ERINN OXFORD

I remember holding Cate for the first time. For nine months I talked to my burgeoning belly, imagining what our child might look like and how she would sound. The night before Cate’s birth I decorated our Christmas tree and sang Christmas carols to her. By mid morning the next day, I finally got to look into her eyes, call her by name and say, “I am your Mom”.

I have honestly enjoyed every stage of parenting Cate: her as a newborn, a toddler, a school-aged kid and most recently a pre-teen. I’m not claiming it was all easy. There were of course the inevitable moments of exhaustion and frustration. In the early days she was my constant companion, quite literally attached to my hip. When school began it took some time to convince Cate that she could manage a morning in kindergarten without me. Slowly, and with a great deal of patience we both learned that getting over the threshold of the door was actually the hardest part. Once there, she flourished.

Cate is now a teenager and for the first time I am feeling what I have begun to describe as wistful. I’m enjoying this stage too; I just have a keen awareness that while Cate will always be our little girl, she’s actually now a young woman. Next week we will be attending her grade eight graduation. Every time I think about it I have pictures of little Cate floating through my head.

While I was pregnant nobody could have prepared me for the reality of motherhood. It wasn’t until I held this tiny person in my arms that it sunk in: this is a human we are responsible for. Sometimes it feels like my heart is walking around on two legs. As Cate begins to make more of her own choices and has all kinds of experiences apart from us this feeling only intensifies. I long to protect her from heartbreak, but know that I can’t. I endeavour to be a mom that is present and she can confide in. I also pray for her incessantly.

It is a joy to watch Cate mature. She is compassionate and articulate. She fiercely loves her friends. She has a beautiful voice and is authentically humble about it. She loves to read and is rejuvenated by hanging out in a bookstore. She is a self-described old soul, while at the same time content to be her age. She is claiming for herself the same faith we hold. And so while I am admittedly wistful, I am even more proud. Cate, I love you and will always be your mom.

Cate went to get a popsicle as an after-school snack and discovered pools of former frozen treats. Not a good sign. The freezer was blowing warm air, though things in the fridge still seemed cool. We decided to hope that it would be an easy fix.

I wasn’t around when the repair-person showed up, but this is what was recounted to me: he charged $100 to show up, pull out the fridge and diagnose it as unfixable, though if we left it unplugged for a few hours maybe it would “reboot”. I wasn’t optimistic (which is unusual for me), but agreed to try.

In the meantime I had to get rid of all our food. We managed to save some meat by giving it to a neighbour earlier, but otherwise things had already gone bad. Relative to the time our chest freezer died this cleanup was manageable, though it still wasn’t fun. I will confess that I became irritable in the process, frustrated with the overflowing compost bin and the amount of work it took to make the kitchen smell good again.

That “reboot” option? It didn’t work. We have purchased a new fridge that isn’t being delivered until tomorrow. Our old fridge died last Wednesday. That’s over a week to be regularly reminded of how I take having a working fridge for granted. Fortunately a friend loaned us the use of a tiny bar fridge the other day, so we have a bit of milk, some fruit and a place to stash our take-out leftovers.

I keep silently promising myself that I will learn to really appreciate the new fridge. I know so many people who can only dream about having one, or who might even have one, but are without the means to fill it with food. I realize that being able to cook for my family is a large part of home making for me. The creation of “home” happens in a variety of ways, not least of which is around a table full of food. I don’t want to forget this.

One of the things that I am consistently blown away by is the capacity of some of my most marginalized friends to find little bits of gratitude in their lives. One such friend emphatically thanked God for the bit of decorative paper she found on the street to adorn a lamp. Another declared how grateful he was to have enough change to buy a present for a family member, even though he really needed a bar of soap.

I’ve written a fair amount about the various struggles I am a part of lately: Dion’s health and the numerous deaths at The Dale to name two. I am inspired by my Dale friends to really look beyond whatever challenges I might experience and discover beauty, in even the smallest of places. The following is far from an exhaustive list. As I began to contemplate what I am grateful for I realized that I could go on and on. Here’s my start:

1. The hat that we use as an offering plate on Sundays at The Dale. We pass it so that people can even just touch it in acknowledgement of whatever they have to give, money or otherwise.
2. Being able to watch so many interesting, talented, considerate kids in my neighbourhood grow into interesting, talented, considerate young adults.
3. The buds on trees.
4. The fact that Cate likes to listen to vinyl records in her room.
5. Hugs. Period.
6. Family.
7. Dion finally getting an appointment with one of his MS doctors for important follow-up.
8. For the way dancing in The Dale kitchen never gets old, especially to Ben E King’s Stand By Me.
9. Having friends who are like family that we share dinner with every Wednesday night.
10. The chance to talk with my Mom.
11. Still having meals in our freezer that our community made when Dion was in hospital.
12. The way my coffee maker sounds in the morning.
13. Mail that isn’t bills.
14. Friends who listen and who let me listen to them.
15. That Joanna and I are welcome to sit for hours at the same coffee shop every Tuesday for our staff meeting.
16. Second Harvest.
17. That I get to be an Auntie.
18. For the way The Dale is a community run by the community.

