This Makes it 15 Years

It still doesn't make sense to me. How can I have lived - how did I survive? How did I manage to keep my body moving all these years with a broken heart? July 2nd is the anniversary of my mama's passing. This year makes it 15 years. Half of my lifetime. For my brother and sister, it's been most of their lives. Devin was 6 and Chandler was turning 5 a few months after our mama went to heaven. I'm still not sure which of us got the worst deal. I know what I'm missing. So does Devin. Chandler has very few memories since she was so young. I try my best to share stories with her so she knows how special our mama was - not that it's a big secret ;)

Usually I write a long post of remembrance, but this year I want to make things a bit brighter. Here's a picture of my mama and my cousin Kathy in a kiddie pool in the summer of 1965. Look at that innocent grin and that crazy blonde hair. Being the youngest of six children, mama was an auntie by the time she was four years old. Crazy, eh?

July 1965, Toronto

Just like last year, I'm asking for a teensy favour of my sweet readers. This weekend when you're celebrating our country's birth (for the canucks anyways), look up at the stars and gaze in awe at the fireworks and if you could send a little smile to my mama up there, I'd be forever grateful. I also know that mama (or Mina as she was called by her big brothers, big sisters, nieces, nephews and parents) would thinks it's pretty rad.

This Makes Me Proud

After a gloriously sunny Canada Day long weekend it's back to the regular grind for Major Gal. I've got some great memories to share from a wonderful weekend in Toronto. The city celebrated Pride and the celebrations came to a close yesterday, with the annual Pride Parade. This is actually a great way to shift into something I've been wanting to share with you guys for quite a while, but haven't known how to start.

I've always been open about my family and how lucky I am to be the older sister to three younger sisters. A few months ago my sister Chelsea came to me to say that she'd never felt like she was in the right body. Chelsea is now Devin - he's transitioning from female to male. I have a brother. This weekend I met Devin and his boyfriend Tyler at the trans events Friday night. I was happy that Devin wanted me to be a part of his celebrations. I brought my sweetheart friend Julie and we all danced outside with huge smiles on our faces.

I've always seen everyone as equal. Working downtown as a single, gorgeous young woman, my mom was always surrounded by creative people - not all of whom were straight. I learned at an early age that some boys like girls, some boys like boys, some girls like boys and some girls like girls and some people like everybody. I grew up promising myself that if my children ever came to me with questions about their sexuality that I would be open, welcoming and loving no matter what. Love is the most important thing. I accept everyone as they are. When Chelsea came out just before she turned 15 I was shocked, but I was supportive. At 15 I knew that I liked boys so I didn't think she was mistaken or just trying to get attention. She could tell what kind of feelings she had and she knew who they were directed at. I told her that if later she figured out that she wasn't a lesbian, it's okay to change her mind. I didn't want her to think that in telling people she was gay, she was stuck with a label. Our dad is really great because he has the biggest heart. He has always wanted us to have love - he doesn't care who we love. Okay well, there was that one older guy I dated when I was 16 that my dad threatened after I broke up with him, but otherwise my dad is very accepting! And I never heard from that guy again LOL!

When Devin told me he was becoming a man it brought up feelings I didn't know I could feel. I felt like a hypocrite. I was always so accepting, but this had never happened to anyone I knew and now it was happening to my little sister. I mourned my sister. There was an entire life of Chelsea Eileen that I felt like I had to erase now that Chelsea was living as Devin. I'm usually pretty good at holding it together, but this was entirely new for me. Devin is still the same person and I'm still learning. For example, when I refer to Devin as a young child, am I supposed to say "Devin" or "Chelsea?" He's Devin now, but he was Chelsea for 21 years. It's a learning process and I'm not perfect. I slip up on pronouns, but I'm trying really hard to be exactly the same sister I was before: loving, supportive and protective. I don't imagine Devin's journey will be without bumps, but I'll be here every step of the way.

Before my mom died a friend of ours wrote her a letter about a dream she had. In the letter she said that our family was on the beach. Jesus walked over to meet us. He bent down and picked my sisters up in his arms. They were laughing and smiling. He walked back and picked up my dad and then carried him to where my sisters were waiting. When he got back to me, he held my hand and walked beside me. It wasn't my dream but I can see it all so clearly in my mind. I think about that letter all the time. Cindy, the woman who wrote my mom the letter said she didn't know what any of it meant. My mom was in the hospital when she showed me the letter and she asked, "Well, do you know what it means to me?" I told her I didn't understand. She looked at me with her sweet blue eyes and said, "You're going to be the strong one. You're not going to need anyone to carry you through this."

