't show it.

Settled in your chair by the window, with a wheel chair near by, you looked more comfortable.  Suddenly you were no longer able to walk.  It was an amazing process for me to observe.  Overnight you could no longer walk.

R, our wonderful home care nurse came.  You wiggled your finger at her in a 'come over here' gesture.  She did.  You gently kissed her on the cheek without a word.  It was touching.  I knew you were saying goodbye.  She didn't.  We all chatted for awhile.  The night nurse arrived.  As I accompanied R to the door, she assured me you would be 'around' for another couple of weeks.  Deep inside, I knew you wouldn't.

I called Dr. A.  Our family Dr. for the last twenty years.  He wouldn't come.  He had always told me he would come for the 'end'.  I was furious and deeply hurt.  How dare he, after all those years, not make one house call of support and comfort.  It said so much about our society.  It saddened me.  I called a young hospice Dr.  He came.  He was on the 'path'.  We sat and chatted.  I was comforted by him.  I was so grateful for him.  He was there for you, gently, respectfully, and lovingly, there for both of us.

During the night, the buzzer beside my bed rang.  When I reached you, you were on the floor.  The night nurse stood helplessly over you expecting me to take charge.  The brakes on the wheel chair had not been set and you had taken a bad fall.  Once again, I was livid!  I was unable to budge you from the awkward position on the floor.  I called B and B.  It seems like an eternity before I heard their car pulling into the driveway.  I had tried to brace your back with my body to give you some comfort.  Both of us were in agony.  At last the two men were able to lift you back into bed.  It was a job.  It took strength.  I was so thankful for them both.

You slept after that.  In the morning you didn't get up.  You were 'half here' and 'half there.'  In my entire life it was the first morning I hadn't seen you get out of your bed.

You were comfortable.  You were in your own bed.  You were in your own home.  That's all you ever wanted.  It was comforting for both of us.

T and P came and sat with you for awhile.  We chatted.  You lay quietly, enjoying the closeness around you.  They asked if you would like a blessing with Holy Oil from Jerusalem.  You nodded a strong approval.  They promised to come back tomorrow at 2:00 pm.  You were pleased.

C and B came.  They sat with you.  B's hand still looked small inside yours.  My heart was so full of deep sadness looking at you all together, perhaps for the last time.  Such a waste.

I had shopping to do.  Things they told me you would need.  Swabs for your mouth, depends, wipes, etc.  It seemed important.  Now I know it wasn't.  I remember kissed you before I left.  "Papa, if you feel the need to go to the other side before I get back,  it's OK."  I assured you.  I hoped you would wait.  You nodded.  I was gone for a long time.

People dropped in and out.  Mostly the wonderful women from home care who had been such a blessing to both of us.  They gave me respite.  They gave you company.  They rubbed your feet and washed your face while I sat in that big bedroom chair.  They comforted me with their chatter.  The day passed by and I had not had time to sit with you.  To hold your hand.  To talk with you.  Too busy with 'important stuff'.  About 9:00 pm I went to bed.  I was exhausted mentally and physically.  The night nurse with you.  I remember asking her to hold you hand so you would know you were not alone.  I retired.  I called my best friend to talk and release.  The buzzer rang by my best.  I quickly went to you, however you were already leaving.  It was about 10:00 pm.  I never said goodbye.  I never told you how proud I was to be your daughter.  How happy I was we had done all that personal work together the last three years.  It was meant to be.  All those talks.  All the 'hard stuff' to say.  All the growth.  I never took the time on your last day on this earth to tell you all of that.  That is what was important.

Yes, I have regrets.  They are hard to let go.  I was with you though.  I am forever grateful for that.  It was an honour and a privilege.  I shall never forget it.  You gave me an enormous gift that day, Papa.  You took my fear of 'death' away.  You crossed with such dignity, grace and a deep peace, a deep knowing.  Unafraid of the next great adventure.  Acceptance and surrender at it's best.  I was in awe.

