Life

Collateral Beauty

Winter

The winter of our discontent… so poignant for me. I have to say, that if I had to pick timing on the death of my husband, this would have been it. It allowed me to hunker down and work through my sadness, my tears, my loss, my grief in the slumber of the winter and the blanket of silence.

Late winter presented an opportunity for me to travel with my boys. We chose the South-West and journeyed through the deserts on a quest to find connections. Connections to the land, each other, time and the esoteric meanings in life. We talked and wondered constantly. We felt a great openness to each other and to the possibilities coming. One of my boys summed it up when asked how the trip was. “ It was amazing, I came to the realization that I know nothing…”. The world is so vast and so full, our small little lives couldn’t possibly give us more than a spec of knowledge to what the universe holds.

Spring

That was what I came home with and now it is spring. The eternal possibilities, new growth, new life, new opportunities.

There has been a significant shift in me. I can truly say that I haven’t been happier in a very long time. Never more excited for what lies ahead, never more open to exploring what comes my way daily. It’s invigorating, exciting and joyful.

Loss

This feeling comes on the heels of another loss. A neighbour passed away recently, we weren’t very close, but I did consider him a good friend. He was a quiet, gentle strength that I always knew was in my corner. He was in everyone’s corner. The significance of his passing is felt far and wide by his family, friends, and community.

I had the distinct privilege of being a part of the grieving process. Being there the night he was found to support his family as they dealt with the shock gave me a chance to support them as they tried to make sense of the events that had happened. I was able to be a quiet strength for them.

Healing

It put me in such a healing place, to be the supporter for a change. I was able to give back to the community that has held me up for so many years, to feel a purpose for being in the right place at the right time. I was welcomed into the home as if I were family, hugs were constant as dozens of close family and friends gathered around and a love bubble formed around us through the week. It will be a treasured experience for me, it’s what I like to consider is the collateral beauty in the aftermath of loss.

This is how I want to live my days, experiencing this humanity has breathed healing joy into me. Good things are to come, now to get to sewing…

Taking Big Leaps

I knew my partner’s death was inevitable.

I, like everyone else, had no real knowledge of a timeline for that eventuality. But I was pretty confident we were not going to grow old together. This fact was often part of conversations that he and I had over the years. He knew that his time on this planet as a human was going to be shorter than any of us want.

I can’t say he was ever ok with that. He wanted to live, he had projects to finish and love to give. He wanted to see his kids grow and see his grandchildren. Anyone who knew him, knew how much he got a kick out of babies. It makes me sad to think he won’t get to experience that with us.

On the other hand, who am I to say he is not experiencing it?

I have no way of knowing what lies beyond our carbon-based selves. I like to think he’s out there in some way. It sure would be nice to have a clear sign though. It is damned hard to get a straight answer out of him these days.

Anyway, in the back of my mind, I knew I’d be facing life without him and now it is here. I miss him every day. But I had already been missing him for the last year as his body forsake him and he became less and less able to live the life he wanted to.

Stress and how it can sneak it’s way into your life

While working to keep our lives together with the major change in Aaron’s health about 5.5 years ago; the challenges of dialysis, doctors appointments, kids, parents and work, I started stress eating. It wasn’t a huge problem but I felt it and every once in a while I would do a mini-purge with a diet. This, of course, was an attempt to take off some of the 30lbs I had managed to hide in the middle of my body. It never really worked, but I know now that I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to lose it either. As soon as I would start a crisis would come up and I would shovel a plateful of lasagna or Fettuccini Alfredo for comfort. I knew this was totally reasonable given the circumstances and I didn’t beat myself up too much about it.

Over the Holidays, as friends and family brought copious amounts of food, reached out, offering support, dinners, lunches, spa days( I LOVE spa days and Le Nordik Spa). I realized that I needed to make changes in my life.

So Now I am Saying Yes

One of the biggest challenges I’ve had has been letting go of control of the outcome. Even in the final months of Aaron’s life, it became apparent that I couldn’t control his trajectory, I couldn’t save him from his own fate. I had to take a step back, it was the hardest step I have ever taken. But, it was also liberating for both of us. Upon reflection, I have realized that I have had a lot of anxiety over the years stemming from the crisis’ I’ve been part of. Things with my loved one’s health were so out of my control and chaotic, I would try to control everything else around me with precision. This served me well during this time, but I feel now it may hold me back from experiences.

So I am letting go. When someone invites me to something, I am taking the leap and jumping into new things. I am hoping it will help me grow as a person and lead me into this next phase of my life. I think that I just have to accept what is coming to me, having faith that it will lead me in the right direction.

Times of Change

A close friend who works out at a gym in town has been trying to convince me to join for months. I haven’t worked out in a gym since my 20s but in January, I went in and signed up for the whole year. I felt I just needed to commit. I’ve now been working out 2-3 times per week and I am already feeling physically stronger.

