Happy Birthday to ME!

My life has been a surprising, and rewarding journey. Likely my experiences are nothing out of the ordinary. But this morning, as I lay in bed, I tried to remember my earliest memory and I realise I've survived and lived through a lot of life.

I honestly wish I could remember back to my birth. I would like to remember that moment when the air hit my lungs and I sucked in the oxygen around me and then pushed it back out again to signify my first breath. How great would it be to remember the first moment alive outside the warmth of the womb?!

I imagine if I had cognitive thought at that time it would be one of confusion. First I'm being squished, next I'm in loud, bright surroundings. It would be traumatic until they handed you to your mother that is...I've seen it with my own children. Their births were simple and straight forward with no complications, other than the fact that I could not stop throwing up during labour. (as if 9 months of puking wasn't enough!) After each child was born they were placed on my belly while the umbilical cord was cut. There was always a sense of calm but excitement when we found out the sex of the baby. (side note. there is nothing more exciting for me than the words, 'it's a girl, or it's a boy'. What a thrill!) Then the baby cried, screamed really, was cleaned, swaddled, and eventually given back to me. At each stage the baby gradual became more calm, but the moment the baby was given back there was a sense of peace that I'm not sure how to describe.

Not all of us are lucky to have that kind of start in life. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall in my mother's birth room. Of course, having no memory of the event I'm left to hearing her version of it. Time can alter memory and how we experience it. However, her version of our story starts with being 17 and pregnant.

My mother ended up in a home for unwed mothers(I guess that's what they did back then)and she was barely 7 months pregnant, or so she thought because she didn't know when exactly she had gotten pregnant. She had decided she wanted to give me up for adoption because she wanted me to have a mother and a father. She went into labour sometime around the 7 month mark, and after lots of complications she gave birth to me;a girl. I was 4lbs 11oz and a little fighter. Apparently I screamed my head off, and when she asked to see me the Doctor brought me over to her and said, "take a good look because you will never see this baby again!". And she didn't see me again until I was in my 20's.

I wasn't adopted until I was 9 months old, and most of those nine months were spent in the hospital. Now that I have children of my own I can't believe I had 9 months with no mother or father. During those 9 months lots of growth happens and they are huge formative stages...it's got to have had some effect on a person.

My birthday has always been clouded by mystery and angst. Especially during the teen years when I was trying desperately to figure out who I 'really' was. My parents adopted me and loved me thoroughly but I always felt different and not understood.(A typical teenage dilemma) However, I grew up with a back door. I always knew I was adopted. In fact I can't remember a time NOT knowing. Therefore, when life didn't go my way, I could always think, "My real mother wouldn't have treated me that way". SO NOT TRUE.

In my mind I was reconciling that someone out there didn't want me. I've polled hundreds of adoptees and each one of them had to reconcile the same issue(if it was a closed adoption). You know you are wanted by the parents you live with but if you have no information about the people that gave you up, in your deepest, darkest thoughts you wonder why they didn't want you? There is a kernel of truth in the thought that someone didn't want you, but until you have all the information you can't know what the truth is. Is it that they couldn't provide for you, or love you, or...? It can drive a person crazy. Eventually, finally, each adoptee makes a decision to be OK with that fact or not. You learn to live with the not knowing and make the most of the people who do love you and gave you a life to live.

For me, finding my birth mother allowed me to adopt my parents. Meaning. My family adopted me but I never got the chance to adopt them. Growing up in a Mennonite household everything around you is about "Freunschoft" or family history. Mennonites are believers of community. You go to church together, you live and work together and you are steeped in family on all levels. It's a small, tight knit circle surrounded by faith and a common belief. Mennonites are a rather amazing group(but we'll save that topic for another time)in their pursuit of all things good.

I share my great grandfather's birthday. This was brought to my attention on numerous occasions and while I was proud of that fact I was also uncomfortable with it because he really was no one to me. I never knew him although I heard many stories of his life. He was a man who lived before I was born. I didn't have any of his physical characteristics or traits so why did I care?

It wasn't until I met my birth family and was shown many family pictures that I realised, yes, I have some physical traits and characteristics in common with the people in the pictures but I don't have any relationship with them either. They were just a bunch of people in photographs that lived before I did. So I came to this conclusion. I couldn't be alive without the people in my birth family because genetically I am their descendant. But I also, wouldn't have a life to live with out the people in my adopted family because they created my parents. When I came to that conclusion, I adopted my family and made peace with who I am. In other words, my birth family gave me life and my adopted family gave me the life to live. It was up to me to fill in the rest. No more back door.