“Gratitude goes beyond the ‘mine’ and ‘thine’ and claims the truth that all of life is a pure gift. In the past I always thought of gratitude as a spontaneous response to the awareness of gifts received, but now I realize that gratitude can also be lived as a discipline. The discipline of gratitude is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.” Henri Nouwen

Early this evening Dion was finally moved out of the Emergency Department into a regular room.This is good for a number of reasons: he feels less disconnected because his phone has a signal, he will have access to physio and occupational therapy, and he has a window. As anyone who has been in hospital knows, time seems to stand still, so having a view helps you remember that the world continues to move.

Important to note is that Dion remains in isolation because he entered the hospital with a respiratory infection. Anyone who enters his room has to wear a mask, gloves and gown. Until infection control is convinced the risk has been eliminated, this will continue. We hope of course this will change soon.

Dion is in better spirits overall, though still fatigued. His appetite is low. He was able to stand in order to be transferred to a chair, but we don’t know what walking will look like yet. The medical team seems hopeful that he will get back to his “baseline” with time. They also plan to have a respiratory therapist investigate the elevated diaphragm.

The outpouring of prayer, sending of good thoughts and care has been overwhelming. Thank you. We will continue to rely on the strength of all of you as we navigate this set-back, as well as the uncertainty of the terrible disease that is MS. The Biblical story of the paralytic man who must count on his friends and their faith to be lowered through the roof to meet Jesus and receive healing is not lost on me. I don’t know if that man had a partner/caregiver, but if he did I imagine that they too would have needed to be touched by Jesus. I know I do, as does Cate.

In gratitude and much peace, Erinn

For those of you who haven’t heard yet, my husband Dion was admitted to hospital yesterday. At around 6:30 am it became apparent that I needed to call an ambulance. Dion had a significant fever and couldn’t move or stand on his own. I tried to help him up, but couldn’t.

The update is this: a viral infection seems to have exacerbated Dion’s Multiple Sclerosis related symptoms. We’ve long known that even a simple cold could wreak havoc on Dion’s system, so he has worked hard to avoid getting one for close to five years. Unfortunately during that time Dion transitioned from relapsing/remitting to secondary progressive MS. This is our first chance at seeing what a cold can do to his current scenario and it hasn’t been pretty. Having said all of this, the medical team is still discerning exactly what is going on.

Dion’s fever is under control, though at times erratic. He was able to transfer to a chair today, but has not fully regained use of his legs. He is tired. Added to the mix is that Dion’s breathing has been laboured due to an elevated diaphragm which is constricting his right lung. We are still waiting to hear a variety of test results. He is understandably frustrated, tired and wanting to get home.

As for me, I am working to be present to Dion’s needs, which includes being his advocate in the hospital. I am admittedly weary and sad, anxious about what this all means more long-term. While my body does not struggle with MS, it carries a portion of its weight. I am able to feel simultaneously strong and weak at times like this. I am not exaggerating when I say that Cate is being a trooper. Pray though that she find space to share what is so easily internalized.

I know many people are eager to know what is going on, so this felt like an appropriate way to spread the news efficiently. Thank you to all who are praying and sending good thoughts. We are aware of this huge cloud of people who surround us with love, longing and hoping for Dion’s healing. Pray that we might have what we need to face each moment, as it comes, with grace and the knowledge of a peace that passes all understanding.

I have always loved Easter. I remember being really little and mostly excited about wearing a new dress and white sandals (because it was warm enough) on a sunny Easter Sunday. I still have a soft spot for ham and scalloped potatoes, our traditional meal at this time of year. Our street has done a big egg hunt for the last nine years that I always look forward to. I’m a sucker for chocolate and there is always a lot of it around now. The essence of Easter though is something that doesn’t fit in a pastel coloured basket and is increasingly something that is making me impatient.

I believe that Jesus died and then defied that death by returning to life. I believe in the hope Jesus established. The Easter season reminds me that light has broken through the darkness and one day all will be made whole. What I don’t get is why it is all taking so long.

This has been a brutal week in the news, both international and local. I know a person who was just given notice of eviction and will be without a home at the end of March. I knew the man who was working for the TTC, became wanted and was recently found dead near Peterborough. A beloved friend came in to the Monday drop-in last week feeling entirely at the end of her rope. Dion’s MS has not been healed. These are a mere handful of stories. Just imagine if we all contributed.

Recognizing that I was getting agitated as we drew closer to Holy Week, I have tried to slow down my thoughts, sit quietly and look beyond the despair I see in the news or my own life.  I think a pivotal moment was having the opportunity to wash the feet of some community members on Maundy Thursday. As I poured the water over one person’s feet I could hear an audible sigh. We talked briefly afterwards and he explained how powerful it was to feel clean- not his feet (though he was grateful for that), but his heart. While he remains painfully aware of his own struggles and sin, he sees that God is slowly making him whole, clean and hopeful.

Easter reminds me that hope is real. I continue to want things to be made right: for estranged relationships to be reconciled, for illnesses to be cured, for homelessness to be eradicated, for justice to prevail. Though I am impatient, I want to love in the midst of pain, confident that the future is in the hands of the one who defeated death not for himself, but for all of us.