One of those moments that stick’s with you happened to me when I was in High School. It was my first year in a large High School with kids bused in from many communities, lots of familiar faces and lots of new faces. For all of us in Grade 10 it was a big change to move into the Big school in town. Sometime in the first week a girl I didn’t recognize walked up to me. She said “I know you”. I looked and wondered who she was and she didn’t seem at all surprised that I didn’t recognize her. In fact she seemed totally prepared for that.
After a moments pause she reached into her pocket and handed me a wallet sized copy of my Grade one school picture. As I looked at the picture and at her I still didn’t know who she was. She explained, “I came to your school for just a short time when I was in grade one, you were so kind to me and made me feel so welcome that I have never forgotten. When I saw you here I remembered and brought the picture so you would know how much it meant to me that you gave it to me and made me feel welcome in a strange new place. Thank you”.
I do not recall anymore of that conversation. I just know that it has reminded me over and over again throughout my life in many different circumstances that even though you may never know it the kindness you have shown another today really does matter.
Name Withheld
Friday, January 18, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Legacy
On the day of my Father’s funeral I met his legacy. I woke to the noise of an unfamiliar voice. Waking in the mornings had been a foggy experience after my arrival. I would wake with a feeling of confusion, wondering where I am, why I am here…and then the stark empty feeling as I realized my Dad was gone. I had been sleeping in my Mother’s house for a couple of days and this was the day of the funeral. I was drawn by the voice in the kitchen.
A stout, disheveled, dark haired man I did not recognize sat with my Mom & my Sister, as I observed his sunken shoulders & the tears in his eyes I spontaneously said, “You need a hug” and embraced him. I silently wondered “who is this man I am consoling on the day of my fathers funeral”.
I sat with him and after a brief introduction learned about this “stranger” in my kitchen. He had arrived in our community with nothing, his family in tow looking for a fresh start. Actually, he explained it was their vehicle breaking down that made them stop in this town. Shortly afterwards they met my family. My Dad had many fresh starts in his life, a Veteran of WWII, a survivor of polio, a father of 5, a husband of 58 years. He knew that they needed a chance and he took this man under his wing, a beautiful place to find yourself I must add.
Over a period of time he was offered odd jobs around the property & house & he and his family became welcome guest in our family home. Obviously that little bit of kindness had a very large impact. As his eyes welled up and overflowed with tears I heard how my father made the world a better place and how much that meant to this sweet man and his family.
On the day of my father’s funeral there were many kind words, hugs and tributes. To me none spoke as clearly as the legacy I hugged in the kitchen that morning. Through kindness we truly are blessed.
Name Withheld
A stout, disheveled, dark haired man I did not recognize sat with my Mom & my Sister, as I observed his sunken shoulders & the tears in his eyes I spontaneously said, “You need a hug” and embraced him. I silently wondered “who is this man I am consoling on the day of my fathers funeral”.
I sat with him and after a brief introduction learned about this “stranger” in my kitchen. He had arrived in our community with nothing, his family in tow looking for a fresh start. Actually, he explained it was their vehicle breaking down that made them stop in this town. Shortly afterwards they met my family. My Dad had many fresh starts in his life, a Veteran of WWII, a survivor of polio, a father of 5, a husband of 58 years. He knew that they needed a chance and he took this man under his wing, a beautiful place to find yourself I must add.
Over a period of time he was offered odd jobs around the property & house & he and his family became welcome guest in our family home. Obviously that little bit of kindness had a very large impact. As his eyes welled up and overflowed with tears I heard how my father made the world a better place and how much that meant to this sweet man and his family.
On the day of my father’s funeral there were many kind words, hugs and tributes. To me none spoke as clearly as the legacy I hugged in the kitchen that morning. Through kindness we truly are blessed.
Name Withheld
Monday, January 14, 2008
"A Simple Call"
One day, I got a call from my uncle. He asked to speak with my father but he wasn’t home. I’ve only met him a couple times in my life. Usually, we may have a casual conversation like, "hi, how are you…" but this time was different.