I was invited by another one of my close gfs to go over for a sauna and dinner, ok – I love saunas, so yes, I was in. Over dinner my friends mentioned that they were doing a Whole30 Challenge. After some brief discussion, it seemed clear that I needed this as well. I decided to have one last day with my milky sweet black tea and cheese, then started on January 8th.

Shall we Dance?

The next offer came in the form of dance lessons. Again, a close gf told me she was signing up for Salsa lessons. I was so excited for her, then she asked if I wanted to join her. OMG Yes!!! I love to dance, always have. So now we go once a week into Ottawa and dance. It’s been challenging, I am trained in Irish Dancing, which is notably… stiffer. But I am getting the hang of it. It’s such a social dance. I can’t wait to be deft enough to actually go out to a club, maybe after a few more lessons though.

New Habits

It’s been a month of these new habits. I know I have lost weight ( I am waiting until day 30 to actually weigh in). At Christmas, I had to leave the pockets open on my snow pants in order to zip them up and there was no chance of closing the clasp. Now I can zip them up and have a little room behind the clasp after it is closed. (you know you live in Canada when this is how you measure your waist). This feels great!

I know that not everyone who is in grief mode can take these types of changes in their lives. This has been great for my self-esteem and knowing I can actually get ahead of this and have some control of my physical health has been so wonderful. It is helping with clearing my mind and I am sleeping better. Hopefully, in the coming months, it will help me focus better on my business. One day at a time…

Grief and a Cat

The world of grief is a lonely place.

I don’t like to visit it often, but I do know I have to go there at times. It’s a solitary journey and you can’t come with me, nor can I go with you. I’m all for sharing feelings and stories, it’s in my nature to share and speak my mind most of the time, but not the inner most thoughts. In my head I visit the last moments, the regrets, the ‘I wish I had more time’ and I battle with self-doubt, fear, and loathing and you can’t join me.

This is not depression. This is grief and we all have to experience it.

It’s ok to feel this, to sit with it and to experience it. The difference between grief and depression I suppose is that one doesn’t stay there. These are my private moments; the challenge is to find joy as well, which I feel fortunate to experience daily. It’s a process and I am now over a month into it. I feel good most of the time, life and time keep on moving with or without my awareness of it.

What I really want to talk about though, is our cat.

Our cat was found as a tiny kitten on the side of the road, we are in the country and (this is actually a regular occurrence unfortunately we have found many litters of kittens dumped in our area over the years). Anyway, he was just a ball of fluff when we got him and he was terribly skittish. But our kids won him over and he became an indoor/outdoor family pet. He has always been an interesting character.

Kitty Kat (super creative name right?) loved Aaron and the boys, he hated me. He would literally scratch at the door to come in, start into the house and see me across the room, then promptly turn around and go back outside. If I came upstairs, he ran from me, he never wanted to be near me. He didn’t like strangers in the house and would always disappear when they visited unless they were on the toilet… I have no explanation for any of this.

He loved walks with Aaron

He would however, walk with us in the woods, he loves to go on walks. Since Aaron was home most of the time, they would spend a lot of time together. They always had mornings outside together and would sit on the porch often. When Aaron went into the hospital the cat behaved as he always had. He doesn’t like winter much and was in much of the time, though out of site if I was there. After Aaron died the cat wasn’t around a lot since there were so many strangers in and out of the house which didn’t surprise us. He seemed fine until we moved Aaron’s clothes out of the house and moved the furniture.

As part of my process in all of this, I needed to move the furniture. There were the practical reasons, like his dialysis machine and supply storage were no longer there. But it was really more an emotional response. Aaron spent 24hrs a day in the house in the last few months of his life. If I kept the furniture the same, I would see the void, I would expect him to be sitting in his chair. It was a little less painful to walk into the house with the changes.

Getting rid of the clothes was really a more practical thought process. The boys took many of the t-shirts as keepsakes and I kept a couple as well. We donated everything else, we knew he wasn’t coming back, they were taking up space and someone else could use them. The clothes do not make the man.

What I didn’t anticipate was the impact all of this would have on our cat… he left.

For over a week he would not come home. At first, we thought maybe he had been grabbed by a Fisher. They are well known to take cats and definitely live in the area, I was doubtful about this explanation. His skittishness has served him well in surviving our wooded area for the last 7 years and we saw no signs of any struggles in the snow around the yard. His footprints led to the woodshed, we found him deep under the floor of it. Then we thought maybe he was sick and was going away to die. We saw no sign of him for several days.

One evening when Jasper went for a walk, the cat showed himself. He didn’t quite get close enough for Jasper to reach him, then he walked away. The next day he came a little closer to the house when Jasper was outside again. And the day after that, I saw footprints leading to the first step of the house. The following night he came in with Jasper in the wee hours of the morning, ate for about half an hour straight and stayed in for 24 hours.

