A Reflection on Loss: What the Last Two and a Half Years Have Taught Me

Note: the following was published earlier this week on Impolitikal, although it was originally only intended for the blog. The reasons for the earlier publishing was to link it to the recent attacks in Beirut, Kenya, Paris and so many other areas of the world, with the intent of hopefully allowing readers to take a step back and realize we are all humans at the end of the day. Loss is loss - no matter where it happens. Let us all come together to find peace.

My Mom with her grandbunny, Parsnip. 

As the two and a half year mark looms of my mother’s passing, I’ve been thinking a lot about loss, grieving, and moving forward. Each of those terms are quite ambiguous, I know. Each holds a different meaning or expectation depending on the person. And so, over the last few years, having similar conversations with friends who have lost significant people in their lives, I’ve come to conclude a few things.

1. It is truly amazing the number of people I have spoken with that speak specifically of the difficulty of raising their own children after loosing a parent early on. By this I mean, the constant sense of loss when seeing their child or children doing something spectacular and not being able to share it with their parent or parents. The comfort, but heartbreak, in recognizing similar traits between the child and the would-be grandparent. The knowing that their parent would never have the chance to meet and enjoy time with their child and vice versa. I cannot speak to this, as I don’t have children of my own – and nor do I want them. But, knowing how much my mother wanted to be a grandmother someday, I can imagine what this would be like. I think about the difficulty of even being an aunt someday and experiencing these same sentiments.

2. One of the biggest struggles for me, post-loss, comes with the perception of being an ‘expert in death’ – particularly where a parent is concerned. Yes, I have experienced loss. Yes, I live with that loss. But, in no way does that make me an expert. What my own loss, and the conversations I’ve had with others, has taught me is that the experience of loss or grief is not the same from person to person, even in cases where the loss is of the same person or figure (a parent, sibling, partner, etc.). Grief is personal. Grief is hard. Never have I heard an account of loss that is close to my own relationship with it – including my brother’s. No one truly knows what it’s like or how you feel, because no one will have ever had the same relationship with that individual as you. Of course there may be similarities in your experiences, but that’s not the same thing. And this, to me, is one of the most irritating aspects of the process. Nothing annoys me more than hearing the words I know how you feel.

3. Blame, what-ifs, and if-onlys have no practical application in the process of moving forward – not ‘on’ but forward. This is a tough one, because it is so easy to do. I’ve done it – I think most have. I’ve used all three and none of them helped me. They made it all much more painful. Maybe if I had done something different that day, then she’d still be here. Or, maybe everything would have ended up the same. I’m not capable of knowing. No one is. So, to focus on this is counterproductive. It’s not healthy. It’s not helpful.

4. Missing someone doesn’t fade. The loss numbs from time to time, but it never goes away. Perhaps we learn not to think about it every minute of every day. Perhaps we learn to block those thoughts just long enough to make it through a day or to complete a task. But then there are those moments when you’re doing something completely unrelated to the loss, and it somehow triggers a memory. Sometimes these bring moments of happiness, laughter, or a simple smile. Sometimes they bring up moments of sadness, and out of nowhere you are brought to uncontrollable tears. What I’ve learned is that embracing these moments – good or bad – provides a sense of comfort, almost like that person is somehow with you. This, of course, is more easily appreciated when those memories or flashbacks are followed by positive reactions. 

5. Laughter truly is the best medicine, and everything does happen for a reason – whether we can explain it right away or not. These are two really heavy clichés, but two that also really hit home, at least for me. It is easy to become overwhelmed with grief and sadness immediately and following the loss of someone important to your life. At times, it can seem like there is never going to be a light, or like it is wrong to experience moments of happiness. I’ve been there. But, I also know my Mom really enjoyed a good laugh. I cannot tell you how many moments have been saved by the power of laughter – sometimes on my own, sometimes with friends or family. There are studies, I’m sure, that articulate exactly how these bursts of laughter actually aid in the process, so I am not an expert in these sorts of things. But let me assure you – laughing helps, even when it seems impossible.

Now, when it comes to the second cliché, I have learned to become quite the advocate for it being true. I’m not saying that there aren’t circumstances that leave you unable to comprehend what has taken place, or ones that make less sense than others. What I’m trying to say is that, things usually have a way of providing some sort of explanation. Maybe this is just part of my own process of grief, or maybe, somehow, it is true. Here’s what I know for certain – it has been one difficult journey since my mother passed. It is one that I was not prepared for, and one that I still struggle with every day. But, because of the loss I am doing things that would have otherwise been possible. I have travelled. I have studied abroad. And, currently, I am working abroad – a childhood goal that I have been able to realize. Of course, I probably could have accomplished these things without losing my mother, but it was the loss that pushed me. It took away my fear. It has allowed me to live. Would I rather have my mother be alive? Yes, without a doubt. But her unexpected absence has pushed me to do things I would have been too afraid to do, because I now know my strength and what I’m capable of overcoming. It took me well over a year to understand this – to see this positive aspect. I think of it as her greatest gift to me.

