Waiting for the other shoe to drop


“This expression alludes to a person awakened by a neighbor who loudly dropped one shoe on the floor and is waiting for the second shoe to be dropped. (Early 1900s)” – Dictionary.com

We have been waiting for it to happen; for the other shoe to drop. It was inevitable. We knew it. He would end up back on dialysis. It was merely a matter of time. Diabetes had ravaged his kidneys to such an extent that they were failing. Diabetes sucks. It really, truly does. So, here we are. So what? Life goes on and we will deal. You know I lie, right? I am endlessly the optimist and at the very same time a pragmatic realist. Mixed in there as well is the wisher and dreamer. The one with her head stuck in the sand. I swear I do have ostrich DNA in the mixture of my gene pool. I want to wave a magic wand and make it all go away even as the realist in me puts up sound arguments for acceptance. Even as I mourn the news we got yesterday.

However, like most things in life there was an up side. A spot had opened up here in town so there will be no lengthy stay in the big city. I am trying hard not to dwell on the downside of it all. Somebody died in order for hubby to have that spot. Why did the doctor have to tell us that? Why? I really could have done without that added bit of information. Aw, but there it is. I am truly grateful he will have a spot. Yet, I am saddened knowing a family somewhere here in town is grieving their loved one. That bit of information also put horrendous expectations in place again. Kidney disease – dialysis can only do so much. It cannot clean all toxins from the blood and so there will come a day when the other shoe will drop again. But until that time, I pray we will use the time given wisely and thankfully. Life truly is a gift. Please, Divine One, help me not dwell on morbid expectations and maudlin thoughts. Help me give thanks for this reprieve once again.

The anxiety of certain anniversaries


Well that date is nearly upon us – that date that I suspect most, if not all, of Fort McMurray has been anticipating with a sense of dread and anxiety. Personally, for myself, I will be glad when the 3rd of May has come and gone. Memories, both sweet and bitter, fill my mind. It’s hard not to relive that day with so many media outlets reminding us daily that the one year mark is quickly approaching. I spent most of March and April dreading the reminders of the most frightening day of my life.

But today I will hold the most treasured memories close to my heart: The calmness and determination of my husband as he drove us out of town, my daughter encouraging me with her strength and dry sense of humour; Hugging my son and his wife when they met us in Anzac with their little dogs dancing in the back seat of their car; The memory of getting text messages from my sister-in-law and my nieces letting me know they all were safe; the memory of running into two young coworkers at a restaurant we’d stopped at during the scramble to get out of the fire-ringed city.  How delighted I was to see them and the sheer relief that these two, at least, were safe. Trading news with them of other coworkers and breathing a sigh of relief that most, if not all, were accounted for. The memory of the countless text messages from family and friends offering their support, in every way imaginable. The memories of the abundant kindnesses bestowed upon evacuees and the outpouring of love from across the country. The hugs from fellow citizens and the sincere wishes shared for a safe harbor and to have all needs met.

When push came to shove the ultimate goodness of humanity came to the fore and that is worth remembering and cherishing. Anniversaries of horrid events such as this or the death of a loved one do make us dread certain dates, but in the end it is the love given and received that counts and what buoys us up and helps us to continue on with life.  I will always and forever be very grateful for these gifts, given freely and without expectations.