Today is my birthday. Another year older. Another year to reflect upon where I've been and where I'm going. My life is great and I'm really happy. I'm grateful for everything that has brought me to this point or I wouldn't be the person I am today.

Training

I'm feeling uninspired these days. Both with the blog and with the training. I guess that's part of life, hitting a plateau. I'm not comfortable with any kind of stand still because I operate in 1st gear(or fast forward). I like my life to be full and busy, going from one thing to the next. So this period of 'blah'(for lack of a better word)that I'm experiencing is not so fun.

I love going to my work outs but it's takes at least 20 to 30 minutes before I get 'into' the work out and by then it's half over...wah, wah, wah! STOP I can't believe how much I'm complaining right now!

I just finished reading, 'It's Not About the Bike', by Lance Armstrong and I'm now onto 'Every Second Counts', again by Lance (and his writer helper, who's name I can't think of right now). Regardless of what you think about Lance and his ego or his personal life, he's a remarkable athlete and man. To overcome, first his young ego, then endure gruelling chemo therapy and finally the trials and tribulations of the Tour de France and win(eventually 7 times)is remarkable. Lance is honest and true about his strengths and weaknesses and his story is inspirational for anyone.

I've seen cancer up close and I've watched what chemo can do to a human body and it's not pretty. Chemo therapy is very similar to any type of endurance racing. The body is much stronger than we give it credit for, but the mind is what makes us resilient. How we attack each stage and deal with the adversity set before us is what makes us stand apart from the rest. How we deal with the affects of chemo can make all the difference.

While I was watching my father undergo his treatments I remember feeling like the chemo was trying to take is soul while the cancer was owning his body. He fought with dignity and courage but unfortunately he wasn't one of he lucky ones. He faced death and was not afraid. I admire him for that and I am grateful I could share that experience with him. It was a real gift and one that gives me strength and hope.

So, when I hear myself complaining(whining really)about a plateau or lack of energy, I can put it all into perspective and be grateful that I'm alive to experience life's imperfections. I hope to get stronger physically but mentally too. While I will never be in the Tour de France, I do have my own races coming up and I need to keep working and getting strong. I'm learning lots along the way.

The ultimate lesson for me is that it's all about focus and hard work. Of course one needs to have some natural ability, but I'm not out to win these races.(well not all of them[wink]) It's about having fun, loving what you do and shutting up and doing, even when you don't feel like it.

See it's working now. I didn't think I had anything to write about today.

One

Within the trees of my soul a lost man wanders...lost but not afraid. Despite the bumps, bruises and broken bones I am enjoying the scenery. The wanderlust has slowed down and the time has come to rest. A need for peace...

I long to find contentment - to be fulfilled and happy. To no longer bear the wound of living but bear the joy of being alive. The gift of life.

What a gift life is. To be able to drink in the sweet nectar of love and drown in the warm sunshine of life. To be able to give and receive. I am so tired of giving. I'm so tired of treading the deep waters of life.

I now want to be set upon the water. To set sail or fly or better yet, to gallop in the openness and run with a song on my heart.

I must find joy and peace. I must find it within me and live within it and become one.

Hope

Sometimes it is just too painful to breath...to think...to feel...to make sound...

In silence there is refuge.

Stillness.

A place of rest.

Silence is sound. It echos loudly within us all. Silence is deafening. Silence is a place to dwell within but we fear it will crush us.

Tonight I live in silence surrounded by grief.

Grief...a place where I have come to know death by a first name...

Grief. An empty barren place filled with so much space, one can hardly breath. A place where you go to find comfort and you are truly alone in time, yet enfolded in death's embrace. In this place you are coloured by memories of pain and emptiness - filled with loud silence.

Grief. I hate grief. Leave me alone. Please let me live in the land of hope and dreams...

Hope and dreams. Hope is a beautiful world painted with meaning and joy. Filled with the warmth of sunshine...

May I grieve in silence? May I mourn in peace? May I dance in the sunshine? Do I have to use my voice?

My voice is tired. I'm tired of grieving. I'm tired of trimming my soul of dead debris, lost hopes and faded warn out dreams.

I will stop fearing you grief. I will embrace you like the martyr I am and I will welcome you into my soul. I will no longer fight the pain but ride it into the silent, dark, space that will change my life. I will sob and cry out like the tree that falls in the forest. Do you hear me? !

I will yell and scream my lungs out and beat my chest until the blood pours from my body and washes away my pain - my loss.

