My Interrupted Fairy Tale

Birthdays Shouldn't Be Spent Angry.

2012-02-11T17:47:00.000-08:00

I’ve been told that one of the “stages” of grieving is anger. I never got that. I didn’t understand what there was to be angry about. Why, if you’ve given everything you had and have no regrets - why would I be angry?

I didn’t get it. But now I do.

On a long(er) run this afternoon - (two bridges: West Van to Kits) I had Pearl Jam turned up as loud as I could (to a decible I believe wouldn't cause damage) trying to listen to the music, and not my own thoughts.

No luck. The louder the music, the louder my thoughts.

I started listing off all the things I’m upset about; all the situations and events I have been pretending don’t bother me but do. As my cheeks became wet with tears I couldn’t figure out why every thought that seeped into my head was negative. “What am I so mad about?”

I’m mad that I’m in the hospital again. I’m mad that I have seen words like “rejection” become a reality. I hate that I know how waiting for tests results can make a family feel vulnerable. I hate that CANCER is a word we hold our breath for. I’m disapointed that promises were made, and then broken and that people left as quickly as they came.

I hate that I’ve watched people wait for second chances; get them, and then need a third. How much proof is needed to show they want to survive?

I’m hate that I don’t get to go to Milestones for Bellini’s with Eva again. I’m mad that when I run into Eva’s family I’m reminded that they’ve lost their daughter and their lives will never be the same.

I’m mad that six years of hospitals, tests, transplants and illness continue to paint worry and fear on my Mom and brothers faces. I don’t like that I have to spend money on fancy face creams to get rid of any lines I have because of the same thing.

I’m mad that we’ve been told Dad will need a second hip replacement. I’m mad at the time he'll need to recover. I’m tired of watching the people I love be patients. I’m tired of being patient.

I love the my in-laws and the time I spend with them but I’m really mad Chad and I don’t get to enjoy them together anymore.

And today, what I’m most upset about is that Chad didn’t get to a chance to celebrate his 37th birthday.

______

I’m so sorry Chad - being angry is no way to celebrate a birthday. It’s a terrible waste of energy being mad at things out of my control. I haven’t felt like this before and these feelings hit me totally unexpectedly...I think I’ve broken.

That being said, now that I’ve gotten some of it off my chest I’m already feeling better. I’m sure in an hour or so, I’ll have put myself back together like Humpty Dumpty... again.

I hope to feel you soon. Happy birthday my love. xo

The Waiting Game

2012-02-10T13:24:00.001-08:00

For anyone who has ever spent time as a patient or with a patient in the hospital (or with anyone very sick for that matter), you know how much time is slowly passed waiting.

Thats where we are now. Waiting for tests, waiting for doctors, waiting for results. The familiar rest, test, repeat agenda.

The good news is they are now trying to narrow down what bacteria is in Dads blood and what specific antibiotic to treat it with. There's other stuff too, but thats the main thing.

The other good news is that his echocardiogram came back with "looks good" results and his kidney function seems to be kicking in again (the finicky little bastards that they are).

The bad news - he's still in there and will likely be boxed between those pale blue walls for a while.

I'm finding it hard to acknowledge how sick he is. It seems like he doesn't need to be there. When we chat, it's as though we're on the couches at home having sharp, cognitive conversation.

But its when he tries to move and quickly becomes short of breath or when he gets up, needs to hold our hands - thats when my "So why are you in here again?" thoughts are thrown quickly back into reality.

I'm ready for his body to get better and match his healthy head. I'm ready for this little scare to stop reminding me of how valuable time and health is, and this whole sickness and hospital crap to be over.

I'm ready for my Dad to be home.

But I know better. No matter how badly we want this to be over, and how badly we want him home...The only thing we can do is wait.

Shit.

2012-02-08T22:42:00.001-08:00

This morning my alarm was set for 8:12am. With five minutes slumber left, my phone started vibrating on my bedside table at 8:07 call displaying, "Mom".

Ah Shit. I know why she's calling.

"Morning."

"Morning Cutes."

"Whats going on?"

"Dad's in the hospital."

I knew it. There's no other reason Mom would call me this early unless it's about something important. I had a bit of a heads up yesterday when she told me that she was hoping Dad would start to feel better and she wouldn't have to take him to emergency to ease his join pain and fever. I just didn't want to pick up and have my assumption confirmed.

Ever since his hip replacement two and a half years ago, Dad gets these inexplainable isolated irritations near his hip. I'm not sure which comes first - the irritation and then the fever and flu or the fever and flu, then the irritation. Either way, it happens and his surgeon, and doctors don't have an explanation for it.

This past week was another unexplained flare-up. However, this time is different because he hasn't recovered in the four day period he "normally" has...he's gotten worse. So, as Mom explained to me when I got to emergency this afternoon, they came in last night because Dad was barely able to walk, in pain and shaking (an image I hope I never have to see for myself. My Dad is unshakeable).

Several doctor visits and test results later, it's being investigated as a bacterial infection...from where, they don't know yet...that's gotten into his blood. The stupid thing about bacteria infections in your blood is that it has the potential to get into your heart, kidneys, liver etc. and cause damage.

Now we're out of emergency and back up on "5-North" (Mom was on "5-South" last year) where they can keep his antibiotics dripping and test orders coming.

So tonight we'll end our day, as we have many unfortunate days before, by trying to get a good nights sleep and be ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

A Blended Christmas: The Best Kind.

2011-12-24T15:58:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas Chaddy!

I hope you're enjoying the heat of a beach somewhere this weekend. Here, it's been raining all day but the sun's come out which makes me think you've got your shirt off and raquet swinging somewhere nearby sharing the sun with us.

Incase you've been busy - I wanted to let you know, I've had a really really fun Christmas season. (Starting, November 1st.)

Brad picked out a little real tree to put in the corner of our living room and hung lights on the balcony. But, I think you already know that, because as he was doing it, I felt you - both envious that you weren't doing it for me, yet thankful that someone was.

Mom and Dad's winter solstice party was so much fun, probably one of the best since you were here. I brought Patron from you and I for all the usuals to enjoy. And let me tell you, it was enjoyed and it was no place for a sober person (I don't know how you did it so many years).

My favourite part of the season thus far...and perhaps my favourite thing to have happened all year was when I picked up the phone to hear Matt tell me that he and Laura were engaged. Did you see that?!? Isn't it so awesome Chaddy!? I'm so so so so excited for them and hope more than I can express that you know. I hope you know. You've got to. You must want to give Laura such a big hug and Matt a big hand shake and congratulatory smack in the balls so badly!

I won't be able to er...touch them the same way you can but if you haven't already told them how happy you are, next time I feel you around, I promise to pass along the message.

This morning I woke up remembering how you and I used to wake up Christmas Eve together...your little who-ville tree propped up on a table in the corner of the room somewhere with a few special gifts tucked underneath. I wondered what Christmas would be like with you and I now, then I realized, it would probably be exactly as it will be this year.

Jen, Bill, Ben, Lauren, your Mom and Dad are coming to Cassa de Williams for Christmas Day dinner. We're all so excited. Brad will be here too - and even though we'll all be eating together; our wonderful, blended, accepting families - your spot at the table will always be missed, but never filled.

It goes without saying (but I'll say it anyways) how much I miss you and wish you were here. I'm sure you're wishing you could be here as well; but I have a feeling you're content where you are, spending Christmas as you loved it - warm and close to the sun.

So Merry Christmas Chaddy. Thank you for being the reason our families are coming together. Christmas is sad without you - but with them it will be wonderful.

I love you.

Boobie.

Thanks For Sticking Around

2011-11-28T09:34:00.000-08:00

It's been two years since Chad's been gone and I remember Saturday, November 28th, 2009 like it was two days ago.

I miss Chad everyday. I think of him several times a day. I wonder how much he knows about my life or if he knows anything at all. I think about what our life was like together and what the life we were building together is like now. I think of all the changes that have happened and everything that has stayed the same. I think I think I think.

November isn't an easy month for thinking - especially this last week. It's hard not to replay the events of 2009 over and over in my head. All the details that stay dormant throughout the year start popping their little grey heads again. I think of the last day more than I usually do and I think of saying goodbye.

However, admits the thoughts of 2009 hospital rooms, hand squeezes and unbearable discomfort, I've also been thinking about the people who have gotten me through the last two years.

Before and after Chad died, the support of people around (virtually and physically) has been incredible. I felt I could fall back into a sea of people and feel confident I'd be softly caught. But, naturally as time goes on that number of people available (or prepared) to catch you, hold you and rest your feet on the ground becomes less.

As Chad said (and I hate that he's right AGAIN), "Life doesn't stop once you're dead. Life goes on." In two years, I've seen his theory become a reality. Some people made promises that they'd be around for the long haul, yet they've drifted the furthest away. Some people never made promises and have been closer than I could have ever asked them to be.

I am so indebted to those who have stayed around. Those stuck it out in the bad times and have stayed for the good.

I'm thankful for my in-laws. Chad's "Parentals" (as they were listed in his phone) have left their front door open for me every week since 2009. Without judgement they listen to me cry as often as they listen to me laugh and are as much apart of my weekly routine as I am of theirs. There are so many different ways our family situation could have played out and I couldn't be more thankful for how ours has evolved.

I have a sister (in-law) who makes an effort to stay in touch while living a province away. Whether its a giggle-fest Skype call with her, Ben and Lauren or a tearful, memory filled conversation just the two of us - she's around, and similar to her parents, our relationship could have dwindled without Chad to keep us together but it's gotten better with time.

My closest friends from far away, Devora, Xtina, Mesi, Lena, Inga, Lizzy, Alyssa, Cami and Kelli who make it clear in their subtle texts and Facebook messages that they've got their eyes on me and ready whenever, if ever, I need a call.

I have Chad's brothers who have taken me on as their sister - Jesse, Bren and Justin. We don't to talk often but I know I'm under their protective wing, making sure their boy's girl is taken care of.

Chad's tennis and poker friends have continued to invite me to their nights together as they did when I was Chad's plus one. They are such loyal friends to Chad and have extended that same friendship to me; although I never mention it, their effort to include me never goes unnoticed.

There are new friends who I run, brunch, work and cocktail with, who listen to my stories of life with Chad without ever having met the man who is the source of countless conversations. Through calories burned or calories consumed, they participate in each conversation intently; regardless whether or not my blabbing makes sense.

My family. Two years ago they lost their son, brother, cousin and nephew in-law . I know they hurt, I know they remember time spent together, dinners on the back deck, Chads favourite foods and what kind of car he'd suggest they buy - yet if I'm missing him, if I'm needing a Mom-hug, they harbour their tears and embrace mine.

The Bubble has been my pillar; before Chad and after. They are all strong and provide structure to life as I knew/know it. We all have moments when tears drop, random memories are shared and sentences are interrupted with, "If Chad were here." And when someone needs a rest from standing strong, the Bubble will relieve them without judgement. Gratitude is the best word that comes to mind.

Brad. 18 months ago, he seamlessly joined my life. He filled the cavity in my chest with love I never thought I'd have again. He has understood the fragility of the Bubble and the Warren-Williams family dynamics and embraced them as part of his own life. He has willingly taken on my tears, stories and life, offering unconditional acceptance of Chad and I - prepared to continue a fairy tale that was once interrupted.

As I finish writing, I've had a warmth wash over me and a feeling of Chad making sure I say thank you from him. Thank you for sticking around, for not going anywhere when life got bad and staying around to celebrate when life has been good. Thank you from Chad and thank you from me.

If everyone had friendships and family like the ones I have been so fortunate to have, happiness would be far less difficult to come by.

Why didn't you pick up?

2011-10-15T16:56:00.000-07:00

Hey Chad,

Remember how I used to tell you that when I went on runs I came back loving you more than when I left? Well, that hasn't changed; I still think about you lots when I'm exercising and today was no exception.

Its a super nice fall day out so I rode from New West to our house and started thinking of you. What was different about this time was for the first time since you left I thought to myself, "Awe, I should give Chad a call and see how he's doing."

I even thought to click my headset and say, "Call Chad."

It was probably less than a split second that I perked up at the idea of calling you but the realization afterwards made me sad. Really sad.

I'm really sad I can't call you and see how you are doing.

Hope to talk to you soon.
xo Your lady ox

Live Slow

2011-09-01T16:45:00.000-07:00

I want to live slower.

This summer has blown by and I've loved every second of it - every second I can remember that is. Summer weeks have been running into one another, to-dos getting squeezed in-between different activities and way, way too little down time. How did Monday become Friday and Friday become Wednesday already?

When it started I don't know, but sometime during the past few months, I've picked up speed - a pace I'M barely comfortable with. I could blame it on work, summer social agendas, or the obvious, "There just aren't enough hours in a day." But there really aren't any excuses; I chose to be busy, I chose how much I pile into a day.

Looking back, I realize I've associated being "busy" with being "productive" when in fact, they are often are opposite to one another. Being busy doesn't always make me productive and just because I move quickly, doesn't mean I get anywhere faster.

After another Sunday afternoon busy with plans and seeing JJ mimic Chad's swagger I remembered the pace Chad (and I) used to keep. Whether he was healthy or working to be healthy Chad moved slowly...or as he would refer, "chillen." I guess it wasn't THAT slow, but the time I thought I would evolve into a turtle. We'd take long hours on Saturday morning to make breakfast and then make our way to Ambleside for a lazy afternoon hit. Two activities a day! Are you kidding me! Speed up!

I have since sped up and now long for days of doing nothing. Days when I'm not bored, not restless, simply moving a slightly slower that my usual pace. I want to take the time to lay on the couch and do nothing. I want to take a walk because it's nice out not because I need exercise and I want to drive the long way, because I don't have anywhere else to be.

What's really weird is that sometimes I miss the hospital. I don't miss the illness part but I miss how slowly time goes when you're sitting in those poorly lit rooms. In those rooms, there were no obligations, nowhere else to be, no text messages or emails that took priority over the people in front of you and the silence never needed to be filled. Time was precious and that's how we treated it.

When my friend Lizzy's Dad was sick, she called to tell me about a phrase she read on a t-shirt while in Jamaica; she said I would appreciate it knowing how her father and Chad lived out their lives. The phrase has stuck with me ever since and has surfaced again as I try and slow my life down.

It said, "Sail Fast. Live Slow."

And that's exactly what I want to do.

Hey Coach.

2011-06-26T20:46:00.000-07:00

Hi Chad,

I've been thinking a lot about you lately...a lot a lot. Not that I don't think of you often anyways but lately you're in my brain more than usual.

How are you? It's summer season in Vancouver, or in other words - its your season. I see so many things that remind me of you. During the spring, I'd see guys with hoodies on and think it was you but now that the heat is here I see guys in the distance who have a flip-flop swagger like you or have cut their hair so short you can see their receding hair lines. (Hehe). I see them in their white shirts and neutral coloured board shorts and think of your summer wardrobe.

With the weather being so nice, I wish I could still be your passenger in your TT convertible. I even wouldn't mind it if my hair got destroyed as you smoothly moved through the gears on your paddle shifter. I'd just slip on my shades and let you cruise us to your parents house for lunch, my parents house for a BBQ or out to UBC to play tennis with JJ.

I played tennis with JJ the other day. You'd be so proud of all the work he's doing with his new job - it seems like he's making everything you and he dreamt of in an 'ideal tennis centre' world come true. He talked about you and although he prefaces his conversation about you with, "I don't want to make you sad but..." I know he thinks about you more than he lets on.

I played pretty well actually. It's my second time out this summer; the first was a warm Saturday morning with Sinzy. I left my hit with her feeling pretty crappy and it took me awhile to figure out why (other than the obvious - I suck.) I realized how much I'm going to miss playing tennis with you. I've thought about not playing with you before but this time really made me sad.

You were such a dick sometimes. You'd get frustrated that I wouldn't bend my knees or that I'd drop my racket head too soon. I hated hearing the same things over and over from you and even more, I hated that no matter how many times you told me to rotate my body and swing through my stroke, I just couldn't get it often enough to feel comfortable. I didn't always like that you'd tell me how to play or the things I needed to work on - but after my hit with Sinzy I realized how much I'm going to miss your coaching.

Nobody is going to be as hard on me as you were - but nobody is going to care about my tennis as much as you did either. Who is going to help me get better even if I don't want to? Who is going to let me pout on the court give me a pep talk on the bench, then feed perfect forehands when I try again? I'm a head case out there and as much as you contributed to it sometimes, you were the solution as well.

Im really really going to miss our hits...and Im really going to miss another summer without you here.

I miss you - all the time and hope you're getting a good hit wherever you are.

Love, Love. (Get it? LOVE? Tennis? LOVE. Hehe. Funny me.)

Yours. xo

That didn't feel very good.

2011-05-02T21:02:00.000-07:00

So it looks like Boston will have to wait for another year.

Yesterday's marathon was a far stretch from the 3hrs:40mins I was hoping for. However, ask me at 14km's if I thought I was going to make it and I would have said, you bet your blisters I will.

Ask Laura what I said when she met me at 15km's - I'm not sure about this anymore.

Then, ask my Dad what I said when he met me on his bike around 23km's - I don't think I'm going to make it. It feels like my legs are locked.

Somewhere between that smooth, solid pace at 14kms and 15.5km's the muscles in my quads felt like they glued themselves together in to one big lump. So...from there on out, I ran the remaining 26.7km's at a very slow, barely steady pace. Same speed uphill, same speed downhill. Ugh.

I crossed the finish line at 4hrs:06ish minutes. I say 'ish' because when I looked down at my shoes once I was done, my timing chip was gone. I have no idea where or when it fell off, so I will have to assume the time on my watch was close enough. Yea, it's a bit of a drag but all things considered it's not that big of a deal. Had I had a Boston qualifying time and lost my timing chip, I would have been pissed.

I'm pretty disappointed I didn't get what I wanted out of yesterday's race. I keep asking myself, "If I didn't get the time I wanted, then what the hell was the point in running all that way?!" But, what's done is done and I'm trying to separate the disappointment in my time from the understanding that I ran as fast as my body could go and there isn't anything I could have done otherwise.

Crossing the finish line yesterday felt like a far bigger accomplishment than it did last year. Last year, my ignorance of the distance pulled me through the 42.2km's unharmed and unaware of what I had just done. I finished, felt good, chatted to Christy and went for brunch. This year, once I felt my legs tighten all I could think about was getting to the end without stopping. I managed to not stop and the relief once I finished was as though I had walked barefoot through the Sahara, twice, and finally made it to water....then, like a baby I sobbed tears of fatigue on Brad's shoulder and realized it took me so long that I had missed brunch. Brutal.

It's a strange thing this marathon business. It's a ridiculously far way to run only to feel like you have the flu when you're finished. However, no matter how much complaining I do, no matter how much discomfort I was in - I had the best fan club I could ever ask for.

Thank you Dad, for riding beside me and talking to me even though I couldn't hear anything over my iPod's music. Thank you Laura, for running your injured self with me encouraging me to catch different people ahead, just like Chad did. Thank you Matt for waking up early enough to cycle across the bridges to cheer me on. Thank you Brad for running ahead of me, shouting "Common Williams" while pretending you weren't sucking air as hard as I was. And thank you Mom, for being the face I needed to see at the finish line.

With the support I felt from you all, time doesn't mean anything.

Distance and Time

2011-04-30T17:43:00.000-07:00

Unlike last year's bizarre decision to run the BMO Vancouver International Marathon without training, this year I've decided to practice. Encouraged by my time last year of 3hrs:43mins I figure with a little bit of training I can shave a few minutes off and qualify for the Boston and London marathons next spring with a hopeful time under 3hrs:40mins.

I used to go on runs to clear my head. Let my endorphins kick in, make my energy spike and anything weighing on my mind would seem to drip away with the sweat. Not anymore. Lately, for some unknown reason the more I've been running and the longer the distance I travel, the more my head fills up.

Chad is on my runs.

Most runs seem to follow a particular pattern. The first 10kms: random thoughts, what do I have to do later? I'd like a coke, coke would be good. So would a smoothie. I love smoothies. Something with banana's and strawberries. I should do laundry later. I hate doing laundry. I almost have to pee. Should I stop now or stop when I actually have to. I can't believe it's only been 10kms. Good song on this play list.

After 10kms, the thoughts start to shift: Chad and I rode our bikes around here. That was so fun. He looked goofy swerving all over the place. I wonder if he could run, if he'd run with me right now. Once in awhile, I'll feel him join in for a jog beside me. He's never there for long, just long enough for me to feel he's there. I liked when he used to talk about getting a bike so he could ride beside me and so he could, "keep up with me." I wonder if there is a water fountain anywhere around here. I can't believe it's only been 15kms and I have another 15 to go. I shouldn't complain - my heart and body are healthy enough that I can run and lots of people would love to be able to do what I'm voluntarily doing right now. I wont complain. Ugh. I'm so tired of this effing play list.

Now we hit the 20km mark: I'm tired, I'm bored and lonely. My thoughts shift from the fun, energetic memories of Chad and I to ones that I don't think of very often. The dark memories of him in the hospital, him hooked up and heart racing. How weak he looked at different points, the yellow and blue circles around his sunken beautiful hazel eyes. I remember how he'd look at me while sucking air through a breathing mask. How his backbones stuck out on his muscular frame after transplant. How he'd patiently and calmly listen to doctors deliver bad news, nodding with understanding. Then, as I'm running through these memories my breathing becomes shallow. My throat clogs up, I can't tell if it's tears or sweat dripping beside my nose. I can't hear myself over the music but wonder if people can hear me gasping for air between fatigued sobs. I'm so tired. I know he was so tired. I wish he never felt like that.

These heightened emotions last for a few loooonng km's before my thoughts start to move again and my breathing starts to normalize.

26-30km's: In the last few km's of a run, I think it's pretty common to visualize 'the shoot'. The last 300 metres of the race when the crowd gets more dense, you can hear finisher's names being announced over the speaker system, you start to get that final burst pushing you to finish faster as the race is almost done. I love those thoughts - they are happy, accomplished and rewarding thoughts that pull you through the hard km's in training.

However, recently thoughts of the shoot are secondary to thoughts of Chad on the sidelines. I think of the races he watched, hearing him yell, "Common Meggy" or "Catch that group ahead of you!". I think of how he used to tell me how emotional he'd get watching me finish. He couldn't explain why and I'm not sure either - but thoughts of him cheering me on at different points of the course and at the finish line pull me along until I'm done.

I am running for him. I am running because he can't and I can.

So this morning, regardless of what thoughts and memories cycle in and out my head, I will run my little healthy heart to that finish line and hope I'll be fast enough to get to Boston.

****

Last year, I took bets for $42 to finish the 42km's of the BMO Vancouver International Marathon in under 4hrs:20mins to donate to Chad's goal of $1,000,000 for the Haematology Research and Clinical Trials Unit at VGH. I'm not taking bets this year but donations are very very very welcome anyways.

Here is how you can generously donate:

Short version:
Visit this quick link here.

(Make sure that “Research/HRCTU” is chosen)

Long version:
Go to the Foundation’s web site - http://www.worldclasshealthcare.ca/ Priorities > Leukemia, Myeloma, and Other Blood Diseases and Conditions > Donate > In Memory > At the end of the page it will ask you “Which Priority would you like to donate to?” Make sure that “Research/HRCTU” is chosen.

Thank you so much for your support. xo

I'm Such a Neuron

2011-04-06T18:58:00.001-07:00

It's been a long time since I've written.

I'm not entirely sure why. I suppose I feel so good right now - I have less to get off my chest.

As spring is slowly starting to heat up the city, I've been thinking the same thing I've thought of every time a seasons changes, "I can't believe how much can change in a year."

Eva's one-year anniversary has recently passed, Brad and I are approaching a year of being together, I've started my own business rather than working for someone else, completed a course in Organizational Behaviour and I'm so so so much happier than I was a year ago.

One of my biggest fears about time passing is that memories of Chad would fade. I worried I would forget little things like how his hugs felt, what his laugh sounded like or what the symbols tattooed on his back meant.

Fortunately, I have not forgotten anything. I still remember being wrapped up in his bear hugs, I smile when I remember his chuckle and the symbols mean Love, Strength and Energy.

I no longer worry about forgetting about Chad, Eva or any other precious memories for that matter. Why? Because my Dad has given me one of the most comforting pieces of information I have ever heard. Dad, (who I like to think knows everything in the history of the universe - and is right about everything in the history of the universe) explained my brain physically won't allow me to forget.

