On The Girls in the Front Row

I just met "The Girls in the Front Row". And I cried.

I recently moved back to Kingston (yey!) and was presented with an opportunity to consult with a local author on publicizing her book, which is approaching a second edition release date. Knowing nothing about the author or the book, I shrugged to myself, and thought, "Why not?" After all, I am always looking for interesting work opportunities, and my interests are so varied that they tend to find me instead! This was one of those chance situations.

The book is called "The Girls in the Front Row" and it was authored by Linda Gayle Ross. It's odd for me to say that she is the author of the book, since the words and the stories, save for one, are not hers. The project, the book itself, and the feelings it elucidates are most definitely hers. But the stories belong to the Girls in the Front Row.

Who are the Girls in the Front Row? They are motherless daughters; women who lost their mothers young, and had to learn to live without that customary bond, and the assumed guidance of the most important role model in a young girl's life. Some were children when their mom died, some were young adults who were just starting families of their own. Now, they are aged between 16 and 90, and they still feel the pain of losing the opportunity to get to know their mom, let along getting to share their own life experiences with her. Their mom never had a chance of becoming a best friend. The girls didn't have that person to share a big smile with from stage during Convocation. They didn't have that person to run to for comfort no matter what was happening in their "real" lives.

Their stories are varied and so are their experiences and their ability to survive and grow after such a traumatic launch into life as a grown-up. But one thing is clear... The Girls in the Front Row have all, in their own way, had to struggle with pain and fear, and insecurity, and, worst of all, lost hope. Because even though many people have estranged or tense relationships with their moms, there is always hope that things may get better.

For the Girls in the Front Row, there is no hope. There is often grief, guilt, anger, and relief, but not hope.

As I was reading, the tears started to flow. Softly, at first, but with every story, my heart trembled a little more. It wasn't truly out of grief or sadness, but because I wished that I could just reach out a hand to hold theirs, give them a hug in their times of need, past and present, and tell them that someone was there for them. Someone who may not fully understand what they are going through but who could support them while they figured it out.

And then I realized how many Girls in the Front Row I know, personally. Also, boys who lost their mothers young, but, that's a different type of bond. Boys, after all, will never need to call Mom at work to ask what kind of tampons to buy in that first menstrual cycle freak-out moment!

The Girls in the Front Row that I know are all courageous, strong, and successful women. They all admire their moms and miss them very much. They have all adopted behaviours or objects or hobbies that remind them of their mothers. But, you know what? As the book makes very obvious, I have never asked them what happened on the day they lost their Mom. How they felt in that moment. And as one Girl in the Front Row points out, that is sad.

So as I wiped the tears from my face and closed the beautiful, emotion-filled book, I decided that the next time I spoke with my Girls in the Front Row, when the moment was right, I would ask them what happened on the day their mom died. And then hug them as they re-live the trauma and let free the feelings that they usually bottle up and keep for company in their day-to-day lives.

To my Girls in the Front Row, thank you for being such an inspiration.

On lessons from a century of life

A few days ago, one of my close friends' grandmother passed away. She was 104 years old.

No, that's not a typo.

Though I never had the pleasure of meeting her, I did get to know her fairly well through my friend. He told me some of her stories, and stories of her, that made me laugh and made me cry. He may have a few years on me, but even he admits that it's hard to envisage or ever comprehend just how much she experienced in her lifetime. Think about it.

104 years ago, Pablo Picasso was alive and painting. John Wayne was born. Dmitry Mendeleyev, the guy who created the table of elements, passed away.

They'd just invited the first photocopier. Airplanes didn't exist yet. Let me repeat: AIRPLANES DID NOT EXIST. In fact, the term was coined in 1907.

Think back to your "modern" history class. Most of it took place in her lifetime. What a wonderful time it must have been to live! So many amazing discoveries to experience! So much to learn about and so many new places to explore!

I'm sure there is a lot my friend's grandma still could have taught me, and everyone else in my generation. She had strong opinions and values, but she seemed to be an extremely loving, warm, accepting, intelligent, life-long learner.