Since his return he has turned into a love cat. He climbs on the couch next to me and nuzzles his way onto my lap, insisting I pet him for at least 10 minutes straight before he will fall asleep curled into me. He now loves me so much. It’s remarkable.

Maybe he went on a walkabout in his grief and returned a new man.

Or maybe he’s just a cat…I have so many questions.

I started thinking about the bigger questions in life. How are we connected, who are we in this life and why are we connected to the people we meet? Are we really just energy manifested with infinite possibilities beyond the carbon-based form? Is it possible that the swirling essence of Aaron is manifested now in this cat? Or do we just cease to exist once our light goes out? More importantly, what meaning does our existence have if thats’s the case? Does the 27.5 years of my life with Aaron have any significance beyond our own lives? What’s the point? Or more simply, is it possible the cat had a medical event that changed his personality or did he just adapt to the new dynamics?

I don’t mean to ask if Aaron will be remembered. Those that knew him will of course but I know that after I am gone and our kids are gone, not much of our lives will remain, that is how it works. We are all just a blip in this vast universe. Our self- importance only serves us. I don’t mean this in a glib or sad way, it just is. I have a deep satisfaction in the life I had with Aaron, I loved being with him and he will continue to travel with me on my journey. Clearly I have no way of answering any of these questions, but I like pondering it all. It does give me pause about my own grief as well, if that cat could turn things into a great new life in the aftermath, so can I.

I’ll just keep stepping through this one day at a time. I’ve been creating a little, writing, and starting back to work a little bit at a time. It’s feeling good.

Work in Progress. Hand-dyed with botanicals. Libs Elliott pattern “Rebel Quilt”

2019 Whatcha Got for Me?

Trigger Warning: This is some of my truth about grief

What will 2019 hold for me?

2018 was challenging for sure. Some could say I would have every right to be in a state of depression, anger or shock after losing so much last year. It would be easy to fall into that. It might make sense to other people, who project their own assumptions on me, to see me as struggling, “of course she’s struggling, she just lost her life partner, her dad died this year and her mom – just a year ago. No wonder she’s a mess”. I don’t know anyone who will admit to feeling or thinking that about me, but I know if I were looking at me, I might be inclined think that.

But what if I don’t struggle? What if I could process this as just another step in my life and there is still so much living to do? What purpose would despair ultimately serve? I have this strong belief that the universe gives you back whatever you put out to it. So I choose to keep moving, to grow with every experience and find the beauty in the aftermath.

Grief: The Lonely Bitch

Here’s the thing though, grief is a lonely and solitary process. You can’t possibly know what I have actually been through these last few years, I barely know. I couldn’t possibly know what someone else who has experienced a loss, has gone through. It is all so personal and no two losses are the same. I have sad moments, they are usually in the evening and overnight while I dream and I am terrified of being stuck in those moments. Then they pass and time does its thing. The pause button will not work, not even for grief.

Over the last few years, chaos kept coming at me and I had no time to process the last blow before the next one came. But in that chaos I was forced to keep moving, to keep being there for my family. Living with someone who is critically ill and in chronic pain is no joy ride. Watching your loved one deteriorate and desperately want to be better and be here to find the beauty of life in spite of his failing body is it’s own special kind of torture.

Losing a parent to Alzheimer’s is a totally different kind of torture, they leave one small piece at a time, leaving you with hope for recovery when you see glimpses of their old selves and you wonder if you got it wrong, if you made the wrong choices for their care. But then they are gone again.

How am I Doing?

I get asked daily how I am doing with everything. It’s such a huge question. I’m never sure exactly how to answer it. Everything? Really? How do I even begin to unpack that? Often this question is sent by text, or when I meet someone in the grocery store.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the acknowledgement, and I can see that they just want to show me they care. But I am in the middle of trying to get my veggies, I am not really up for a heart to heart in the aisle and my grief is really just below the surface, so if you could please just smile and nod, I might actually get through shopping without crying. Instead of asking ‘how are you?’ maybe you could just invite me to dinner so we can have a real conversation. Maybe I’m a little tired or maybe I’ve now realized that I want deeper relationships with people. I would much rather have more open and frank conversations. Just not in the grocery store.

I’m not going to lie, there are moments for me that make me feel overwhelmed, confused and lost. There are so many questions, so many times I wish for a do-over, to see if I could alter the outcome. I know in my heart though, that all three of my recent losses were not preventable, that their suffering is now ended and their deaths were inevitable.

How Do I See the Light?

The thing is, the last five years of my life have challenged and prepared me in ways I didn’t see coming. They have taken an emotional toll on me but also pushed me to be strong. To weather the storm and see the beauty in spite of the suffering. I am determined to accept this grief as it comes, with all the mess of sadness, despair, relief, opportunity and liberation that comes with it.

I am processing my losses, but really, my privilege would be showing if I looked at these moments as the worst possible thing that could have happened. They are significant, no doubt and I am grieving, but my amazing life carries on.