Apparently, our brains have neural connections that strengthen each time something is repeated. If we don't think about something for a period of time, the connection between neurons die off. However, by repeating activities or thoughts the neural connections aren't given a chance to weaken, die or be forgotten.

Therefore, as long as I continue to visualize what Chad's swagger looked like, how he pulled his racket back before hitting a forehand or how Eva sounded when she breathed - my fantastic, smart little neurons will strengthen and keep my memories sharp.

So by learning a little bit about how the parts of my brain work, I have been able to stop worrying about forgetting - and relax; I know the little pieces of my mind will keep my precious memories safe and strong.

Happy 36th

2011-02-10T22:00:00.000-08:00

36 years ago today a little brown eyed, big eared, handsome, stand out human being was born.

My birthday is in June so the decade gap between Chad and I for the next five months always provided a limitless amount of insults and references towards each others age.

Chad:"When you get to be my age, you'll understand."

Me: "You're so old you don't understand what it's like to be my age. AND I'm more mature than you were when you were my age."

Chad: "That is true, but that doesn't mean you're not a jackass. Jackass."

Me: "You're the jackass. When I'm as old as you are now, I'll be way ahead of you. "

Chad: "I hope so. But in the meantime. I be the pimp, and you are my pimple."

And the conversation goes on as it has for years and years.

I wonder what we would be like now. Him on the later side of 30 and me on the later side of 20. We'd likely have made it to Australia by now, maybe have a bigger home and maybe, just maybe I would have stopped being so stubborn about taking his last name and be Megan Warren.

Regardless of what we would be, the adventures we would have had and what lay ahead of us I know we'd be happy. Really really happy.

I still think of him every day. (It's funny I say, "still" as though I expected otherwise). Some days I think of him more than others - but in the last 48 hours he's been on my mind hourly. Majority of the thoughts are happy yet still manage to make the bottom of my eyelids pool with tears. Happy tears I guess.

I'm happy for what was and what we would be as 36 year old Chad and 26 year old Megan.

Happy Birthday Boobs. Wherever you are, I hope you're having a blast.

I love you. xo

Ps. Tonight we are going to a benefit concert for Eva. If you're around, tag along with her and join us before you hit the tequila.

The Feelings of Firsts.

2011-01-25T16:03:00.000-08:00

It's amazing how a few hours, days or months can make such a difference in how we feel.

A few months ago, September, October-ish - I felt so shitty. The sadness I felt with the upcoming anniversary of Chad's passing was a hurt I had never experienced before. Memories were sharp, but the pain was deep and dull.

Now, a few months after the his anniversary, I hurt less. Perhaps it's because there aren't as many 'firsts' anymore. I had already spent a Christmas without him, another Valentines Day will go by without a card from him and we will celebrate his birthday for the second time without him here. This part of the year has already happened without Chad. It doesn't make the memories any less sharp, it just makes the pain a little more tolerable.

However, as the hurt of 'firsts' fades with Chad, the hurt associated with the approaching anniversary of Eva's passing begins. Similar memories of hospital visits, blog posts, conversations, "a year ago, we were doing this" mentions - all becomes sharp again.

Similar to the events themselves, the emotions come in waves. Flashes of what happened, what was felt and what things looked like, all come washing in and out of my brain without warning.

I look at a photo Eva, Beth, Karen and I took together a year ago. We were out at Milestones, each with a Bellini in hand and talking about everything but health (and by everything, I mean boys). Eva and I shared a cab home; our poor driver must have gone deaf due to the volume, enthusiasm and speed in which she and I were speaking at.

I was the first stop. We left each other with a kiss, declaring to one another how crazy it is that she and I haven't hung out more often. We vowed to do it again very soon.

Standing on the curb, I watched the cab pull away with her in the front seat, having reassured me she was fine to manoeuvre her oxygen and wheelchair out of the cab by herself.

Each time I look at the photos from that night, (one of which I walk by every day hung in my hallway), I can not help but look at her, look at us and shake my head with sadness. We are so young.

So with memories of last year becoming sharp again, I feel like a bit of a veteran knowing that eventually, the firsts will no-longer be firsts and that dull, deep hurt will ease up soon. One hour, day and month at a time.

2011's Post-It Notes

2011-01-07T10:49:00.000-08:00

New Years Day 2011 - I was slumming around my parents house eating everything in site (because my 'New Years Diet' allegedly would start on Monday.) On TV was the cool, quirky movie, "500 Days of Summer." During the last minute before credits, the narrator says something along the lines of, "Days go by without having any memory for us to remember them by."

I immediately perked up from my food coma and realized how true that is. I have a pretty good memory for events, holidays, conversations and even outfits; however, I rarely give ordinary, regular days the credit they deserve.

So, I have a new project, a goal for 2011. For an entire year, I am challenging myself to give every day some credit, a little memory and token of my appreciation by posting the best part of my day. Because no matter how bad a day may seem, ordinary it may feel or magical it can be, every day are all pieces of a whole story...or a fairy tale.

Here it goes.... Post-it Notes From A Fairytale.

One Hell of a Year.

2010-12-30T19:25:00.000-08:00

Highlights and happiness, low points and sadness; 2010 has been one hell of a year...

January 2010 - The new year was brought in with a bang at Alita and Adam Robert's wedding reception, while celebrating Jesse's 29th birthday. Gearing up for the Olympics came with long work days and lots of anticipation. Ski days, evening swims and Monday night dinners set the year off on the right foot.

February 2010 - The city is rocked with the Winter Olympic Games. Emotions are high not only with celebrations, but with sadness. Our dear friend Eva posts her 'I love you all' video. Friends gather for Chad's birthday; he would have been 35. There is so much to express, yet so little to say about this month. Unbelievable is the word that comes to mind.

March 2010 - My contract with the Olympics ends and my Olympic hangover kicks in. I visit Chad's family in Edmonton and dominate 8 year olds in laser tag at his nephew's birthday party. Eva leaves us with her love on March 27th. She was almost 26.

April 2010 - Adrienne, the girls and I escape to Vegas. Shortly after putting my poolside drink down, I head to New York to pick up a Cosmopolitan (or two) with my dear Jacksonville girls. It was incredible. From NYC, I take the bus to Washington, DC to visit Christina. We hadn't seen each other in years yet it only felt like days. I return to NYC where Mom joins me from Vancouver and Aunty Joan, Catharine, Janine and Rachael fly in from the UK. It was a laughing, shopping, dining extravaganza. Eva's celebration of love is held on April 30th. I see Brad for the first time in three years; he says when he saw me, he was struck by lightening, I say my Michael Kors dress worked.

May 2010 - I run the BMO Vancouver Marathon. I finished faster than anticipated with a final time of 3:4, without training. Bets were collected and donated to Chad's fund. I join the crew of 65_RedRoses the sailboat for Sailpast and the official boat naming; it was a real honour. Brad fills my heart as I realize that I don't have to fall out of love with Chad to fall in love with someone else. Carolyn suggests I join her in Paris to watch Rik play in the French Open, so I do. Brad joins me; it was a trip of a lifetime.

June 2010 - I start a new job. I celebrate my 25th...er...26th birthday. Summer heats up and memories of Chad remain warm.

July 2010 - Canada Day is spent in Whistler with Matt and Laura. A few weeks later, Brad and I join Bruce and Di on their boat. Five blissful days of circling the Golf Islands while pairing good times with great people. I will never forget that trip. My partner- in-crime, Adrienne and her husband Jesse find out they are pregnant. I'm going to be an Aunty!

August 2010 - Memories of Chad and I's 2009 summer are crisp reminders that he isn't here anymore. I play with Allie in the North Shore Summer Smash tennis tournament. Matt, Laura, Brad and I train and race for the UBC Triathlon. Brad and I go to New York. We watch Rik play an incredible match against the seeded Nalbandian at the US Open, enjoy Broadway and shopping with Jesse and Adrienne and finishing our days in the company of Mesi, Jelena and Camilla.

September 2010 - My brother celebrates his 5-year kidney transplant anniversary. The weather changes and memories of what the fall of 2009 brought start to sink in deep.

October 2010 - I miss Chad so much. The upcoming anniversary of his death hits me harder than I expected. Not even the trip to Vegas with my parents can lighten the weight my heart feels.

November 2010 - Bruce and Di invite us to the Cystic Fibrosis Gala. A great night with large profits earned for the foundation. Camilla visits from NYC for a weekend of skiing in Whistler. My Mom's liver is attacked by a virus, sending her into liver and kidney failure, while fighting pneumonia. She spends over two weeks in the hospital; worry doesn't begin to describe what was felt during those weeks. November 27th, dozens of us gather to celebrate Chad. Brad volunteers (or was pressured, either way), to do the live auction. Tears of laughter were had, drinks were shared and $2500 was raised for Chad's fund.

December 2010 - My Mom is on the mend and home feels like Christmas. It was one of my best Christmas's ever.

...So much happened this year and I have so much to be thankful for.

I missed Chad every day of every month for the entire year. Not a day went by that I didn't think him, us and what is missed. However, during weeks when I floated aimlessly from one day to the next, there was someone there to help me feel grounded. If I ever felt lonely, there was a hug waiting, if there was ever a moment of worry, someone gave me hope, and for every day of sadness, three days of happiness followed...

...and most importantly, on the really hard days (and even the not so hard days), whenever it felt like my heart was empty, love love love filled me back up again.

Happy New Years xo

Merry Christmas

2010-12-24T16:36:00.000-08:00

The whole Christmas season brings on memories of childhood, families and past years.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to Chad's sister about past years, and plans for this Christmas. After hanging up (or more accurately, clicking 'End' on our video chat) I started thinking about how different my past few Christmas's have been.

Four years ago, Chad and I were together, but living separately (with plans to move in together in the upcoming spring). Our only Christmas tradition we had at that point was to wake up Christmas Eve day together. We would exchange our gifts that were placed under his little dinky whooville-esq tree as it was our Christmas morning.

Later that night, we would go out for dinner with my parents, and spend the night at our respective homes. Christmas Day we would back and forth between families and dinners. That was the last Christmas Chad had at home.

Christmas of 2008 we were finally living together. He set up that little dinky tree in our apartment again so I could enjoy it when I came home from spending time at the hospital. Having just received his second bone marrow transplant, Chad spent Christmas in a room at VGH over looking a snowy city.

It snowed so much that year and driving was difficult. Regardless, Vanessa, Diana and friends joined Chad at the hospital that night while I stayed at Mom and Dad's for dinner. After much debate, Dad offered to drive me through the snow to the hospital so I could see Chad on Christmas. We stayed for a few hours and went home.

Although I didn't wake up with him, I spent Christmas Day with him after opening gifts at Mom and Dad's. When I arrived, Chad was short of breath and fighting a racing heart. In between nurses and teams coming to check on him, from his bedside, he pointed to the cupboard where he had 'hidden' my gift. There, in that little green box was a gorgeous diamond bracelet that he had coordinated with Adrienne to pick up. I loved it. I still love it.

That was a big Christmas for many reasons. When I think of it, I realize how incredible it was. Diamonds and gifts didn't matter (although I enjoyed them very much); it was fight, hope and love that filled our days. The only thing I regret, is that I should have woken up with Chad on Christmas Day. It was his last Christmas and I regret that very much.

Last Christmas was simple. Our apartment was fresh with how Chad had left it; his shoes, clothes, toothbrush and pillows were all as he had left them. I put up our little dinky tree and it seemed like he was there.

Although our apartment was nice, I spent most of the holiday tucked in at Mom and Dad's house, cozy and remembering who I missed most. We had dinner with family friends followed by Boxing Day with the Warrens. It was sad not having Chad there; but having his niece and nephew plopped on my lap smoothed the lump in my throat.

This Christmas is different as well. The apartment has lights (which Brad picked out) and the little tree is sitting there again. Under it have been presents for Chad's family, mine and a little girl who is dying to have a Fashion Barbie.

I'm now back at Mom and Dad's place where I am cleaning out their fridge of peanut brittle and shortbread. It's cozy here and every time I walk by my Mom, I either tear up or give her a hug. She's home...I couldn't imagine her anywhere else.

Brad will be over shortly; we are all going out for dinner tonight. I spent this morning with him and his family opening presents with his little girl (how did Santa know to come early!?) and looking at a floor scattered with pink princess everything. I looked at him across the room as he watched her open her Barbie. I am totally in love and so happy to be spending Christmas with him (the 26 year old me, and the high school me).

If someone told me four years ago, I would be spending Christmas like this I would never have guessed. So much has changed and so much has happened. The only things that have remained the same is my family (including Chad's), our house and that little dinky Christmas tree in the corner of our apartment.

I hope whoever you are spending your Christmas with tonight, it is around your version of a Christmas tree and you are healthy, happy and full of love.

Merry Christmas. Wherever you are.

Another love story.

2010-12-18T11:05:00.001-08:00

I should have known when I walked into the emergency four weeks ago, just how sick my Mom was.

It wasn't because she looked sick (she did a little, but considering how sick she really was, she looked pretty damn good) but I should have been able to tell how sick she was by looking at my Dad. His face, his colour, his concern was all a reflection of what was happening.

I have never seen my Dad look like that. He is such a controlled, strong, man-of-the-universe type and seeing the fatigue and emotion stretched across his face was a first for me.

I couldn't figure out why this was the first time I was seeing him like this. It wasn't our first time in this situation, looking at each other across a hospital bed - but this time, he looked different.

He looked different, because this was different.

The first time I remember being in a hospital with Dad was when Mom and Bryn were admitted for transplant back in 2005. Mom was at VGH and Bryn was at Children's Hospital. Dad and I were back and forth between hospitals, coordinating who was going to see who, when...and then we'd switch.

From what I remember, the time spent in those hospitals was pretty procedural. Admitted, process, transplant, recovery. Kidney transplants had been done before so there was a plan, schedule and information about what would, was and could be expected.

I'm sure I'll never fully understand the strain Dad was under during those weeks, having his wife in one hospital and his son in another, but he held it together remarkably. No matter what stress he had, I recall he never looked shaken.

The next time Dad and I looked at each other across a hospital bed was with Chad in 2008/2009. Some days, he and Mom would pop by for a casual visit; other days they parachuted in like experienced army generals who knew how to take care of their troops in the middle of a war zone.

No matter how sad or worried they were for Chad and I during car rides to and from the hospital, every time they walked through those heavy hospital doors, their game faces were on and Chad and I relaxed a little. Safety had arrived.

I realize now, Mom and Dad were able to get their strength from each other. They did everything as a team; whether it be when my brother was sick as an infant, again for his transplant and reconstructive surgery, or when they came to help Chad and I - Mom and Dad did it all together. They leaned on one another, muscling through as a unit. They worried together, fought together and celebrated together. They were halves of a whole.

The only way I know how to describe how Dad looked that night in emergency or over the past few weeks is that he was missing his other half. He was visibly altered when Mom wasn't ok.

Now that Mom is home, you can see the colour back in both of their faces. Mom is getting better (slowly) and Dad's fists are clenched a little less tight. Seeing them both at home again has made me realize, Mom and Dad are not just individuals in love and married, they are parts of one another; one is not alright unless the other is.

It pretty special to see them now, with worries subsiding and uncertainties settling down, their partnership is stronger than I have ever seen it.

I have quite an example to follow.

'Twas the night before Saturday.

2010-12-11T09:25:00.001-08:00

On Friday, I had the best sleep I've had in a long time.

It wasn't because I woke up feeling rested or refreshed, it was because of my dream.

I dreamt of Chad and Eva. I dreamt of them for what felt like the entire night. Their touch and our conversations were so real and vivid I wrote it down as soon as I woke up so it wouldn't slip away.

We were at a big house party (a big enough house to have a night club in it apparently). There were no bedrooms, just big comfy beds with tv's and now that I think of it, it resembled a very cool hospital - weird.

All of Chad and I's friends were there, some who I didn't recognize. It seemed like everyone was either running around, playing poker or dancing. Occasionally someone would pass by the bed I was sitting on, screech to a halt and ask why I wasn't partying.

I wasn't partying because I was snuggled under Chad's arm on the corner of his bed. They didn't know he was there because I was the only person that could see him.

(This dream might have something to do with watching "Scrooged" last night with Brad. I guess its just my brain wanting my own ghosts of Christmas to visit me.)

Anyways, dreaming on....Chad and I talked for hours. It started by text messaging (because this is the 21st century after all, what ghost, spirit or human doesn't text message?) We then realized we were at the same party and I went to go meet him at his bed.

There he was sitting, comfortable in Under Armour sweat pants, no shirt on (typical) and chillen. I immediately snuggled right up, got a whole bunch of juicy kisses and started talking.

I asked a lot of questions while he answered, patiently and in little detail. He knew most of what I had been doing, what our friends were up to and what things have been done to help reach his million dollar goal. I was happy to hear that he had been checking in on all of us.

One thing I found strange (because night clubs in a house with beds and ghosts isn't weird at all) was that Chad didn't know that I hang out with his parents. I told him that his Dad and I walk his Centinal Hill route once in awhile and think of him. Chad jealously replied with, "That's our walk." Then coyly followed with, "Its too steep for you." He smiled. I love his stupid gloating grin.

I asked him weird questions about doing a Half Ironman. He already knew that Laura is doing one in June 2011 and told me I should train with her, but let her race it. He told me how proud he was of her.

As we were talking about Laura, her boyfriend Matt ran by us, (also weird, as Matt doesn't really run). Matt wondered why I wasn't playing tag with everyone, but he was too busy to stop and hear who I was talking to. (Also weird, as Matt is never too busy to listen to me).

Earlier in the night, I realized that Eva was in the bed beside Chad's.

Eva and her friends were comfortably sprawled out together on her lush king sized. Unlike Chad, Eva was alive and everyone could see her. She had lived through the massive success 65_RedRoses has had this year and was having to kindly smile at anyone who wanted to stop by and say congratulations. Popular chick!

I walked by Eva's bed but we didn't speak. Our eyes met and we smiled at one another; there wasn't a need to talk immediately, because we were comforted simply knowing the other was there. Very reflective of our friendship in this life.

The only time I did talk to her was as she was walking outside of this party (on the Kits seawall in Vancouver oddly enough). I caught up with her speed walking self to tell her what was happening with Chad. Once I caught my breath, I explained how Chad was at the party and we were cuddling and talking, but I was the only one who could see him. She gave me a big Eva-like hug and told me, "Of course he's here. Just this time, you can see him."

We hugged again and I scampered off back to the party where I eventually woke up.

It was a great dream. I remember thinking to myself in the dream that it was all real. It didn't matter that no one else could see Chad, it was still real.

The only thing about the dream that left me unsatisfied (ignoring the random house party with beds, a night club, on a beach with ghosts ) was that Chad and Eva looked healthy, but weren't.

Eva had her healthy body, full mobility and lots of volume to her voice, yet still had breathing tubes in from time to time. Chad looked like summer Chad. Healthy body, hearty laugh and lots of attitude yet while we were talking he complained of a headache or not having energy.

I wonder if this is a process. I wonder if both Chad and Eva get their bodies back first, and then they'll be free of their diseases after that?

Who knows...they just felt so real and so close and I am satisfied knowing they were comfortable.

So, if Chad and Eva are my Christmas spirits, ghosts of Christmas or whatever they're called - my dreams are always open.

You are both welcome to visit me anytime.

Home for Christmas

2010-12-06T18:20:00.000-08:00

Well, looks like the hoping and wishing worked out.

Mom was discharged today. I brought her home around lunch time. No more bed curtains, coughing roommates or gross lunch trays. We were outta there. I almost started spewing out tears when we got in the car outside the hospital and Michael Buble's version of 'I'll be home for Christmas' was playing. Music takes no mercy on it's listeners.

When we got home, we did just as I had hoped. After getting groceries and did a vanilla McDee's milkshake run (anything to help gain her lost weight back), we had a peaceful afternoon in our back room. We talked about Christmas, listened to christmas music and ate. Well, I ate. Yumm butter tarts.

While she napped I pulled out all the christmas decorations I could find hidden in storage. I didn't do nearly as good a job as she does when she decorates the house but it was enough to reinforce the distinction between the home and the hospital.

It's great to see her at home. She's rested, comfortable and although she's not 100% better - she's not far from it. Thank fa-la-la-la-la goodness.

Steady and slow

2010-12-03T18:59:00.000-08:00

Mom's biopsy results came back late Thursday afternoon.

I have to admit, they were better than I was expecting. I don't actually know what I was expecting in the first place, but I suppose just the unfortunate habit of bad news had me braced.

She had/(has?) Acute Tubular Necrosis. A problem with the tube connection between her liver (now recovered) and her kidney (now recovering). I don't know much about the medical details - all I know is her liver is recovered and after a few more sessions of dialysis, Mom's kidney is 99% likely to repair itself as well. Great news.

After hearing the news and the doctors mention of the possibility to come home within the next two days got us all quite excited. Thank GOODNESSGRACIOUS. Mom and Dad were pleased with the news while knowing it would be longer than a few days to get well enough to come home. Bryn and I on the other hand had selective hearing and listened to 'home in the next few days' and got a little over zealous with our excitement.

Mom still isn't home. She's been getting day passes, but has to go back to the hospital for appointments and in the evenings so they can keep and eye on her. Last night she was able to sleep at home. Although she had to return to the hospital this morning, I'm sure a good night's sleep in her own bed did her well.

I hope she'll get another day pass today so she can come home and enjoy our sunny back room so we can hang out and talk about Christmas presents and nibble on store bought shortbread cookies. It would be even better if she got discharged but I don't want to get over excited. We'll take what we can get right now - and being 'allowed' to leave, even if just for the day is a good indicator that things are on the upswing.

Mom was sick ten days before being admitted to the hospital; now we're entering our third week of her being in that sterile, florescent lit place. I hate that she's still there. I hate that she isn't well enough to come home yet. I know she hates it too.

I just want Mom to be better and back at our house. 'Cause its Christmas baby, please come home.

Kidneys are finicky little bastards

2010-12-01T18:28:00.000-08:00

Mom has now been in the hospital for a week and a half.

She’s doing alright. Doctors still aren’t completely sure what caused the kidney to stop working and why it hasn’t resumed function; however, she had a biopsy today and although the procedure is risky for many reasons, it will hopefully give more answers, followed by a plan.

The doctors are almost hoping the biopsy results show some sort of abnormality. This way, they'll have some answers as to why and how all this is happening. If she has some immune thingy or some infectious disease bilipitybop, they’ll be able to treat it early, giving them time to fight and fix the problem before there is too much damage.

If they don’t find anything she’ll likely have to continue on her routine of dialysis in hopes that in a few sessions, weeks or months, her kidney will kick in to action and start doing its job.

Filter damnit.

I really don’t like seeing Mom with a cord in her chest. Pick line, Hickman line, whatever they call it - its a cord, and I don’t like it. I pretty sure she doesn’t care for it too much either.

The cord is more permanent than the line she had before (down in emergency). A more permanent one is less prone to infection and easier to receive dialysis with. So excluding any vanity concerns, the cord is a good thing.

What is most upsetting is that I (we) have seen this cord before. Its a similar cord to the ones that Chad, Eva and Bryn had. I don’t like what it looks like, it looks like sick. (Not like, ‘sick’ as in ‘cool’ - although all four individuals rock the ‘look’ - but I mean sick as in the real kind.)

I also don’t like the all too familiar look of breathing tubes. Breathing tubes means its hard to breath (bet you couldn’t have guessed that). And being hard of breath is scary.

Last night Mom became really short of breath. All the fluid that her kidney isn’t filtering backed up into her lungs. I’m sitting with her now as she is dozing off - understandably so, as she just explained how she spent five hours (panicking) early this morning trying to catch her breath/get her blood pressure down and fluid off of her lungs.

Fortunately, with the help of the CTU team, around 5am they were able to get things under control.

She seems to be comfortable now as she has plummeted into a deep sleep. After her nap, she'll go down for dialysis which is expected to aid in giving her a better, less scary night.

I’m not certain but I’m remaining optimistic that tomorrow we’ll get some preliminary answers back from the biopsy and we’ll have a plan. 'Cause plans are good.

One more day.

2010-11-27T09:25:00.001-08:00

I often play this 'game' with myself. Whether I'm lying in bed by myself, driving or daydreaming, I think of it. I go over the details in my head over and over perfecting them and adjusting them to make it perfect.

