Stuff

Isn't it amazing how stuff accumulates?

Admittedly, I did far too much shopping these past 6 months. Part of the problem certainly lies in the fact that I had some need for spring and summer clothing, but the real issue was probably more related to some sort of validation or gratification I found in new clothes than anything else. I love removing the price tag and size sticker and wearing a new article of clothing for the first time.

 

Over the past 8 months at my job, I've had a real glimpse into the excess that I live in and the absolute poverty some of my neighbours and community members live in. It's a drastic difference. Last week alone, I removed more than a laundry basket of clothes that I don't wear or don't quite fit into from my closet. More than a laundry basket. Some clothes still had tags on them. Some were never worn. Some were well-worn. It's shameful, really, to have so much. I don't need half of what remains hanging in my closet, but I appreciate having it and I am committing to not adding to it unless it's absolutely necessary.

I love fashion, but I love my job. 

It is an honour and a privilege to work with and serve many of the people I do - and I'm not even a front-line worker. I sit in a cushy, air conditioned administrative office in my business wear and high heeled shoes five days a week. Sometimes I complain about being too cold so I have an extra sweater hanging on the back of my chair. But I've torn it all down and gone to the food kitchens. I've gone to the homeless shelter. I've handed out breakfast to hungry kids, and sat with an open ear for those who had no one to talk to and I'm better for it. 

This week, I've seen people with next to nothing offer their friends and neighbours what little they had in the aftermath of a fire... meanwhile, I struggle to let go of jeans that don't fit and shirts that I'm "too old" to wear. All because I'm attached to stuff.

I challenge you, my friends, to look through your closets and remove what you no longer need. Get rid of those too-small jeans or the clothes you held onto from high school. Take them to The Salvation Army, Value Village, a community centre. Those leftover school supplies the kids had before they went off to university? Drop them off at a local youth group meeting. Pick up a few cans of soup or pasta sauce and drop them in the food bank box at Sobeys. Schedule one evening out of your month to volunteer somewhere. 

No matter how much or how little we have, we can all help. 

A Guest Post: Coming to Grips with Mesothelioma

 

I was approached about a month ago by the Heather, author of this post, with a simple plea:
Help me share my story.

I sat on the idea for a day or two, wondering if my blog was the right place for this story but I came to realise that the right place for this story is anywhere that someone might see it. I am honoured to help her share her story. For more information on Mesothelioma, or to read more of Heather's story, check out www.mesothelioma.com/blog/authors/heather

 

 

Coming to Grips With Mesothelioma

How could I have cancer? The doctor’s announcement made the bottom drop out of my stomach, and I just couldn’t understand it. I had been feeling tired, but then I had just had a baby less than four months ago. I had mesothelioma cancer, which is primarily caused by asbestos exposure. This horrible news hit me hard, and more, it confused me.

Wasn’t asbestos that stuff that’s been banned? Plenty of people ask me that question, and they follow it up with asking when I was exposed. First, no, asbestos is not banned, and second, I seem to have been exposed through my father. My father dealt with asbestos throughout his career in construction, and with all of that drywall installation, mudding and sanding, he was covered with asbestos dust. Those nasty white fibers were all over his clothing, his car and his work clothes, and it was those fibers that would make me so sick as an adult.

I was one of the youngest cases of mesothelioma cancer that the doctors had ever seen at the time. Most people who contract this cancer are older men who work in the trades. Some military men get it, as do mechanics, electricians and plumbers. After my diagnosis, there came a wave of people who got it the way I did. Suddenly children and wives of men like this were being diagnosed with this disease in large numbers.

Now that there is more visibility, we are seeing more mesothelioma sufferers who are my age. More and more young people are turning up. Their stories are all similar, whether they were young girls who put on their dad’s jackets to go out or they simply wanted hugs when their dads came home for a long day of work. As I got more involved in the mesothelioma community, and as I learned more about my condition, I wanted to know more about the people who were getting diagnosed. I started seeing men and women in their twenties and their thirties. We were just starting our lives, and all of a sudden, things were brought to a real halt. We’re lucky we are living in the time period that we are; we are seeing so many more terrific advances that are helping people survive and thrive in the face of this terrible disease.