I live in an awesome community with a strong group of women who have been in my life since my kids were born, they check in daily. I live in a home that I built with my partner. It has electricity, water, heat and I have food in the fridge. I own 2 cars, I have a studio I get to do my art in. I’m sitting here writing a blog post about my year, in the comfort of my peaceful home, nestled in the woods on an iMac. I know there are people with much less in their lives, more trauma and more pain. I know I have a privileged life and I am grateful for it.

My kids are awesome people. They are here for me too. They miss him of course, but they are also looking at the person their father was and they want what he had. He was so giving and loving, they want to use that as a compass for their own lives. He lived his best life, they want to do that too. I couldn’t ask for more.

The other thing I keep in mind is that I had an extremely successful year in my art business. I had a piece receive a significant award in an international quilt show. I had several successful art shows and was selected as an instructor for The CQA/ACC National Conference in June 2019. Also, I moved into a new studio space that is so inspiring, with a multitude of ideas for the coming year.

What’s Next?

The truth is, I have no idea what is next right now. I am taking time to live in this moment. To connect with my family, my art, my writing, I’ll see where it all goes.

Over the last few years, I have fit my dreams into the corners of other people’s schedules and care needs. I have been a primary caregiver for a very long time, starting with my kids in 1996. Five years ago it became a full-time job for the 3 closest people to me; my partner, my mother and my father, along with having a full-time job to keep our lifestyle financially intact. In the blink of an eye, they are all gone. Not only is their suffering over in an instant, but in many ways so is mine. My kids are now grown, the world is now my oyster.

I need time to sit with this new reality and I plan to do great things. To live my best life, I have the privilege to explore that for a while. I am now at liberty to live my life in any way I want. It’s amazing and terrifying all at once.

Thank you to my parents and my partner for bringing me to this moment in my life.

In Remeberance of Aaron Nault

Aaron Michael Nault
December 1 1970 – December 8 2018

My life partner had been battling an illness for over three decades. It came to a critical point about five and a half years ago. Since then the battle has been hard, he suffered daily and the last year even more challenging. On December 8th, he lost the battle.

I’m choosing to write about it so that I can heal. His health had been an integral part of our daily lives. My days were spent not only with concern for him but navigating his daily needs, medical appointments and assessing if today was the day we head for the hospital…every day for the last year.

I’m taking this one day at a time, he was the love of my life and “our” dreams just ended. Now it’s “my” dreams that I have. I don’t know what that looks like yet, nor do I expect to find out any time soon. For those of you who know me well, you know I will be fine, we will be fine. Our boys are good, we are all sad, but we are bathed in the warm glow of his love and the love of a community that he brought us into.

I want to share with you the Eulogy that I wrote and somehow had the strength to read without breaking down during his celebration of life. It really was that, as almost 300 of our closest friends gathered to honour a man who touched all of them in a profound way. I gave out over 300 hugs in the span of 3 hours, we cried and laughed together. It was a moving gathering of a collective of people oozing love. I will be forever grateful for the life I have lived with Aaron.

I first want to thank you all for being here. You make our lives beautiful.

I’m going to walk you through a bit of my life with Aaron. It has spanned 27.5 years and began when he was 20 and I was 21. We met through our siblings Coal and Rachel. It was love at first sight, but neither of us knew it until the second meeting. We met at The Crown in Perth, Power Snooze was playing. I was rude, not interested in meeting a guy at a bar, even if it was my sister’s boyfriend’s brother, we left.

The next weekend was another party on Otty Lake where Coal was playing with his band. I drove my siblings and ended up meeting Aaron there again. He approached me with intent – I found out later it was to pick a fight since I had been so rude the first time. This time he had sparkles all over his face and an enormous smile – in spite of the fact that he thought he was mad. I saw the sparkles and something shifted… there had to be more to this guy than I had assumed. He had been at a kid’s birthday party before coming, and let them put sparkles all over him, and had the confidence to just roll with it.

We ended up talking all night on the dock, it was magical. I still remember him showing me the constellations and talking about the universe with reverence. We left for a 7-week west coast trip shortly after and have been together since.

Early Years

Our younger years were full of adventure and travels. He encouraged me into an art career, something I had never known was even possible for me. He held a few jobs like Kiwi Gardens and Canadian tire. But really, he was a free spirit that needed space to create. He pursued his own art with iron work. Next time you are in Code’s Mill have a look up at the Juliette balconies – he made those, and the sign at the Perth Brewery. Everything he did was creative. He didn’t know how to do things simply. Everything was approached from the idea of the dream, with intent and purpose. Spectacular. Frustrating for me at times since it took so long, but it also taught me patience, he grounded me.

Aaron’s health threaded its way through our lives. While there were definitely reasons to be sad or upset by it, he never regarded it that way for long. It just was part of who he was. We adjusted our lives to meet his needs to still get the most joy out of every day.

He wasn’t sick when we met. After a year together, he faced his first downturn since the original illness at age of 12. This one was brief, more tests, investigation and recovery happened again. It yo-yo’d like this a few more times in his 20s.