If I had one more day with Chad, just one, from morning till night, what would we do?

I'm sure if we all played this game, we'd all come up with something different. We'd all have him to ourselves, reliving the experiences we cherish the most.

This is what I would do:

If I had one more day with Chad, it would be a summer's day when the weather is hot and the sun peaks into our apartment bright and early. I would wake up and feel him holding my hand. I'll roll over and smile because I see his bright eyes, perfect body and a beautiful tan. He's healthy.

I'd give him a kiss, like it was the last kiss he gave me. I'm so happy to see you. I've missed you.

We'll roll out of bed (eventually) and go for breakfast. Someplace where he knows his sausages will be crispy and the eggs won't be runny. We'll talk about what heaven is like. What he's been doing and what its like. He'll explain what he sees from up there and all the cool stuff that goes on. He'll tell me about the friends he hangs out with, how Eva is doing and all the other hott angle chicks that float around.

I'll tell him what he's missed down here (if he doesn't already know) and who's been missing him. I'll ask him if those times that I felt him around, if he really was. I'll ask him what his last three days on earth were like, if he was scared, nervous or sad. I have so many questions about those few days.

Even though I'm pretty sure he already knows, I'll tell him about Brad. I'll let him ask questions. I will remind him that I love him as much now as I did when he was alive. I'll tell him I love Brad too. It will no doubt be a tear-filled conversation, but its one we need to have.

After we've finished the necessary difficult conversations at breakfast, we will continue our day being healthy Chad and hyper Megan.

We'll drive down to the courts at Ambleside where we can play tennis looking out at the ocean. The morning heat will be hot enough to wear shorts and a shirt - which he'll later take off, because that's what he does. I will stare.

We'll play tennis for a while, maybe an hour or so - or until I get bored and tired of losing (or as he clarifies, "beating myself.") Then we'll take the zippy Audi to my parents house. Both our families will be there. We'll have a long BBQ outside with beer, smokies and his favourite wings that my Mom makes. After lunch, Bryn and I will join Chad in one of his epic water fights with his niece and nephew.

After that, it might be a good time for Chad and Brad to meet. Maybe Brad comes over to my parents house and they go for a walk. I don't know if guys really "go for walks"- but whatever they decide to do, they can have a bit of time to chat. I don't even know what they would say to each other, I guess I just want them to meet. Maybe it would be a bit like the Queen's Changing of the Guard.

As we work our way into the evening hours, we will go to our little castle in the sky and relax. We'll relax with a pina colada or margarita (strawberry, his favourite) as we sit on the couch on our deck.

I'll put on a summer dress; I hope he thinks I look pretty. We go out to see our friends. Our friends who supported him as much as they have supported me and have supported each other. It will be so nice to all be together again.

Everyone is there. Wherever we are, a pub, lounge or backyard; it doesn't matter. All that matters is he and I are there together. We're with our Bubble, our bestests and the people who make us laugh so freakin hard. We'll spend the night drinking, eating, dancing. I will make fun of what I think he looks like with little angle wings and a diaper in heaven. He'll chirp back at me telling me I'm cute, but stupid; obviously he doesn't wear diapers, he wears board-shorts.

There won't be any small talk during the night; we all know there isn't time for that. We only have a few more hours with him before he has to go back. The night continues with dancing and tequila. I watch him laugh so hard with is friends that he's crying.

Throughout the night he'll pull me close with is big arms and kiss me on the side of the head. He declares loudly (and shamelessly as he often did) - he loves me.

I am so happy. Even though he's not going to be here tomorrow, I'm not sad. I'm not sad, because we had one more day together. That's all I could ever ask for - more time with Chad.

I realize as I fall asleep after our day together when I wake up, his arms won't be around me anymore and he won't be there. But I'll be ok. I'll be ok because I know we love each other in a place where there is no space or time.

We will love each other forever.

Bradery Pack

2010-11-25T22:45:00.000-08:00

I don’t know how I feel. Im upset, I’m sad, I’m fine, I’m ok.

I’m not getting emotional about anything. I’m not getting excited, I’m not getting scared. Mom has good days followed by a glitch. She has bad nights followed by good news - it’s all highs and lows, when all we’re hoping for is, “You’re kidney is working - you can go home.”

Until I hear that sentence, I’m not getting worked up about anything. Riding the waves would be too draining so I don’t bother. I just want my Mom better.

I am worried I don’t have much energy in me, and that’s why the lack of emotion. I explained to Brad the other night, when Chad died my batteries were drained. Then, Eva died, my backup batteries (that I didn’t know I had) were used up. Now that Mom’s in the hospital, I’m worried I don’t have any juice left. I’m worried I don’t have back-up’s for my back-ups. I’m worried if I don’t have any power, I’m not going to be of any help to Mom.

Brad listened to me sniffle my way through my worries with my head on his chest. He just stood there until I was done. Then, he picked up my limp arm and put my hand on his chest. He said, “I’ve got a full pack of batteries and tons of backup. You can use mine.”

I will and I am. Through my tears and snot about Mom and Chad, he listens he talks and he gives me the boosts I need. He rationalizes not-so-good news, he sees the positive in every sentence spoken, hugs me until my tears dry up and then tells me my boogers are the biggest he’s ever seen.

He’s giving me so much right now and taking nothing in return. I am so lucky to have him - so lucky for his willing, selfless, understanding batteries who are keeping me moving and keeping me standing.

I feel weird.

2010-11-24T09:53:00.001-08:00

I woke up to grey skies this morning. I woke up to grey skies, with snow silently falling and a stomach that was turning.

I'm not sick. I just feel weird.

It's like my stomach has an auto clock that set itself back to how it felt a year ago. Flip, turn, rock.

A year ago last night, was the last time Chad was at home. It was the last time that he walked through our doors, sat on his perch by the window and dozed. We wouldn't actually spend the night at home, as an ambulance took him back to emergency for the night. We would spend the night and early morning hours in emergency. I went home around 6am, while Clark spent the day there.

(To read about our night in Chad's words, click here. To read about the night in mine, click here.)

I came back to the hospital that evening (a year ago tonight) just in time to hear Chad's trusted Doctor tell him that there wasn't anything that could be and this was the end.

Clark would reiterate the same information for me later that night while Chad was dozing in his room. He told me that it would be only a few days.

"A few days" shattered any naive thoughts I had to get out of this hospital for a few weeks with Chad, go someplace hot and maybe be married. "A few days" meant awful awful things.

In hindsight, I'm almost in disbelief that I lived through those words. Even more so, I can't believe I went home that night. I can't believe I drove myself to our little castle in the sky, barely cried, and just lay on his spot on the couch.

Why didn't I stay? How could I have not slept with him that night? What was I thinking? This might be the biggest regret I have. It makes me sick to my stomach to think I left him at the hospital that night to sleep by himself. Im embarrassed, and so so sorry I did that. I wish I could take that back.

I wish I had more time with him. That's all I want - More time with Chad.

Wake up lil guys.

2010-11-23T13:46:00.001-08:00

The thing with being in a hospital is that one hour can be great, and the next hour you can get bad news.

Sometimes if you're lucky, you can get a full day driving on the road to recovery; however, no matter how smooth your driving is or how far you've gone - something can always jump in your way and set you back.

Mom's had all of that. Yesterday was a good day, looking promising but was set back last night when too much fluid started building up in her kidney and lungs.

You'd think Doctors would recognize this by now. Kidney's not working equals fluid back up equals back up to the lungs and hard time breathing equals eventual heart failure. Hell, I barely passed Biology 12 and know that. Pull it together docs. Give the woman some lasix.

Anyways, no amount of bitching, complaining or pretending I have the three letters, P. H. D. behind my name is going to make things better; time will.

Mom's been moved from the crazy Emergency Room (and I literally mean crazy - old women with dementia ailing out for help by calling, "yoooouuuu whooooo, hello? hellp? you whoo!" I enjoyed the film One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest, but living it isn't nearly as entertaining).

Thankfully, she's now on a floor that has views of the snow covered mountains and no Jack Nicolson-esq patients.

They still aren't sure what has caused all this, but it seems like the more important thing to figure out is how to get her kidney working again.

Common' lil nephrons, common lil creatines - wake up Kidney, we've got a life to live.

Here we go again.

2010-11-22T09:54:00.000-08:00

My mom is sick.

I found out Saturday afternoon on my way home from Whistler that she had been in Emergency since Friday. She is still there.

Similar to the virus that Brad had last week, she had pain in her stomach, nausea and all that ick ick blah blah comes with nasty flues. Except, for whatever reason (still unclear) the virus attacked her liver. Without her knowing, her liver shut down and stopped filtering the Tylenol she was taking making her toxic.

With all the vomiting and sickness, she became extremely dehydrated. Days of dehydration caused her kidney to shut down. That's where we are now. Her only kidney (her other, now belongs to my brother) isn't working. She has been going through dialysis while being kept plenty of company by her girlfriends and my dad. We hope this will help "wake up" her kidney again and get it working on its own. That's all we're hoping for.

When I walked into the Emergency Room on Saturday night, I looked around, sarcastically smirked and shook my head. I am almost in disbelief that I am here. Different hospital, different nurses, different curtains and different patients - but an emergency room is an emergency room and less than a year later, here we are again. I can barely believe it.

There is an obvious feeling among all of us. We don't really talk about it - but you can feel it. We are worried and drained.

We can complain, we can sulk or be sad, but we know better. Working from experience we all know regardless of what emotions and fatigue hospitals and illness can bring us, it doesn't matter. We have to dig deep, lean on our Bubble and fight.

We fight, because that is our only option.

I love you Mom.

Worth It.

2010-11-13T18:34:00.000-08:00

I came up to Whistler this weekend for some cabin time. Matt and Laura are here with Bruce and his dogs.

When I look back at the blogs from a year ago, it is around this time last year, I came up for a similar get away.

Last year I was here for a stag. I remember it being a great recharging weekend away from the reality of a tired, unwell boyfriend at home. This year, my weekend is being spent relaxing next to the fireplace, morning runs, ski shopping and long dinners. Although the activity of this year and last year's weekends in Whistler are very different, there is a disturbing similarity.

At home, my boyfriend is sick.

Brad went to the hospital last night for a virus that is attacking his stomach. He's been in pain for days and needed to get it taken care of. Fortunately with time and narcotics he'll feel better soon.

Brad's pain is not to be taken lightly - but in this sick, twisted, unfortunate perspective scale I have developed over the past few years, in the grand scheme of things, he'll be ok. He'll be fine and in a few days all evidence of how awful he feels will soon be forgotten.

Last year, Chad's illness was undoubtedly different than what Brad is feeling this year; however, knowing that the person you care about is at home in pain and uncomfortable still weighs on your mind.

When I called Brad to say goodnight last night, he sounded unusually awake for the late hour. It took a few minutes of conversation for him to tell me he was actually at the hospital waiting for his CT scan results to come back. When he told me, that he was sitting in the emergency room, my stomach flipped while my head reminded me it was likely something viral and totally curable.

My head, my heart and that part of me that is used to hearing bad news jumped to the extreme. Shit. What if he finds something out tonight that we never thought of. What if there is a tumour, what if something shows up that they have to remove an organ. What if he needs surgery. What if they tell him something that will change his (and now, our) life?

I didn't react much to our conversation. I let him do most of the talking - doing what I try to do situations like this; not get emotional or worked up. There is no point.

I was happy to get a call half an hour later to hear it was just as expected - a virus. He was sent home with meds to help ease the pain.

When Chad died, I thought I would never be able to handle someone else being sick again. Seeing a friend with the flu or someone sniffling at work - the idea of being around someone with anything less than full energy made me impatient, insensitive and honestly, pretty intolerant.

I thought if I ever got involved with someone else who told me they were sick, sick like Chad was, I wouldn't be able to be with them. Thinking about spending another night in a hospital room, another visit to emergency or a sleepless night because of a racing heart rate made me sad and totally disheartened. I wasn't willing to do it. I had no proof of success and the idea of potentially losing someone else just wasn't an outcome I cared to consider.

Then Brad came back into my life. It didn't take long for my heart to fill up with him and to fall hard and fast. Falling for him never worried or scared me - but before I headed any further down that road, a road that I might lose sight of where I started, I had to think of what could happen.

What if something happens to him. What if Brad comes home one day, the same way Chad came home to Katherine nine years ago when he was diagnosed, the same way Chad came home to tell me when his cancer came back - I'm sick. I'm in trouble. I don't know what's going to happen.

If this happened again, how would I react? Would I leave and say I can't do this again, or would I stay and do it all over. I looked at Brad. That instant, I knew I loved him. I loved him because for him, I would do it all again. I would do it, because even if it's scary and don't know how it could all turn out - it would be worth it.

It was all worth it. The tears, the hurt, the missing - the love makes it all worth it.

One of an Army.

2010-11-09T20:51:00.000-08:00

This weekend we had the pleasure of attending the 65 Roses Gala.

It was a night of fun and fundraising for Cystic Fibrosis. Bruce and Di Chan hosted a group of us, all who have been touched by CF in some way, and anxious to make (as I heard Eva say before, and re-emphasized that night) - CF no longer stand for Cystic Fibrosis, but Cure Found.

The night was awesome. New dresses, new shoes, new suits - even new friends. It was a night to remember (and I mean that in the least cliche way possible).

Eva's Bubble was there. Her closest, tightest, bestest girlfriends, her family, and her loves. They have all been to this gala before, but were without their special someone this year.

I watched them mill about together, knowing the thought in the back of everyone's mind was about years prior when their friend was by their side. When talking to them, passing them in the washroom or grooving to James Brown funk on the dance floor - our bodies may be acting all dressed up and our mouths may be saying, "We're doing well" but you can see when we look in eachother's eyes - its an answer that comes with the subtext, "I'm doing well - all things considered."

Then I looked at the other people in the room. Eva's bubble, our tables - we aren't the only people who have, 'all things considered' on our minds. We all have lost someone. Everyone has.

Looking around the room made me realize that the majority of guests, all dressed to impressed, are celebrating, mourning, and missing someone who touched them in some way. Some of us are missing a spouse or a friend. Some are missing their child, acquaintance or colleague -but either way, we've all been wounded by disease.

We may not be victims, but we have been wounded. I can see the hurt in Eva's freshly wounded bubble, I can see the swallowing of lumps in peoples throats thinking about lost friends or the potential for loss in their at-risk family members. I felt the lump for my friend and for my love.

It is both humbling and tragic to know that so many people know what loss feels like. It doesn't make it any easier, it doesn't make us miss 'our people' any less - but on occasions like Saturday night, I find a strange solace knowing I am not the only one left wounded by disease and I am not the only one left standing on life's battlefield missing my warriors.

We all have warriors, we all miss them and most importantly we are all still standing.

The Pie

2010-11-03T10:08:00.000-07:00

Alot happened in the three years Brad and I didnt see eachother.

Chad and I fell in love, started our life together and fought hard to keep us alive. Brad, also fell in love; with a child who he is determined to make happy, keep healthy, and give her a life she deserves.

Back in May, while sitting on Chad and I's living room floor after Eva's service, listening to my highschool crush talk about his little girl - I started to realize the complexity of what has happened in our young 26 years old lives. It all feels quite surreal.

Then, as the conversation bounced between the love of Chad and love for a child, I had a moment of clarity.

I lost a life and am forever changed for it, while Brad gained a life and is forever changed for it. We are both changed.

So who would I be to sit here, in Chad and I's home, surrounded with photos and memories, talking about how much I still love a man who isnt here anymore - and have any ounce of hesitation when Brad tells me about his gorgeous three year old, wondering, "How does she fit in to a relationship with us?"

The answer is so simple, it barely requires a question.

She fits into a relationship the same way Chad fits in to a relationship; he comes with me - and she comes with Brad.

Chad is a part of me. We are a unit. If someone chooses to love me, they chose to love Chad as a part of me.

The same goes for Brad. His little girl is a part of him. They are a unit, and by loving him, you are loving her as well.

The understanding Brad and I have about our respective 'units' is extraordinarily uncomplicated. There is no jealousy or competition for what happened in our lives before we reconnected. The same way I would never ask Brad, "Who do you love more, me or her?" Brad would never ask, "Who do you love more, me or Chad?" - the questions would never be asked, because our answers are the same. It isnt about who you love more, its about having more love. (Thank you Eva).

On days the concept of so much love leaves me feeling, 'how does all of this work together?' - Brad's articulation of our respective loves and relationships makes the most sense. In his words,

I do not share parts of a total love with all of you, I simply love all of you. I automatically accept Chad because I accept you – he and you are one, she and I are one, and you and I are one. We automatically accept each other as if a choice does not exist, because one does not – she and I, Chad and you, and you and I are all parts of each other.

So there we have it; I love Chad, Brad loves his little girl. Brad loves me and I love Brad. Plain, simple, maybe a little unique - but totally filled with love. Lots of it.

The Other Half

2010-10-27T09:29:00.000-07:00

I have seen them together. I have met her. The three of us have spent afternoons together.

Each time, it becomes a little easier, a little more familiar, and filled with a little more love.

She was shy when she first met me and I might have felt the same. I could see her big brown bambi eyes look up at Brad for approval that it was ok to talk to me. I glanced at him for the same reason.

It didnt take more than an afternoon before we all found things to talk about (shoes, sparkles, favourite nail polishes - we are both girls afterall), and once in awhile, I look over at Brad and see how content he looks. He looks happy - having both of us in the same room together. He'll says something funny, and I chuckle and say, "Ha - good one."

She on the other hand hears what he says and full out cackles, throws her head back as her eyes fill up with tears of hilarity.

"You're funny Daddy."

She looks at me still laughing and says, "My Daddy is being funny."

The smile Brad responds with cannot be replicated. It is a smile that can only be triggered by her -his daughter.

Im not sure how to describe what I see between the two of them - on the other hand, maybe it is most clear when words are left out, and you can see their unconditional love for one another between story times, tears of laughter, and lap snuggles.

I feel lucky to witness their love first hand. I feel lucky to be in (another) relationship with someone who has so much capacity to love.

Most importantly, I feel lucky on weekends when I am invited over for play time. I get to play with a real live Disney princess. She talks like one, acts like one, is treated like one and looks like one. Sometimes when I look at her, I wonder if bluebirds helped her get dressed in the morning and friendly squirrels make her breakfast.

Her Dad is her king, he is my prince and this whole unconventional relationship is without a doubt is a fairytale unfolding.

Another Piece of the Pie

2010-10-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

Brad is in love with another girl.

He is in love with a girl who is spectacular, oozing with charisma and totally gorgeous.

I’ve known about her from the start of our relationship. Actually, I’ve known Brad has had someone else in his life before we reconnected at Eva’s service (thanks to the highschool grapevine as the original source).

I have to admit, when I first learned about her, I didn’t have any more information than what I had heard through others - and nothing from Brad. So, like most of us do when not knowing a full story, I filled in the blanks with what I assumed. Who is she? When did this happen? How did this happen? What is Brad like with her? Does she love him? Does he love her?

That night a few months ago when I first told Brad about Chad and our three years together, Brad told me about the girl he's been in love with for the past three years as well; and despite already knowing about her, I was happy to hear the information from him, in his own words.

When he told me about her, my blanks (and judgments), were filled in properly; erasing my assumptions and curiosities and re-drawing them with truth and honesty.

Since telling me about her, Im not sure if a day has gone by that he hasn’t mentioned her. I listen to him talk about her, how much he loves her and how he will spend his life making her happy. She makes him a better person and is without a doubt the reason he is the caring, strong, motivated man that I am witnessing him become.

Its incredible how she makes him feel - even when she's not around. On Friday mornings after he’s kissed me goodbye, I watch him leave with such energy and enthusiasm as he goes to pick her up so they can spend the weekend together. They hang out, go to fun places, snuggle, sleep, go on cool dates – all that fun stuff. He treats her like a princess and you can see on his face when he talks about her that he’s a man in love. She’s pretty lucky. He's pretty lucky.

I'm lucky too. I'm lucky to be a part of this relationship.

I suppose this all is just proof that everyone's relationships are different. Although we all have similar components - boy meets girl, girl meets boy, date, fall in love, and have hopes and promises of happily ever after - we all have special traits that define our relationships as our own.

Whatever traits or 'customizations' we have for our own relationships, may not work for others; but it doesnt matter. It doesnt need to work for friends, observers, judgers or supporters - it just needs to work for the two (or three or four, whatever the case may be) people in the relationship.

As for Brad and I, our relationship 'customization' includes another other girl and another love - and it works for us. In fact, its perfect.

Its that time of year.

2010-10-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

The leaves are changing, the temperature starts to drop and the sun doesn't rise as high as it did a few months ago.

Days are consumed with clinic visits, blood transfusions, laying on the couch wondering whats happening. Jumping every time the phone rings, taking a deep breath when you see 'Clinic' on call display. Holding your breath as you try and listen to the conversation, watching facial expressions change as the news is delivered, booking another appointment, hanging up and closing your eyes. Swine Flu, Cancer, Heart and Kidney failure are all indicators - the fall is here.

'Fall' - funny how a word for a season can simultaneously describe what can happen to your life.

Each season since Chad left has been (mostly) associated with good memories from when he was here. Winter - rough but recovering from transplant. Spring - still recovering but getting better. Summer - healthy and better than ever. And now we arrive back at fall. This is when it started falling apart.

I anticipated a little heightened emotion would come around this time of year - but it is hitting me harder than I thought.

I feel heavy and I feel sad.

I feel weighted down with memories. Not the happy ones of Chad and I playing tennis or racing to his parents house - its memories of a time of year where uncertainty, sleeplessness, and discomfort dictated our lives.

I am sad that Chad is not here any more. I am sad for that every day; however, the sad I have been feeling is different. I am sad for the suffering Chad went through. I am sad for the pain, deterioration and surrender that happened last fall.

Im not quite sure how to deal with this new season of feelings as there is a familiarity to my sadness, yet the hurt I feel is different.

I'm just trying to be patient with myself and understand that whether its the fall, you are falling or have fallen - its a time of year when things start to change.

Virtually amazing.

2010-10-06T16:06:00.000-07:00

Posting parts about your life on Facebook/blogging/information sharing is smeared with cautionary suggestions of, 'be careful what you put out there’s’. Warnings aside, the world of blogging/sharing/posting has been incredibly positive for me. I know it was for Chad too (and then there is Eva – and her blogs/posts have touched places of the world I don’t even know how to spell.)

I remember the night Chad clicked, “Share” on his blog for the first time; it was immediately published to his Facebook and Twitter accounts – and after that, it took off - it was out there to read and share.

The people who expressed support, love and praise gave both he and I boosts of positivity when we needed it’s nutrients most. It still brings water to my eyes when I look back at the messages he received and the people who wrote him. Some were strangers, and some were friends from different lifetimes before I met him. Although Chad told stories of his past lives with protagonists who touched him, changed him and helped him grow – he didn’t know what many of them were up to in their adult lives.

Fortunately, through one virtual pathway or another, some got in touch with him. Sitting in the hospital room with him I loved hearing him say, ‘Hey! Remember that guy I told you about in intramurals at SLU? Yea he wrote!’ or, ‘My friend from when I was a kid in Lethbridge – he just messaged me.” Its reading back on the messages sent/received/read – I am again reminded of what good people Chad attracted in to his life.

A few weeks ago, I received a note on my blog which makes me again, thankful for the good people in Chads life and the good that has come from cyber sharing.

Hi Megan,

I'm a childhood friend of Chad's from Lethbridge. I hadn't seen Chad since he left for Vancouver way back in I believe the summer of '89, nor had I talked with him since that day of goodbyes, the day before his departure. I've never been good at maintaining friendships from a distant. We played competitive soccer together and ruled the neighborhood on our skateboards. Chad and I went to the same elementary school allbeit Chad was a grade ahead of me. Way back in 1985 (Chad was in grad 6) our school participated in a "time capsule" that the people of Lethbridge buried and left alone for 25 years. What the students at our elementary school did was write letters to themselves. Well the capsule has been opened and I thought you and Chad's parents may be interested in reading what Chad had written. I'm sure if Chad's parents contacted the school, they will mail Chad's letter to them. I just thought you would like to read about Chad's dreams and goals as a 10 year old. Hopefully Chad's parents can retrieve that from the School.