I will grieve and sob, and sob, and sob some more. But you will NOT stop me from loving and living. I will feel pain and be forced to cry out, but I will continue to believe, live, love, laugh and dream.

It's mine in silence.

It's mine.

She

She is alone.


She watched her father die.


She stood there waiting. Watching and holding vigil with all those who loved him. Why? Why did she need to see this? Why did she have to live this? No more mellow drama. No more romantic notions. No more hope. This was real life and it was unfolding before her eyes. There was so much love in the room. So much pain, and sorrow drifting from each soul that stood in fellowship with the man she called father. He laboured through death as she had laboured through birth only a few weeks before his disease brought him here. A few weeks ago she was holding a new life in her hands. Feeding it, tending it and loving every minute of it. Yet, here she stood now - in solidarity with each person, watching her father labour into a different world. She stood there watching and waiting with her family, wanting to be there when he took his last and final breath. She wanted to bridge the gap between living and the dying but she knew the truth. The others, loved him too and didn't want him to be alone, but she knew that love could not break through the barrier of being alone. Her father's death was his to bear, his alone, just has hers will be. She was in a hospital not so long ago - lying on a bed demanding her body to open and share life with the world, while everyone else watched. Those that watched her had legs and could walk away. Her legs wanted to move but could not. She wanted to be the one watching but she realised this was her life to give. While she journeyed toward new life she paused to look into the eyes of the people in the room with her and saw grief. She saw worry, but she also saw excitement, joy and love...she saw her father.

She understood his secret just as he understood hers. She and her father watched each other in desperation as the weeks leading up to this day united them and separated them forever. Life was growing steadily and pleasantly within her body, while life was draining viciously and ferociously from his. They were united in weight and in empathy and compassion. They shared vomiting and ill feelings. They sat in wonderment of the human body and were challenged by what they each had to go through, yet they remained completely alienated from one another by the fork in the road. Hers was the path of life and his was the path of death. Each path waiting for them in solitude and patience. Each path calling them to start the drama they were named to play. They had no choice. It was theirs to bear and bear alone.

So she stood at the end of the bed - a similar bed that he stood at a few weeks prior as he held his newborn granddaughter and gazed at her in awe and wonderment. In her moment she wept tears of sadness and fear. In his moment he wept tears of joy and excitement and, even possibly, hope. And while she stood there thinking about the past and future she realised that she loved him more than she had ever loved another. She marveled at his courage and strength just as he had marvelled at hers. She watched him labour into his death and beyond and the love she felt hurt in indescribable pain. Love does not span the abyss of alone. Love does not comfort on a journey like this. Love stands beyond us all - like a bubble of peace - hovering, waiting, and hoping to take your joy, pain, or sorrow and unite the emotions. But the truth is, it could pop at anytime. Love can never conquer alone.

They each relaxed into peace as both father and daughter resigned the mind to let their bodies do what nature called them to. Both were united in hope and they gave each other gifts. She gave him life and he gave her death. Hope would allow each of them to live and die. No more fear. No more unknown. No more wondering what it will feel like. The scene had begun and she and her father were the stars of the show.

She could taste the end long before her mind could fathom the possibility. She could taste the bittersweet joy of knowing him and loving him and she could hear it slip silently and slowly away. The smell of the sweet memories on warm summer nights, staring at the dark starlit sky tormented her. She could feel the overwhelming warmth of the roaring winter fire pleasantly licking the wood as her family relaxed warm and safe indoors. His large comforting hands that rocked her, and soothed her to sleep as a child taunted her knowing it would soon be gone. Her childhood - her life - moved from the dark recesses of her mind to the front of her vision illuminated by the deepest love and grief she had never known. This was real. The quiet soft spoken nurse attending to his every need, sometimes even before he voiced it was from another world. Only her father remained real. His body that remained warm and feeling in her hands as she shaved his face and rubbed his feet. It was not a dream. Her father was going to die.

And finally the body released the tortured and anguished soul and it flew away. The soul flew away, free, boundless, finally soaring high and at rest. Free of this life and born into a different one.

Her father was on his journey and she was on hers. And she was alone.

She is alone.

Top 40

In my pursuit of all things good I'm including my list of the top 40 things I want to do before I'm 40.(inspired by Saviabella's 32 things to accomplish before she's 33)

Saphira's 40 things to accomplish before turning 40.