He managed to avoid the hospital for much of his 30s, but his health and energy were always a factor. His reserves were always low, and he had to gauge what he could manage every day. It would often take him weeks to recover to his peak energy – which was much lower than most – after going to a party or having visitors. Work was an even bigger challenge. He just took this in stride and did what he could. Aaron worked on our house, the cars, helped neighbours with their cars, helped people buy cars. He had such an amazing ability to understand mechanics and physics. He was fascinated by anything with moving parts.

Kids

He wasn’t really ready for kids but knew I was, and we jumped into that adventure in our mid-20s. He agreed to start trying, thinking after I came off birth control, it would take a year or two. I was pregnant the next month…and he was in love with Mickey the moment he knew he would be a dad. Jasper came along five years later.

These years with our kids were amazing. I loved to work, and it was hard for Aaron to, so it was a great fit. He stayed home with the kids, they had adventures constantly. He would load Mickey on the front, Jasper in the backpack and tour off into the woods for an afternoon excursion on the red motorcycle that he and Coal had bought when they were kids. Aaron would build things with them, his patience endless as they tried to use the drill that was clearly too heavy. Or they would sift through a box of old bolts, nuts and screws to see what sculptures they could build. Our kids grew up with a father dedicated to exploring life with them,

Aaron’s limitations were a factor, but just a normal part of our every day and really didn’t matter to them, the essence of who Aaron was, made up for it.

Things were a bit magical then. We lived in a tiny home, the four of us and our cat. We walked in the woods, we created beautiful things, we explored life and started building our own home. These were special years when Aaron spent many hours with the boys on the porch with Michael and friends like Cam and Franc that passed by, waxing poetic and solving the problems of the universe in one afternoon, ready to ponder it all again the next time.

He had this wonderful ability to pause and observe the natural phenomena that he encountered. If a bug wandered by, or a dragonfly landed on his knee, he would watch it, and marvel at the colours, mechanics and was awed by the simple fact that it existed. His sheer joy and wonderment of his natural surroundings became one of the most amazing gifts he shared with everyone he met.

The kids went to Brooke Valley school then and Aaron drove them on the golf cart every morning, picking them up after school and going through the woods for yet another adventure. In the summers, we would spend hours at the pond swimming, talking and soaking in the beauty of the scene. We shared all of this with his parents Michael and Coral and siblings: Coal, Ben and Lyla and so many friends, we became entrenched in a community that rallied more than once to help whenever Aaron’s health turned.

We then dove into the design and building of our new home. It was a really exciting and fulfilling project for Aaron. He was able to explore the details of every connection, system and integration in our home. It’s a culmination of his life’s work really. From the design of the building to the inventions of the systems, he revelled in every detail. His goal was to be as efficient as possible, with everything, materials, energy and his overall footprint on the world.

I would have to say though, that his best work was our boys. He raised them with quiet support, constantly there, just willing to always show up, his wry sense of humour always infusing joy into our lives. They share his love of life, his quiet strength, many talents and giant smiles. Each of them now expressing uniquely the best parts of themselves, because he was there for them.

Five years ago, our lives shifted once more, and Aaron danced with death, coming out the other side again. He had a few less organs – and a new reality of kidney failure. He was investigated by some of the world’s top doctors and was a fascinating mystery medically speaking. It changed our daily lives, he was now dependant on a machine to keep him going, and pain became a constant battle. Again, he took it in stride. He learned how to do what was necessary to be at home with the dialysis, so he could look out the window and watch the birds and trees that surround our home and work on our scene when he had the energy. He never complained, he never lamented his fate. He just looked for the beauty he knew still existed and spent time with that wonderment.

The last year was very difficult. The meds and treatments that were keeping him alive, were also killing him. His last few months were even harder, with pain increasing, mobility reduced, but through the suffering, he still had the ability to smile and have gratitude every day.

Final Moments

I want to talk about his final moments, it was one of the most profound events I have ever had the privilege to witness. I received an early morning call telling me that Aaron’s condition had turned, and they were taking him to icu. Michael and Coral were my first call and then the boys, and they were quickly on their way.

Michael, Coral and I were at his side, the boys had not yet arrived at the hospital and we had been told he would not likely regain any consciousness or have any pain. Once hearing Coral and Michael’s voice, somehow clawed his way to the surface and spoke. He reached for the mask that was providing oxygen and essentially breathing for him and removed it. I looked at him, told him what had happened and that if he kept the mask off, he would not survive. With clarity and determination, he said, “ I’m ready”.

We left the mask off, Coral at his head talking to him with loving and supportive words. Michael and I on either side, holding his hands tracking his pulse, watching as he slowed his heart rate and took his last breath in less than a minute. It was as close to a spiritual moment as I have ever had as we sobbed and ushered him to the multiverse and the next experience for his essence to journey with. It was the most unexpected, expected death.