Geoff of Lethbridge

Holy crap! Who is this man? How did he find my blog? I left him my email address to respond – and thankfully he did.

He is just as he says. A good friend of Chad’s from elementary school in Lethbridge, Alberta who stumbled across Chad’s blog after randomly Googling old classmates names.

Chad’s blog lead him to mine, where he left a message. After getting his message, I forwarded it on to Chad’s sister Jen, who contacted Chad and Geoff’s old elementary school – and within 3 hours of receiving Geoff’s original message, I was looking at a scan of a young, healthy, 10-year old Chad’s time capsule letter.

It would be easy for Geoff to not have mentioned anything about the time capsule or Chad’s letter. The same way it would have been easy for Bruce to not to have driven to the hospital to give Eva an internet stick - but it’s because of these good people crossed with these crazy virtual pathways - such great things have happened.

Thank you Geoff. You didn’t need to write – but I (and family) are very thankful that you did.

Im not sure if its ironic, sad or wonderful – that when Chad was writing as his life was coming to an end, 10 months later, it would be that same writing that would lead us to read about the start of it.

“I have dark brown hair and brown eyes. I not that small but not that tall…”

My Warrior Brother.

2010-09-28T15:42:00.000-07:00

Five years ago today, my brother had a kidney transplant.

I would say he is my little brother, but perhaps younger brother is a more accurate term ‘cause he isn’t little at all.

When he was 2-ish, doctors found a tumor in one of his kidneys – it was Wilms tumor. Shortly after finding it (or so I’ve been told by my parents) they took out his infected kidney.

There are lots of details about this time in our family’s life that I don’t remember or know about. I was only 4 when this happened and all I remember was spending lots of time with my Grandma and Grandpa – and occasionally going to pick out a toy to bring Bryn in the hospital.

Fortunately, two year old Bryn didnt remember what happened to him in those tiny little beds over at Children’s Hospital. The only thing he seemed to have taken away as got older and started developing memories, was a hatred for needles.

Although I knew about Bryn only having one kidney, I remembered so little about what happened, I thought about it less and less as we got older. The only reminder that he had been through something major were the deep scars he has splitting across his stomach; but other than that he was just my brother – that’s all I needed to understand.

I didn’t start to understand (or need to for that matter) until 5 years ago when I got a call from Mom and Dad while I was away at school. Casual conversation lead in to ‘Bryn’s been busy getting some tests, they aren’t sure if something is wrong with his kidney.’ Huh? What does that mean? “We don’t know yet.”

… A few weeks later, they knew. Bryn’s remaining Kidney was failing - quickly.

I have to stop describing what happened over the next year because what happened is much better told in Bryn's own words. Last year, after Chad became sick and Bryn spent a little time with Eva working on an organ donation campaign – Bryn decided to write his own blog. He only wrote one entry; however, that one entry says more than I knew and more than I ever realized he went through. That entry can be read, here.

What happend to Bryn was one of the hardest things our family had ever (and has ever) gone through. I was away at school for most of his tests/hospital visits leading up to his transplant – and to this day, I can barely wrap my head around what that front line emotion was like for my parents.

Over the phone, I would hear how tests were going and how Bryn was feeling, but it was difficult to really understand the magnitude of what was going on at home. That is, until I got home.

I was in Jacksonville at the time, and came home for the week of Bryn’s transplant. He was so healthy and strong – ripped like a UFC fighter (as working and school weren’t options while going through dialysis, he just worked out. All. The. Time.) – Even if his head wasn’t sure of what was to come, his body looked like it was ready for the Octagon.

September 28, 2005. My little, 18 year old brother was huge in that children’s hospital bed. His feet were jammed up against the end of the bed and almost filled it up in width as he got wheeled into the operating room get his brand new Kidney (compliments of his hero, our Mom).

Mom was down the street at VGH recovering from her operation, while I drove over to Children’s Hospital to meet my Dad who was waiting for Bryn to be done his.

After the transplant was done, Dad went in to see him and came out to tell me, Bryn was in a lot of pain, the transplant went ok (they had a hard time cutting through the muscle in his stomach and had to adjust accordingly) and he was asking for me.

Im not sure why it never crossed my mind that he would be in pain; he did get an organ put in him afterall. I just didn’t expect pain, I don’t know why.

I walked through the swinging doors of intensive care to see my little brother laying in a bed too big for him. Holy shit.

He was wheezing and gasping for air; still on high amounts of morphine, but not enough to mask the pain of having his stomach split open. He was crying, but couldn’t get enough air to make any noise so he lay there only managing to blink tears away. His skin was poked with iv needles and stained from the combination of that sterilizing stuff they put on and blood.

I have never felt hurt like this before. It is indescribable. Its this deep, dull hurt that comes from your insides when you see your own blood in pain. My head knew that nothing was wrong with me, but my body sympathized so deeply with Bryn’s pain that it hurt too.

What I felt that afternoon squeezing Bryn’s hand while he was tucked in that bed, that hurt - it changed me forever. It wasn’t the same pain I felt with Chad – what I felt with Chad, emptied me. Bryn’s pain hurt me. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Bryn spent his year after transplant in and out of clinics and testing – only to find that his new kidney wasn’t functioning anymore. Four years ago, he had reconstructive surgery. Although the transplant was a landmark day, the success of the reconstructive surgery the following year deserves equal amount (if not more) credit. (Again, all better described in Bryn’s own words).

I am so so so proud of Bryn, for four years of hard work, keeping his (formally Mom’s) kidney strong and healthy. What he has managed to do with his body athletically is more than most non-transplant individuals will ever do – exceeding impressive and leaping straight into extraordinary.

Although we’ve had a few chats, Bryn rarely talks about how the events of this past year have affected him. Both Chad and Eva were Bryn’s fellow transplanter’s, all sharing an unspoken (and occasionally spoken) understanding of what they had been through; celebrating the success of their respective fights. I cant begin to imagine what has gone through Bryn’s head these past 10 months having lost both members of his team.

All I can hope for is that Bryn, as the last man standing, continues to make his team proud - standing as tall and strong as he is today.

Happy 5 years Nancyboy. We love you.

Rainy Sunday

2010-09-26T12:23:00.000-07:00

Im sitting at my parents house reading through and copying Chad and I's diaries.

They are dated so far back and talk about things I have forgotten about. Correction, I haven't forgotten. I will never forget; however, the details written are parts that time has smoothed over in my memory. Every page I turn, I am thankful that he wrote - and thankful that I wrote.

Its cozy in my parents house, my dad is in the den, mom in the kitchen. I smell chili. One of Chads favourite hearty dishes.

They are both letting me write. They haven't asked what is in the diaries; I dont know if its because they would rather not know (yet), or if they are just letting me have time with them before asking.

Ive been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours now. Totally unaware of the background noise of the kitchen - and now used to the smell of the chili cooking.

I have just finished copying Chad's diary from Transplant #2. Although I haven't repeated anything in the journals to Mom and Dad yet, I was just about to read Mom a sentence he wrote before she walked out the door. I opened my mouth to tell her but she has slipped out quietly left without saying anything. I'll read it to her when she gets back.

On January 9th, 2009 (Chad's 32nd day in hospital, and had been moved from the Cardiac Care Unit back up to the 15th floor, BMT Ward) he wrote,

" ...Brenda showed up at the perfect time yesterday to help me move upstairs. So sweet and then she left me food for a couple days and puffed wheat squares which I love!"

I thought my Mom would like to hear that. She doesn't make them very often, but I know she made them if she knew Chad was going to be around. I love them too, but it was Chad who they were made for. In fact, I think that might have been one of the last times she's made them.

I have just stood up after two hours of poor postured typing to follow the smell of chili into the kitchen. The chili is being made, but Ive skidded to a stop with my sweatpants tucked under my feet. On the counter is a big pan of puffed wheat squares.

We write.

2010-09-23T19:47:00.000-07:00

The mood has been set. I've made no plans for the evening and it is all quiet in the apartment. The only noise is the river and rain outside dampening the sound of traffic.

I've cleaned the floors, vacuumed, cleaned the counters, made banana bread, lit some candles and am now finally sitting down. Next to me, I've got a glass of almond milk and a slice of biscotti that I've been waiting for all day. (What can I say, I crave carbs when it rains.)

Im sitting on Chad's spot on our couch, with his pillow on my back (it hasnt moved since he put it there) and wearing one of his favourite shirts. I am ready to write.

A few months ago, in the bottom of a bag filled with scrap paper I found a little notebook. It was Chads. It was a diary he wrote during his first transplant back in 2001. The pages are filled with his memories of transplant, treatment, recovery and relationships with girlfriend/mom/dad/friends. His journal stops half way through and picks up again in 2008 when he was re-diagnosed.

I have to say, although Chad has told me most things that are in this diary, there are details he has written about that I never knew were of such importance to him. I am reading his handwriting scripting how he felt, what he was doing, who he loved - and I feel like Im reading a book. I turn the pages anxious to see how he feels, what he's doing and what happens next.

There is another journal as well. Actually, there are two. They are from his second transplant in 2009. I havent read his yet - I know it will pluck at my heartstrings with memories and emotions caused by the fear and fight that occurred during that transplant.

The second journal is mine. I wrote it to help keep track of the days, how he was feeling, what complications there were, what the doctors were saying - all things he likely wouldn't remember in the thick of medications. I wrote the journal incase he ever wanted to go back and read what he had fought through and what he had accomplished.

To be honest, I kind of forgot about these journals. They have been tucked away in Chad's nightstand table collecting dust; I guess I've wanted to let the words age before opening them.

The thought of something happening to these diaries is sickening - so I'm copying them all on to my computer; promising that if the pen on the pages ever fades, the words will not.

So on that note, Im going to finish this glass of milk, 'test' my banana bread and snuggle up in Chad's spot - because now, we write.

Watt Boobs?

2010-09-20T21:01:00.000-07:00

Do you ever find that some nicknames for friends, siblings or spouses have become such a part of your regular dialogue - you cant actually remember where they originated from?

I've had to dig deep to remember this one - as it isn't nearly as obvious as it sounds (for a flat-chested gal like myself). Boobs. Chad called me Boobs.

I believe it stemmed from the Boobalina Princess, shifting to the Boobalina Bear, transformed into Boo Boo Bear and eventually, after five years of evolution - Boobs was the name that stuck.

"Hey Boobs, can you pass me that?" "What movie should we see tonight Boobs?" "Right Boobs? Right Boobs."

It wouldn't be an overstatement to say in the privacy of our relationship (well, not after this blog), the two of us may have used the gender neutral form of 'Boobs' more often than our actual names.

There may be a few friends that overheard the name swapped between Chad and I, but similar to many subtleties exchanged between couples/friends/siblings - 'Boobs' likely went unnoticed as well.

Unnoticed and understandably forgotten for most; indescribably missed and adored by me.

Its hard to describe the affection and warmth that silly little name still gives me. My memories of him calling me 'Boobs' come with such clarity that whenever I think of it, I instantly feel like he's close by.

Maybe he is. Or maybe not. I just have no bloody idea how to describe the love and warmth I felt when I last heard 'Boobs'.

Arriving in customs at the Vancouver airport with Brad a while back, we were tired, groggy and ready to get home. Having slept for the majority of the flight, we still needed to fill out our custom forms. Brad took my passport and filled out our resident forms at a desk while I sleepily held our spot in line. Zzzzzzzz.....

Finishing our forms he walked back to me, hands me my passport and says...

"Here you go Boobs."

Oh. My. God. Watt?

I respond with more volume than I intended, "WHY DID YOU JUST CALL ME THAT?"

Casually (as always) he replies, "Uh, I dunno, for some reason I was gonna call you Bob, but Boobs just came out."

Pretending that was a good enough explanation, I nod, "OK."

I stand in line, he might have been talking to me, he might have not, but for the next 15 minutes I didn't hear anything but that name repeating itself in my head.

Im not going to say anything. Its going to be too much if I say something everytime this kind of overlap happens.

Brad has already said he felt he was'supposed to tell me,' something when trying to explain himself. Then, he unknowingly calls me "Little One" not knowing how I missed that name. All a little crazy, but could be, maybe, kindof, perhaps a coincidence? Maybe?

I dont know. But this - this is...I dont know what this is. Boobs? -Boobs is a derived nickname that has no other record than what is in my memory. So how did that come out of his mouth?

Im not going to say anything. Nope. Im just going to leave this.

Who am I kidding.

That name is looping itself head over and over in my head, while Brad just stands there nonchalantly. I cant not say anything. Im going to. Damnit customs guy. Speed up your questions, I have something to say to my travel companion. "Yes, we are traveling together. No we dont live together. Highschool! We know eachother from highschool." Common common common.

I manage to hold back until we are in the cab before I burst, "Ok, I was not going to bring it up, cause I dont want you to feel any weirdness when this happens - but I have to tell you. Chad used to call me Boobs. I dont know how that came out of your mouth too."

I briefly go on to describe the original source of 'Boobs' and wait for Brads response.

His hands lift, "I dunno. It is what it is."

And that was that. I have no explanation for this one. I could say it's crazy, or could say it's weird - but I think above all, whatever is going on between this life and the next - it is totally extraordinary.

It is sure nice to be called Boobs again.

Blood.

2010-09-15T17:23:00.000-07:00

Today I am donating blood.

Work arranged to have employees come to the Canadian Blood Services clinic during work hours to donate. A pretty cool employee program, leaving no excuses to not 'have enough time' to donate.

I'm disapointed in myself. For the hundred, likely thousands, of litres Chad, my brother, my Mom, Eva and other friends have received, this is only my second time donating. Sadly I have used the excuse, 'not enough time.'

Thinking about how many hours I have spent picking up, dropping off and sitting with Chad while that gorgeous red fluid pumped into veins keeping him alive, while I just sat there thinking how generous it is that people take time out of their day to donate their blood - I am embarrased to say I have only done it once.

I'm sitting in the chair now, one hand squeezing a warm ballooned glove so my blood flows smoothly into the bags while my other hand types on this little blackberry keyboard.

I'm blinking hard to avoid any of this liquid fogging my vision from dripping out of my eyes. I do not want to cry in front of the nurses - and definitely not in front of my colleagues.

I'm thinking about the last time I sat typing with one hand. I was in a similar chair with nurses quietly buzzing around; however, my hand wasn't squeezing a plastic glove, it was squeezing Chads. He was resting in a bed in Emergency after almost 10 hours in clinic (receiving blood and platelets) and having his heart shocked back in to rhythm (because it wasn't pumping his blood properly).

(Read: The Shocker)

I wish I was squeezing his hand now.

I'm looking around at the posters around this donor clinic; they are quoting success stories like, "Mary received blood after her baby was born due to complications. You're 'gift' saved my life." "Craig received blood and platelets during his bone marrow transplant. Thank you for saving my life."

I wish so badly Chad could have been on one of these posters paraphrasing his thanks and success.

I say this wishing Chad was still here, but I also know if he were, he would read this and remind me that he did have success. Because of those hundreds of people who donated, he was able to live as long as he did. So that in itself is a success - So be quiet and be thankful.

Damn lump in my throat, go away.

.......Well there it goes, half a litre of my blood into those little baggies....

If I could have one wish for today, I wish that those baggies make it over to a hospital room somewhere, where there is an ambitious, determined, hard working warrior waiting for a transfusion, and they can use my blood to help fight through another day.

Empathy come full circle.

2010-09-10T17:30:00.000-07:00

Last night, I cramped.

Not little foot cramps from wearing stilettos too long or when you've laughed to hard and your stomach aches - full blown calf cramps.

I shot up from bed, scared before realizing what was going on. I started moaning while using one hand trying to grab my calf (instinctively, not because I actually know what to do), and the other hand to swap Brad. "Uhhhhhgg. Im cramping..."

Following the initial, "Huh? What?" he quickly sat up and held my calf trying to hold the muscle still. Between my moaning, rocking and saying words that would guarantee my dismissal from any tennis match, I had major flashbacks.

Chad cramped - just much harder and longer than I was. Majority of the time it was after tennis matches or most recently, in the middle of a second sleep cycle. His neuropothy from the drugs had destroyed nerve endings in his feet and in the lower parts of his legs. Any change in weather, hydration, nutrition or exercise were expected triggers; however, as we learned from pattern and feeling - the higher his cancer counts were, the more he would cramp.

One night last September, after our summer of perfect health, no cramps and lots of energy - Chad shot up from a deep sleep. He was cramping again. Of course we chalked it up to 'dehydrated or worked out too hard' - anything to make us feel like the cramps didnt mean anything. Its such a shame we weren’t right.

A year ago (this week I think), Chad found out that cancer proteins were starting to show in his blood tests again. His cancer was back - and so were his cramps.

Over the next few months as his health got progressively worse, so did his cramps. They were paralyzing. In the middle of the night, he'd shoot up from bed with his calves, hamstrings and quads cramping - all firing at alternate times.

He would moan, swear and stretch his way around the apartment. Most of the time I would wake up to his initial gasp let out when his muscles first seized. I had gotten used getting up with him, peeling bananas, getting water (with Vitamin C) and Gatorade. I would rub his back while he tried to hold his muscles still, take deep breaths with him or help walk around the room. Its painful to think this became our midnight routine.

As nights and frequency of the cramps increased, I began sleeping through the first five minutes or so (and bless him for painfully pivoting himself out of bed without waking me), only to be woken up by him shouting from the living room, "Meg! Water! Banana!"

Just as he (we) thought his muscles were starting to release, another would fire up sending his muscular body into an aching paralysis. Eventually, 20, 30 minutes later when he'd get some relief, we'd hobble back to bed and he'd breath, "Im sorry."

There was never a reason to say sorry - but I still know why he did.

I did the same last night. In between moans, hobbling and swearing - Brad held my twitching muscles until they calmed down - and when they did I whispered, "Im sorry."

He let go, "Why are you sorry?"

"Im sorry I woke you up. You were in a deep sleep." I say.

Simply, sleepily and sweetly he replies, "Thats just part of sleeping beside someone. You wake up when they do. You know how it goes - you've done it more than anyone. Nothing to be sorry about."

Sigh.

With my body exhausted, muscles relaxed - I fell asleep comfortably knowing the person beside me (just like last year), can work through the tightest of knots and make everything smooth again.

The glitter gets better.

2010-09-07T12:59:00.000-07:00

What can I say, New York was fab-u-lous. It was like the city’s offerings were all rolled in to one visit. Sports, Theatre, Dining, Dancing, Shopping, Sightings, Sight Seeings, Red Carpets and all the glitter that spills in between.

We were hosted by Mesi and Jelena, shopped with Jesse and Adrienne and were on the edge of our seats with Cami and Carolyn as we watched Rik take seeded David Nalbandian to a crazy fifth set. The entire five days were awesome.

Brad and I remained extraordinarily compatible as far as travel companionship goes.(However, if Im not careful, I may drain his interest in shopping with me if I continue to frequent uber duber girlie stores.)

Brad’s company also proved to be a hit among my friends in the East who have been anxious to meet “The Dress”. Their quiet mentions, “Megan, he’s awesome” - when he wasnt listening was not surprising, yet was extremely important to hear.

For everything we did I wish photographs could do it all justice. Unfortunately, no photograph can capture the belly laughs, the breath holding while watching tennis, the feeling I had when I saw something Chad would like, the height of the Empire State Building, how good the food was, how good the views were or just how damn fantastic my new sparkly shoes look.

Thankfully, I was with some of my closest friends – and attempted descriptions can be substituted with a squealed, “I know right!?”

I know I just got back, but I am already excited for the next time.

Bright Life, Big City

2010-08-27T05:42:00.000-07:00

I'm going back. To the city that has inspired dozens of songs, hundreds references, and infinite amount of memories - New York City.

As I've said before, New York, like Vegas is a different experience with each person and time you visit.

Three years ago, Chad took me to New York for my birthday. He coordinated it with Jesse and Adrienne who would be there at the same time, while knowing Carolyn and Rik would be at the US Open as well. It was the trip of a lifetime (as they all have been) for both of us.

Last year, I went back to watch the Open and visit my kindred spirits from college who had recently moved there. It was a different group of people, different adventures and most importantly - different outfits.

This years trip is going to be exciting and unlike past trips as it will be a collision of the first NYC showdown with Chad and friends, and last years sparklefest with Mesi.

Brad is coming with me. Its his first time to the is big ol apple and I am looking forward to watching him experience the city the same way I did for the first time 3 years ago.

With that being said...he's got his hand on my leg and is already dozing off as we're pulling away from the gate. (I will assume the excitement has gotten the best of him.)

With dreams and anticipation of what this trip to New York will bring - I'm going to lay back and wake up in a city that doesn't sleep.

Goodnight and Bon Voyage.

What happend to my life?

2010-08-18T16:51:00.000-07:00

I don’t consider myself to be a planner. I have foresight yes, but planner, not really. Regardless how I see things – I did not see this coming.

What happened to my life?

The photos on my walls, or blogs I have written - I see them everyday. Most days, I just glance at them; familiar, but nothing new.

However, recently I find myself staring at these familiar things as though its the first time I've seen them. I stare almost in disbelief that these photos are of me, Chad and a life that I almost cant believe I had.

I look where we were, what we were doing, who we were with and what we looked like – and just stare. We are so happy. How did this happen? When did this happen? When did my happy, healthy, young, tanned skin, brown eyes, short hair, strong 5’11 man in these photos leave? I look at photos remembering exactly how the room, place or touch looked and felt.

I have clicked back and read some of my blog entries from when Chad was sick. I feel like Im reading someone else's words. Was this really my life? Back and forth to clinic, sleeping on the couches, phone calls in the middle of the night to the BMT ward – “Should we come to emergency?” blot clots, quarantine, too sick to talk, tears, heart failure, dialysis, sleeping in the hospital, listening to a doctor say, ‘we’re afraid there isn’t anything else we can do’…?

Did that stuff all really happen? I stare at the words, baffled they are mine. Did we really go through all that?

Although my words seem foreign, they trigger smells, feelings, sights and situations that are so familiar. I find myself in dazes replaying different parts of the past year. I remember playing Connect Four with Chad on the couch; losing to him even though he would doze in between moves. I remember rubbing lotion on his muscle-less back in his hospital room. I remember sitting in the waiting room telling Katherine and JJ that there are no more options left.

I remember napping beside Chad’s bed on his last day, holding his hand and listening to him breath, feeling my Mom come in to the room and rub my back. I remember Jen on his left and me on his right, holding his hands as his breathing became shallow – telling him it is ok.

I remember how his cheeks felt when I kissed him goodbye. I remember where his Mom, Dad, Jen, Katharine and my Mom were standing. I remember collecting his things. I remember leaving the room, getting to the elevators crumbling to the ground and sobbing. I remember turning around and going back into his room, not ready to never see him again.

I remember waking up the next morning in my parents house with Adrienne beside me and Jesse on my window seat. I remember getting out of bed, my feet touching the ground and Jesse just grabbing me and holding me. I remember sobbing. I remember friends arriving and the surge of love and support. I remember speaking at the service. I remember the weeks after, having sleep overs with Adrienne and Karen.

I remember long walks with Clark up Centinal Hill, looking out at the water and saying ‘Hi Chad’. I remember my first day back at work. I remember routine beginning again except the most important part was missing. Chad was missing. I was so sad.

It is so sad.

Who’s life is this?

I remember everything so vividly, but did it really happen? How could it all have happened? If it feels this overwhelming remembering it – how did I actually live through it? I continue to stare at the photos of Chad and the words of our blogs. I cant believe he is gone.

Then, I hear a voice, making me blink and pulling from my deep daze. Its Brad.

How did he get here? One glance to my right after Eva’s service and he arrives in my life. Brad Watt, holding my hand as we walk to dinner, sitting beside me on a plane to London, or wrapping his arms around me as he asks, “How was your day?” - How did this happen?

12 years ago, I wanted this. 12 bloody years! I wanted this specifically; him, me, together. I wanted him to like me. I wanted to be his girlfriend.

I remember walking home from tennis practice with Brad, thinking maybe, eventually, he’d like me. I remember wishing he’d be my ‘last dance of the night’ only get a quick there-is-nobody-else-to-dance-with-and-this-song-sucks-so-I’ll-dance-with-you song at school dances. I remember him making fun of me, but loving the attention.