We chatted for so long! It was nice to actually get to know my uncle. He asked all about my future plans and gave me insight on my heritage. It was along the lines of, "don’t let your life fly ahead of you; you have to think of your future and make something of yourself."
By the end, it felt like he was giving me fatherly advice… It meant a lot to me and inspires me to believe that I can do anything. I hope to prove to him and the rest of my family that I can be all that I can be.
I wanted to tell him that he would make a great father – but I didn’t know if that would hurt him since he can’t have children…
We chatted for so long! It was nice to actually get to know my uncle. He asked all about my future plans and gave me insight on my heritage. It was along the lines of, "don’t let your life fly ahead of you; you have to think of your future and make something of yourself."
By the end, it felt like he was giving me fatherly advice… It meant a lot to me and inspires me to believe that I can do anything. I hope to prove to him and the rest of my family that I can be all that I can be.
I wanted to tell him that he would make a great father – but I didn’t know if that would hurt him since he can’t have children…
The Money Tree
Times were bleak!
How life had changed so drastically from six years ago. Same time of year and I was so excited that my husband and I would be traveling to Australia to spend Christmas. Little did I know that upon our return my world would unravel as I lost everything I knew and loved - my marriage, my home, my career, my community, my friends, my car and my cat and dog.
Being fairly resourceful and tenacious I survived the changes and new people and situations came into my life, but the struggle had gone on too long. I had been plummeted and bounced about every which way. I’d had to declare bankruptcy and things were getting extremely tough.
Days were getting darker and shorter. Winter was fast approaching. My 53rd birthday was coming up the end of November followed by Christmas which held no joy for me.
I was grateful that a couple of friends remembered my birthday and wanted to take me out for dinner. Food was pretty skimpy around my apartment. The plan was for me to meet them at their house. I walked up the stone steps and rang the bell. “Come in”, a voice yelled. “I’m in the kitchen”.
The house appeared rather dark, gloomy and strangely quiet as I sauntered towards the kitchen. Suddenly light flooded the room and people jumped up from everywhere shouting “Surprise” and “Happy Birthday”. This was my first surprise party ever. I was stunned.
As I recognized faces I was overcome by emotion. These were all the wonderful souls who had come into my life the last few years as I encountered new circumstances and experiences. They had brought the most wonderful and thoughtful gifts. I received packages and cans of food, shampoo, toothpaste, necessities that were getting harder and harder to come by. And luxury items to lift my spirits – beautiful soaps, bubble baths, wine, chocolate and books.
And if that wasn’t enough I was presented with a tree branch sitting upright in a vase and taped to each branch were five dollar bills, tens and even twenties. I couldn’t believe it. I could pay the rent now. A large hand made card accompanied the money tree. Everyone had written words and messages of inspiration, encouragement, love and hope.
I will never forget this evening and all of those present. I believe this occasion marked the turning point for me as expressed by one of the messages on the card.
“Happy Birthday Kiddo! It’s uphill from here; I have great faith in you and your commitment to your journey. Love W.”
How life had changed so drastically from six years ago. Same time of year and I was so excited that my husband and I would be traveling to Australia to spend Christmas. Little did I know that upon our return my world would unravel as I lost everything I knew and loved - my marriage, my home, my career, my community, my friends, my car and my cat and dog.
Being fairly resourceful and tenacious I survived the changes and new people and situations came into my life, but the struggle had gone on too long. I had been plummeted and bounced about every which way. I’d had to declare bankruptcy and things were getting extremely tough.
Days were getting darker and shorter. Winter was fast approaching. My 53rd birthday was coming up the end of November followed by Christmas which held no joy for me.
I was grateful that a couple of friends remembered my birthday and wanted to take me out for dinner. Food was pretty skimpy around my apartment. The plan was for me to meet them at their house. I walked up the stone steps and rang the bell. “Come in”, a voice yelled. “I’m in the kitchen”.
The house appeared rather dark, gloomy and strangely quiet as I sauntered towards the kitchen. Suddenly light flooded the room and people jumped up from everywhere shouting “Surprise” and “Happy Birthday”. This was my first surprise party ever. I was stunned.