6. And finally, the next steps are up to you. You can live in the loss or live with the memory. Choose the memory. As I have already alluded to, it is far too easy to be sucked into the loss. And, as difficult as it can be to live each day without that person, what I have come to understand is that every day without them, living in their memory, is far better than living in the loss. Strength and resilience, for me, have all come from living life. I wish I had the opportunity to share the experiences I’ve had since my Mom’s passing with her, but knowing how proud she’d be is almost as comforting. Make the most of the memory, and live. Life is too short to waste. So go out there, live life, and create memories for someone else to live off of!

-the Orange Canadian

The Results are in - I'm a...Master...?

Remember this?

Photo Credit: Lisa Ma

Yeah, I was pretty much on the verge of… shall we say, ‘up-chucking’ when I submitted my Masters dissertation 3 long – painfully long – months ago. Now that time has passed, the results are in, and oddly enough, I felt the same sense of nausea when checking my mark as when I submitted mid-August.

Anyway, I’m very happy to announce that I have successfully complete my Masters degree, making me a ‘Master’ in Poverty, Conflict and Reconstruction. I can honestly say I was quite fearful about the outcome of my dissertation in particular. Having not had my supervisor read anything I had written prior to submission, I had absolutely no idea of how it would work out in the end. But I passed, just missing a distinction* by a fraction! 

So now that I’ve contacted my family, and shared in the excitement with my co-workers and flatmate, it feels pretty anti-climactic. BUT, on the up side, at least I’ll be able to sleep tonight! Seriously – who give a two-week window?

-the Orange Canadian

*The UK System is weird. How does a 60-range mark equate to an A- in the Canadian system?!

Life is… knowing when and when not to ‘Dentist’

In my last post, I recounted – in probably far too much detail – my amoeba experience. In the post’s conclusion, I noted that I had somehow lost a significant chunk of my tooth and would need to locate and visit a dentist. Well, I did. And it was… terrifying.

Have you ever had one of those moments or been in a situation where your gut tells you to ‘abort’? Like you’re looking around, and everything about where you are tells you to back away slowly and avoid making eye contact. This, my friends, pretty much sums up my experience at the dentist last week.

I have to be honest – I was pretty hesitant to visit the dentist here in the first place. It’s not that I thought there weren’t capable dentists in Kampala, it was more so the fear that I would end up at the one dentist who wasn’t. And boy do I hate it when my fears turn out to be somewhat true! I have a really good dentist back home, but before finding this one, I had a terrible experience. So, I’m always reluctant when I have to make a trip to a new one.

So, I’m escorted into the room. It’s dark. The room is pretty dusty. I think maybe this isn’t a good idea, but I’m here, so I’ll sit and wait to see what the dentist is like. Enter dentist. She had about the enthusiasm of a rubber boot – i.e. she didn’t. She asks what the issue is then prompts me to open my mouth so she can see where this partly missing tooth is. It was at this point that all of my internal alarms started to go off. I mean, it appeared as though she didn’t know how to use the little mirror on a stick thingy… and she clearly was uncertain of what she was looking for. But, being me, I didn’t want to jump-the-gun quite yet. So, I allowed her to proceed with the process of repairing my tooth.

I was assured I’d be fine. The wait for the assistant to gather the necessary tools was the perfect recipe for me to dream up all of the things that could go wrong. But, again, I told myself, it will be okay.

How many of you have ever had a dental procedure sans freezing? It sounds kind of crazy, right? Well, that’s what I thought. And, I can assure you, it is much better than forgoing it, as my dentist felt was appropriate. One gentle touch of the drill to my tooth, and I was sold on ALL of the freezing no matter the expense! The only thing worse than the instant pain, was the look of annoyance that was now painted on this lady’s face as I requested we wait until the freezing had set in. Here I am sitting in the dental chair, thinking that I’ve pissed off the person in charge of the next steps. This can’t be good…

The next several minutes are a blur.

I’m joking* – I’m happy to report that I survived. A little scarred, but alive. Again, let me reiterate, this is likely not the case for ALL dentists in Kampala. I’m sure there are some skilled practitioners here. I haven’t had any pain since the procedure, so I assume what she did is fine. It was just her methods and lack of personality that made the experience what it was. But hopefully, this is the end of it!