I remember a kiss in Grade 11 that once he was gone, left me shocked, standing at the door and squealing with my hand over my mouth. I remember hearing other girls talk about their crushes on him, and contributing, ‘Me too.’ I remember being nervous to write him on instant messenger, worried he'd find out I liked him. I remember when he did write back thinking, ‘If we were together, we would be great.’

It is so great.

Who’s life is this?

No amount of foresight, planning or anticipating could have seen any of this coming. I didn’t know I could feel as empty as I once did, or as full as I do now. Its only when I stop and stare or read and process that I feel both sad for what has happened and excited for what is to come.

This my life.

Watt did you just say?

2010-08-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

I do most of my thinking in the car. I guess its because most often, it’s one of the only times during the day I am by myself and only have two choices of things to do. 1) Sing or 2) Think.

(Admittedly, the third, but not chosen, activity that seems specific to the car is crying. I try to avoid crying in front of people, so the combination of music, thinking and being alone in the car makes a pretty consistent recipe for bringing out those salty tears.)

Anyways, a while back I was driving through Stanley Park - no tears, just music and thoughts. I was probably singing along to something on the radio piping in the only words I know and making the rest up as hear them.

(Typical, “This time baby, I’ll be….coming throughhhhhh!!!.” No. “This time baby, I’ll be bullet proof.” - Tomato, tomatoe.)

I was thinking how great things are. Not how great they are ‘all things considered’, but just how great they are. Period. Im happy, have a dress that fits me, and the heat of summer is feeling good.

I was driving along, belting, “Commminnnggg thrrrouuughhhh!!!”……then...shit. It hit me like my Grammy had just been thrown at my stomach. I miss Chad. Its funny how quickly one thought can lead to another completely changing the direction of thinking.

I miss him. Specifically, at that moment I missed the names he used to call me. Not ‘jackass’ or ‘clown’ (which were also in the rolodex of names he used), but the names that made me feel girlie, loved and taken care of.

He used to call me 'Little One'. Then the thought hit me - I will never be called, ‘Little One’ again. I teared up as I remembered how I loved when he'd pet my head and ask, “Whats wrong little one?” or in the kitchen, “You ok over there Little One?” No matter how he said it, hearing it always made me feel small and safe.

As quickly as the sad feeling hit me in the stomach, it disappeared with a feeling of contentment. I told myself, I know I wont be called, ‘Little One’ again, but its ok. It will be a name that Chad called me and be special to just us.

My teary eyes cleared as the feeling of contentment shifted to being grateful. I am so grateful for the relationship I am in now - and perhaps in time, we'll have new names that will be specific to us too. Lucky me.

Satisfied with how my happy-to-sad thoughts circled back to being happy just in time for the chorus - all my thoughts about ‘pet’ names dissolved.

I continued my drive, not thinking about what rolled through my head during that song. I bet I could have gone weeks or even months without thinking those same thoughts again. After all, they are just thoughts and they come and go as they please - Just not this time.

Later that evening, Brad and I were sitting on my couch talking about different plans for the upcoming week. Banter banter banter, clack clack clack. Im not sure what I said exactly during this conversation, but remember being impatient. When I finished talking, Brad just looked at me, put his hand on my head and patted.

“Patience Little One. Be patient.”

Whooooaaaa. Watt?

I couldn’t keep it in, not even long enough to consider not saying anything at all.

“That sentence did not come from you.” I blabbed, “Chad has said that exact same sentence to me before. That has been said before.”

The Dress shrugged. He wasnt confused, surprised or even humoured. He just acted like it was a completely normal, natural thing to have said and I was loony tunes for thinking otherwise.

I keep going, “How did you know about calling me that? I was just thinking about that exact thing today – did I tell you I was thinking about that?”

Shrugging again, he says, “No.”

I began reviewing different blogs, in my head, wondering if at some point I had written or read something that referenced Chad’s calling me, “Little One”, causing Brad to be subconsciously aware of the name. Nope – there was nothing written nor have I said anything before.

Its just so weird! Isnt it? Actually I changed my mind. Its not weird – its incredible.

My brain scrambled for awhile longer before we continued bantering and clacking as casually and naturally as Brad had reacted. No big deal?

I would be lying if I said I havent thought of that evening since. I often wonder if Brad's 'Little One' comment meant anything. Was it just a coincidence or is there more to this?

I dont have an answer - all I have is a feeling. Not a feeling that Brad is speaking for Chad, or that Chad is puppeting Brad (although that would be a good movie), its a feeling of reassurance.

I feel reassured that strands of good stuff from my life with Chad are being pulled through to my life now; reminding me that one good life doesnt have to end for another good life to begin.

'Cause its all good.

Good people.

2010-08-05T16:02:00.000-07:00

Chad used to say, “I just want to be a good person.”

Above all the things he wanted to do, all that he was and all that he did, ‘being a good person’ was all that mattered.

He used to tell me, “If you just keep being a good person, good things will happen for you.” – I guess the concept is as broad as ‘Laws of Attraction’ but as simple as, ‘just being good.’

If I remember (and hope) correctly, one of the things I made sure Chad understood during his last few days was that he was everything he wanted to be; he was a good person - a great person. I hope his nod in response meant he knew it too.

I could go on and on confirming how Chad’s hopes for being a good person exceeded expectations; however his ‘good person’ existence is hardly done justice with words. So I’ll just leave it unsaid.

Instead, the proof of Chad’s ‘good’ existence is in those he surrounded himself with. I am fortunate to have been introduced to his friends and despite his mocking, “Why do you have to take my friends too?” in time, they have become some of my closest friends. His friends are kind, selfless and funny as all hell. Clearly, they are reflections of one other.

This past weekend was no exception to the ‘good’ that surrounded Chad.

Chad’s poker friend Bruce invited the Brad and I on his boat for the long weekend. We flew over by float plane (which was super duper awesome in itself – I could have turned around once we landed and been happy with my day) to meet him, his wife Di and their fellow boating friends for five days of luxury floating.

Their hospitality, generosity and selflessness made for a trip I will never forget. So much so, I found myself questioning “How can two people be so unconditionally kind?”

Simply put; they just are. They are just good people.

I first met Bruce on a gross, dark and rainy afternoon in November (totally sounds like the start to a teen drama novel I know.) I was with Chad in the Krall Centre outpatient clinic at VGH and Eva was upstairs on the 12th floor.

When I was visiting Eva she told me how frustrating it was that she didn’t have internet. For whatever reason, her room didn’t get any WiFi signals (and for anyone who followed either her or Chad’s online journaling; you can understand the freedom the internet grants someone from behind hospital walls).

Anyways, as I am going back down to the clinic, Chad texted me, “Does Eva need a computer.” Huh?” I reply, “No, she just doesn’t have internet.” I walked into Chads room as he’s texting with someone. He looks up from his phone to explain, “Cause my friend Bruce might have something that can help her get internet.”

Huh again? I am totally baffled, “How does Bruce know, how do YOU know that Eva doesnt have internet?”

Groggily, Chad explains, “I guess Bruce was reading my blog, and saw the link for Eva’s blog. He clicked on her blog and read through, and read that she didn’t have internet. So he said he’d be able to bring her a Rogers Wireless stick.” Holy crap – Here’s to the wonderful world of blogging.

So, problem solved. Bruce drove to the hospital, arranged to meet me in the lobby of VGH and give me the internet stick. I had never met Bruce until this two minute encounter in the lobby. In retrospect, I was probably quite rude; anxious to get the internet up to Eva, back down to see Chad – and still trying to understand why this guy decided to take time out of his Saturday, drive over to the hospital and bring an internet stick to a girl he’d never met.

I later learned there was no real ‘why’ - just one person trying to help another person out.

Then, as if that gesture didnt top the ‘wow’ factor charts, a few weeks before Eva died in March, I get a text from Bruce who is about to name his new racing sailboat. “Hey, do you think Eva would mind if I named the boat 65 Roses?”

Holy moly.

I texted my friend Beth, who was sitting with Eva at the hospital, (who coincidentally, had been going through the 50 items on her bucket list). Beth asks Eva. Eva tells Beth, “Yes, but it would have to be 65_RedRoses.” Beth texts me back. I text Bruce. “She says ‘yes!’, but would have to be 65_RedRoses.”

He texts, “That’s great, I just didn’t want to use her name if she wasn’t comfortable with it. But it’s a great name for a boat, because every time someone asks about your boat name, you can help tell the story - and spread awareness about the cause.”

That day, having a sailboat named after her became #51 on Eva’s bucket list.

So here we sit. 10 months since Chad and 5 months since Eva – spending a hot weekend on a boat with Bruce, Di and Brad, sipping (strong) happy hour cocktails while the sun set behind us. We talk about that rainy November, 65_RedRoses (the sailboat) and most importantly, the people who aren’t here - but got brought us together.

It was a dark realization the day I learned that disease has no sympathy for good people. However, I have also learned that unlike the spreading of a disease that kills - it is the spreading of good that helps us survive.

I am so so thankful to know good people.

Watt just happend?

2010-07-23T08:42:00.001-07:00

So now its out there. The Dress's name is Brad. Brad Watt - a close for comfort first name, complimented by familiar initials. Go figure.

Chad, Brad, Chad, Brad, Warren, Watt, Warren, Watt. You can imagine how these names get tangled in to one another. "Chad, I mean Brad – what are you doing later." "Brad, I mean Chad and I were watching tennis." "Wait, so Brad or Chad said what?"

I'm not the only one thrown off. The first time my brother made the slip up he said, “What are you and Chad, Brad… woa. Holy that’s weird. Do you know how weird that is?”

I don't mind the familiarity. In fact I welcome it. Not the mixing of names, but the feelings. Once in awhile, like sharp déjà vu moments, I find myself remembering how I’ve felt before or been part of a similar situation or conversation. It feels like parts of my life with Chad are being pulled through to this new stage of life.

Kind of like when you look at a rainbow, and you think you are looking at one colour, but when you look closely you see the blurred parts where the colours meet; making it hard to determine just where one colour stops and the other begins.

I couldn't tell if it was just the familiar names and the occasional feelings that made things feel blurry between Brad and I, or if they were in fact lines and lives being carried through.

I figured, if I tried to explain to Brad that when he says something or looks at me a certain way, it reminds me of Chad. Not the way he does it, but the way he makes me feel.

I decided to keep my trap shut. I already talk about Chad, so to take it a step further and tell Brad he reminds me of him, might not be the icing on the understanding cupcake he's looking to have. I decided to let the moments pass and take them for whatever blur of colour they might be.

When I cry by myself, feel Chad standing beside me or talk to him out loud (cause duh, just because he's a spirit of sorts, doesn't mean he's not a guy, and can read my thoughts. I still need to spell it out for him), I wonder if I'm a little crazy; wanting to talk or feel like he's dropping in on me from time to time.

Maybe I am crazy, maybe I'm just making up the familiar feelings, maybe when Brad is around and I feel a certain way, its me blurring the colours on my own. Maybe on some level I want there to be little distinction between lives. Maybe its all in my head.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe not.

Back in May, Dress...sorry, Brad and I were watching Laura do a triathlon. We were walking around the race course talking about lots of stuff; little big things and big little things.

I got on a rant (as usual) about what I want when I grow up. Where I'd like to live, what Id like to do, have done, be able continue doing etc. All my usual 'If I won the lottery, this is what I would do' plans, clackity clack clack.

I say to him, "Its nice to have someone to dream with."

He holds my hand and says, "Yea, it is, but I feel like somewhere down the road, I'm going to have to pull you back to reality. Make sure you keep your feet on the ground ya know?"

No I dont know, dream killer. You don’t know me.

Seemingly dissatisfied with my reaction of, "Umm hmmm" he continues trying to explain himself. He talked in a dream killing circle for a few more minutes before concluding with, "I don’t know what I'm saying, it's not coming out right. Just forget I said anything."

I reply with, “Sounds good.” Loose lips.

The funny thing was, although Brad was having a hard time explaining himself, I knew exactly what he was trying to say. I knew because Chad used to say similar things; making sure I maintained a hold on reality. He’d let me dream clack away, making sure to chirp in realist points from time to time.

The difference between Chad’s reality checks and Brad’s, is that Chad spent enough time and witnessed enough situations to know I need a dose of reality from time to time. Brad on the other hand, hasn’t been around long enough to be certified to start prescribing reality pills.

So we drop his dream killing conversation and continue on with clacking about other things.

Later that night, I casually mentioned something about Chad. Brad responds in a tone that sounds like he's been waiting all day to say something, “Yea, so you know that thing I was trying to tell you earlier that wasn’t coming out right?”

Im thinking he’s going to try to redeem and re-explain himself, but what came out of his mouth next still makes my head spin.

“I feel like I was supposed to tell you that. I don’t know why I said that stuff but I feel like that was coming from someone else. Through me-to-you kind of thing.”

What the? Or rather, Watt the?

I think I must of stared at him blankly for a few seconds longer than I should have as he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno.”

Eventually I asked, not in disbelief, rather in confirmation that this actually happened, “Is that weird for you?”

He says, “Nope, I mean, I cant help it – I don’t know, it is what it is. I kind of like it I guess.”

Holy blurred colours of the rainbow Dressman. I know what I want this to mean, but I don’t know if it is actually possible. I mean, I question my craziness, but I don’t question his.

Maybe Brad just said that. But why would he? What he said isn't exactly something you say to help ‘clear the air’ when you’ve been misunderstood.

Is it crazy to think that Brad could ‘feel’ Chad too?

Im an open book. I mean blog.

2010-07-21T16:41:00.001-07:00

Its been a couple of months now, and the Dress has met a lot of people. Most of whom are from a life I had with Chad. Chad and I’s couple friends, tennis friends, poker friends, family friends etc etc. Its funny, with all the different groups, the most common (and expected) question has been, “Has he read the blogs?”

Although being able to answer this simply, (Yes) – the action itself is not that simple. For those of us who know the depths and details of what Chad’s blog was, what it revealed and what it reminds us of, we know what a new reader will come across.

Dress knew these blogs existed from the first hour of our conversation back in May. I explained the importance of them to me, our families and our friends. They are pieces of Chad that we can always go back on and read; referencing his character, his fight, how he felt and what he was going through.

My blog, although birthed from the concern of my friends who don’t live nearby, turned into a journal and a way to document what was going on. (To which I am so thankful, as it has been one of my greatest fears to forget the details of what happened; but similar to how I cant remember what I wore last week, the details of the past 10 months also fade from memory.)

I understand the impact reading the blogs might have on someone interested in having a relationship with me. It wouldn’t be easy to read about someone you might be falling for, being in love with someone else. Reading how I still think of another guy, how we never broke up and how awesome it really was. That can not be an easy thing to read/listen/or talk about.

Knowing that, I would never ASK someone to read the blogs. I would never want them to learn about something they may not be interested in or force information on them about a life that they weren’t part of. (That being said, it is unspoken among close friends, that as far as future romantic interests are concerned, there will be little approval to thee who hath not read.)

So, a week or so in to our chats about love, life – and laughing pretty hard, I was curious to see if the Dress would bring up anything about the blogs.

Sure enough, one afternoon laying on the living room floor he says, “So, I was talking to my Mom about the blogs. I told her about them, and said I didn’t know if I should read them when Im ready to learn about what happened, or read them because I like Megan.”

“And…”

“Well, she suggested, rather than reading them by myself, maybe you and I read them together. If that would be something you were ok with.”

I hadn’t read the blogs since they were written. I knew when I did go back and read them it would be a wave on a warm beach. Welcoming the rush of water yet bringing along some buried rough stuff with it. But still, smart thinking Mama Dress.

“That sounds perfect.”

So, one night the following week, rather than renting a movie, we plopped down on the living room floor and I started reading out loud. I read Chads, and my blogs in parallel.

I loved reading them again. I loved reading them to him. I loved sharing Chad with him, letting him hear everything without interpretation – just how it is.

Dress would nod as he listened, quietly say things like, “Wow” or “Geeze.” Then, he took a turn reading. The first part he read was Chad’s entry about Inspiration. Chad talked about his best friend Jay Sedgwick, his friend Brennan from Texas and Eva. Reading Chad’s writing, “If anyone can make it through this it's Eva. I think about her often and can't thank her enough for the strength she's given me.”

It was too much to keep reading. Dress handed the computer back to me and put his face in his hands and head on my shoulder. I kept reading while choking back my own tears. The last time I read that sentence, was to Eva in the hospital. Amazing how a sentence like that reads so differently now than when it was first written.

I continued reading until it was late and there was nothing left to read. The last entry I read was what I wrote after Chad died. I couldn’t make it through without tears, (snot) and trying speak through the lump in my throat.

Dress just laid there. “What a guy. He loved you so much Megan. That whole thing, all that; it’s all love. The whole thing is love.”

Nod.

As he wiped his face, “He is such an epic guy. I think I love him a little bit.”

Sigh.

“What the two of you had, nobody can ever take that away from you. You can’t compare that to anything."

Truth.

Then I ask, “So how does it make you feel, hearing about me being in love with someone else?”

Pause.

“I think its great. I mean, it’s a great thing for me. If you know about a love like that and can love someone like that, then – well, that’s great for me. What the two of you had, I can’t compete with that. But I feel like the bar has been set, and I might not be able to reach it - but I’d sure like to try.”

Wow. Big statement Dress.

“Id like to try too.” I said.

I have to acknowledge the confidence this takes. Accepting a life that existed before him, welcoming it as ‘part of the package’ and getting to know Chad is quite the undertaking; admirable to say the least - or shall I say, the Dress has impressed.

So there I have it. EVERYTHING has been put out there. I don’t know why I feel relieved, but I do. I guess it feels like there are no boundaries anymore. I can freely say, “Chad used to say…” or “When Chad and I did this..” and not worry about what is unknown to the Dress.

As for my friends, there have been silent (and some not so silent) nods of approval; knowing when Dress is around and Chad is mentioned, he has an understanding of who we are talking about.

So, with confidence, I have am proud to have introduced the Dress to Chad.

Now Chad, meet the Dress. His name is Brad.

Summer lovin...

2010-07-14T15:52:00.000-07:00

Summer lovin, had me a blast...

As expected, the summer season has come with a force. Almost as quickly as the temperature increased, so have my memories of last summer.

I kind of anticipated this re flood of tears and memories around this time of year; Christmas wasn’t Chad’s favorite time of year, so that was ok and spring last year was spent helping/watching/witnessing his recovery from Transplant #2, so that was ok too. Now summer. Summer was ‘our’ season.

It was right around this time last year that things really started picking up. After returning from our Europe trip in June of last year (2009), Chad and I went to Texas for one of his best friend’s, Brennan and Amanda’s wedding. It was awesome.

All Chad’s hard work throughout the spring was really starting to pay off. Traveling was a big one, but now more improvements were starting to be seen. Not just little bits of improvement, but leaps and bounds.

He was walking full pace up Centinal Hill with his Dad, (which I distinctly remember daily updates months earlier, “I will eventually be able to keep up with him. Slow and steady.”) Then, he started going back to the gym. This was huge.

Throughout the spring, Chad had been doing moderate workouts at home trying to get himself healthy enough to get to the gym for a workout he could actually feel good about - and not feel as he described, “a pussy.”

He would come back glowing. Not from sweat, but from accomplishment. I was so pumped. He knew and I knew this was one of the many victories that began rolling his way.

Starting in July, we’d be able to wake up every morning with the sun shining into our apartment, and I’d ask – “How do you feel?” And every day, he’d say, “I feel good!”

His blood tests showed no trace of the cancer proteins - and his energy showed the same. We'd wake up early, I'd go to the gym, and he’d work on his stocks. I’d leave for work, he’d lay out and soak up the sun. I'd text him to see how his day was going and his replies were always something like, 'at the gym, playing tennis with his doubles partner JJ, cruising around in his Audi, at parents house for lunch or walking with his Dad'. Perfect summer days for someone who has seen the bleakest days of winter.

We spent our evenings hitting a tennis ball, driving around, going to see my parents for dinner or having people over. We’d sit out on the couch on our deck and talk about what has happened these past few months, how this was the best he felt in eight years, how he never thought he would feel like himself again – and if this was the recovery and ‘cure’ we had been waiting for, what were we going to do.

We watched our friends at the local tennis tournaments while discussing, "I’d like to think next year I could compete with JJ again – next year, we’ll play the 35 Provincials together.” (JJ won the 35’s this year with another friend, making Chad inexpressibly proud, Im sure).

I remember walking around the Stanley Park Open feeling like I had grown 2 inches, (reaching my ideal height 5”7), had my hair done, looked like Gisele Bundchen and was decked out in the latest Prada collection.

No, I didnt have the model good looks nor did I have the Prada collection, but the feeling was the same. I was so proud and so happy to be walking around with him; I wanted to show him off. Look at what he did! See! Energy! Spunk! Chad is back!

While on a gorgeous bike ride last night, I was thinking to myself how Chad wanted to get a bike so he could ride beside me while I ran. I felt sad knowing we never got to do that. One memory lead to another, and I had this flash of the first time I actually saw him run. Not after transplant, but ever. Of course I had seen him run on the tennis court, but we had never really been able to run together; except this one hot evening last July.

We decided to race, speed walking to his parents house. With about 4 blocks to go, this guy starts running! Im not sure how to react. 1) He’s breaking the rules of the race 2) HE’S RUNNING!?!? 3) Im not going to lose.

He took off on me. It almost looked like Forest Gump breaking out of his casts. A few quick steps, followed by a bit more momentum until he gets to a full on stride. What the?

Not knowing whether to stop and yell, “Run Chad, Run!” or, “You’re breaking the rules you big cheater!” – I take off after him. (Im sure anyone who might have seen us were curious what was going on, as Im sprinting to keep up with him while giggling and trying to talk shit all at the same time.)

I pull it together just enough to beat him in the last block, run up to his parents door and throw my hands in the air Rocky style and yell, “Ha! I Win!”

It might have taken him about 20 minutes for his heart rate to recover and he might have to stretch for half an hour afterwards, but at the end of the night, he did it. He ran, he raced and he was ok. For the rest of the evening, I evenly gloated and praised how awesome that was. This was incredible.

The rest of July was incredible. The rest of August was incredible too. Even if Chad and I were spending this summer together as well, last summer was one I will never forget.

Dont get me wrong, this summer season is shaping up to be fantastic as well. However, that doesn’t mean my eyes have stopped leaking, or I don’t think of “this time last year” every single day.

I look at my screensaver and see the photo of us on a boat and him with is head back, laughing. Everyday I see that photo, I can hear him laugh and am reminded of how much can change in a year.

I never thought during our discussions of, ‘Now that you’re healthy, next summer we can...’ - that we would never have another summer together again.

‘Cause after that Summer lovin...it happened so fast.

C'est la vie que j'adore

2010-07-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

I love spontaneity. Its a trait I love in my friends, my family and one I am certainly attracted to in relationships. Ive got a variety of friends, all with different backgrounds, interests and personalities – but those who I am closest to are those who can pick up or change directions as quickly or as randomly as I like to.

My closest friends can make a dull afternoon into something exciting, a dinner into an adventure or a night danced into a morning – just by being game and ready for anything.

My parents and brother are able to answer the phone, say 'yes they are coming', and be downtown all within 30 minutes (which proved to be a hugely valuable trait during Chad and I’s hospital stays and scares). My favourite is when they decide Vegas is a good way to spend the weekend only a few days before leaving.

Chad, although not always physically able to get up and go whenever he liked,(having to plan vacations and activities around treatments etc), was prepared to break free at a moments notice when he was granted the luxury of having his body cooperate with his mind. His decisions to go to Whistler for lunch or the Oakanagan for the weekend were exciting and spontaneous; a joint effort between what he wanted to do and how he felt on the day.

My decision to go to Paris a few weeks ago was also pretty spontaneous. The number of reasons to go trumped any thoughts of not going, 10 to 1.

Once I had made the decision to go, I called the Dress. He and I had only been hanging out for 2 weeks at this point, so when I told him I was going to Paris in 10 days, the next question out of my mouth came as much as a surprise to me as it did to him.

"Do you want to come to Paris with me?"

"Next week?...ummm...Ok!"

Ok. Ok! So he worked things out with his schedule, I booked the tickets and we left a week later.

Once everything was booked, I began thinking about what was going to happen. I was excited about returning to Paris but had some digesting to do as well. Dress and I were flying in and out of London where we would stay with my family - who I had just introduced to Chad less than a year earlier at my cousin's wedding. We were taking the Eurostar to Paris where we would spend time with Rik and Carolyn who Chad and I have spent plenty of time with on different holidays (including a year ago in London) over the past few years.