Written as a Eulogy for Aaron Nault December 1, 1970 – December 8, 2018 by his loving partner, Bridget O’Flaherty.

If you’ve made it this far into this post, thank you. If you are wondering how you can help us out, we started a GoFundMe page as an education fund for the boys. Donations are greatly appreciated.

If you would like to read more about how I have coped with being a caregiver, you can read A Year in the Life of a Fibre Artist

A Year in the Life of Fibre Artist Bridget O’Flaherty

Living with Family Illness and Coping with Stress

The Good the Bad and the Ugly

A Year in the Life of a Fibre Artist? I’ve been drafting and re-writing this post for a few weeks now. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share or what you would want to read. Should I give you another summary of a year’s successes? A list of my wins? My promises for the next year? I decided to share some of my wins, but also some of my challenges. Everyone has disappointments, bumps in the road and challenges and when we just see all the fabulous parts, it can be hard on those that have had tough times.[hr]

The Good

To sum up, the successes I’ve had over the last year have been many! I’ve been creating and designing, planning and networking, building an inventory and exploring new product ideas.

One of the most exciting parts of the year was launching my website and engaging in social media. I have been amazed at the outpouring of support that I have received for my work. Thank you, most sincerely for encouraging me to continue.

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[quote style=”boxed”]I get to wake up every morning with the opportunity to work with fabric, inspiring nature, planning projects, interacting with students, clients, shop owners and other industry professionals. Thank you for that. I LOVE my job![/quote] [hr]

The Not So Great Parts of my Year

My life as an artist is really no different from anyone else’s. I have a home to maintain, support my kids in their lives, support my ageing parents and my husband. Where it may differ is in the details of those, my husband and partner of 26 years is seriously chronically ill, my mother had Alzheimer’s( she recently passed away, I shared a tribute to her that you can read) and my father is critically ill as well. So I’ve had a full share of trials for the past few years, this last year was particularly tough. But they also lead me to one of my greatest decisions.[hr]

I have a Unique Situation

But not exclusive. I sometimes feel very alone with my situation, but I know there are other people out there with struggles that likely even trump mine. Navigating a serious illness with the notion that every day could have a hospital visit, is exhausting. My partner, Aaron has had an undiagnosed illness for over 30 years. It has been investigated in every possible way. We’ve even seen specialists at NIH in Maryland with state of the art genetic testing and the Undiagnosed Diseases Program. We have stopped looking. They (and I mean medical community and alternative practitioners) have no clue. Really, they don’t. That’s ok!

Sometimes not having an answer is the best gift. We have learned to live with it and treat every day as a new opportunity to get more out of our lives. Not knowing what comes next is terrifying sometimes, but it also allows us to assume one day more. We really live one day at a time and it affords us a lot of hope for another one.[hr]

How Does His Illness Affect my Work?

I am lucky in that my partner has good days and bad days, he is not bedridden and he still loves to work at keeping our house going too. He supports me fully in my decision to pursue my art as a business, I couldn’t do it without him. He’s really one of the most inspiring people I know. He experiences daily pain and suffering and yet he literally has a smile on his face every day. [hr]

Crossroads

I reached a point last year where I could no longer manage my own stresses. On top of my partner, my mother had Alzheimer’s and became wheelchair bound early in the year. My father was in the hospital, in and out of ICU for 6 months. That was a year of constant hospital visits. By March I was tapped out. I had reached the “WTF is the point” stage of dealing with illness, death, pain, and suffering.

I realized that any of this could happen to me, anytime. If I didn’t take my opportunity to pursue what I wanted, maybe I would miss my chance. I missed creating, I needed to get back to my art. So after helping my father transition to Long Term Care, I decided to take a break. I took about 3 months to figure myself out and figure out how I could possibly support my family with my art. [hr]

Rejection, Recognition and Resolutions

The year had ups and downs with my art as well. I submitted applications to a few shows with some older work and applied to teach as well. They were rejected, I now know I wasn’t ready for that part of the business. I wrote about the benefits of rejection in an earlier post.

That same month, I received notice that I was the recipient of the MERA Award of Excellence for Artists in my community. It was perfect timing and really validated my decision to follow my heart and my art. I also was accepted into a Small Business Program for Start-Ups. I worked with professionals and learned how to approach my art as a business.

This last year has had it’s ups and downs for me. Like everyone else, I have to take the bad with the good. I’ve worked hard this year and I am feeling ultimately very successful. Even with my bumps for the year, I am incredibly grateful that I get to practice my art. I am looking forward to the adventures that lie ahead for the coming year. I’m excited to connect with you, share with you and continue to explore the amazing world of fibre arts. My resolutions are to execute this year, to make my business strong, to stay true to my art by inspiring others to engage and be available to my family.[hr]

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A Tribute to my Mother

Finally Released From Alzheimer’s

A Tribute to Kathleen O’Flaherty

March 12, 1942-Nov 30, 2017

This is not one of my normal posts and has little to do directly with my art. But it is the story of my mother, a tribute to show how her influence has been significant on who I am today.

