Year Three

Early in February, my mom told me her doctors had found a mass in one of her lungs. A biopsy confirmed it was cancer. Neither she, my dad or step dad are smokers, so you can imagine what a shock this was for everyone, my mom especially.

After many tests, she had surgery on May 20th and they removed most of her right lung. Six days later, she was home from the hospital, the stitches were out, and the treatment, other than some exercises to rebuild her lung capacity, seems to be over. She’s taking afternoon naps, not lifting heavy things, has gotten a housekeeper, and is otherwise back to her normal activities. The happiness and relief I feel about this makes every day seem sunnier and brighter.

Life has been a whirlwind since I got back to Vancouver on March 5. I quickly became submerged in finding and starting a new job (I’ve been with WorkSafeBC over two months now), re-engaging with the local organizational development community, and helping Cliff with home renovations.

When I first arrived, Cliff apologetically told me that he and his son Christopher were just about to refinish the living, dining, and hall ceiling, a section of which looked like it had been damaged for many years. I joked that he was trying to make me feel at home, as my siblings and I grew up in an enormous home renovation project. (When he heard about Cliff’s reno’s, my brother made exactly the same joke.) I even offered to help with the project, since I wasn’t working yet.

Of course, one thing led to another. While tackling the ceiling, Cliff realized the attic was poorly insulated, so we spent a couple days rectifying that. Then there was the wall of wood paneling in the living room — might was well replace that with drywall, and that meant repainting everything. And since we already had the furniture out of the way, Cliff was convinced to refinish the hardwood floors, too, although that meant clearing all the bedrooms, which also needed to be painted … and wouldn’t some crown moulding make it all look great?

What we thought was going to be a two-week project turned into three months. We were extremely fortunately to have Christopher and eventually Rick working on the project — both very skillful craftsmen. There were times when we were disheartened, frustrated, exhausted, even angry and scared; and also times when we were focused, playful, elated, and celebratory.

Happily, even through the nuttiness of living in a home in disruption and returning from work every evening and weekend for weeks to sand, prime, and paint — and on top of that, finding and learning a new job, adjusting to living in the same house as someone who I’d previously seen every couple of weeks or months, who was used to having his own space and time and privacy, and hosting many out-of-town guests — even through all of that disorder and change and uncertainty, Cliff and I grew closer and decided to extend our living arrangement indefinitely.

[Okay, okay, I have to eat some crow here. I know some of you — those to whom I protested many times that this was absolutely positively just a fling, just temporary, nothing serious, and finally, “I’m only going to stay there for a few weeks” — are thinking, “I told you so!” I humbly and happily acknowledge that you were much better predictors of how this was going to go than I have been.]

A couple weekends ago, two dear friends of mine from Ottawa, Laura and Annika, both happened to be in Vancouver, and I got to have short, delicious visits with them both. There was a party in Seattle that Saturday for the next class of LIOS graduates, so I was leaving right after lunch with Annika to celebrate their achievement and spend the night there. Saturday morning, the movers called to say that the truck with all my personal belongings had arrived from Ottawa. Could they deliver it all at 1:00? I changed plans with Annika so that she and I would be at the house when my stuff arrived. She and her friend Terri got there to find me in tears, being comforted by Cliff, upset over a transaction with the movers.

Annika and Terri’s company got me into a much better frame of mind, Cliff left to watch hockey, and I drove south to the Doubletree Inn, Tukwila, Washington. How wonderfully sweet to be with all the soon-to-be-graduates dressed to the nines and warmly welcoming me into their fold. I remembered them all from the first residential conference they attended, as uncertain as I had been on my first day about what to expect from this program, and here they were at the end of it, giddily gorged with the richness of their experiences.

Many alumni talk about the continued impact of the LIOS program the year after graduation. As I celebrated the many and impressive achievements of this amazing group of students, I realized everything in my life that was pulled apart two years ago had come back together, and that I was also celebrating the end of my “Year 3”.

After a nomadic sixteen months, I am resettled in the city where I started, emerging into a new life, work, and relationship. Mom is well again, I am connected with so many incredibly beautiful people, and every day I see more and more what an amazing person Cliff is. Walking home after work, I look around and realize that these are MY neighbours, this is where I LIVE, and that the dreams I had setting out two years ago have all come true.

Copyright © 2011 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Surrender

I've kept hoping that I'd gone as low as I was going to go emotionally, and that things would start picking up again, but this past week was even rougher than the previous ones. Frankly, it scared me. I was very, very lucky to have some amazing friends to whom to reach out. Thank you to each and every one of you.

Getting that down finally forced me to be willing to consider taking a job here that is longer term and less sexy than what I originally wanted. I have an interview this Wednesday, and will spend the next few days preparing.

Once I called the recruiter and told her I was interested in the job after all (she had proposed it to me shortly after I moved here), I was flooded with even more sadness. I suspect this is what I have been trying to avoid in my reluctance to commit to being here: Admitting that my life on the west coast as it was during the past year is Over. That was a tsunami of grief, and there are still a few waves of it rolling onto the beach now and then.

On the other side of the grief is the knowledge that the west coast is still there, and I am connected to people in ways that sometimes surprise me. You don't know how much it means to me to know you're all out there (wherever you are), to read your comments and emails, get a phone call, etc. It's like the salt in the water that's keeping me afloat.

Along with the grief, I was experiencing fear, mainly about the unpredictability of the future. In some ways that probably seems silly: The future is always unpredictable. But when our day-to-day lives are anchored in the familiar -- a home, a job, stable relationships with the people around us -- it's easier to lull oneself into thinking that the next day will be basically an extension of this one. There's a greater sense of control and ability to plan the future. I don't experience that much these days. On the good days, that seems like an adventure. On the tough days, not so much.

On Friday afternoon, I wandered into an Italian deli in the Bytown Market. The smells instantly transported me to Commercial Drive: olives, cheeses, sausages and pastramis. I wandered the aisles fondly recognizing the same boxes and jars and Mediterranean delicacies. It was comforting to be somewhere that familiar.

I feel some embarrassment that this transition has been so challenging for me. Other people have much, much tougher stuff happen to them and have the courage and resilience to get through. I'm pretty freaking lucky. At the same time, I recognize that I'm experiencing something very common and human, that almost all of us, at some time will have or have had our lives disrupted in ways that disorient us and cause us pain. I hope that I can learn well enough from this that I can be of good service to others at a similar or more difficult place in their journey. I hope that I can be as good a friend to them as all the friends who are supporting me.

Today I walked my first orienteering course. It seemed terribly appropriate to be wandering around in the bush with a map and a compass trying to find the next checkpoint. I was often slow and lost, but I finished!

I've come to accept that Ottawa is a chrysalis for me, and that I am, right now, a gooey, mucky ball of plasma in the midst of transforming from a caterpillar to (please!) something more beautiful. (I desperately hope that after all this I'm not going to be just a big, grey moth.) Although I may be feeling incredibly claustrophobic and desperate to get out, now is not the time. There's a lot more work ahead.

To close, here's a reminder that I received in my mailbox a couple days ago that has been helpful to me.

The capacity for love is within each of us and has been active all around us, pervading our world from the moment we were born. The claim that love pervades this world may not sound real to you but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Most of us just haven’t learned to pay much attention to the countless moments of love, kindness, and care that surround us each day: a child at the store reaching for a parent’s hand, an elder at the park who smiles upon a young family, a grocery clerk who beams at you as she hands you your change. - John Makransky

Wishing you all much love,
Lynn


Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.