As spontaneous and exciting as this trip would be, there were also an underlying layer of seriousness. Less that a year ago, Chad and I were in London and Paris. It was a trip of firsts with promise of returning together sooner rather than later. I would have never thought a year later I would be returning to the same places, seeing the same people - yet this time, with a different man.

Dress knew Chad and I had been 'over the pond' a year earlier. He also knew who he would be meeting. Admittedly, I was mostly thinking of myself and Jesse's advice, "At least you'll know after this trip if things are going to work out between you two or not." - So it wasnt until we were on the plane and Dress began asking, "So, Rachael is the youngest cousin? And who got married last summer? ...and her husband's name is?" I realized the layer of seriousness was as significant for him as it was for me.

Not only had Dress been spending the past two weeks getting trying to understand this life and love of mine but he was about to fly himself into a situation where eyes would be on him. Not necessarily judging eyes, but very curious and concerning eyes.

All eyes considered - 6 hours into a 10 hour flight, we hadnt stopped talking. It didnt take much analysis to realize it would take a third World War to disrupt the blissful excitement this trip was shaping up to have.

There was no World War. I laughed so hard every day I felt I should have a six pack by the time I got home, saw things I had never seen before, realized that my French has not improved whatsoever since last year (or Grade 3 for that matter), ate a life time supply of stuffed olives and remembered that in fact, one can get too drunk off of champagne.

Everyday was an 11 out of 10 due to both activity and the company. The curious eyes smiled with kindness and comfort, and any concerns about revisiting places that Chad and I have been were put to rest with happy memories and enthusiasm for new ones created.

The trip was amazing for many reasons. But I think what made it perfect was seeing behind the spontaneity and layers - revealing a Dress that not only looks good, but is designed with a fabric that is made to last.

Cards to be kept

2010-06-29T20:52:00.001-07:00

I am so thankful Chad wrote. He wrote cards for everyone, for whatever occasion he felt a card was needed. Birthday, Christmas or just because. He was such a lovely writer - and I will keep the words he wrote me forever.

Im not sure exactly when during the past year he wrote this - but for a simple card with a pink peony on it, it's contents are cherished, read, re-read, and read again.
I remember you asking me once if I belived in one love! My answer was muddled and who knows what I said. the truth is there are probably many different types of love. For me you are that one person you meet in life that you know without a doubt is your soulmate.

Honey, you've seen and dealt with more than anyone should ever have to. I respect you more than anyone and fdream about our future.

I love you.

Chad
(You're gorgeous which makes it easier!)
Then there is the card from a year ago, when he and friends rallied to throw me a super special - and forever remembered birthday.
To my love on her 25th year!

Today is your exptra special day to enjoy and reflect on the past year. It is also a time to appreciate all your accomplishments and dream up new ones for the upcoming year. You are such a beautifyl lady and I've been lucky enough to watch you transition from pretty girl to sophisticated, sexy, driven WOMAN....crazieness.

You deserve everything you desire and nothing less.

I love you. Chad
My first half of 25 with Chad was unstoppable. We were at our peak, the best we had ever been together.

I look forward to 26. Its going to be a great year. It has to be.

The Love of Gravity

2010-06-25T16:37:00.000-07:00

Whether it be heartache, break, (attack), life lost, love lost, life gained, love gained – everyone has their own take on what love means or does to them.

It might seem pretty easy to sum it up as, "Everyone has their own way of looking at things." "To each their own." "Different strokes for different folks". Its true. I agree. "What ever works for you."

As Ive listened to friends talk and watched different relationships unfold, Ive seen how love means different things for different couples. Individual differences can be good but it seems when people in a relationship agree on what their love is - things are great.

Is love shared interests? Shared friends? Is it the best sex or is it the only sex? Is it needing someone or is it wanting someone? Wanting to be together forever or for how ever long it lasts? Is it fighting because you care, or is it laughing cause it doesn’t matter? Is it falling fast or seeing where it goes?

There are so many different things that different people want – wanting something or someone that fits us perfectly. Unfortunately in some cases, no matter how badly we want something or someone to fit, it just doesn't fit at all. That being said, I think when you can find someone who 'fits' or shares what you want or believe in, its is something special.

I guess I could say - if the Dress fits, wear it.

When I was 'reporting' in to my friend about the latest conversations and occasions I’ve had with the Dress, she said semi-hesitantly, “Sounds Great. Im so happy you are happy.”

Well, Im thinking, "I’m so happy I think my head might pop off", so why the hesitation? “You’re happy Im happy, but…..?”

She replies, “I think you’re falling too fast.”

Fair enough. I understand why she might say that; she is simply looking out for my best interest. Chad hasn’t been gone very long, and Dress hasn’t been around for very long either, (yet my cheeks are sore because Ive been smiling so damn much), so if there are any red flags, I want to hear about them.

Ok. Ill think about it. I’ll try and step outside the feelings and look at this whole scenario from the outside - give my cheeks a rest.

I call my friend Laura. I need another opinion. She has met the Dress a few times, she and her boyfriend Matt have spent countless hours with Chad and I and she knows me like a friend from kindergarten would. If there are any flags, she'll be one of the first to raise them.

“Hey, Do you think Im falling to fast?”

Without hesitation she says, “Umm, No. I mean, if you don’t fall in love fast, is it really the kind of love you want anyways?” I had to think about it. I had to think about what I’ve had, what I know and what I want.

“Umm... No.”

She continues, “If you have to be with someone for months, weigh out all the pros and cons, make an educated decision and then decide, "Yes, after carefully analysis. I love you." That might not be the kind of love you’re looking for.”

She’s right. Carefully thought out and considered love may work for some people. Ive seen how it does. But not for me. It might be impulsive, it might be considered careless, but I know how it feels; so when love comes – its pretty hard to miss.

The way I look at it, if you fall in love after two weeks of being with someone, so what? The worst that could happen is that in two weeks from now, you realize – ‘Hey, I don’t actually love you anymore.’ – So what? You were in love for two weeks, its over now and it was great while it lasted.

I don’t mean for it to sound casual as that is not what it is. “I LOVE YOU” are big words. Its because they are such big words that if you feel it, if you love someone, why wouldn’t you tell them? Those three words could be the best thing you could ever say to someone - and certainly some of the best three words you could ever hear.

Dress and I talk about it. I figure as I’m ‘telling all,’ I might as well put a cherry on top of this potentially messy Sunday and tell him what Ive been thinking/realizing about love.

Bring on the love. It will be big, it could be bad, but it most certainly will be great. For however long it lasts – Love is only a good thing.

Ohmigod. The Dress stares. He isn’t talking. Why’s he looking at me? Close your mouth. Stop the blabber. There are books about this. Stop talking. Take it or leave it, take it or leave it – it doesn’t matter what he’s thinking, he can run if he likes, take it or leave it. Blink. Oh boy. Here it comes. The Dress speaks.

“Williams. I think you’re on to something. You’re right, love – its all a good thing.”

Breath. Deep. (Not too deep – don’t look like you were holding your breath or anything). He keeps talking.

We're on the same page. We want the same things. We expect the same things. I keep listening - yet the only thing going on in my head is how awesome it is to feel this way again. Again! I didnt know there would ever be an 'again.'

I guess I really shouldn't be too surprised. After all, I have learned about the Laws of Gravity - and when something is dense and heavily weighted, it will always fall the fastest.

Test of Metal

2010-06-23T16:09:00.000-07:00

I recently received a group message on Facebook from my friend Amelia. I feel the need to share what she wrote as it is not only an accomplishment but just totally totally awesome.

"This year I've decided to take part in the Test of Metal Mountain bike event to take on a new challenge. The Test is 67 km a race between 800 riders through the challenging and very vertical (we climb over 4300ft) mountainside of Squamish , BC .

It so happens that this falls on the same weekend of the Cancer ride and so I obviously can't do both. This past November a very inspiring and amazing guy named Chad Warren succumbed to his 9 year battle with Multiple Myeloma. He has an ambitious goal of raising a million dollars for Multiple Myeloma research so that other patients wouldn't have to suffer the way he did. Seeing as I'm going to have to spend relentless time and energy sitting on my bike saddle, I thought I'd try to do something good for someone other than myself.

Chad and his girlfriend Megan are a huge inspiration to me and I wanted to do something to say thank you. I want to help Chad reach his goal and am therefore dedicating my Test of Metal to him and will raise as much moola as I can to support his cause.

Thanks guys. . lotsa love for 2010!
Amelia"
She had mentioned to me a few weeks earlier that she was considering doing this ride. Two things came to mind when she told me. Firstly - I cant believe for someone who has never said more than 'hi' to Chad in passing at a Party has decided to reach out and contribute to this cause - especially when there are so many out there to contribute to. Secondly - when she told me about the race, I told her how cool it was that she was doing it, but I dont know diddly squat about biking. I dont even like the sport - it hurts my crotch too much. So ride on Amelia, ride on. Im already impressed.

Little did I understand just how grueling and painful this ride would and proved to be.

The morning before the race, I get this message - making my eyes misty and 'wow-ed' with selflessness:

Hey all,

Well I'm sitting here pretending that today is just an ordinary day. My motive for this is to be able to stomach my breakfast and consume at least some of my much needed calories. The sun is out and it looks like mother nature has decided to be kind to us. . . my guess is Chad slipped her some Philly Cream Cheese or something. (bad joke sorry).

After 3 months of training I feel ready but of course a tad bit nervous. Unlike the old days of being ridiculously nervous before university track meets today I'm not nervous because I really care about the result. I'm nervous because this is going to hurt. A lot. But I know that as I push and pull myself and my trusty bike up those brutal hills I'm riding for more than a sense of completion. I'm riding because I can. I'm riding to remember to embrace each day and to help share Chad and Megan's story. No actually not their story but their inspiration. I just wanted to send a quick note to thank you all for supporting me and my efforts to give something back. I'll be thinking of you today and knowing we raised another $1500 towards Chad 's goal is inspiration enough.

I'll send out an update to let you know how it all went down.

Many thanks. . ride on.
Amelia xo
In her update afterwards, Amelia writes:

"That was torture, plan and simple....I felt prepared, I had trained hard and completed the course two weeks prior so I knew where I needed to dig deep and where I could give myself a mental break. The ...I wore a patch on my arm and one on my back that told of my reason for riding. . for Multiple Myeloma and for Chad . Quite a few people were surprised by the fact I was riding for something. . most were there for the pure challenge of racing and completing this legendary race. Selfishly I think riding for something more than myself gave me an extra edge and a reason to be inspired."
She ends her ride's summary with words of a true competitor; in every and any sense of the word.

"....I was happy but a bit disappointed as I lost a lot of time on the descent despite making up time on the last climb. But such is life. Sometimes we fight hard and the result doesn't justify the battle.

Final stats:
Time 4 hours 37 mins
Heart rate average = 174
Heart Rate Max = 194
Heart Rate over 183 = 1 hour and 13 mins
Calories burned = 4100

Money raised for Chad and MM = $1500

Til next year. . haha
Amelia"

On behalf of everyone who is helping raise money and awareness for Chad's cause - Thank you Amelia. What you did was totally cool and admirably selfless. I have no doubt that Chad knows (if not, healthily rode along with you) what you have accomplished.

These shoes are meant for talking.

2010-06-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

Given all that has happened in the last six months. Change that. The last year. Nope. The last 3 years - there is certainly lots to be said. Understatement. - And certainly lots to be talked about if someone might entertain the idea of starting up a relationship with me.

I would never consider my life to have 'baggage', but I don't exactly come with a life that has simple footsteps to follow - There is a small library of blogs that document a fight and a person who some people will never meet. I have in-laws who will always be my family, yet our connecting family member isnt around. I have a circle of friends who have witnessed and participated in a relationship that sometimes meant dinners in hospital rooms with gowns rather than dinners in restaurants with drinks - and most significantly, I am still in love with someone who isn't here anymore.

Although I don't see it as 'baggage' - I can certainly understand why it might be a heavy load for someone to pick up.

So, we talk.

After Eva's service and black dress and I's re-connect - we have continued talking. This new friendship/relationship/little black dress of a companionship has seen no shortage of talking in the past while, rounded with late night talks, sharing, laughing, a tear or two, and getting to understand each others previous lives.

I haven't held back. I've decided to disclose all and tell him everything - This is who I am, and what I come with - You can take it or leave it little black dress! (Set aside the 'I am woman hear me roar' part - and the smitten girl in me sure hope he takes it.)

I told him why Chad and I were great. Why 'we' worked. Why if there ever is going to be 'someone after' Chad - there are big shoes to wear. Not necessarily big shoes to fill (that goes without saying), but big shoes to wear. Big understanding shoes.

Chad was my boyfriend. We were/are in love. To me, those words aren't to be used lightly. I can't use them lightly. Lots of girls have boyfriends. Some have new ones every few months, some love them, some live with them, some will marry them. Others have boyfriends who they may cheat on, casually date or just use that term for lack of a better phrase. I've realized, everyone has their own definition - as they should; to each their own.

However, for me - 'boyfriend' meant/means permanency, commitment, loyalty and big, crazy, stupid smile love; I guess its what I know the equivalent of a husband to be.
So on the few occasions I have heard Chad referred to as an 'ex' - you can imagine how it makes my skin crawl. (That being said, correcting the reference wouldn't make much of a difference - as its not in what they say Chad is, rather, how they view him that is the issue.)

So, as much as I have to say and as much as I talk (which is a lot), Black Dress has a lot to digest.

Without knowing that the 'ex' reference stings me like a wasp bite each time I've heard it, Black Dress says, "You know, I've been thinking. Its not like you have an ex-boyfriend or something. Its not like you guys broke up. Its kinda like you are widowed. I mean, he's not gone - he's still everywhere. He's in this apartment, I can see him in your friends, and he's certainly a part of you."

Gulp.

He continues talking, "...and if you are telling me a story about you and Chad, you aren't telling me to make me jealous, you are trying to tell me a story about your life. Who would I be to not let you talk about it? I want to hear about it."

Gulp again.

Give me a friggen hug Black Dress. You have just said everything I didn't know I needed to hear.

And with all that he has said - I realize, I just might be able to find a place in my heart for someone else after all.

When old becomes new again

2010-06-09T19:38:00.000-07:00

I have to backtrack a little.

It seems when things are out of stall and in full gear, a lot can happen and before you know it, another month has gone by and I catch myself saying 'time goes too quickly' - ack! Stop the speed! Slow down and digest.

Eva's service was a little over a month ago (April 30th to be precise). For lack of a better description, it was a show. A perfect show for the perfect real life star; complete with live music, signing, poetry, skits and a performance from Eva herself. The 'Celebration of Love' was so full of character, love and legacy - I cant imagine anyone left asking for a refund (metaphorically speaking of course.)

**For those interested in seeing the service, the video of her 'Celebration of Love' is posted on her blog at http://65redroses.livejournal.com**

The waves of emotion of this day were very different than how I felt the day of Chad's service. I wasn't a participant this time; therefore, maintaining a level of composure wasn't as important. As much as my natural instinct is to swallow lumps in my throat and blink away tears, the magnitude of the day and perhaps any tears that weren't shed on the day of Chad's service, left me no choice but to allow the tears to drip.

I saw a few people there who I hadn't seen since Chad's service. Recognizing the only time I had seen these people in the last 6 months had been at two of my closest 'people's' funerals is a bizarre realization to come to - inevitably causing nothing else but tears and a feeling of being punched in the gut.

I saw other people at the Celebration who I haven't seen, heard from or admittedly, not thought of since we graduated high school. It was like a pre-10 year high school reunion, except we were not there to check out how former peers have aged, how many kids they have or who is doing what. We were there to celebrate one of our own; someone we all knew when we were 16 and figuring ourselves out.

Back then, we might not have been able to articulate how we felt about our friend/crush/classmate/student, Eva, but on that Friday, we were all there because we know we have been touched by her.

One of the people I saw, was a friend I hadn't seen in 3 years. He was a good friend of mine both during high school and afterwards. Our friendship after high school would probably be best described as consistently inconsistent. Inconsistent encounters or chance meetings, yet the interest in one another's life, was always consistent.

I had guessed that he might be at Eva's service, yet the excitement I had when I saw him was just the same as when we have accidentally run into each other in the past. (This is when I should probably admit that he was not only my friend, but had a crush on him for the majority of high school - a crush I shared with majority of my fellow female classmates).

He was the same as he had always been. Big smile. Big personality. Big energy. "Megan Williams. It has been forever. What have you been doing? Married? Single? Dating? Divorced?"

Ohgod. I foolishly assumed for some reason or another he might have heard about Chad. He doesn't have facebook (wtf?), yet I thought a mutual friend might have mentioned something. Ya, foolish assumption.

"Well hey there. Im fine thanks. ...as for those questions, I'll save those answers for another day." - Not the day to talk about it.... Or was it?

"Megan Williams (why does he keep referring to me only by my full name?) - do you live here now? Where do you live now? I want to hear about what you've been up to."

The conversation continued for a little while longer, with me behaving in a weird and awkward blend of a giggly Grade 11, and a very 'seasoned' 25 year old version of myself. Pull it together Williams. Anyways, awkward, adult and following the consistency of our past encounters, we agreed to meet and catch up.

It didnt take long. We met up later that night - both of us starting from 3 years ago when we last saw eachother. I told him everything about my last 3 years with Chad. I told him about the love, the fight, the loss and the love again. He listened to every word, and when I was done, his reaction was not what I expected.

It wasnt sympathy or condolences - the first thing out of his mouth was one I will never forget. "Wow. Megan, (he's calling me by my first name now?) I did not think the story was going to end like that. HE FOUGHT SO HARD."

I was instantly proud of Chad. Proud that Chad's character comes out so clearly, regardless how much information I share about him. His response also made me want to share more. - And that I have.

I have continued to talk to this boy, (who continues to refer to me by my full name, last name and first name interchangeably). I enjoy his company - whether getting flashes of how I used to feel in as a Grad 11 girl when we'd walk home from tennis practice or as a 25 year old who needs a man to talk to.

The two of us seem to be mutually enjoying this new found companionship, all the while, figuring out what it all means. I think my best description of how it feels is like finding an old sleek black dress in the back corner of a closet. A dress you forgot was there - but when you try it on, not only does it look new again - but I fits better than ever.

I AM BACK

2010-06-01T20:45:00.000-07:00

I feel as though last few months, I've been in stall.

I've been going through the motions of living, maybe putting along in second gear - or as Chad says, “Just chillen.”

Its not like I’ve been a drone, a cat woman, or lady who lives in a shoe – nor can I say the last 6 months have been unproductive. However, I cant say I've been moving at much of a productive pace either - or maybe just an unproductive state of mind. Just livin; just chillen.

I don’t know what the turning point was exactly, or if there was a specific one at all - but sometime in the last month I’ve started moving again. I have started living again; 'productive living' for lack of a better phrase.

Its been simple things that have indicated that things are moving in to a higher gear again. I enjoy grocery shopping, filling my fridge with food I like and can ‘cook’ (and by 'cook', I mean do more than just microwave). I enjoy cleaning the apartment that I enjoy spending so much time in again, and going through Chad and I's things, touching them, talking about them, remembering him; feeling less sad - and more and more happy.

Paris was amazing – every day was an 11 out of 10. It was refreshing, familiar and exciting all at the same time (to which deserves another blog entry in itself).

I have started a new job – working in the marketing department at Polygon Homes. It is a big corporate machine, with well oiled parts, big budgets and plenty of people to learn from. I am hoping this career move will eventually give me a heavily weighted line item on my resume that will boost my career in the direction I want.

I guess it is the combination of re-living in my apartment, an exciting trip to Paris and an interesting new job that make me feel like my gears are in motion again.

Some people might say its ‘the start of your new life’ or ‘its one chapter closed, and a new one beginning ’ but I don’t want that. I don’t want to have to ‘end’ the life or chapter I had with Chad in order to start a new one. What I want, is to continue my life. Continue the life that Chad and I talked about, the one I told him I wanted and the one we were going to have. I want to gather all the pieces of my life with Chad to help build the next stage.

At the risk of using another metaphor, its kind of like clicking ‘refresh’ - taking the contents of my original website but rearranging the information to keep up with the changing times. I am refreshing my life; that is how I want it, and that is how it will be.
I will continue my life the way I told Chad I would - I will be happy, healthy, love, laugh and be successful - bringing him with me every step of the way. I will not just live, but I will have a life.

With that being said - I am officially out of stall and in full motion.
I. AM. BACK.

Back to my happy place

2010-05-23T00:57:00.000-07:00

Im leaving for London today. Followed by Paris on Tuesday.

Just for a week. A simple week of leaving Vancouver life behind and the approaching 'real world' deadline of a new job starting June 1st.

I miss my cousins (who I just saw in New York) already, and cannot wait to see them in London Monday morning.

Then there is Rik and Carolyn in Paris. Rik is playing in the French Open tennis tournament (who Chad and I have been lucky to cheer on at the US Open, and Queens in the UK), and Carolyn, Rik's wife, is my buddy who I figure if we dont run enough together on the seawall in Vancouver, we might as well run together along the Seine River.

This trip is a little last minute - decided over a cup of coffee with Carolyn a week or so ago. "I leave for Italy next week to watch Rik, then he plays in Paris. Want to come?"...

"Sure. Sounds good to me."

So, Im going - to places where Chad and I were just less than a year ago; when our lives were as simple and carefree as they could possibly have been. Where we zipped around like we had endless energy (most days), health was the furthest thing from our minds and the victory of making it this far was the common conversation.

It will be different there without him this time, perhaps a little sad. Im not sure; however, the memories of victory, success and romance that Paris brought us, will forever trump any type of sad - and any new memories will be a great addition to a fairy tale in progress.

So back to our happy place I go.

Au revoir.

Life after love.

2010-05-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

Ive been thinking alot about the conversations Eva and I used to have about life after love.

I told her I didn't know what would happen to me after Chad. I don't know if it would be possible to ever love someone again, let alone love someone as hard and as big as I did Chad.

How do I 'match' a love that meant snuggling indoors when its hot and sunny out, because that's all the energy they have; sleeping in a hospital room for weeks so there is someone to talk to when they wake up in the middle of the night, or brushing their teeth because they are too weak to do it for themselves anymore. That situation, let alone that love is pretty tough to 'match'.

How do I share the words 'I love you' with someone else, when the last time I said them was after saying it was 'OK to go.' - OK to leave 'us', OK to not hurt anymore and I would be 'OK' without him, so he could leave peacefully.

After that, 'I love you' takes on a whole different meaning.

It was interesting how quickly Eva responded. It was as though she had thought of these questions already, and had the answer ready to go. The answer was simple; "Megan, there will just be more love. There will always be more love".

Yea yea yea - that sounds really poetic Eva, but 'huh?'.

It took me awhile to understand what she had said, but when I did, it hit me like a slap in the face. I got it. I got it, and was so happy about it - I actually skipped into her hospital room at 6:30 one morning to tell her. "Dude, I get it now."

I will never fall out of love with Chad. Never. However, what will happen is my heart will eventually find more capacity to love someone else as well.

Maybe its like having a second child (I don't know, but I assume); you love your first born so much you don't know how you could ever love something more, and then a second child comes along and you have no idea how you could love two people so much.

I hope that is what its like anyways.

I will be in love with Chad every single day for the rest of my life. Thanks to him I know what real love feels like - and when the time and person is right, my heart will grow and find a little more room to love someone else too.

'Cause there will ALWAYS BE MORE LOVE.

The Last Kiss

2010-05-11T13:19:00.000-07:00

I have realized that regardless whether talking about an ex boyfriend, a new lover, someone from the past or the love of your life who is no longer around - girl talk will always run the same commentary. "How was it?" "Was it good?" "And then...?"

Talking with friends about different relationships, their boyfriends and/or 'somethings' - the topic of kissing naturally came up. Its been almost six months since I've kissed Chad - but I remember our last kiss like it was the first thing I woke up to this morning.

It was sometime in early November when he was home between his week in Swine Flu quarantine at the hospital and the week to 'get things under control'. He was uncomfortable, weak and unable to do much for himself. Our relationship was mostly, 'What can I get you?' 'Meg can you pass me my pills please?'