1. Complete Ironman Canada
2. Get engaged and then..
3. Get married
4. Drink water
5. Travel (to Hawaii, or anywhere)
6. Laugh, Laugh, Laugh
7. Tickle the kids
8. Smile
9. Challenge myself
10. Spend time with friends
11. Blog
12. Train
13. Swim
14. Read to the kids
15. Dance
16. Bike
17. Run
18. Teach the kids about what really matters in life(perhaps figure that out myelf)
19. Flirt
20. Host parties
21. Eat meat
22. Drink red wine
23. Visit my family
24. Travel to the mountains
25. Watch less t.v.
26. Play games with the kids
27. Paint
28. Draw
29. Hold hands with the kids/my partner
30. Believe in myself
31. Sing
32. Love (in all the many ways that one can love[wink])
33. Go back to school
34. Grow my hair long
35. Rest
36. Cry
37. Breath(inspire)
39. Live in the moment
40. Kiss

Life Is Very Precious...

Yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon the door bell rang. (Someone at the door is always exciting, especially without any warning. As long as it's not someone trying to sell something.) Heading cautiously to the door I peer out the window and see a car in the driveway. Relief. At least they had to drive to get here so that must mean something. As I open the door I see a charming young man holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Immediately I scan my brain wondering WHO could be sending me flowers and for what reason? My partner is instantly off the list because flowers are frivolous and not money well spent. (Note to self. It didn't stop me from hoping)As I run down the list I soon realise it doesn't matter who they are from because anyone else is simply less exciting.

Pause
Why is it that women are conditioned to think flowers are more beautiful, meaningful and wonderful if only from the person you love and loves you most? I ask myself this question and I do not know the answer. I love flowers and I enjoy looking at them each and every day. But I digress. Back to the mysterious flowers.

Play

After signing for the flowers I quickly rip the plastic wrapping in order to find the card which says, "Life is very precious and thanks for saving Hazel's life. Your service was greatly appreciated!" I shake my head and sigh...

Rewind

About 4 weeks ago. Friday morning, 9:30am, during Jazzercise(which I teach) a student collapses. One of the other students yell for 'help' and I turn to see Hazel laying on the ground. It takes a moment for me to realise what exactly I'm seeing. (And in my mind the following events feel like they are happening under water, everything seems to take SO long however I have been told while recounting this story that what felt like minutes was mere moments.) I see Hazel lying on the floor and having what I think is a seizure. Immediately I stopped the class and run to where she's fallen and quickly ask someone to call 911. ( I know that if she is having a seizure there is little we can do for her other than to make her comfortable but I think it is better be safe than sorry.) Carefuly, I make sure she is lying on her side and while I am doing this I soon realise she is not breathing. From somewhere beside me I hear someone say she was chewing gum and I try to sweep her mouth to get the gum out. Frantically, I sweep and find no gum. I roll her on the her back, check her pulse and holler, "call 911 and this time tell them she's not breathing and we don't have a pulse."

Pause

At this point my mind is working in overdrive and I am amazed at how the human mind is wired. Fight or flight? I wanted to Fight but I also wanted to flee. I did not want to be responsible for what was about to happen. And let's face it. I had no clue what would happen. I kept thinking this was all my fault. I will never teach again. I thought of other students who had injured themselves and couldn't come to class anymore...I thought about ALL of this while I was trying to help Hazel. I also told Hazel she was NOT allowed to die. (Yep. Just like they do on T.V.)

Play

I swept Hazel's mouth one more time and in complete desperation and fear, I stuck my finger in as far as I could and found the gum! I managed, albeit, rather awkwardly, to get the gum out of her mouth. In that moment, all I was thinking was that I do not want her to choke on the gum. After the gum was out I soon realised the gum was the least of our concern. By this time the other students had gathered to stand helplessly around us. One of the students, who was in shock picked up Hazel's hand and started to massage it lovingly in hopes to encourage her back to the land of the conscious. And upon my disbelief at not having a pulse for Hazel she started checking too. We both kept checking and we came to the same conclusion. NO PULSE. We had to begin CPR and it was at that moment that I started to beg and plead with Hazel NOT to die. Not here. Not now. And most definitely NOT while I was in charge. It felt like an eternity for EMS to arrive. In actual time it was only about 10 minutes, but it was the longest 10 minutes of our lives. Everyone in the gym was pleading with Hazel and encouraging me. We all felt helpless together yet did everything that we knew how to do. The girls ran to move cars, made phone calls, and ran out to greet the EMS and Fire trucks so they knew where they were. They prayed for Hazel and they rubbed her legs and arms and talked as soothingly to her. They called 911 and reminded me that I was doing the compressions properly and we all waited together with great impatience for the medical team to arrive to take over so we wouldn't be responsible anymore.