The fateful words, “you have cancer” still ring in my ears sometimes, but I have not given up hope. I am surrounded by people with mesothelioma who are resolved to fight, both on their own and as a community. We want to share and we want to support each other. We want to work, and to celebrate the joys and to mourn the setbacks.

The reason why I am so invested in mesothelioma advocacy is simply to raise awareness. I want my story to offer hope to other people and to help them move forward with the life that they want. It is scary, but we can always move forward with hope instead of fear.



Restored

I saw God today.

Yep, that's a bold and dramatic statement, and no, I haven't lost my mind (or what's left of it). I really and truly, honest-to-goodness saw God today. I don't know what He looks like, but what I do know is that the God I believe in manifests in goodness, love and support. He manifests through random acts of kindness and a true sense of community.

Today was an average, ho-hum kind of day. It was also my Mom's birthday and we went out for a delicious brunch. We came home, I did some tidying and reading. I watched a movie with my little guy, My brother's girlfriend had a death in the family, and I had offered to meet her at the bus stop to help her get home. I originally had boots on my feet, but after walking around for a few minutes had decided I'd rather wear my new Toms and break them in. Besides, I was only going to be in the car, right? WRONG.

As we neared the cable-ferry I cross to get to and from the highway, my phone rang. It was my mom, and the sound of panic mixed with relief in her voice was immediately upsetting. "There was just a call on for the Fire Dept. Thank God it's not you. It's a car accident, near the shore. You'd better stop, none of the members have called back in." I got out on the ferry to tell the staff I needed to get across immediately. I had hit the ferry at shift-change, a procedure that takes 10-15 minutes, meaning you sit for that amount of time. They took us across immediately, and let me off ahead of nine other cars. With my caution lights flashing and R in the passenger seat, we were off.

My shoes, post-accident

I pulled up on the scene not knowing what to expect. I had no radio from which to obtain information, but I parked on the side of the road and hopped out. I ran across to see a group of strangers lining the shoulder of the road, an RCMP officer and two of my fellow Fire Department members near a badly demolished truck. That's when I saw the blanket on the ground. I stumbled and slipped down the embankment, wishing I had worn a better pair of shoes as I rolled my ankle and lost my footing. It wasn't until I was up to my ankles in muck - cold, filthy, smelly, gasoline-enhanced muck - that I was really sorry I'd worn these shoes. For a split second, I thought about not going further. For five steps, I tried to avoid the deep, squishy muck. Finally, I gave up. They're fucking shoes, and there's a woman lying on the ground.

As ambulances pulled up, I ran up the embankment to help them with whatever I could. Back down with a backboard, back up for more, back down with more. Up and down and up and down we went, myself and other volunteers - men and women who had been sitting down to their dinners, enjoying time with their families. There were only five people who had to be there, five people who had a duty to the public. Everyone else was there because they wanted to help. How amazing is that?

On my final trip up the embankment, which was slipping away beneath my feet I felt myself go. Shit, I thought as I lost my balance altogether. Before my knees hit the rocks beneath me, two hands grabbed my arms. Strangers. People who had stopped to see if they could help, people who'd stripped their cars of blankets and towels to help the victims of this accident. It was a minor act of kindness to stop me from falling flat on my ass, and yet it moved mountains. Twenty-five, thirty people stood out in the cold mist and darkness for over ninety minutes. Some scanned the ground with small flashlights, some hovering over the victims of the accident, others directing traffic, all working together.

When it was all said and done, not a single person could leave there without saying that was community. That was care and compassion and selflessness. That was God, and this community is blessed. Every time I feel like I'm losing faith in humanity, I can pull the memory of this night - this awful accident - and I can be reminded that there are still people who'd risk it all for their neighbour and that faith in my fellow man will be restored.



The scene from the side of the road, after the removal of the vehicle.

XO


Both accident victims were taken by ambulance, but both were aware and seemed to be doing quite wel, all things consideredl. Less importantly, my shoes were salvageable and are hanging to dry.