I was sleeping on the couch beside him for large portions of the night incase the tubes in his neck started to bleed again, he needed help sitting himself up or wanted a blanket - but really I laid there so he wasnt lonely or scared.

During the day, we didnt talk very much; I'd try and talk, even though he was too uncomfortable to listen and I bored myself with nothing interesting to say - But in attempts to have some noise beside the hum of the T.V in the background, I kept talking. (And with any luck, he'd be able to fall asleep?)

Anyways, it was one sunny(ish) afternoon, and he was sitting upright on the couch with what seemed to be a small window of relief. In his weakening voice he said 'come here'. I went closer, standing by him waiting for him to ask me to pass him something. 'No, closer, come here.' I kneeled in front of him, he put his hands on my face and pulled me in for a kiss.

It had been so long since we had kissed; It had probably been weeks. I remember being surprised at this foreign action yet familiar feeling. Clearly, a distended belly, chemo and cancer arent exactly a 'feelin in the mood' kind of cocktail.

Chad and I had been kissing for five years before this kiss - yet this one trumped every single one of them. My stomach started flipping with butterflies like it was the worlds greatest first kiss, leaving me with nothing to say but 'humina humina', googly eyed and weak in the knees once it was over.

The kiss lasted for what felt like minutes - and when it was over, he laid back on the couch and looked exhausted. (Im am aware in saying this how I am setting myself up for a punch line from one of my friends, but you get the picture.)

We didnt talk much after that kiss, I resumed puttering, he flipped channels and dozed off. I remember looking over at him and realizing how much energy it took to kiss me like that. How important it was to him - and to our relationship (or lack thereof), through all the 'pass me this' 'do you mind' 'can you help me with', to have a kiss as sultry, juicy and now, as memorable as that.

For those few minutes in that kiss, Chad wasnt sick and I wasnt caring for him - we were in love; plain, simple and uncomplicated - in love.

That was the last time we really kissed before he left a few weeks later. I never thought that would be our last kiss, nor will I ever forget it. I will never forget how grossly fatiguing it was for him, yet how devastatingly romantic it was for me.

Hubba hubba says the Princess to her Prince.

A little better than expected...

2010-05-04T12:25:00.001-07:00

Hi everyone!

Thank you so much for the rooting and cheering on. I have to say, if I didn't have money on the brain (and Laura and Voltaire to put in a few km's beside me), those 42km wouldn't have been as successful.

My final clocked time was better than my expected 4hrs/20 mins, at 3 hrs/43 mins (just 3 mins shy of qualifying for the Boston Marathon - oh well) Anyways, the goal was reached and Im ready to collect for Chad.

There are 2 ways you can generously donate to Chad's foundation: (and you will receive a tax receipt for your donation this way)

1) Online. (Its quick!) -
If you visit https://vgh-ubchospitalfoundation.akaraisin.com/Donation/Event/DonationType.aspx?seid=336&mid=48

- The first page, click 'In Memory of' - the next page you can enter 'Chad Warren'
- When a page asks for what unit or division you are donating to, scroll down the list to 'Blood Disorders and Hematology Clinical Trials Unit'
- These 2 steps ensure that Chads foundation will be getting the money, and not going to the general fundraising.

2) Cheque -
Pay to the order of: VGH and UBC Hospital Foundation
Memo: HCTU - Chad Warren

You can either send in the cheque yourself to the foundation at:
VGH & UBC Hospital Foundation
855 West 12th Avenue
Vancouver BC V5Z 1M9
Canada

Or you are welcome to send the cheque to our apt, and I will deliver it to the foundation myself:

1611 - 2004 Fullerton Ave
North Vancouver, BC
Canada V7P 3G8

Chad's family and I will get a list of people who donate, so I can track my bets that way :)

Thank you again for entertaining this little challenge of mine. I feel pretty good about it, and even better that I can help raise some money for Chad.

Thank you - to those of you who have already written cheques - especially to Charlene who bet me an additional 5 bucks for every minute I shaved off of 4:20 (=$227.20) and Matt who doubled his bet if I could beat his dad's time (=$84.00)

Running After Chad

2010-05-01T00:29:00.000-07:00

So - what started as a friendly bet with a friend has turned into more of a motivator.....

*42kms - in under 4hrs20mins - for $42.00*

I have signed up for the Vancouver Marathon on Sunday May 2nd (1 day from now), and havent trained for it. The furthest I have run is 24km.

I dont anticipate my body will let me go very fast because I havent trained, but in efforts to raise money for Chad's foundation (and beat Oprah's marathon time of 4hrs:29mins) I am betting/challenging anyone who will take me up on finishing 42 km's in under 4 hours/20 mins/20 seconds for $42.00

If I can finish the marathon in this time, I will donate any bets accumulated to Chad's foundation. (You dont have to come watch or anything, I just want your money :) )

Wanna bet?
I will post my official time after the run - if I make it in time, I will post the best ways to donate to Chad's 1 Million Dollar goal. Whether considering this in mockery or in challenge, I am very appreciative.

Thank you in advance. From both of us.

The Williams Girls

2010-04-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

Following the Jacksonville reunion in New York, I slipped down to DC for a few days to visit a very special friend, Christina.

Christina is my friend Devora's roommate when she went to McGill University. I met her for the first time when she visited Vancouver seven years ago, then again when we planned a 'Surprise Devora trip' when I visited Montreal, repeating the surprise two years ago in Toronto. Washington was the fourth time we had seen each other - ever.

Christina and I have only physically been in the same place four times in our seven years of knowing each other, and perhaps only spoken on the phone a few more times than that.

Seeing her was a reminder that sometimes certain friendships dont require much maintenance, just knowing that regardless of distance or time apart, the connection itself is enough to keep the friendship thriving.

After a refreshing visit with Christina in Washington, I took the 'buzzbus' back to New York where my Mom was flying in from Vancouver and my Aunty Joan and three cousins were flying in from London. (My Dad's brother's family).

This reunion was the ultimate reminder that time or distance has got nothing on love. Although making group efforts to see each other as often as we can, it isnt uncommon for a year or two to go by without seeing each other. Whether they visit Vancouver, we visit Britain or we meet somewhere in between - when the Williams girls get together, there isnt any stopping us.

This isnt the 'ain't no stopping us' attitude of getting loads of attention or being the loudest most outspoken people in the room (well, maybe sometimes)its the combined attitude, confidence and spunk that makes our clan special.

I am the youngest of the four girls yet never being made to feel naive. I am the most junior person in my career, yet have never felt more confident than when I am around them. I am the lone cousin out of the three sisters, but have never been made to feel like I was anything but their fourth sister.

Since I was seven, recognizing the glamour of Catharine, the kindness of Rachael and the hilarity of Janine, I wanted to be all of them. I still want to be all of them. Whether time apart has been three years or six months, I leave their company feeling confidant about myself, inspired to do big things and loved like a sister.

The time spent and the feeling I am left with after seeing them could not have come at a better time of my life. I needed that boost - and now Im ready for whatever comes my way.

The ladies of NYC

2010-04-22T16:48:00.000-07:00

New York was everything I hoped it would be.

Similar to Vegas, New York seems to give its visitors a new experience every time they arrive. It might be that every where you walk, you are walking through a movie, t.v. or music video set. Hello Jay-Z, Wuddup B. Hi Alicia. Well hey there Kevin from Home Alone, Cheers Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte. Mr. Trump, Mr Fallon, great to see you again.

That being said, famous locations or not - the New York experience really comes from those who you share it with.

The first 3 days of my trip were spent with my closest friends from far away. Our friendship is a product of the Jacksonville University Tennis Team - and has passed the test of the all too common, post-graduate, 'we must keep in touch, I'll come and visit you.'

There were 8 of us on this rendezvous extravaganza, each of us from a different country yet all having connected as students and teammates at JU. ."

Inga is from Moldova. I hadnt seen her in two years and was quickly reminded that she is legitimately one of the smartest people I have ever met (currently getting her PhD in Finance). She is blunt, straight to the point and proves that most topics are black and white with no reason for grey - yet she remains one of the kindest, funniest and girliest of us all. "Start taking photos. We need to caputure our fabulousness from all angles."

Lena is from Germany. She was on the tennis team and has been one of the most consistent friends from far away over the past few months. I dont know how many Skype calls I have missed of hers, but she never stops calling. Two of the most important life lessons I have ever learned are from Lena. 1)'Oh Megan. Always match your bra and underwear. It looks much better, so why wouldn't you.' 2)'Megan, if we are thirsty, we drink water, if we are going to drink we drink 'Wodka'. There is no in-between.'

Lizzy was born in Botswana, but is American. She joined the JU Tennis Team during my last semester, leaving us with only 4 short months to establish a friendship that will last the long haul. She and I dont need to talk all the time, nor do we need to catch up every time we call, but when one of us calls the other - its a guaranteed pick up. It was with Lizzy that we declared that difficulties in Tennis are like difficulties in drinking. The less you do it, the sloppier you get.

Camilla. Camilla Camilla Camilla. Camilla is from Norway and was on the JU Golf Team (naturally us 'country club sports' blended together). She lives in New York now and oozes glamour wherever she goes. Although not having lived in the same city for 4 years now, we have managed to see each other more than anyone else since we graduated. I visited her in Oslo, New York, and Florida, while she has come to Vancouver twice; most significantly, she came for Chad's service in November. I cant imagine not knowing her.

Mesi (or as Chad refereed to her for no known reason as "The Mushroom") is from Hungary. We lived together at school, we were doubles partners - and have cried laughing together more times that I could ever count. She now coaches tennis with John McEnroe in New York, but would never 'name drop' or boast about the famous people she rubs shoulders with. She is one of the most loyal, kind and humble people I know. I am so proud to know her.

Jelena and Radka. Jelana is Mesi's New York roommate from Hungary and Radka is Inga's friend from Bulgaria. I had only met these girls once before this trip, but knowing them (and sharing beds/clothes/drinks with them for the weekend) made me feel like we've been friends for years.

The 8 of us could not be more different. Other than sharing the common background of being 'foreigners' and living in Jacksonville, we are all very, very different people. However, there is a common, indescribable strand between all of us that keeps us unconditionally together, picking up from the same sentence we left off on.

Chad only had the chance to meet Camilla and Inga when they visited Vancouver - but from the stories told and the loyalty between us all, he always said how one day he hoped he would get the chance to meet them. (That and he's seen our photos from spring break in Miami, and he'd like to witness the bikinis for himself.)

I wish he could have met them all and witnessed how important they are to me. 'Cause when we are together..."There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York, These street will make you feel brand new, Big lights will inspire you, Lets hear it for New York."

It was a really really good trip.

Gonna keep my feet off the ground.

2010-04-07T17:13:00.000-07:00

I went to Vegas this weekend.

It was a trip that has been planned for a few months now - knowing that my job with the Olympics was ending and plans to go to Australia with Chad weren't going to happen; I needed somewhere, someplace to get away.

Two words. Las Vegas. DUH.

Adrienne and I joined her sister and girlfriends for 3 days in Sin City for a blowout of shopping, pool-ing, spa-ing, drinking and dancing (repeat-ing). I have to admit, although the idea of all this girlie-ness was exciting, given the light of Eva's birthday the evening before and the familiar feeling of the lump-in-throat, the enthusiasm for the glitz and glamour wasn't want it should have been.

Don't get me wrong, the drive to the airport with the girls was great. The anticipated cocktails that would soon be in hand and the heat of the dessert was all hunkeydory, but not enough to get those two things from the front of my mind: Eva. Chad.

We arrived to a warm(ish) Vegas with flashing lights and the promise of money to be won (and later to be lost). I loved walking around, thinking of the fabulous trip Chad, Mom and Dad and I had here a year ago, November (actually, now that I've calculated it, it was a year ago the day he died).

We were there in the last weekend of November 2008, a week before he was admitted to the hospital for his second transplant. The weather was warm, the tables were hot and the dinners were great. The timing and the trip could not have been better.

I missed him, but I wasn't sad. I enjoyed every flashback and every roulette table I saw on a roll (4 blacks, then bet on the switch back) - bringing back nothing but good memories.

Regardless of these memories, the lump in my throat remained strong. I worried that any little thing might trigger my already leaky eyes. Nice Belagio fountains. Wa. Nice dress. Sob. Great song. Boohoo. I love poker. Pass the tissues.

It wasn't until 'nap time' later in the hotel when my throat and eyes couldn't take it anymore and I just rolled over to Adrienne and let it all go. I sobbed like I hadn't done in a long time. Shit it felt good, so good that I only needed a good minute of sobs and hugs from Adrienne and I was good to go.

"So what are we going to drink and what are we going to wear?"

The rest of the weekend remained flush with memories while new ones were made - and the lump (for the meantime) was gone. Vegas might be a cliche place to go and 'forget my problems', but I dont care. There, with those friends (and those drinks), my feet didnt touch the ground. Real life seemed a little further away and the good things seemed a little closer.

So with that being said, Im headed to New York tomorrow to see my closest friends from far away. Im going to keep this feeling going; where sad is at arms reach and happy is right in front of me....'Cause apparently, "If I can make it there I can make it anywhere, its up to you..."

Open Wound

2010-03-31T16:52:00.000-07:00

Im not sure if its the cold I've been fighting, the fact I came across photos I had never seen of Chad before in his bedside table or that its Eva's birthday today, but I think Im crashing. I dont know how I feel anymore. I just know that the lump in my throat is back (not all because of the cold), any damn song on the radio can set me off and getting out of bed this morning wasnt easy again.

I thought the news of Eva's passing might throw me over the edge. I wasnt sure how much more saddness and hurt my heart could manage; however, on Saturday when Beth called to tell me Eva had died, I just sat there at lunch with Mom, let a few tears drip and tried to process it all. The last few days have been strange - I assume its because I wasnt with her like I was with Chad, or I am not part of the immediate bubble or maybe because I hadnt seen any of our friends yet - none of it has seemed real.

Then I saw Justin at the Canucks game last night. Justin is Eva's boyfriend and has been the topic of countless girl-talk conversations for the past few months. Eva loves him so much and it doesnt take much to understand why.

Talking with him has brought on waves of familiar feelings that I thought had settled down over the past 4 months. Talking with him about her, how it happened and how she was - brings that lump so high in my throat that I have a hard time speaking.

Knowing how fresh this wound is for him seems to have re-opend mine. Knowing how the feeling of sleeping with/beside/by their bedside every night is no longer there. The feeling of not having your best friend to tell about your day, or the feeling of holding their warm hands - it all is gone.

Like I said, I dont know how I feel anymore. My wound is open again and unexpectedly big.

Tonight, a few of us are going over to Eva's house for her birthday dinner. It will be nice to be around everyone again. I am so thankful for such wonderful people in my life who are ok with having my wounds gush a little more.

So with that, and little else to say right now - Eva, Happy Birthday. You would have been a great 26.

Breath Easy

2010-03-27T17:03:00.000-07:00

I am so sad having to write something like this again.

Our dear dear friend Eva passed away this morning.

I dont know any of the details yet, but my only hope is that she slipped away in peace and comfort. I know she was surrounded by love and people that love her - as that is how she lived her life; with fullness of love and loving company.

It goes without saying that this precious girl has left heart shaped footprints on every soul she has touched whether having known her in person or through her story.

Again, the English language fails to have a word to describe the depths of sadness, how way a heart can feel heavy, how a stomach can drop to your feet, or how missing someone can cripple you.

I will write once I know more; however, in the meantime, in the words of the Princess Warrior - "LOVE LOVE LOVE. THERE CAN NEVER BE TOO MUCH LOVE."

Just say it - say it when you want to, say it when you feel it, and say it because its true.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eva's blog - http://65redroses.livejournal.com/

Lost and Found

2010-03-22T11:13:00.000-07:00

Now that my job search is in full gear and the hangover from the Olympics is subsiding; the question remains,"whats next?"

Well, I dont know. Im working on it. I've entertained plenty of ideas. Do I retire? Do I fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a Professional Princess now, or just continue working on the job description for later? Do I go to grad school? Should I stay in Vancouver or should I leave?

This last question has given me the most to think about. It is this very weird feeling to no longer have someone to build a life with in Vancouver, someone who needed to be in Vancouver (or often referred to being 'trapped' in Vancouver). My Vancouver person is gone - so do I need to stay? Where would I go?

Last weekend's trip to Edmonton proved to be a very unlikely test of the travel waters. I was sitting at the kitchen table watching Ben and Lauren eat their lunch, talking about Uncle Chad - but not feeling him. Running up and down the water slides with the kids, I was thinking of Chad, but didn't feel him. Thoughts and conversations of Chad kept coming up throughout the weekend, but no feeling. I wish he was there, I wish he could have seen these kids jumping around, I wish he played Wii with us - but why couldn't I feel him doing any of this with us? Where are you?

Laying in Lauren's bed one night, I had a moment of panic. What if this is what people have told me, that 'over time, things will get better', or 'time will make you miss him a little less - but you'll still think of him' or 'only time makes the hurt go away'. What if this is it - time has gone on, and its all starting to fade; why don't I feel him here?

I don't want any of those things! I don't want time to go by making me miss him less! I don't want any memories, feelings or sadness to be lost. Where are you?

On my flight back to Vancouver, I continued to be slightly worried that I had passed through some time threshold where this alleged 'time' leaves feelings behind, giving me just odd thoughts here and there - Why can't I feel you? A weekend with your family should make me feel you more, not less! Where are you?

My flight landed - and it wasn't until waiting outside for Dad in the pick up spot that I felt Chad again. I remembered us leaving on flights together. I remembered what it felt like when he used to pick me up at the airport. I remember what it felt like coming home from New York all excited to see him and he pulls up with his 'oops, it might be a little impulsive, but do you like it?' purchase of his zippy Audi TT convertible. I remember my jaw dropping (literally, not figuratively) when I saw him in it. He was so happy, yet trying to act all suave like 'oh? This thing? Yea - its fun' when five minutes later he's racing down the highway giggling with his new purchase. We were so freakin happy.

There you are. I found you again. Its sure nice to feel you again.

That afternoon at Mom and Dad's, feelings kept coming back - remembering all of us sitting at their house in the back room as we bantered (and occasionally bickering) about what had happened that week and who said what. Dad would pick Chad's brain for tennis tips, workout questions and car curiosities. Mom would make dinner that she knows Chad likes - wings or paella with extra sausage complimented by unlimited refills of pink lemonade. I'm so happy we spent so much time there.

I walk from room to room reminded of how he used to fill the extra space on the couch or see him across the table eating dinner, or pet our dog Rafter like he is a cat. I love it there. I feel him everywhere.

Streets, sounds, places he liked, places he didn't - cars and jeeps that look like his or restaurants we ate at and walks we went on - Vancouver makes me feel Chad.

Thankfully, I realized there isn't any time threshold that made me loose my Chad feelings, it was just that Edmonton gave me new feelings and new memories, memories I never made with Chad because we had never been there together. There wasnt anything to trigger any sort of 'feeling' of him. I wasn't moving around him there like I do in Vancouver.

So lesson learned - no matter where work or play might take me in the world - if I ever need to find my feelings of Chad, I just have to come home to Vancouver; because home is where my heart is.

A Weekend Away

2010-03-14T17:20:00.000-07:00

Chad and I often talked about going to Edmonton to visit his sister, brother in law and their gorgeous, healthy kids. They come to Vancouver every summer and every Christmas, never expecting the visits to be reciprocated. This weekend was time to reciprocate.

Ben, Chad's nephew, turned 7 and I was invited to his birthday party. Rock and Roll. Laser tag, dinners out, West Edmonton Mall water slides and wiffle ball were enough activities to further solidify that this is family. This is my family. Chad's family is my family - one that I am so lucky and flattered to be a part of.

I have to admit, until this past year, I have always been curious how his niece and nephew perceive me. Am I just Chad's friend who came over whenever he did? Am I Chad's girlfriend? What does girlfriend mean anyways? Who is this lady who always talks so much?

It wasnt until Jen, Bill, Lauren and Ben visited this past Christmas, when walking back from the park Ben came up beside me and said, 'So you're like my Aunty now right?' I realized, I might mean as much to them, as they mean to me. I am more than just Chads girlfriend; I am an Aunty - a role I do not intend to take lightly.

Now that Uncle Chad isnt around to throw them in the water, toss snowballs or light off fireworks with - I am the surrogate who can do that. I get to share stories about Uncle Chad they dont remember, or say things that Uncle Chad would have said.

My insides go floppy when they eagerly asked if I was going to walk them to school, or knock on my door to wake me up, unsure if they should tiptoe to my bed or run and jump on me. Telling them funny stories about Uncle Chad's love for cat's and how he used to call his favourite one "Riiiillleeeeeyyyy" - had them using the same tone walking to school, calling "Riiilllleeeyyyy!!!" made my heart heavy; hoping they could hear his voice the same way I do.

I am so flattered they think of me as Aunty Megan and thrilled I am allowed to be apart of their lives as I would have been with Uncle Chad alive. I love them, and will do my best to make sure they grow up to know and remember as much about their extraordinary Uncle as they can.

I sure hope extraordinary Uncle Chad was able to watch us this weekend - because we sure did miss you.

We really really miss you.

The Hangover.

2010-03-07T14:32:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling - after a great night out. The night where you laughed so hard your sides cramped, or you danced until you couldnt hear the music anymore, or drank every fruity coloured drink (or clear coloured drink for that matter) that was handed to you...those nights.
Those nights that go down as 'Ohmigod. That. Was. Awesome.' ...and the next day is followed by a similar, 'Ohmigod.' this time, said from the fetal position - hopefully from a bed or couch you recognize and around someone you know. - Its a hangover.

I feel like I am in the middle of the biggest hangover of my life. The Olympics are over, my contract with West Vancouver 2010 has finished, I am sorting out my next move for work, and Chad still isnt here.

For the past 3 months, more so this past month, I've gone through big waves of sadness, followed by big 'ups' of happiness and celebrating. My fabulous friends, great job and a celebrating city has made this month of one of the best parties of all time. As of Friday, the city has emptied, my contract is over and I feel like Im in a metaphoric fetal position trying to figure out where I am waking up.

It was a great party. We did it well. Tuesday nights behaving as though its Saturday night, Sunday afternoons behaving like its Friday. Shower hopping, apartment sharing and living out of the bag in the trunk of my car, planning the next stop - it has been great. However, its over now - and the conversations of 'whats next' have been swapped for 'remember when's'.

Similar to great night outs requiring reminders of, 'How did I get home?' or 'I said what?' - I feel like the foggy patches are being filled in for me now. I am remembering what was missing.

There was nobody holding me accountable for anything. Nobody to ask where I was, what am I doing, or what time I might be coming home. There is no Chad to say 'Really? Out again?' No Chad to cheer on Gold with or talk about how amazing Team Canada was. Nothing and no one pulling me down.

As the headache wears off, I'm working on what my next career move will be. Chad was one of my biggest supporters for this Olympic contract I had, and was so proud of me when I got it. He liked hearing about it, he liked watching me love it. He was the best person to bounce new ideas off of help plan the next steps, and keep me grounded.

Of course I have friends, and family - who know me, who support and help me - but Chad is irreplaceable. He knew (knows) the ins and outs of me - he knows why I do things, why I am good at some things and not at others. He knew my layers, he knew my core, he knew everything about me.

Chad was the witness to my life.

So as this hangover continues, Im missing someone to talk about 'last night' with - someone to snuggle me while curled up on the couch, witness what I did, what I said and why that happened. I miss my Chad who can pass me some water and help me get back on my feet.

I know hangovers dont last forever - but this one is going to be a rough one.

Ready?

2010-02-25T13:22:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking alot about 'being ready'. I often flash back to the image of Chad the morning he said he 'was ready'. He was so uncomfortable, his body so poisoned and so ready to get out of it - he was simply ready to leave it all behind. I hurt knowing how badly he must have felt and how exhausted he must have been to declared he was ready to leave this life of ours.

One of the incredible things about that day, was how when Chad said he was ready - it was only a matter of hours before he left his body and his mortal existence. The fact that when he decided he was ready to go, he did, is not only is true to Chad's 'in control' character, but shows how he had been hanging on for so long - running on pure spirit fuel to keep him alive in a body that was already dead.