Once the EMS got there they took over immediately(huge sigh of relief). In the end they used defibrillator 4 times and performed CPR on and off through a 30 minute period. They finally got her stable enough to go the hospital, and then I had to make the most dreaded phone call. Call Hazel's husband. So. I made it as brief as I could and simply said that Hazel had collapsed during class and the ambulance was taking her the to hospital and he should meet us there.

Hazel's story has only begun. Upon arrival the hospital they performed a multitude of tests, only to discover that she hadn't had a stroke or a heart attack. However, the following Tuesday, in the early hours of the morning she suffered a massive stroke and the cat scan revealed that she had other bleeding in the brain and the concluded she must have suffered a stroke during Jazzercise.

Hazel is still recovering and her road ahead is long. Currently she has pneumonia but is conscious and able to communicate with her family.

Fast Forward

...and I look at these flowers sent to me by the person who loves Hazel the most. Her husband. He truly believes that I saved her life. Semantics I know, but I don't feel like I saved her life. It was the combined effort of everyone that day that helped to keep Hazel alive until the medical professionals got there. Hazel's will power, our effort and the medical doctors knowledge is what saved her life and continues to keep her alive.

Presently
I have in my possession, a bouquet of flowers with a thank you card for saving Hazel's life. I will try to enjoy them. It is a reminder of who I am and what I helped to do. I am not a hero. I did what anyone would have done. Life is very precious indeed.

A Virgin In So Many Ways!

Alright. Here I am. At the computer doing something I've NEVER done before. I've always wanted to try blogging yet the fear of doing it wrong has always stopped me. But today I'm jumping in!

So where do I begin?

The purpose of this 'waxing' is to learn, grow and challenge, myself and perhaps(if I'm lucky)others. I set before myself some goals(which will remain secret for the time being). How far I have to go to reach them is yet to be seen, but perhaps along the way I could become a better story teller, learn some patience, and document my steps for posterity!

Currently I am training for Ironman. I have a three year plan and I have completed 1.5 years of my training. With the passion of a new lover I have completed three Tri-a-Tri's, three Sprint and one Olympic triathlon and I am currently working on getting ready for 9 races which include a couple of Half Ironman in the summer of 2009. What I lack in talent I make up with enthusiasm.[insert blush here] The final goal is to complete Ironman Canada in 2010 in under 13 hours. My love for this sport is boundless and it started with the first triathlon in 2007. I loved every grueling minute and marveled at the fact that my body(which was terribly out of shape)managed to complete the three legs of the race. It was the first thing I had done for myself in years. Triathlon was not about my children, or my job or even my lover. Triathlon was completely about me and the challenge laid out for my mind and body and they both rose to the occasion. The swim was awful, the bike was completely exhausting, and the run utterly pathetic but I was hooked and I have pursued triathlon with a single minded focus ever since.(Much to the dismay of those around me as I'm certain they are tired of my 'tri talk'.) I guess here is my safe place to plan, and dream and think without any eye rolling or yawning! Just stop reading if I'm talking too much.

Last night was the first night in the pool since the racing this summer. I noticed great improvement as well as a lack of endurance. I have a long road ahead of me. Swimming is fun, but I find it very difficult to know how to pace myself in the water. Happily, every time I swim I seem to improve and I notice I can swim for longer periods without feeling completely winded. "Baby steps". That's what I remind myself. Everyday is a step closer to being able to swim efficiently.

The bike is my favourite part of the race. My next obstacle is the purchase of the bike. Until now, I've been borrowing bikes from friends. After research and talking among other triathletes I've developed a love relationship with the Cervelo P3. My desire to own this bike is consuming. I've waffled between the P4 and the P3 for weeks but I think for my money and experience the P3 is the best choice. I'm still open to suggestions however, so the purchase isn't final. I will, however, include the Durace package. How does that sound for confidence!

Running. Ah yes, the run. Where the race is won or lost. I have a love hate relationship with running. Most of my life I have literally run everywhere. However, since having knee surgery it's not the easiest sport on my body. I was a sprinter and a hurdler in my younger days so the long distance running is new to me. But I'm learning to operate in third gear rather than first. Which brings it full circle back to the swim which is the same dilemma that I have with running. Learning to swim with a slow and sustained pace.

Finally, I confess my consuming obsession with this crazy sport called Triathlon. I share it with anyone who cares to read my musings. It's all I can think about. Here's hoping I can grow and challenge myself both during training and on my down time.