Initially, I was heartbroken over Devin's decision and I had so much guilt over what that said about me. Was I homophobic? Was I a complete hypocrite always talking about equal rights but not wanting any of it to apply to my personal life? Was I a close-minded asshole? I always believed that people can honestly feel they are born into the wrong bodies. I don't think it's an illness or mental disorder, but I also don't believe God makes mistakes. It was tough for me. Just like I'll never fully accept that my mother died so young, I'll never be at ease with Devin being born in the wrong body. Why did he have to go through so many years feeling like he had a secret and not knowing why he was never really happy? Didn't he deserve happiness from the beginning? Shouldn't he have been a boy from conception?

I had so many emotions and was so confused over who I would share the news with. I wasn't keeping a secret, but I was respecting Devin's privacy. He wasn't fully out at that point and I really needed to understand how I was feeling. I didn't want to talk to people about it because I was afraid that some of the people I trust most in the world would judge my brother and therefore make me really angry with them. I don't think it was a "decision" with consequences, just like I don't think people choose to be gay.

When Devin told me I just cried. And cried. But this isn't about me. This is about my brother and how freggin' proud I am of him. Of being who he knows he is. Of showing such bravery in his job. Of having faith that our family will accept him (shit, even I'm scared that some of them will be jerks about it). Initially though, I had a really hard time with the news and that made me feel even worse.

I was shocked. I was sad. I was scared. Scared of what transitioning meant for Devin. Scared of what our family would say. Scared that maybe he was rushing into things. Scared that I was losing part of my identity. Nothing about me would change as a result of my brother's sexual identity or orientation, but suddenly I didn't have three sisters. I had two sisters and a brother. I know it's such a small thing, but it opened up a world of emotional pain for me. This will never be my journey. I will never know how hard it is for Devin to go through hormone therapy and begin puberty at 21 AGAIN. I won't know what it's like to avoid using public washrooms because it's not as simple as using the ladies' room anymore. I don't know what it's like to hand over your identification to the clerk at the LCBO and get looks of judgement because you have a girl's name and look like a boy. My brother makes me proud.

I'm a straight woman. I enjoy some freedoms others don't and I walk through life pretty easily. I'm very proud of my family. Of who we are all and how we're living honest lives. The bravery my brother has has shown me that he's grown so much and I don't always need to protect him. Devin was in kindergarten when our mom died, and I've always been very protective of my siblings. I would honestly give up my life for any one of them. I used to wonder how I could love my own kids more one day because I feel like my heart is so full where Jenna, Devin and Chandler are. I know there's infinite space in my heart though and I'll grow as much as I need to keep giving love to those around me. I love easily and I love in the biggest way possible. If I let people in, it's because I truly believe they deserve a spot in my heart.

This weekend I saw a city open its arms to so many beautiful people. I saw fireworks in celebration of this amazing country's birthday. I saw my brother surrounded by people who accept everything about him without even knowing his name or his story. I'm proud of all of this and Devin, I'm really proud of you.

Here's a picture of all three of the pups on my balcony yesterday. Aren't they adorable? I'm also a proud single fur mama and fur auntie :)

This Will Be 14 Years

You know, it's funny. I don't usually sit at my desk struggling for something to write, but I've started this some post a few times already. If you've been following me for more than a year, you might remember that I usually write about my mama around Canada Day. That's because she passed away on July 2nd, 1997. It still doesn't seem real to me sometimes. I'm guessing it never will.

I'm not sure what I can say about my gorgeous mother that I haven't already. She was too young. She didn't deserve to die. She should still be here. All the cliches apply and I've said them hundreds of times. I believe everything happens for a reason and that we're only given what we can handle in life. So, losing my mom at 15 was part of His plan. Sometimes plans really suck and generally, I love plans. I've got some questions when I get to heaven - I can tell ya that much.

Tonight I'm visiting my oldest and bestest friend, Meaghan. We're gonna sit on her porch swing, rocking back and forth and laughing while her hubby puts the baby to sleep. The summer my mom died, Meaghan didn't really ever leave my side. Megs, if I've never told you how important that was to me back then, here is my thanks. Many years have passed, but I haven't forgotten how wonderful you were during one of the worst times of my life. LYLAS.

I don't know if Canada Day will ever become one of those happy weekends for me again. Fireworks are beautiful. BBQs with friends and family are fantastic. Celebrating this wonderful country fills me with pride, but all the while I'm thinking about my mom and where I was at this time 14 years ago.

She's been gone for more than half my life now. Hardly seems possible. She's still such a huge part of things in my family. We all talk about her, laugh when we remember the good stuff and try to focus on the positives and not the negatives. When Kate showed my Aunt Dolly the sonogram of Lily, my aunt said, "She has Mina's nose. Look. She has that ski-jump nose just like Mina." She's still here. Maybe my aunt was seeing that facial characteristic because she wanted to and maybe, Lily really does take after her great aunt...wow...I never thought about it, but my mom would have been a great aunt by now. I guess a lot happens in 14 years. I've grown. My family has changed and expanded but one thing that remains is the place in our hearts where my mom will always be.

