As I have stated before, Pasith and I are from opposite ends of the world, literally.  The fact that we met and married is made up of many small miracles and a few divine interventions.  We also have a few unexpected parallels in our lives.  One is that we both have families that saw a need, took a leap of faith, and made an enormous difference for our families.

Today we had a BBQ at my brother-in-law’s house; a celebration.  31 years ago my husband’s family was sponsored by a group of people in a St Pierre, Manitoba church.  They were given a way out of poverty, starvation and an uncertain future.  My husband’s family had already escaped in the night in a leaky boat across the Mekong under the deadly search lights a few years before.  They were now in the refugee camps of Thailand.  Not under constant threat of conscription or death but now starving.  His Dad had applied to go to the United States but the paperwork fell through a few days before they were to leave.  They were stuck there for a few more months.  I can’t imagine his parent’s disappointment at the news of being stuck there for even a few more days let alone months.  But, then they were given hope when they were sponsored to Manitoba.  They arrived in a March blizzard.  The youngest boy, 3 years old, was very sick and in the hospital within a few days.  The sponsors were in for more than they had realized.  From explaining how to sleep in a bed, to just simply trying to communicate.  But, they stuck with it and helped this family get started in a new country, in safety.  The impact that this group had on all our lives is immeasurable.

On my side I also have a family, well more like a village.  But one family in particular that went above and beyond to help out a struggling Mom with 2 babies.  Uncle G and Auntie D had met my parents a few times.  Uncle G was over talking farm machinery the day before my Dad was killed.  My Mom and Auntie D had shared afternoon coffee a few times.  So when the night nurse at the hospital told Auntie D about my Mom in the hospital with a new baby and a toddler staying with family she knew she had to help.  She went to the hospital and walked the floor with me.  Auntie D sat with Mom, prayed with my Mom, tried to provide some comfort to a grieving widow.   A few months later when my Mom’s family had gone home to Minnesota and the farm had been sold Auntie D started a routine of taking care her own house, two boys and us.  Driving back and forth from farm to town and back helping with meals, dressing, baths whatever my Mom needed.   Finally after a few months she was exhausted.  So they put a crib in the spare room with a sofa bed for my Mom and sister.  My Mom would go out to the farm for supper and may not have gone home for a day or two.  My Mom always brought our pajamas along.  As I learned to talk I called Uncle G, “Dad”.  I followed him nearly everywhere.  I had a system, which my Mom never knew, of calling one Mom and the other Mommy.  This is not to say that we were never at home with my Mom, I have memories of the house in Moosomin where we lived till I was 3 and I know that my Mom tried to do her best but she needed help.  I just don’t know where we would be without this family.  We continued to go back several times a year after we moved to Manitoba.  Last year Auntie D reprised her role of 34 years ago and sat with Mom and prayed with Mom in the hospital, but this time it was cancer.  And she came out several times in November to help out with Mom’s final wish of dying at home.  We are eternally grateful.  I hope that I can make even a fraction of the impact that these people have made in our lives in someone else’s life.  They have taught me what generosity of spirit is all about.

I have some old and some new topics for my blog but this one just feels perfect for the time of year we are in.   As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog my Dad was murdered just before I was born in June of 1976. And believe me; I will elaborate on that subject in the blogs to come.

When I was growing up the months of May and June were not easy.  Around Mother’s Day I would notice the change in my Mom and I knew we were in the May/June zone.  May was kind of the wind up to June.  There was nothing definitively different in her behavior; it was more of a feeling; tense, quiet.  But then when June came she was jumpy and her Post Traumatic Stress symptom of forgetfulness, among others, would flare up.  As June 12^th approached she would withdraw and become quiet.  And then on the 12^th she may talk about it or not.  And shortly after the anniversary of my Dad’s death was, and is, always Father’s Day.  Now I understand how difficult that day must have been for her.  My Mom’s Dad passed away when I was 3 and to not have your Dad or your children’s Dad to celebrate must have been very hard.  As we got older she made a bit of a joke out of it and said she was lucky because she got to celebrate both Mother’s Day and Father’s Day.  She must have been in great pain while attempting to keep the normalcy.  After Father’s Day are my Dad’s birthday on June 24^th, and then my birthday on the 25^th.