I can not fathom the conversations Chad (and Eva?) must have had with themselves knowing that at some point they may have to face 'being ready to go.' Although not knowing what its like to be in their bodies, from what I witnessed, the only way I can think to describe what the conflicts of 'being ready' might be like - is similar to being on a vacation that might be ending.

Like being on vacation in paradise, where life is wonderful and you never want to leave. However when the holiday is over and your flight leaves in a few hours, you've packed your bags, you've said your goodbyes, and come to terms with leaving the holiday spot - you get to the gate at the airport and they tell you 'Sorry, your flight has been cancelled for the time being, you will have to stay another day in Hawaii. We will cover your costs.'

What? Sweet? Really? Thats a good thing right? ...Every time this has happened to me, I always feel conflicted and weirdly frustrated: My bags were packed, I said goodbye to the beach, wrapped my head around my holiday ending, and now you tell me Im not leaving?

On one hand, I get to stay in Hawaii, and who doesn't want to stay in Hawaii another day for free?! But, on the other hand, I was ready to go. I had prepared myself to leave. But I get to stay in Hawaii. I don't know I don't know. I was ready to go, and now you're telling me Im not?

Im not sure if that analogy makes any sense, but if it does, I know when Chad was ready to get on that flight, there was no stopping him. Paradise wasn't paradise for him anymore and he was ready to leave - and off he went.

Its been 2 weeks since I got the call about Eva, explaining she was at the end of her life. 2 weeks have gone by and she is back on the transplant list and seems to be holding on steadily. I cant be sure, but my non-medical diagnosis is it's her spirit pulling her through this; keeping her from getting on that flight. It is totally remarkable. Remarkable and so very very deserved.

I cant help but keep thinking back to Chads blog from a few months ago - how Eva inspires him - writing, "If anyone can make it through this it's Eva. I think about her often and can't thank her enough for the strength she's given me."

He is right. If anyone is going pull this off, its her. My goodbye tears have been replaced with muscle flexing and fist pumps; fighting hard on Team Eva. No one is leaving this Hawaii just yet.

Floating

2010-02-17T17:22:00.000-08:00

I feel like Ive been living in a consistent state of suspension. Like I'm just hovering between things, nothing grounding me, nothing pulling me in any direction. Just floating from one day to the next with no structure to help distinguish days. Sometimes this feeling is exciting and freeing, other times, this feeling makes me feel lonely and lost.

Eva is still in the same place she was last week, hanging on to the knot at the end of her rope. I was able to visit her on Saturday. It has been an all too familiar rush of emotions. Talking about light hearted things, but knowing there is an elephant in the room that is too big and too large to talk about. That being said, Eva and I had conversation like we always do - when we had time alone, we talked about boys, health, fighting and loving (not always in that order). We didn't say goodbye, we just said we'll talk soon.

Its so sad, so fresh and so familiar. Describing the sad feels like all the air is getting sucked out of the room (again). I miss having Chad to talk to about the tough stuff. I wonder if he knows how she's doing?

Sometimes I can talk about the situation very rationally and clear headed. Other times I don't know how much more my heart can handle. I don't know if my heart has the capacity to feel more loss, more empty.

I am lucky to have the Olympics in Vancouver - for work and for play. The city is electric and full of positive energy - therefore, night after night whether a Tuesday or a Saturday, I celebrate with the city. (My liver may or may not be paying for it, but I figure as long as I can keep up with myself, I'll be ok.) Work no longer has a regular 9-5 routine, so the combination of celebrating and lack of daily routine is causing for the days to roll into one another.

I haven't been sleeping at the apartment lately - I dont have to. When I have slept there, or been there to change clothes and pack another bag, what used to feel comfortable, now feels lonely. There is nobody to go back to, therefore, no reason to go home. I sleep downtown at friends places, enjoying the distractions and excitement of Olympic festivities.

I wish Chad could have seen the city now. I wish Eva could enjoy it.

I don't know what I'm going to do when the Olympics are over and all the goodbyes have been said. The life I've had over the past year and a half will be gone. I wont sit at the same desk, I wont go home from the same job, ask Chad how is day was or talk to Eva about outfits, gossip and love - that life will no longer exist.

I wonder if I'll stop floating, and there will be something to ground me. Or maybe the smoke screen of excitement and spontaneity will fade and I'll crash.

Regardless of what happens, it will be different. Life will be totally different yet again. I guess this is all just part of the adjustment period.

I want my old life back.

The Princess Warrior - Eva

2010-02-12T13:21:00.000-08:00

When I woke up yesterday morning, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach "Chad didn't even make it to being 35". How sad. So terribly terribly sad. (Sad doesn't do that feeling justice, but yet again, the English language has stopped me short of a proper description). As Jesse says, "He would have been a great 35."

Shortly after waking up, I got the news, that Chad's fellow warrior Eva, wont be making it to 26.

Im not sure if it is my place to post this - but as a fellow lover, I would like to share. I'd like to share Eva's love, Eva's fight and the energy she is leaving us with. http://65redroses.livejournal.com/134498.html

I love her. In the past few months, she gave me more answers, relief and love than I can ever thank her for, and because of her, my bumpy path to life after Chad has become slightly smoother.

Happy Birthday Babes

2010-02-11T10:25:00.000-08:00

My Chaddy,

I dont know the right address to send you a birthday note, but I figured even if you didnt read my blog while you were here, you might read it now.

Happy 35th Birthday babes!

I wish I could have woken you up this morning the way you used to wake me up on my birthday. I wish at 5:30 this morning I could have blasted Sam Cooke's 'Cupid' and sang it irritatingly to you the way you did to me. (Well actually, I would have chosen a different song, something less creative like Stevie Wonder's 'Happy Birthday'

After waking you up, having you tell me to shut up and go back to bed - I wouldn't have listened and would have gone to the living room and brought you your gift in bed. I dont know what it would have been. I see and think of things I want to buy for you all the time. Maybe a penguin sweater - with some colour in it, rather than those dull earth tones you chose to buy yourself. Maybe I would have bought you some cool boots you've looked at. You wanted ones with a skull or something cowboy-biker-ish, so maybe those. I wanted to get you a trip to Vegas, Arizona or Palm Springs, so we could get away for a few days, play in the sun and not have to spend too much time on a plane. Then I was going to wrap up a book on Australia, so we could pick out the places we wanted to visit next month and figure out what beaches and surf spots we'd like best.

I know I tell you often, but each time I write you a card, I realize I probably dont tell you enough, just how much I love you. How proud you make me. How you have made me a better person, and make me want to keep getting better. Everything I do, I do it with you in mind, hoping you will be proud of me too - I hope I make you proud. I know how hard you fight - I know how hard it is to fight sometimes, but I know you are doing it for a life together, and regardless of how long our life together lasts, I hope you know it has been amazing. You give me my movie perfects. It has been nothing short of extraordinary.

So anyways, wherever you are - I know you miss me, and I know you know I miss you too. I hope you know that when I promised you before you took you last breaths, that I will be ok; I have been keeping my promise and I am doing ok. With the help of your friends, my friends and our family, I am doing ok. We all miss you - but we're OK.

So similar to how I've signed off most of my cards to you - I love you. I love you with all my heart. Happy Birthday. I will love you forever and for always...

Your booba.

All we need is just a little patience

2010-02-09T15:45:00.000-08:00

Since I've been doing alot of the Web Development at work leading up to the Games, I am able to spend some of the work day with my ipod on. Some days the shuffle of songs makes me happy, bringing back memories that only songs can spark. Other songs make me tear up while sitting at my desk thinking of the car rides spent singing with Chad, songs that make me think of him or songs he said made him think of me. Recently, a song that came on was one I haven't heard in a long time. It was the song Chad played for me in my eager beaver years - when I had no game, no shame and in hindsight, may have been boarder line endearing - but mostly lame.

He played this song for me when I had just come back from 'free-lancing' in college. We both had dated other people during the 2 years that I was in Jacksonville, but every time I came home, we were on again. One 'lets grab food', a simple, 'want to go for a movie' or an accidental run in and it was on; on like it had never been off.

This is the song that he said I should listen to, because it was the song he kept listening to it while I was away. Over and over again.

Patience - by Guns and Roses.

Shed a tear 'cause I'm missin' you
I'm still alright to smile
Girl, I think about you every day now
Was a time when I wasn't sure
But you set my mind at ease
There is no doubt
You're in my heart now

Said, woman, take it slow
It'll work itself out fine
All we need is just a little patience
Said, sugar, make it slow
And we come together fine
All we need is just a little patience

I sit here on the stairs
'Cause I'd rather be alone
If I can't have you right now
I'll wait, dear
Sometimes I get so tense
But I can't speed up the time
But you know, love
There's one more thing to consider

Said, woman, take it slow
And things will be just fine
You and I'll just use a little patience
Said, sugar, take the time
'Cause the lights are shining bright
You and I've got what it takes
To make it, We won't fake it,
I'll never break it
'cause I can't take it

I don't have a particular reason for sharing the song, but perhaps its just because now when I hear it, all thoughts of 'whatever Chad, just be my boyfriend now. Why wont you be my boyfriend? Why are we waiting? chirpity chirp chirp' go out the window and I think of how smart and foresightful he was. How it was his patience with me and with us, was the reason we made it.

Life after.

2010-02-03T10:58:00.000-08:00

Last week was a little hard for me. Thursday especially. It was a reminder that 2 months have gone by - 2 months without my Chad. I was at work and for whatever reason, its when the realization hit me. This is just the way life is going to be from now on - I am going to have a life without Chad.

Once that thought entered my head, I couldn't get the puddle of tears to stop from gathering in the corner of my eyes,(nor is sitting at my desk with glassy eyes a good look for the office), so I went for a walk. I went down the block to meet my friend Dan. He listened, he talked and let me my puddles leak. I felt better - but the conversations throughout the rest of the day with 'The Bubble', got me thinking, re-thinking and forecasting - What happens to life now? What happens to Megan and Chad - after Chad? ....I know there are no definite answers, but I still have so many questions.

I was talking to Katherine, and she said she was wondered when or if she would ever be completely happy again. I told her I was worried that I might actually be totally happy again. Hell, I am happy right now. I laugh every day; good hard belly laughs. I like work, I've got travel plans. I love my friends and our families. I enjoy time to myself, and time with friends going for late night dinners and spontaneous morning coffees.

However, I am worried the happier I become, the less sad I am that he's gone; the less I remember how happy he made me and how happy our life was together. I don't want that - I want to dig in my heels to keep the feeling of empty and sadness, like it will keep him closer to me; a hole I do not want to fill.

I want Chad and our life together to stay fresh in my mind. How can I be happy if he's not here? How can I laugh so hard when I'll never see him again? Why do I have so many freakin questions - and no answers?

Do people get tired of me talking about him? Do I forget what he used say about me? Do I forget if he liked Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich more or less than Cactus Club Thai Wings? Do I forget how he looked skiing or what song was playing when he'd pull me off the couch to slow dance with me in our living room?

What if I forget what made us laugh so hard we'd get tears in our eyes? Do I forget how perky he looked when I came home from work and he was sitting up waiting for me? Do I forget how his voice sounded when he called me 'boobalina' or how his body felt in his last few hours, with his warm hand linked in mine?

What if there is a date, anniversary, birthday or occasion that go by and I forget we what we did? Why do when I visit Eva in the hospital, I like how familiar it feels; liking the sound of the IV drip and the smell of latex gloves? Will I always hesitate getting into the VGH elevator - wishing and wanting to press '15th Floor' because he might be up there?

What if I hear a song that we used to listen to, and I dont think of him? What if I forget what 'Chad would have said...'? What if I meet someone else and like them? What if I kiss someone else; does it erase the kisses Chad and I had? What if when I want to feel him, and wonder if he's watching me - I cant feel him anymore?

I DONT KNOW!!!!.

I am so scared to forget the details. Scared that if I'm not always being sad or hurting, I'm losing him...little bits or little moments at a time. I know this isn't really true, and I'll never forget Chad - but its the details I'm scared of losing. What a weird feeling; fearing losing someone that you have already lost.

2 months and missing.

2010-01-28T09:26:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the things that are the most comforting are the most difficult.
This weekend in Whistler for example. Friday I was picked up by Bruce and his friend Todd to wind our way up the Sea to Sky Highway to Bruce's cabin. Matt and Laura were there waiting with dinner made and wine on the table; a grand way to start the weekend.

We woke up Saturday morning to bright sky's (ignoring the fore casted "sun with cloud") and got dropped off by Bruce at the bottom of Creekside. The line ups were short, the sun was burning off the morning layer of cloud and my new ski pants looked way better than the hobo hand-me-downs I have been wearing for the past 3 seasons. (Thank you Clark). We got to the top and the second I bent down to tighten my boots I felt my stomach flip. I instantly remembered looking over at Chad at this exact same spot while he was tightening his boots.

The shifting, groaning and energy it took him to get his numb feet and cramping shins into his boots; the frustration trying to find some kind of comfort with legs that have such bad nerve damage from chemo that they either go numb or cramp when he has tight shoes on. I remember looking at him already sweating trying to get his boots strapped up. I missed him instantly.

As I finished snapping up my boots, I had an feeling I haven't had for a very long time; I wasn't waiting for anyone. I wasn't being patient for someone. It was snap and go - catching up to the others who were waiting for me.

We went straight to the top where there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. As the chairlift came over the cliff to the top, I had high hopes of getting a pink 'tan like' singe on my face. Sweet. Then the feeling came again. I was almost breathless. The view was spectacular. Chad would have loved this. He did love this.

As we made our way down the first run I whispered, "I miss you Chad." (Immediately after, I thought if someone were to hear me, I'd be deemed a crazy lady. There is no hiding from this one - there are no Bluetooth's on the mountain, I am legitimately talking to myself.)

The rest of the day was gorgeous. Going down runs Chad and I had skied 2 years ago (he wasn't able to ski last year because of his transplant). I remembered the conversations we had, where I had to stop and pee while he reminded me that it was I was the grossest thing ever, where we stopped and kissed in he middle of the run, or where he stopped to pee and I told him that I hope someone skis by, makes him fall and his crotch gets frozen. I miss him so much

Sitting down at lunch, I had my favourite veggie chili and a beer. Ahhh a beer. What a power lunch. Quite the contrast to Chad's power lunch. Last time we were there, he arrived at the table having bought a sandwich, chili, a brownie, a bag of M&M's and three blue Powerades. He said he needed the energy. Jesse warned, if he wasn't careful, he was going to piss blue.

For the rest of the afternoon Laura, Jen and I skied hard. Down and up. Down and up. Repeat. Down and up. There was no waiting, no boot adjusting, no option of cramping or 'maybe this should be my last run' - we just kept going until they closed the lifts. Don't get me wrong, I would trade anything to be skiing with Chad again - but the high energy girls next to me was a pretty perfect alternative.

Chad and I had some pretty awesome ski days together in the past 3 years. Some days with friends, other times with family. Sometimes we had laughs as a group, other times we had nice quite moments on a run by ourselves. On each occasion whether it be après ski, in the cabin or on the hill - I have wonderful lasting memories of our Whistler weekends together.

The memories don't just stop at our weekends skiing together either. This past year, I've had to go skiing without him. Low blood counts and a recovering heart and body prevented Chad from getting up the mountain; but he was always anxiously waiting for me to get home and tell him how it was.

I would come home on Sundays after skiing, drop my bags on the floor and head straight for the couch he was laying on. I'd lay beside him, (try not to let on that I was likely hung-over, tell him about the weekend and how much I wished he was there. Those memories are almost as great as the ones of us skiing.However, this Sunday, there was no one waiting for me. No crawling onto the couch, or Chad to talk to. No Chad to wrap around me.

All that being said, I am lucky to have these memories at all - memories I am thankful we were healthy enough to have. I am reminded of how much fun we had and how great we were together. I am also reminded that its all over now. No more memories together. Just memories from once upon a time.

Its been 2 months now, and I've missed him every single second since he's been gone. Where are you?

Castle not for sale.

2010-01-22T10:28:00.000-08:00

Now that I have declared my love for someone else - the rest of the gin and tonicers, hairgellers and barstars fall by the waist side; unable to stand the slightest chance at charging their way through the castle walls around my heart. And by no fault of theirs, any run at the wall is likely to end with an abrupt hit, crumbling into an awkward pile at the bottom of it.

Sometimes however, by virtue of naivety and confidence, people still try. How are they supposed to know there is no trespassing, no climbing, knocking or sweet talking on this protected heart? - They can't know, how would they... - but after the fifth question, the fifth run at it - stand down soldier, this wall isn't coming down

Take a recent encounter with a yuppy lumberjack I had when out with work friends a few weeks ago (about three weeks after Chad passed). Let's call him Lumby.

Three girls from work and I are sitting at a table (suited appropriately for four people, not five) having a good laugh and a few drinks. Lumby strolls up, and plops himself down, pulling up a chair at our table for four. He's wearing a shirt that has been purchased wrinkled and proceeds to talk to us, asking us the kind of questions he only wants us to ask him back. "So what do you girls do?" "Do you like it?" "How long you been working there?- By the fifth question, he might as well just have said, "Ask me what I do, and how much money I make, cause I'd love to tell you". Although slightly irritating and funny to look at, I ended up speaking with him for a little while.

He seemed to be quite curious about the vagueness in some of my answers, as most of them were relationship themed. As the conversation carried on, he noticed that I was wearing a ring on my ring finger. (I rarely wore a ring there until after Chad passed - I guess its the symbolism of commitment that makes me wear it there). My ring by no means looks a wedding ring, so his question was, "So. married, not married, engaged?" I think I said something along the lines of "Not married. Complicated. But don't want to talk about it." and took a big gulp of wine.

Crap. I guess "I don't want to talk about it." meant that I would love to answer his questions and talk more about it. "How can a pretty young girl like you have a complicated relationship?" Lumby, careful. Not a good topic. Again, I don't want to talk about it. Really. "Ok, that's fine." Phew he's going to drop it. "But really, why so complicated, I just don't get how things can be complicated for someone like you?" First of all, 'someone like me?' I don't know what that means. What does that mean? ....anyways Jacko - I promise you, its not something worth talking about right now, you seem like you are enjoying your drink and I don't want to kill your buzz. "I'm sure I can handle it" Its fine, really. Drop it.

"Ok ok ok ok". Finally - he's got it. He's a 40 something somewhat socially intelligent guy - he's gonna stop asking. He changes the topic. For about 40 seconds. "So really, you gotta tell me - why so complicated, I can handle it. I'm married, I'm sure I've heard it all." I promise you. Its not worth it. Don't bother. "Tell me". My boyfriend died three weeks ago.

Blank stare. Jaw loosens almost enough for his mouth to fall open. "Shit. I should have stopped asking should I" Yup. Told you. Cheers. "3 weeks ago, is like 3 weeks ago. Shit. How old? How? Really? Shit."

I cant say I didn't warn him - the conversation lasted abut 3 minutes longer and he was already turning around pretending the guy behind him is an old friend "Hey what are you doing here?!" so not to have to return to the conversation that required him to order another gin and tonic.

Great. Thanks Lumby. You and your wrinkled shirt will go on enjoying the rest of your night while I get in a cab and think how awful that sentence felt, "My boyfriend died 3 weeks ago."

I went home, washed my clown face off, put on a shirt of Chad's and tucked myself in like I do each night; under Chad's prayer blanket, the blanket he was holding when he died. (It was made for him by a women in Louisiana who never met Chad but heard of him through Jesse and Nicole).

I fell asleep feeling safe, comfortable, and close to him - realizing that regardless of who I meet, where I go, or what yuppie lumberjack wants to ask questions and push for answers - at the end of the night, I will always fall asleep with Chad who remains my protector, inside the guarded walls surrounding my heart.

Im in love with someone else

2010-01-17T21:33:00.000-08:00

It was bound to happen. Sooner or later. With no handsome Chad next to me at dinner, date nights replaced with nights out with girlfriends, and time spent alone without my partner beside me - sometime, someone, was likely to come along. Someone who would try to talk, someone who would try to ask questions or try to get to know me.

Its happened, on a few different occasions now. Some remotely average guy has sauntered over to a table of all girls to make conversation. We sit there politely entertaining his small talk and responding to his expected questions.

"Girls night out?" Yes. "Having a good time?" Great. "What are you girls doing after this?" Continue to have a good time once you and your hair gel leave us alone. "So what do you girls do for a living?" Work. "What are you drinking?" Not enough to keep talking to you. "So, where is your boyfriend tonight, or are you single?" Shitman. Here we go. THAT question. That scratch the scab off so it starts to bleed again question. "Um..."

It doesn't seem to matter how I answer the question - it doesnt feel good. My first inclination is to say, "No." However, I have noticed that even, "No." prompts another question. "Cool, so where is he tonight?". Loaded question. Whatever way I answer this , it will either sober the poor sod up, or bring on another awkward, self interested question. "What does he do?" or "So are you getting married to him?"..Neither answer, whether it be sobering or ignoring, is a good one.

Alternatively, when some unassuming gin and tonic-er asks, "So are you available? Single?" I have thought to avoid all the questions that come with "No." and answer, "Yes". That answer is even worse. Cause then gin and tonic assumes a green light and rolls forward with his small talk. Also not what I want.

What if I stutter my answer? "Yes, no, but not really, well kind of - its hard to explain, I don't want to talk about it." Ohhh interesting. Hair gel is intrigued. How can this be such a complicated answer? He asks more questions. "Why is it hard to explain? Why do you wear a ring on your ring finger? Are you engaged?" ARGH! STOP WITH THE QUESTIONS!

I haven't figured out how to honestly answer the inevitable question without causing further questions or curiosity; nor do I know how to stop my answer from hurting and reminding me of my harsh new reality. However, what I have figured out is whether my response is, "No I am not single." or "Yes, I am." - the most simple answer is, "I am in love with someone else."

I am in love with a man who rocked my world, who changed who I am, who was tall dark and handsome and was the most extraordinary person I have ever met. His name is Chad.

So goodnight hair gel, sorry gin and tonic; my heart belongs to someone else.

Big love.

2010-01-11T16:17:00.000-08:00

I don't know if going back over Chads blogs, looking at photos of our life together, reading old Birthday cards or listening to Eva talk, but I've been thinking alot about love lately. The special kind. The special kind that people have when life is on the line.

Eva told me a few weeks back, "the advantage and disadvantage to being involved with people like us, is that because of our situations, we love so hard." Its true. I've witnessed it first hand; it is big - and fortunately, I have been the recipient of this kind of big love.

Its the big kind of love when nothing else matters, when your heart is filled up to capacity and still spilling over with it, when your body is tired, treatments and doctors might be uncertain, yet the only thing you are certain of is that you are in love - that kind of love. Big, juicy, voluptious, hard core, love.

That being said, I worry I wasn't good enough or capable to give the same love back. That love is so powerful and so special that I don't feel I deserved it. Last week someone asked me (naively, as they don't know about Chad or our relationship), "Whats the nicest thing a guy has ever done for you."

...hmmm let me see...Flowers, No. Teddies, No. Clothes, No. - Oh yea - "The nicest thing a guy has ever done for me - He held on for me. He didn't let go for me. He survived for me."

(*To avoid such and intense answer, I just explained that Chad took me to New York for my 24th birthday. That was fantastic of course - and a little easier answer to digest after an unassuming question :) )

He survived for me. Chad survived for me. I keep repeating it over and over in my head trying to grasp how immense that is. How strong that is. I don't think I deserve someone to love me that much. It is so big. I'm not saying I don't deserve to be loved at all, but the love the Chad had for me, how can I match that? How can I possibly repay him for what he has given me?

How can I repay someone who made themselves sick for 3 days because they dragged themselves after clinic to find a Valentines Day gift, so I'd have something to open? How do I compete with someone who says, "I think you were put on this planet for me, I think you were put here to make me better."? Or someone who stood in the pouring rain, to watch me run my half marathons - cheering out loud, "Faster Meggy faster! Catch that group ahead of you!". How can I match someone who was in hospital for weeks before Christmas, but still arranged to have something sparkley for me on Christmas Day - handing it to me as he could barely breathe. Really, how can I? I know some of it sounds materialistic, but it reveals the energy he gave me, when he was already running on empty. That kind of energy and love is unmatchable.

So, I don't know where to go from here. I don't know how to thank Chad enough for the love and energy he gave me and has left me with. I don't know how I got so lucky to be the recipient, witness and partner to someone who loves so hard; who chose me to love.

Why me?