You saw something on your way to the light.  Your eyes squinted, even though they were closed.  Your brow furrowed as you tried to focus.  There was definitely something there which you were witness to.  It gave me hope.  It gave me assurance.  It reinforced my inner knowing that you can never ever dissolve life force (energy) into nothing.  Energy once formed cannot be made to disappear.  It can only be altered.

And so we sat together, your hand in mine and my head on your chest.  Rissie lay by your feet.  Just the three of us for a long long time.  It gave me peace.

November, 2003

* August 29, 2001

I miss you today, Mamma.  We had such great news from the Dr. about Papa.  His cancer is sooo much better.  His PSA (tumor marker) is down from 176 to 4.6.  Dr. has taken him off the experimental hormone shots for 9 months and does not want to see him again until next August.  Isn't that just great news?

Papa misses you Mamma.  Sometimes in the night I have to go in and settle him.  Just lie in your bed and be with him.  He wakes up and thinks you are still there  -  still in your bed - still with him.  It's a shock for both of us when we suddenly realize you are no longer with us.  You are with others who love you.

Rissie and I go in and sleep in your bed when he is so upset.  It calms him and he is usually able to sleep again.  If not, we get up and have tea. We are all the better for it.  Rissie lies on his bed with him a lot and he loves that.  He said he's never really had an indoor dog who he has gotten to 'know' before.  He thinks she's 'real smart'.  She is!

I thought of you today when I watered your flowers.  The outside hanging baskets are so full and abundant.  Dad's tomatoes are very tasty to eat and gorgeous to look at.  We pick them daily and enjoy.

We have picked lots of apples lately.  Papa has a bicycle basket strapped to the front of his walker.  He pulls the high branches down with his cane and I pick them.  It doesn't take long to fill the basket!  We picked two baskets full today.  I washed and cut them ready for the freezer.  Papa sits in his chair at the table and we chat.  He says he likes to watch me work.  I am efficient.

 We now have twelve bags of apples in the freezer.  (I don't think Papa's going to 'the home' any time soon Mamma! ha ha)  He looks about 10 years younger since we had the good news about the cancer.  We had lunch at Carters.  The owner asked about you.

I love you Mamma.  Thanks for the hug in the night.  I felt wrapped in your love.  Love Donna xx

Journal entry, August 29, 2001, Ardrossan, Alberta, Canada

* Journal entry on my Mammas' passing

My Mamma, Dorothy Steele Parker slipped away on angels' wings at 7:02 pm, August 9th 2001.  I loved her so.  This journal (which has sunflowers on its cover) reminded me of her somewhat.  Sunshine sparkled in her eyes when she was happy.  Mama was pretty as a flower.  Delicate.  Nothing glamorous - just the beauty of nature itself and an inner beauty of a very old soul.

Papa and I each spent time alone with you the day you crossed over, Mamma.  Remember?  I needed that time.  So did you.  With each of us.  Alone.  I needed it to study your face and imprint it into my heart.  I needed to stoke your hair, kiss you, and to hold your hands.  To share with you all my thoughts of the moment.  You lay quietly, enjoying our closeness, squeezing my hand now and then.  Opening your eyes to look into mine from time to time.  There were moments when you would gently pull my hand to your mouth and kiss me with only the tenderness great love can impart.

"You're going to cross over soon, Mamma., I began.  So many people who love you are waiting.  Granny and Wayne will be coming to take you there Mamma, so show you the way.  When you see that beautiful light - it's OK for you to go.  I've heard the light is filled with so much love you simply long to follow it.  We are going to miss you terribly Mama.  We will be together again in the blink of a Universal Eye.  Don't concern yourself about Papa.  We will take care of each other, you know that.