Saturday was the first time in far too long that I felt like myself again. My amoeba is under control, and my mouth appears to be as it should…? I am feeling optimistic that this is the end of my brush with illness for a while. So until next time…

-the Orange Canadian

*About the blurred moments, not how terrifying this experience was.

Un-Amoeba-ble!: A truly explosive ‘Bowel Buddies’ adventure

Hello friends…family…people I’ve never met. This post is not for the weak stomached… because it’s kind of gross. So, if you get squeamish over bathroom talk, I suggest you scroll to the bottom of the page – whilst averting your eyes – and click a different one. But also, be warned – this is going to sound really bad, maybe even negative, but I promise you, it had been written in good – although grotesque – fun, with a slightly self-deprecating chuckle!

***

So, traveller’s diarrhea… is a thing… that often get’s thrown around… when you’re talking about travelling abroad. Well… the diarrhea itself is hopefully not being thrown around, but the term, the warnings, etc. most likely are.  The good thing about this affliction is that you get to take a weird (some, meaning me, might even argue tasty) fizzy, raspberry flavoured concoction to reduce your chances of getting it. And thankfully, so far, it has worked. But, you can understand my alarm, when all of a sudden food was coming out as quickly as it was going in*.

On Friday night, I awoke around 11pm to a suspicious gurgling sound coming from the stomach region of my body. I knew it could only mean one thing: diarrhea! And sure enough, it eventually flowed along. But the thing is, on top of that, I was also overcome with a need to burp… a sensation that was unsuccessful in being fulfilled. Well, that is, at least until I proceeded to spend the next 6-ish hours dry heaving and producing approximately one half of a litre** of nothing but water and stomach acid. Mmmmm - hope you’re not eating!

Aaron refused to take a picture of me pretending to be crying on the toilet...
so I attempted a self-portrait. I have to say, I'm quite impressed with my skills.
The blue surrounding the toilet represents my tears. Not sure what's going on with my hair, though...

At first, I thought maybe this was food poisoning, and then I recalled that magical time in Ghana where I had similar symptoms that lasted for nearly 24 hours. I now understand this as having been caused by dehydration – which I thought this was. So, I drank… and I drank… and I drank. My fellow intern/roommate and one of my coworkers were super supportive and made sure I wasn’t dying. And, for the most part I felt fine.

But then Saturday rolled into Sunday, and those gurgles returned. And as Sunday became Monday, my condition was getting much, much worse. For when I got out of bed to get ready for work, I felt a very unwelcomed sensation of being stabbed in the stomach. Now, to be fair, I’ve not actually ever been stabbed in the stomach, but it’s what I can only assume this would be like. So, I finally admitted that visiting a clinic would be the ideal choice, despite the pleas of my co-worker on Saturday, and suggestions of my roommate pretty much the entire duration of the weekend.

As I walked up the ramp into the clinic, I realized that this was the first time I’d ever needed to go to a hospital outside of Canada. And this is what I’ve learned… wait times – almost non-existent compared to what I’d have experienced had I been home. It took just about an hour to see a doctor, walk awkwardly around the building with a vile of my on-demand poop-in-a-jar, trying oh so hard not too look suspicious***, and get the results. The results of which were inconclusive. So, I left with an empty stool container and instructions to return in 2 days if the symptoms stayed the same.

Now, I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, they didn’t go away. So yesterday, I returned to the clinic, sample in hand…well backpack, then hand, then lab. I had the results back in less than 10 minutes, which honestly made me question the validity of the test, but I digress… Anyway, would you believe this test also came back inconclusive? Well, if you do, then good…because it did. At this point I was told to sit and wait for my doctor to arrive in approximately 30 minutes.

And this is when I learned about Andy. Andy is the name I’ve just given to the amoeba, or possibly amoebas, living in my stomach. This is what we thought, based on my extensive research on the inter-webs. For those of you who don’t know about Andy’s family background, he’s a single cell organism that can morph into various shapes and can kill you if untreated…especially if you’re under 5 – which is pretty much how I felt when they handed over the pills I was told I had to take. Did I mention I hate/can’t swallow pills?

 

The list of symptoms. The green check marks indicate which ones I had...
I used Comic Sans because it's equally as terrible as how I felt, but also kind of happy. 

Anyway, so far I have been successful in starting the treatment… although it takes me a good hour to complete the task!

But, I’ve got one more tale of woe to share with you, partly because I’m frustrated with my failing body, but also because I enjoy a good laugh at my own expense. Come to think of it, those might actually be the same thing… Anyway, I also, some where along the line, broke a tooth. But, not just a small chip, I mean half of my tooth is missing. How? I’m not sure. When? Equally clueless. All I know is that while Andy is vacating my digestive system, I’ll be looking for a dentist.

