The unexpected blog post

I came here today with a post about the pandemic, about being a parent and employee, and the challenges therein.  Then I saw it’s been over a year since I last posted.  The ironic part is today is the one year anniversary of Michael’s funeral.  That box has opened for me and I can grieve him now.  I can be grateful he’s no longer in pain, but I can also miss him. 

One of the gifts he gave me during our friendship with the love of the band “Elbow”.  He introduced me to this wonderful English band.  He actually bought me tickets for Christmas one year as they were in concert in Toronto.  BHE has even bought tickets when they returned a few years back.  The songs are wonderful stories that are beautifully written and fantastically sung.  There is little else that makes me feel closer to him than when I listen to Elbow.  It took about 6 months after the last blog post where I could listen to my favourite tracks without immediately falling apart.  Just knowing what’s happened is helped me heal.  I will always miss him, but the pain is healing because I know.

On the other hand, I still never received confirmation of Michaela.  One of my coworkers was a friend of hers as well (I introduced them).  My coworker lives very near where Michaela did with one of her sisters.  Michaela had two sisters who work as teachers in that area.  About a year ago my coworker noticed that one of Michaela’s sisters would be teaching at her youngest daughter’s school.  After a lot of thought and discussion, she emailed Michaela’s sister to explain that her daughter knew Michaela and would likely recognize the last name and to inquire as to what happened.  It would seem that it is the family trait as she never responded to my coworkers' email.  I wasn’t surprised but I was saddened and Michaela remains in this little box.

One of the bright spots is that during the past year Nicole’s widower found a new love and got married.  Now a lovely woman and a doting father are raising her boys.  I know she’s looking down fondly at all of them.  I can genuinely smile when I see her name pop up on my Facebook memories and I know I was truly blessed to have known and loved such a dear friend.

I didn't even shed a tear

Sometimes I wonder if I'm broken.  If my normal meter is off.  This past weekend the Marvelous Miss M came up for a Christmas party.  I had a wonderful time hanging out with her.  Watching the little gifts interact with her.  There was tons of laughter, tons of wine and blissful happiness like there always is when she's around.

Then, after the little gifts were in bed, and my husband was off sampling beers at a friends, in the middle of my kitchen, she dropped the bomb.  It was cancer.  I knew there was something, but I was giving her the space to tell me in her own way.  Breast cancer, stage 2.  I hugged her, that was my first reaction, then tried to ask questions and let her tell the story.  The Queen of Irony proceeded to tell me who knew, and who was stepping up to help.  We talked all night, I sobered up VERY quickly at the news, and simply listened as she talked.  Quiet tears rolled down her cheeks every once in a while.

I listened, I wondered what I could do to help.  For some reason, and I'm not sure if it's denial or faith, but I'm not scared.  I KNOW she's going to pull through this.  I know she'll be at my wedding reception next year, drinking with FCW and running interference with my mother.  I know she'll spend weekends with us through the years.  She'll see the boys go to University and get married themselves.  

She's one year older than me, she's one of my favourite people in the world.  She's helped me become the person I am today, and come hell or high water, I'm going to do whatever I can to help her through this.