As you can imagine these were not easy times.  When I was young she made the best of my birthday.  But then I started to slowly plan my birthday parties on my own, partly because I loved planning them, but as I look back she was slowly pulling away from my birthday.  There were some birthdays where I would have a sleep over with friends and I hardly saw her.  She would go out or go in her room.  I understand it now and thankfully I didn’t really notice it when I was younger.  Then as an adult I noticed that she didn’t always remember my birthday.  Some years I just let it go by without a word, others I would work it into the conversation.  She would always feel bad when she remembered a few days after and I didn’t want to make it worse for her so I would just brush it off.  I began to understand trauma and its effects at an early age.  And I know that she had problems remembering other dates as well, not just my birthday but it is still a reminder of what I was born into.

For me June was very difficult as a child.  I would have horrible nightmares all the time as a kid but they seemed to get a lot worse during that month.  Being chased, shot at, stabbed, stalked, house broken into.  Things a 3 or 4 year old just shouldn’t wake up to.  I would run to my Mom’s room and sleep the rest of the night with her.  Most of the nightmares went away as I got older; but not the June nightmares.  They came back every year until I was pregnant with my daughter.  I had been so worried that I would have the nightmares and somehow pass that terror and stress on to the baby.  But they went away that year.  They reoccur every once in a while but not even close to the frequency they once were.  And every year as I got older I would be very conscious of my Mom’s feelings during May and June; wondering how she would handle it that year.  Three years ago she finally admitted that she was having problems, and had problems in past years, with depression around the anniversary.  I was glad to hear her finally admit how hard it was.  The last few years seemed a little easier on her, which we were all thankful for.  I think she somehow knew that it wouldn’t be long.  My Mom passed away on December 17^th, 2010 after a lengthy illness.  And I have to wonder how this year’s May and June is going to go.  Have I been marking the anniversary of my Dad’s death differently than I would for myself because of my Mom?  Out of respect or not wanting to hurt her?  Will I sail through it without issue?  Will it be more difficult because my Mom is gone?  I guess we’re about to find out.  Now, the months of May and June have gotten even more interesting since I’ve known Pasith.  Our wedding anniversary is on May 27^th.  His Dad passed away on May 29^th, 2008.  Pasith’s birthday is on June 1^st.  I have a feeling we are in for one amazing roller coaster every year.  But I hope that we can find the joy in the memories.

I’ll start with the easy stuff.  Originally, I’m a farm girl from small town Saskatchewan.  Now I’m a 34 year old woman from Winnipeg.   I’ve been married to my high school sweet heart for 16 years this month.  We have an 11 year old daughter and a 4 year old son.  We are 4 peas in a pod.  Our favorite times are when we are all together.  When one of us is missing, we feel it.  My son gets very upset when his sister is gone for a sleep-over or doesn’t come off the bus at daycare as he expects her to.  My daughter, who was almost 7 at the time, got up with me in the night for the first few weeks after her brother was born.  And she is now his personal tutor in everything.  To have children that are best friends is more than parents can hope for.  Even our initials spell a word, SLAP, this also happens to be our daughter’s initials.  How cheesy is that?

But it’s not all rainbows and butterflies.  My husband and I each come from traumatic backgrounds on opposite sides of the world.  His was a war zone in Laos.  Mine was a supposedly peaceful prairie existence.  Nothing is as it seems.  And how did I get here?  While I was on maternity leave with my son I decided to take that year to really start to examine how I felt about different aspects of my life and the people around me.  I really dug in and started to write to try to make sense of it all.  And that start led me to where I am today and will hopefully continue to lead me in the direction that I am meant to go.

My father was murdered in a home invasion on June 12^th, 1976.  The prairie was no longer peaceful.  I was born on June 25^th, 1976.  I haven’t quite figured out whether time is on my side or not.  Time is very elusive and doesn’t like to be pinned down for lengthy interrogations.  Either you get it or you don’t.  And by the time you realize which one it is time is already long gone.  And here I am still, after almost 35 years, trying to figure it all out.  The offender and accomplice were caught and it was wrapped up in what appeared to be a neat package.  But I am here to say there isn’t anything neat about murder.  It is ugly, messy and life-long.  While this part of my life does not define me it certainly is a part of who I am, whether I like it or not.
I’m writing this blog as a way to express and examine the things that I have learned along the way in hopes that I can provide myself some closure and help out someone else in the process.  I have some serious work ahead of me and I want to get started.  But first some ground rules.  This is about learning how to be resilient, peaceful, and positive through adversity.  I am not an expert on these subjects.  I’m hoping we can learn them together.  This blog is not to be negative or disparaging but uplifting.  The people in this blog are loved, even if they are not perfect.  It is not up to us to judge but to tell the story.  And this is my story.

~ A fatherless girl thinks all is possible and nothing safe. – Mary Gordon