Here’s to good health, and hopefully the conclusion of expat illness bingo!

-the Orange Canadian

*Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

**I know this measurement because I also successfully mastered throwing up in a 1L reusable water bottle! That one’s definitely going in the CV!
***Seriously, for a girl who loves poop, and talking about it, I was so uncomfortable having to hold this sample while failing epically at finding the lab. I’ll give you a hint – they didn’t actually call it a lab! I was wandering all over the place, and no one’s instructions made any sense. If only they had told me that fact, I could have reduced some of my… embarrassment?

A Little Remembrance Goes a Long Way

Once a year we observe a day or just a moment of silence in honour of those lost in the wars and what the sacrifices of thousands of men and women have meant for our present day. And, I can’t help but reflect on the actions that have led to this significant day.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t always look on Remembrance Day as something deserving of respect. I naïvely thought of this day as a foolish way of praising people who did unspeakable acts all in the name of “freedom.” That is, of course, until I started to spend A LOT of time with veterans from the Second World War.

My time working with veterans began shortly after my Grandpa was admitted to Camp Hill, Halifax’s veterans’ hospital. Every few weeks I would join my step-dad and Gramma for the weekly Tuesday Night Bingo. Not long after, those ‘every few weeks’ turned into every week, and before long I was an official volunteer – badge and all! This gig lasted just about two years, until I made the decision to complete my Bachelor’s degree.

It was in these weekly gatherings that I got to know many of the hospital’s residents. I met their families, heard stories of their childhoods and the girls they ‘chased’ while overseas, and learned that playing for snacks was way more important/exciting than money. I learned about the complexity of life and aging. But most importantly I learned that these men were not bad people for opting to fight in a war. They were boys, who were still living with the consequences of those actions – actions that have shaped what Canada looks like today. It took me until that opportunity to realize that in many cases the decision to sign up for deployment was a better alternative to a life believed to be far worse.  And while I can’t comment on whether or not there was truth in that alternative, what I can say is that the results were lasting. We, as humans, are not equipped to deal with the repercussions of witnessing such horrors – not then, and not now.

I feel such shame when I look back at how I had thought about this day. But, I am thankful for the lessons, even if unintentional, that each resident taught me. Those were and likely will be some of the most positive and happy times of my life. So please, I urge you, today take a step back. Think about where you’re living. Ask yourself if you’d be willing to make the same sacrifice under the same circumstances. I am certainly not in favour of violence – I wish we could find an end to it the world over. But, if I have learned anything, it’s that the decision process for ‘opting in’ isn’t always as simple as we may think. Sometimes it’s just about finding a way out. Sometimes it’s about finding oneself. Sometimes it’s nothing more than hope for a better, more peaceful world.

Photo Credit: http://staynerlegion.ca

-the Orange Canadian

Grasshopping

One of the magical things about travelling outside of your home is the experience of new foods, cultures, languages, and just everyday life outside of what you know. Last week, I was lucky enough to partake in one of these experiences.

If you haven’t guessed by that brief introduction and the title of this post, it involves grasshoppers - or, perhaps more specifically, one grasshopper in particular. Now, I don’t want you to think that Ugandans eat a diet consisting of grubs and such items straight out of the Lion King. But, let’s be honest, some of these buggers (see what I did there?) are a good source of protein. So, when Aaron excitedly came home with a bag of deep-fried chilli-coated grasshoppers, my initial reaction was… no way man! This took me by surprise, as I’m quite adventurous when it comes to trying new foods – plus I’d eaten ants and cockroaches dipped in chocolate previously, so this one seemed pretty tame. But, Aaron persisted. And after a few attempts, I finally gave in. Not because he’d finally convinced me that they were most certainly a delicious snack, but because he used the most persuasive words any youngest sibling knows* – I dare you to eat it. This was then followed by I’m going to film it – which is equally as influential in my decision-making process.

Photo credit: Aaron Wolf

So, I reluctantly agreed to this challenge. There was resistance, moments of uncertainty, ridiculously over-exaggerated squirms and faces, but overall, not a bad experience. And, lucky for you, you can see for yourself.

Would I willingly seek them out for everyday consumption? Probably not. But, it was an experience I’m glad I accepted. There’s still a number of those suckers left, and sitting patiently in a plastic container, with their beady little eyes looking innocently at me any time I take a peek. It’s potato chips only, for this girl.

-the Orange Canadian

*Aaron is not my sibling.