I want to thank you for the honour of being your daughter.  I believe we chose each other before we came to earth this time.  You opened your eyes and looked deeply into mine when I said that.  Anyway, Mamma, we were so fortunate to have each other.  Don't you think we were lucky?  I have learned so much from you.  Remember you and I when I was little?  Doing the washing every Monday.  Hanging it on the clothesline together.  If we had time, we would lie on our backs in the grass and find pictures in the clouds.  Sometimes I would put my face over yours - upside down.  You would talk and I would laugh myself silly because it looked so funny to see you talking 'upside down'.  We did everything together.   You at one end of the table and me at the other.  In the old kitchen in the old house --- remember, Mamma??  We would iron together.  You would put my little sad iron on the old wood stove and I'd be in charge of ironing Papa's hankies.  We'd make bread together.  That's where you taught me to knead the dough.  I'd make Papa a bread man with raisins for his face and down his tummy for buttons.  When you made big pies, I made little pies.  I had my little rolling pin.  Cookies, cakes, chocolates, bread, pies - all at that old table.  My very favorite was your chocolate devils' food cake.  Remember Mamma?  You'd always make that for my birthday.  And remember cleaning chickens?  You would scald them in boiling water and pluck them and open them up with a big knife.  I got to take their innards out!  I loved that part.  They were warm inside and my little hands used to be enthralled pulling everything out and inspect it.  Opening the gizzard to see what it had eaten was fascintating to me.  You were so delighted I loved to gut them.  It was not high on your list of faves.

Then I went through my saucy hateful state.  I'm so sorry I hurt you Mama.  I didn't mean to - I just wanted you to 'react' in some way, any way, instead of pulling away and going inside that hard shell of yours.  I never understood any of that until you told me your story many many years later, when you were 90 years old.  You carried that with you for all that time.  It made me so sad.  I understand everything now.  I understand YOU now.  How honoured I am you were able to share that with me Mamma while you were still here in this lifetime.  It has given me great peace about our past.  You will never know how much that meant to me.

And then we had all our shopping trips and lunches out.  You taught me 'how to be a Lady'.  You taught me about the arts.  We went to all the childrens' plays at Vic and you gave me a taste for theatre and music.  You took be shopping to see lovely things.  You took me to see art and listen to live music -- ah, Mamma, remember all those musicals we went to?  Live at the old theatre?  L and I used to sit on the balcony and spit sun flower seeds over the railing.  Much to your horror when you and AF found out!  You taught me about dressing and looking nice.  You taught me manners.  You taught me how to entertain and make good conversation.  You taught me how to 'work a room' and make others feel comfortable.  You taught me about God.  You taught me how to pray.  How can I ever thank you?

What else, Mamma?  What about our travels together.  Had some fun doing that didn't we?  Visiting me when I lived in Britain, traveling to Europe, Hawaii and the States?  Some good laughs Mamma, some good laughs.  So many things, so many things .... my voice became low and drifted I off into thought.

If you can send me messages or signs from the other side, you will won't you Mamma?  I know you always understood about those things.  Your understood about being physic.  You understood about your own intuition.  It scared you, but you knew.  That side of being human was always of interest to you, even if you were unable to act on it.

We will always love you my sweetheart.  Remember, we are only a breath away."  Just then the door opened and Papa came in.  "You will always be in our hearts and we will never ever forget you."  Papa stood beside me, tears trickling down his cheeks, his hand gently and reassuringly on my shoulder.

I don't know what Papa said to his lady love during his time alone with her that day.  I know that he too held her hands, kissed her, stroked her brow, and spoke softly to her through his tears, just as I did.

That August evening - not long after we left, Mamma chose to slip away peacefully on Angels wings.  We told her we were going home for dinner and would be right back.  For whatever reasons, she chose not to wait for us.  It was what she wanted and we accepted that.  We had both wanted to be with her when she crossed over.  We had to come to terms with that.

Later that night, after Papa and I had sat with her body for a long time, we said our earthly good byes.  I will never forget the love on Papa's face when he kissed her good bye and told her softly and with a wavering voice "I'll be along in a little while."  He walked toward the door.  Halfway there he hesitated for just a second, turned and went back to her bedside.  He put his hand on her forehead.  Bending down close to her said, "Thank you for being my partner, because that's what you were -- my partner'.  He kissed her one more time and slowly pulled himself back to a standing position.  Mopping his eyes with his handkerchief he slowly moved toward me, took my hand and we left the room together.

It was a scene of 57 years together.  A love which had grown strength on strength time.  It was a scene of true love I shall never forget.  Bitter and ever so sweet at the same time.


August 20, 2001.