From my friend's stories, his grandma and I seemed to be kindred spirits. We both understood the importance of always smiling and learning to laugh. Of counting our blessings and being thankful for them too. Of appreciating the people around us and helping them in any way possible. And especially, the importance of loving, because love is the greatest blessing any one of us can bestow.

Most importantly, my friend's grandma taught me the difference between being lucky and being fortunate. Most of the times we say "I'm lucky" what we really mean is "I'm fortunate". What's the difference? You've got to work for the latter. The only time you're lucky is when winning the lottery, she used to scold him. Being at the right place at the right time for that job opportunity? That's called being fortunate that all your hard work finally paid off. Having someone to take care of you when you're sick? Yeah, you're not lucky to have them in your life, but fortunate.

It may seem like a subtle difference, but this difference is of the utmost importance. And learning to use the right word means you've learned to appreciate everything you have, to recognize that you are in control of your own destiny, and are thankful for your blessings.

That's what over a century of life teaches you.

I am fortunate to have known my friend's grandma, and I am even more fortunate that mine is still around to teach me life lessons like these. She may not be 104, but she's still got loads to share!

*** RIP Elsie Maddock, 1906-2011 ***

On grieving

It surprises me that I still grieve for my friend's mom. Sure, we had a close relationship at one time, but not in the past few years. Kristin Walker passed away one week ago, peacefully, surrounded by 15 family members in a palliative care unit. After her third (I think?) bout with breast cancer, she couldn't fight anymore. It had metastesized over the years, slowly attacking her major organs. Liver. Lungs. Brain. One by one, they fell.

Kristin was more than my friend's mom. She was my ex-boyfriend's mom, and so, a surrogate mom for me, at one point in my life. I spent a considerable amount of time in her home and knew her family and loved ones very well. At one point, they were my friends and family too. In her last week, they tried to contact me. My Facebook issues made that very difficult. My ex, as usual, was not very forthcoming with information. To be fair, he had other things on his mind. He emailed me with the news on Sunday. His family didn't know I had finally been reached.

I should have known something was going on. I should have trusted my instincts. In the past few weeks, I kept feeling like I should call him, or at least text or email to see what was going on in his life. I kept putting it off. I dread awkward conversations. Many do. But I should have known. I should have listened to my pestering inner voice instead of not so subconsciously forgetting to follow through.

I wish I had gotten to say goodbye. It pains me to know that I was wanted and couldn't be there. Especially since I was only 20 minutes away by car, having gone home for an Easter visit. I wish I had known. I wish I could have wordlessly touched her hand and transferred some of my positive energy to her. Just in case it would have made a difference.

The funny thing is that I had been thinking of her all weekend. The first time I met Kristin was at a family Easter brunch. My first encounter with the Walkers. I remember it well. I remember the exact table we sat at in the restaurant, the way she looked at me. I remember her hair. I remember stressing over what to wear. I remember what I wore and I remember the warmth. The funny thing is that memory kept coming back to me. Now Easter will always be a time to remember her, even moreso than before.

I wish I could have stayed for the funeral. I wish I could have been at the wake. Because of the distance, I couldn't even bake. I ordered from a local bakery and a nearby friend - an angel - delivered them instead. She described Kristin's mom's reaction to me later over Twitter. No one should have to bury their child, no matter how young or how old. That's not the way life's energy is supposed to flow. We're supposed to grow.

It all comes back to the same place, I suppose. Kristin's life impacted that of everyone she encountered. That's just the way she was. She was a wild spirit and though everyone has their faults, she was rarely malicious. Manipulative, perhaps, but all strong spirits are. That's what makes them so feisty, so full of fire. That's what makes them who they are.

It's fitting that Kristin's wake should have taken place on the day of the Royal Wedding. She would have loved to watch it, in her pyjamas in her living room, or perhaps even in bed. She probably would have called a bunch of her friends as she watched. Gossiping. Gasping. Giggling.

Instead, all her friends came to watch her. At least she isn't suffering anymore, that much we know. At least she's not worrying anymore, she doesn't have to know. It was her time to go. And in a few weeks, we will party in her honour once more, celebrating her life, marking her death, and sharing memories that will help her live on forever in our hearts, in our heads.

Kristin, you were loved. And you will be missed.