My mother passed away last week. She was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s at the age of 67. Her 8-year battle was a slow decline at first, the last three years were more significant. She was able to stay at home, cared for by our father. This is the tribute I wrote for her, I know you may not know her, but maybe you can relate anyway. It’s been therapeutic for me to write this all out.

As we were mulling over memories, talking with family and friends and our Dad, it occurred to us that the easiest way to explain our mother’s life is to tell you about some of the things we learned from her and I expect you may be able to relate to them as well. I could talk about where she was born and raised, and the timeline of her life, but there are details that like you, I just don’t know. So really I’d rather talk to you about her essence and how it impacted us. She has threaded her way through our lives and we all get a piece of the grand quilt of her life in what we take from her.[hr]

The importance of family

My mom would travel home to England to visit family. Every time she got on the plane she would cry for the family she was leaving. When she landed she would cry in anticipation of seeing her sisters Sylvia and Val and family there. When she got back on the plane again to come back to Canada, she would cry for the family she was leaving and cry when she landed, relieved to be with her family here again. She taught us that no matter the distances, family is important and worth the trips when you could do it.[hr]

A zest for life

Our mother was game for just about anything. She was dynamic, engaged and loved to laugh. She loved social interactions, being the centre of attention, dancing, dinners and good food, good company. While she drew the line at skiing and skating, I would never have called her athletic; My brother reminded me of a time when we were kids in Oak Ridges when we went tobogganing. There was a place we called “the hill”. In my memory it was huge! My mom was ready to jump on the wooden toboggan with Damien and good friend Winfred and took off laughing as she careened down the hill. She did the same thing years later when the lived at Bobs Lake with her grandchildren. My Mum had a great laugh. She taught us to have a zest for life, to seize the moments that can bring great joy and to laugh.[hr]

Appreciating beauty in the details

I can remember dinners on Drummond street. The huge harvest table would be laid out with matching plates, ornate serving dishes, embroidered napkins and a feast for friends like Annie, John and Rhonda and whoever stopped by – usually teenage friends of Rachel and Brendan. She loved old things; pewter serving spoons, cracked porcelain serving dishes, mismatched salt and pepper shakers. My Mother loved and appreciated the history of them, the untold stories. She would take us to auctions and flea markets when we were kids. We would also look at open houses just to see the grand old houses from the inside. She gave us an appreciation for the artistry in our history.[hr]

A love of colour

Taking a walk with my mum always gave such an interesting perspective, she loved to walk. She had a love of old architecture and gardens, but mainly flowers. Even once Alzheimer’s had set in for her, Rachel talked about how she never failed to see the beauty in gardens or the shades of green in the landscape. Rachel got the gift of the green thumb from our Mum. It was obvious that she had a love of colour, it was reflected in everything she did. Her clothes, gardens, food and of course her quilts. Her creative artistry was entrenched in our childhood from homemade clothes, hand knitted sweaters, hand embroidered Irish dancing dresses and on to the spectacular quilts, she made in her art career. She taught us how important it is to see the shades, to appreciate the colour in life.[hr]

An appreciation for music, musicals and dancing

Our mother loved music. But it was very specific, as far as she was concerned when it came to rock and modern music it was none of her business unless it was Rod Stewart. She loved choirs, she would light up during hymns in church and cherished singing in the Oak Ridges and St. John’s church choirs. She’d watch ‘Last Night at the Proms’ every year, took us to the Nutcracker, just about every musical to come to Toronto and desperately wanted to be Fred Astaire’s Ginger. The best part about these times was the dress up. I loved seeing her so glamorous. She pulled out her experience as a cosmetician and was elegant and sheikh, always so well put together. She loved to make these events special. Her love of music brought out the joyful personality that was lost in the disease. She taught me to love the performance and the magic of the theatre and song.[hr]

Welcoming anyone to the table

From college borders to exchange students and any friend of her children, there was always room at the table for another guest. She was kind, generous and always welcoming so many of these connections are still in our lives today and richer for it. On Drummond street, so many of us looked forward to playing games like Trivial Pursuit after a meal, hoping she was on our team, she always said she had loads of useless information but her team always one. She showed us that seizing new opportunities, welcoming new people into our lives, enriches them.[hr]

Fierce independence and standing strong with your dreams

From an early age, our mum instilled independence in us. She set us on a course of self-discovery and encouraged us in anything we wanted to try. When she made the bold move to go into business for herself with the quilt stores I was too young to understand how significant that would be in my life. She bravely stepped out of the traditions of working and became an entrepreneur. Then she sprinkled her verve in organizations like the museum board, the BIA, the quilters guild, and touched the lives of so many in the community. Too many to name. She taught me the importance of following passion authentically. Life is too short to pass that up.[hr]