* Note to my Mamma

Souls live on and run their endless course in Gods' Unlimited Universe.  Each day it becomes clearer to me we are not human beings on this earth to search for a spiritual experience.  We are, however, Spiritual beings here on this earth to experience being human.  Dearest Mamma.  Just as you have done for me of this earth, you have gone on ahead to clear the path of thistles and fallen debris.  You have done this so I may see the beauty and not be hurt. Love you and miss you.  Butterfly kisses enclosed.  Donna

August, 2001

* First trip to the Ashram

Today has been quite a day.  Up early.  To J & M's for a beautiful breakfast (another story in itself).  Then off on our adventure, our exploration.  Or is it an archeological dig into our souls.  "The Ashram", "Yasodhara".  YIKES.  We spent most of the day in semi hysteria - sometimes full blown, muddling through the cobwebs of our lives.  Sometimes wiping our eyes of tears of sadness and sometimes sheer maddness.  Ah yes, the Mad Hatters.  We are both a little mad on our own, but together ... well - if only we could find Alice - missing in action!

Beautiful trip along the lake,  I had forgotten the beauty of this patch of Divine Mother's garden.

Closer and closer!  Finally I broke the ice.  "I'm scared J, I screamed!"  "I'm glad you said that.", she replied.

And so we came to the Ashram.  Hysterical, and afraid of everying, especially the unknown.  We were not encouraged when taken to our rooms.  It brought back so many memories of boarding school.  Rules taped on the mirrors stating, no candles, no insense.  I felt the rebel in me rising.

J's room was dirty, at least the energy was.  She moved in with me and will most surely suffocate from the pillow she holds over her head to prevent the noise of my snoring from driving her completely off the deep end.  Oh well, I warned her to bring industrial earplugs.  Not my stuff.  lol

We're feeling somewhat more settled tonight after having a tour of the buildings and grounds.  We've been fed a wonderful fresh vegetarian dinner. After that, satsang and chanting in the temple.  We now feel very safe and protected and possibilities abound at the probability of becoming Holy Mothers.

It is quiet now.  10:15.  Night has fallen over the lake and mountains.  It is time to put our heads on our own pillows which we hauled all the way from our homes like security blankets.  The truth is, J DID bring her security blanket.

We now know it is our time.  Our Divine Appointment.  Our time to let go of the old.  Bless it and let it.  Find the new.  Venture forth into the unknown.  Welcome and embrace it.  AND ... the minute we get home ... call our beloved therapist!

June 6, 2004

* A New Awakening

My senses awake
anew
Over and over again.
A sunset
A sunrise
The richness
of old red
wine.
My Spirit awakes
from her deep sleep.
Old wounds slowly
subside.
Heaviness lifts and
slowly, slowly
a new lightness
comes gently
to my spirit.
Angels abound
to encourage
me forward.
The chains are
breaking away,
being crushed
and disapating into
dust.

I begin to FEEL
again!
My tears
for music
which touches
my heart.
A spine shiver
at the afternoon light
across the prairie.
New Inspiration.
The stars just
before dawn
low and waiting
to be plucked
by God's hand.
His angels are near.
I am never
alone
always
loved.
Awaiting and opening to
receive my gifts
with gratitude.
Open to new inspiration
and strength
with each
new day.
A soul
being healed.
I AM so
very grateful.
How may I
Thank YOU.

December 21, 2001
light

Only Child

I put my head on the goose down pillow and snuggled under my 600 thread count cotton bed sheets.  I realized the cold, bare, stark facts.  I was alone.  Really alone!  No one was coming to assist or help.  There would be no more warm hugs, smiling eyes, tender touches, words of encouragement or the 'faith' in you which only family can have.  At the age of fifty nine, I realized for the very first time - I really was an only child.

Untitled

Her voice was like the high screech of the telephone wires on a forty below day on the prairies.  As I held the phone to my ear and listened intently to her news, my ear drum begged for relief.  The receiver itself could not contain her voice and it spread like a super virus to my dogs ears.  He could do nothing to defend himself, and thus, sat at my feet and yelped.  The combination hit me like a hangover after a bad night on the town.