As I recognized faces I was overcome by emotion. These were all the wonderful souls who had come into my life the last few years as I encountered new circumstances and experiences. They had brought the most wonderful and thoughtful gifts. I received packages and cans of food, shampoo, toothpaste, necessities that were getting harder and harder to come by. And luxury items to lift my spirits – beautiful soaps, bubble baths, wine, chocolate and books.
And if that wasn’t enough I was presented with a tree branch sitting upright in a vase and taped to each branch were five dollar bills, tens and even twenties. I couldn’t believe it. I could pay the rent now. A large hand made card accompanied the money tree. Everyone had written words and messages of inspiration, encouragement, love and hope.
I will never forget this evening and all of those present. I believe this occasion marked the turning point for me as expressed by one of the messages on the card.
“Happy Birthday Kiddo! It’s uphill from here; I have great faith in you and your commitment to your journey. Love W.”
Monday, December 17, 2007
Paying it forward...not a new thing
In the 1950’s my husband, Don was spending his summer working on a survey crew in the Yukon for a company that was studying the sources of the Yukon River for a possible power project.
In 1955 Don asked me to bring our three girls up to Whitehorse as he would be employed all winter this time. He rented a house for us and we flew up to join him early in September. We shipped our possessions by boat to Skagway, Alaska and found out the Longshoremen there were on strike so our things were unavailable for six weeks.
Two of our girls were going to school so I washed their dresses each night and ironed them before breakfast. With the cold weather arriving, they needed leg coverings. The people of Whitehorse were wonderful. They brought children’s clothes, sheets and everything we needed until our own things arrived. The warm winter coats were especially welcome. It was wonderful to be so well outfitted by people we didn’t know.
Ten months later, in June 1956, our fourth little girl arrived. At that time Don was on the crew that were surveying the bottom of the Yukon River, south of town, who would look after my three girls (ages 4, 7 & 9) while I was in hospital? A wonderful neighbor took them in and took good care of them. When I said that I could never repay her, she replied “Don’t try to repay me, but pass on kindness to someone else in need.”
In 1955 Don asked me to bring our three girls up to Whitehorse as he would be employed all winter this time. He rented a house for us and we flew up to join him early in September. We shipped our possessions by boat to Skagway, Alaska and found out the Longshoremen there were on strike so our things were unavailable for six weeks.
Two of our girls were going to school so I washed their dresses each night and ironed them before breakfast. With the cold weather arriving, they needed leg coverings. The people of Whitehorse were wonderful. They brought children’s clothes, sheets and everything we needed until our own things arrived. The warm winter coats were especially welcome. It was wonderful to be so well outfitted by people we didn’t know.
Ten months later, in June 1956, our fourth little girl arrived. At that time Don was on the crew that were surveying the bottom of the Yukon River, south of town, who would look after my three girls (ages 4, 7 & 9) while I was in hospital? A wonderful neighbor took them in and took good care of them. When I said that I could never repay her, she replied “Don’t try to repay me, but pass on kindness to someone else in need.”
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Elsie's Miracle
While our post-war house was being built in Winnipeg, my husband, Ed, our baby son, Bobby, and I were living in a well-insulated trailer on the property. The somewhat crude method of heating was a make-shift coal burning stove with a pipe sticking out of a large hole, the better to ensure proper ventilation and the risk of carbon monoxide fumes poisoning our space.
Because of crowded quarters, baby Bobby’s bed consisted of a box-like crib, elevated at the foot of our bed. Bobby was not yet two, could not yet walk but could talk very well for one so young.
One night surfacing from a restless sleep, I heard Bobby state in a clear voice, “God doesn’t want me to die”. I had been teaching Sunday school but had not yet taught our son anything religious so I presumed I was dreaming. Startled awake, I crawled to the end of the bed and picked him up. I fairly shook him when he did not respond.
Beginning to panic, I shook Ed awake with my hysterical cry, “Bobby won’t wake up. Wake up, something’s wrong with Bobby!” In a daze, Ed crawled out of bed, only to collapse on a nearby couch. With my continued screaming of, “Wake up, Ed, something’s wrong with Bobby. I can’t waken him.” Finally, Ed stumbled from the couch, lurched against the trailer door and tumbled into a Winnipeg winter snow bank. Though barely able, Ed, had unknowingly allowed a rush of fresh air into the trailer, rushed back into the trailer just in time to save the lives of his family.