When you're out this weekend celebrating with your friends and families, think about how lucky you are to live in such a fantastic country, surrounded by people you love. You're blessed. And if you're watching the fireworks, say hi to my mama when the really bright lights cascade down through the night sky. I know she'd be thrilled.

Forever Mama xoxo

This Anniversary

I'm at my desk right now thinking about where I was on this day 12 years ago. I was in denial, that much I know for sure, but otherwise the details are fuzzy. July 1st, 1997 was the last Canada Day I've celebrated while my mom was alive. She died of cancer the next morning. So, when I see fireworks in celebration of our wonderful country's birth, I remember how angry I was at 15 on Canada Day.

No longer able to speak, with a glaze over her eyes and spastic movements that I'll never forget, I walked into my mom's hospital room on July 1st and saw her alive for the last time. Creeping into the crowded room - my mom was the youngest of six siblings -I reached her hospital bed in the palliative care unit and she reached out her skinny arms to me. She wasn't able to look at me because she no longer had control over her eyes or voice, but she knew I was there and I will never forget how small her hands looked as they clutched my arm.

Moving closer to my gorgeous mother, I told her not to go anywhere without me. "I know it's getting really hard now Mom, but don't leave without me. When it's time, I want to be here." Without saying anything, she pulled me closer and one of my aunts said, "See Crys? She knows you're here." Thinking of that night still tears me apart. She was no longer my strong, funny, beautiful mom. She was a shell of the vibrant 37 year old mother of three she had been less than a year earlier. Her thick hair was gone. Her blue eyes gazed into the middle of the room without focusing on anything. Her once shapely body had melted away and she looked like a little girl in her hospital bed. It broke my heart and I don't think that pain will ever go away.

I spent that night on the couch in the waiting room. When I woke up the next morning, I went back into my mom's room and told her that if she was ready, I had to know because I had to be there. My dad drove me home at 6am. Took me to McDonald's on the way and I ordered my first coffee. It's funny the things you remember. I still love McDonald's coffee actually. After dropping me off at home, my dad went back to the hospital. Two hours later, I woke up to see my Aunt Sharon, Aunt Linda and Dad standing at the door of my bedroom. I knew.

FUCK! Why didn't anyone come get me? I was so pissed. My Aunt Sharon walked over to me and bent down to wrap her arms around me. "She's gone baby." I didn't cry. I said okay and got out of bed. I picked up the phone when my family had left the room and called my best friend. "Hi, is Meaghan there?" I whispered to her older brother, Ryan when he answered the phone at 9am. I had woken him up. He knew it was me and he knew why I was calling.

Meaghan spent the next few days by my side. She rode in the limo to the church for my mom's funeral Saturday morning with my family. She cried before I did. It took me over two days to release a single tear. I couldn't believe it had happened. Sometimes I still don't believe it has happened. How can I be living without my mother? It will never make sense to me. I will never understand why she died so young. Why after a terrible divorce from my father, she couldn't have been given an easier path. Instead, she got small cell lung cancer which had spread to her liver and brain and had to leave me and my two little sisters to grow up without her.

The radiation was pointless. The chemo was torture and from October 1996 to July 1997I desperately hoped her fate wasn't destined to be what I hated to admit it was. My wonderful, beautiful, smart, hard-working and accomplished mother was not supposed to die of cancer. Cancer was for other people. Older people. Bad people. Not her.

Tomorrow will be the 12 year anniversary of my mom's passing. When she died I thought, "one day she'll have been gone for ten years, but that can never happen because I can't live without her for that long. That day can never come." Ten years have come and gone and now it's been 12 years. Twelve entire years without my mother. Twelve years of growing, changes, new music, new adventures, broken hearts, lonely Christmases, grades completed and 12 years of wishing it had all gone differently. I'd give anything to have my mom back. I know it's a cliche, but it's the truth.

I don't think I'll ever stop wondering how my life would be if she were still here. Lately, I've wondered what she would say about the boy, what she would think about my career, what she would have done when our basement flooded last night, how she would have handled my little sister's struggles and how I would be different if she were still alive. I won't have the answers until we meet again someday and I'm okay with that now. It took me a long time to realize that the loneliness I feel where my mother is missing can find me in the biggest crowds. This loneliness doesn't paralyze me because I'm alone, but because she's the one person I really wish was still here. That will never change for me, but I am strong enough to wait for that day because it will come and when it does, it will be like not a second has passed. We'll catch up right where we left off because she'll will have been watching my life unfold down here while she enjoys a better life amongst the angels and clouds.

You never stop missing your mom. The violet cancer awareness ribbon tattoo on my right hip is a reminder of her fight. Patricia Evelyn Lewis Fitzpatrick March 19, 1960- July 2, 1997. Forever and ever Mama. <3