Remembered

Remembered

   I had a dentist appointment on Thursday. After I had parked my car I looked down at the ticket, and I remembered. 
   I felt a wave of anxiety come over me as I realized just where I was, and on what day. 
   I remembered, and I paused for a moment, before going up those stairs.
   I remembered, in a haze, as I sat, quiet in the dental chair.
I remembered many things in a rush of cold reality.

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I remembered that it was September the 10th.

I remembered that it was the date he died.
I remembered, thinking how fast that two years had gone by.

I remembered that this was where he had his fall.
I remembered getting the phone call at work.
I remember seeing him later that day at my sister’s.
I remembered how battered and bruised he was.
I remembered how shocked we were that he was released from emergency.
I remembered how proud and how stubborn he was.
I remembered just how much that I missed him.

I remembered two heart wrenching weeks in the hospital. 
I remembered the dedication of Dorry.1174411_721955574497380_563150802_n
I remembered the strength and humour of Gerry.
I remembered the seesaw of conversations with Tim.
I remembered the innocent sincerity of Anna and Erin.
I remembered the love and support, and soft hands of Lana.

I remembered his amazing comeback.
I remembered his helpless confusion.
I remembered when we decided to let him go.
I remembered saying goodbye.
I remembered picking out a casket.


I remembered dinner the night before the funeral
I remembered the breathtaking sky above Lake Huron.
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I remembered all of us staying at the same hotel.
I remembered the stories and drinks, smiles and tears.

I remembered what I wrote for the graveside.
I remembered that Lana had to read it for me.
I remembered my girls holding each of my hands.

I remembered, smiling, that Alec was there too.
I remembered people leaving for the airport.
I remembered saying goodbye.

I remembered looking back as we drove out of town.

As I stepped down from the chair, our dentist Dave, I am sure unaware of the date or circumstances, asked me to “say hi to the girls” for him…and he said, “I miss having your father Norm come to see me”.
Again I paused, and he knew just how much that meant as his eyes caught mine.
“Me too Dave.”  I closed the door behind me.

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STORIES

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STORIES


Let’s talk about “ this one thing that happened”.

We all have our stories
and they are shaped
by how we tell them.

Truth, and fiction

Resonant, and relevant

Memory and interpretation

We say what we filter
and we reveal our view
by what we’ve chosen.

Anything, or everything

Reserve, and unburden

Shame and pride

We turn the camera around
and tighten the focus
by pointing it at ourselves.

Observe, and record

Comment, and document

Impulse and exploration

We learn about the possibilities
and everyone plays a role
by being part of the story.

Expose, and suppose

Infusion, and confusion

Tact and responsibility

We leave scrutiny out there
and open for discussion
by inviting judgement.

Audience, and storyteller

Perceive, and deceive

Truth and fiction.

 

All about “ this one thing that happened”.

 

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I have found over the last couple of years that I have a certain ritual that I perform whenever I am doubting my place in this world.
     I actually go outside and stand on the street and look back at my house, my car, my life and I pause and realize just how fortunate that I am.
     Then I walk around it all and stop to take a good look out back.
       Deck needs work… trees need trimming… house needs paint… and I need fulfillment.  I sit or stand on my deck and bask in the exhilaration of uncertainty.
        Then I go inside and look at some of the pictures on the wall… listen to some familiar music… soak in some of the memories… and suddenly I have refound my fortune… and my home. 
          I usually think about staying inside more… working on my deck gradually… using the front door a lot… and then my two daughters walk through that same door and I am fulfilled until the next time.
 
 
 
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