I have shared this story with very few over the years, fearing that it would appear just too bizarre for belief. Imagine expecting anyone to believe that an infant not yet able to walk was able, in a life and death situation, to exclaim, “God doesn’t want me to die.”
Because of crowded quarters, baby Bobby’s bed consisted of a box-like crib, elevated at the foot of our bed. Bobby was not yet two, could not yet walk but could talk very well for one so young.
One night surfacing from a restless sleep, I heard Bobby state in a clear voice, “God doesn’t want me to die”. I had been teaching Sunday school but had not yet taught our son anything religious so I presumed I was dreaming. Startled awake, I crawled to the end of the bed and picked him up. I fairly shook him when he did not respond.
Beginning to panic, I shook Ed awake with my hysterical cry, “Bobby won’t wake up. Wake up, something’s wrong with Bobby!” In a daze, Ed crawled out of bed, only to collapse on a nearby couch. With my continued screaming of, “Wake up, Ed, something’s wrong with Bobby. I can’t waken him.” Finally, Ed stumbled from the couch, lurched against the trailer door and tumbled into a Winnipeg winter snow bank. Though barely able, Ed, had unknowingly allowed a rush of fresh air into the trailer, rushed back into the trailer just in time to save the lives of his family.
I have shared this story with very few over the years, fearing that it would appear just too bizarre for belief. Imagine expecting anyone to believe that an infant not yet able to walk was able, in a life and death situation, to exclaim, “God doesn’t want me to die.”
Christmas Tourtiére
Christmas in the village of Rosemére, Quebec, was a time of snow banks and the warmth of family gatherings. My Christmas of 1951 was to be one of desperate loneliness, far removed from family and friends in Western Canada. Even though I spoke French, I was looked upon as “l’englaise” and felt very much the outsider.
Our three year old daughter always looked forward to the arrival of an eleven year old neighbour girl, Lucie, from school so that she would have someone with whom to play.
I, with my two toddlers, too often, perhaps, found myself entering Lucies’s parents house next door as Mme. Picard’s large warm kitchen matched the warmth of the woman herself.
We often visited on Saturday, there to find Mme. Picard baking, in preparation for the arrival of her fourteen children for their Sunday visit. The huge refectory-size table was laden with baked delights of all shapes and sizes, some of which we were invited to taste.
Pre-Christmas baking took on an air of special urgency. One of Mme. Picard’s creations was that of tourtiéres consisting ground pork and spices within a pie crust. It was new to me and looked especially appealing.
Christmas approached, with little or no expectation on our part. Christmas Eve was dreary indeed. So, when Lucie arrived holding a tourtiére, it seemed a miracle and we gave appropriate thanks.
Many, many years later I still, each Christmas, think of the goodness of Mme. Picard who, with her family of fourteen, still found time to think of her lonely neighbour from the West and to include her little family in the spirit of Christmas giving.
Our three year old daughter always looked forward to the arrival of an eleven year old neighbour girl, Lucie, from school so that she would have someone with whom to play.
I, with my two toddlers, too often, perhaps, found myself entering Lucies’s parents house next door as Mme. Picard’s large warm kitchen matched the warmth of the woman herself.
We often visited on Saturday, there to find Mme. Picard baking, in preparation for the arrival of her fourteen children for their Sunday visit. The huge refectory-size table was laden with baked delights of all shapes and sizes, some of which we were invited to taste.
Pre-Christmas baking took on an air of special urgency. One of Mme. Picard’s creations was that of tourtiéres consisting ground pork and spices within a pie crust. It was new to me and looked especially appealing.
Christmas approached, with little or no expectation on our part. Christmas Eve was dreary indeed. So, when Lucie arrived holding a tourtiére, it seemed a miracle and we gave appropriate thanks.
Many, many years later I still, each Christmas, think of the goodness of Mme. Picard who, with her family of fourteen, still found time to think of her lonely neighbour from the West and to include her little family in the spirit of Christmas giving.
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