Friends and family, nothing matters more

From the communications we’ve had in the last few days and seeing who is here today; we know our mother was loved. Her friends were lifelong. From the moment she landed in Canada, friends on Scarth Road, Jim and Judy who introduced our parents to each other, Don and Betty, Leslie and Peter, Joan, Pat, the Densmore’s, the Ardelt’s and the Nolan’s, Faye & Mike, John & Ronda, Annie and Mick. Solid friends who were unwavering and their lives intertwined over 50 years. These friends are like aunts and uncles to us, we grew up with their kids now like cousins, we know we will always be connected to these families. She taught us the importance of forging friendships to last a lifetime.[hr]

Kathleen O’Flaherty, our mother had her share of struggles, but her determination to enjoy life, laugh and live her passions always shone through. The lessons that came from knowing her will continue to reveal themselves as we forge our way through our own lives. The last few years were difficult, the disease had stolen most of her essence. She is finally free to come back into our lives, shine her light on us, remind us to enjoy life, seize opportunities and to laugh with the ones we love.

Thank you so much for sharing some memories, and being a part of the fabric of our mother’s giant quilt that was her life. I know she loved us all.

Alzheimer’s, Loss, and Inherited Fabric: What do you do with it all? – Part 1

Alzheimer’s sucks, that’s the first thing I need to get off of my chest. I miss my mother.

My mother was a huge part of my life. We were best friends (once we got past the stage where I was a 16-year-old jerk who thought she knew better). As a young adult, my mother was one of the most important people in my life. Like so many, I was unsure of what I wanted to do: I had tried university, and college, and working. I had travelled, fell in love and was at a crossroads.

My mother opened a quilt store in the small town where we lived and asked if I wanted to help her until I figured myself out. I had only done one quilt at that point and it was by hand. I hated doing it and it took me 2 years to finish! But I had nothing else going on so – with some indifference – I joined her at the shop.

It opened my eyes to so many things.

It fueled my desire to create, and it introduced me to the world of small business and being an entrepreneur. She opened doors that I didn’t even know existed. She encouraged me to learn, take classes and take risks. Less than one year in, she offered me a class to teach. Seriously, after only a few quilts and a few months she said, “Well why not?” and I didn’t really have an answer. That launched my life as a teacher, lover of fibre and the drive to succeed.

We went through so much together, and always bonded over a cup of tea and quilting. She always had time to dream with me about the next big idea. Then Alzheimer’s creeped in and started to steal moments of our connections from each other. It has been a long illness and watching her deteriorate over the last 10 years has been devastating to say the least.

While she’s still alive – I feel like I’ve already lost her.

I continue to try to stay connected with my mother, supportive and still see her, ignoring the fact that she thought I was stealing from her, or that she didn’t trust me and now doesn’t seem to even know herself, let alone me or anyone else from her life. But that is a hard place to stay. I admire those who can give of themselves selflessly to those suffering with this disease. My weekly visits are usually a short 5 minutes before her agitation sets in and it’s time to go.

And what does this have to do with fabric?

I mentioned she owned a store… and after it closed, so much went into her studio and she created for another 12 years until her disease took that away from her. She kept everything. Now I have all that everything.

The dilemma is not in just what to do with it, but in unpacking all of the emotional context of it. There is well over 500 meters of cotton fabric – mostly in small pieces making up about 1,500 pieces of fabric, notions galore, yarn, upholstery fabric, books – so many books – and lots of other fibre/craft related things. Everything has a memory for me: I see a fabric I know she used and it reminds me of her. I see a box she stored buttons in and I remember it in her sewing room when I was young. It is really like taking apart and dismantling someone’s life. How do I discard and give away things that were vital to her existence. Who will know how important she was, what she did with all of these things to make other people happy? I know that I will, and ultimately these questions are asked for all of us. The only thing that remains of us after this life is the affect we had on others.

However, these supplies are things I will not use in my work or in my daily life. They are taking up space for me mentally as well as physically and I have to move forward in my own life and work.

This is the hardest part.

I can’t even use most of it, it is not my aesthetic nor my interest. So what to do? I have had it in my studio for about 3 years, since she went into long-term care. It’s all in bins just waiting to be figured out.

It’s time for me to tackle it.

I’ve looked at many options, I have pulled all of the cotton fabric out several times. I started by just putting it all on the floor and looking at it. There was so much and it was a little overwhelming. So I put it back in the bins. I have to decide what the end goal is, am I giving it away, selling it, using it?

It’s not an easy task, it’s tied to so many emotions. I will work my way through it though. ( I have been for many months and will share some of my solutions in an upcoming blog post)

I’m sure many of you have been through similar stages and dilemmas in life, I’d love to know that I am not alone with this, tell me your stories, what did you do to de-stash and sort? What worked for you? Do you have any suggestions?

A great site for contributing to the research of Alzheimer’s is Hilarity for Charity

or the Canadian Alzheimer’s Association

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