Sometimes You Just Need a Hug From Your Dad

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My dad can bust some seriously creative moves from the other side. I can always picture him grinning when he gets my attention. He passed away when I was 24 and has had some very unique ways of saying hello over the years.

Last year I was frustrated beyond belief trying to get better.  I would attend my gentle Pilates class and fight back tears the entire time while trying to hold limbs in place – my legs would literally plummet to the floor if I didn’t hold them up with both hands while wrapping my fingers around folds of my leggings. These are moves I had mastered years before. It didn’t help at the time that a symptom of my gluten ataxia was actually bursting out crying because my nervous system was overwhelmed. It is really exhausting when you are trying to get better but everything you attempt only seems to make matters worse.

In my frustration, like a little girl, I just really wanted my dad to be there to make things better.  Wanted my dad there for me to feel little and protected. Wanted him to say and do “dad” things. I knew he couldn’t fix my situation but even just patting me on the head and saying,”I love you kiddo. Everything is going to be ok,” would have filled my cup. I found myself repeating for several days,”Dad, please come say hi. Give me a hug somehow. I know you are always with me, but right now I really need something concrete I can hold onto.  I love you and need you right now. Show me something tangible.”

After a couple days of talking to my dad in my head and out loud, I headed to the same Pilates class I had attended at a community centre for years, and went to put my mat down as per usual. I always snag the corner spot on a big, colourful children’s play mat. I like the extra cushioning and the space.  For the first time ever, there was a children’s book smack dab in the middle of my mat. I bent down to see what it said and burst out crying – this time out of amazement and wonder – not a messy ataxia cry. I quickly turned to face the wall pretending I was straightening out my mat as people trickled into the room.  The book was open to this page and these words:

Liis on Life Sometimes You Just Need a Hug From Your Dad

Sometimes You Just Need a Hug From Your Dad – I Love You by Ellen Lescoat

 

And I flipped to the front of the book to see this title…

Liis on Life Sometimes You Just Need a Hug From Your Dad

Sometimes You Just Need a Hug From Your Dad – I Love You by Ellen Lescoat

I tried to keep my emotions in check. I had the biggest grin on my face as big, fat tears plopped on my Pilates mat.  And in that class, it didn’t matter that my limbs were in pain and flailing everywhere. It didn’t matter that my brain wasn’t sending the right signals to my tremoring body parts. I grinned through every move even if I was “mastering” 1/10 of it. I had tears in my eyes not from frustration but from sheer joy. My dad was with me. Watching over me. Will always be with me.  And I can’t think of a more beautiful way for my dad to say hi and get my attention. Books are magical to me. Always have been. Always will be.

Some people choose not to believe their loved ones say hi from the other side. Coincidence, fluke, they claim.  I say this is really quite a shame because there is beautiful energy being shared, hugs being sent through dimensions.  Incoming flying hugs as I like to call them! I will take the hugs gratefully thank you very much without having to ask any questions, without having to know how or why it all works. And smile. And laugh. And be grateful. And bask in the good energy. Thanks Dad. I love you too.  xo

Why You’ll Never Hear Me Complain About Winter

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This winter rocked.

Shovelling was awesome.

Clearing off my car repeatedly was thrilling.

Chipping ice off my windows was fantastic.

Digging out my car tires was joy filled.

Repeatedly clearing my walk made me smile.

I am not sure if this winter had more snow than most, was colder than normal, or I was just more aware of the typical I-hate-winter comments that seem to be the norm every year. All I know, is that my body and brain allowed me to do everyday tasks that I am sure I used to moan and kvetch about year after year. I am now bowing out of that comment game forever.

For the first time in several years, I didn’t have to meticulously plan my energy for the week if I had to dig my car out. I didn’t have to think about how I would lift my arms to clear the roof off my car, pray for sun to melt the ice off the windows because I had zero strength to scrape them, I didn’t get completely nauseous and dizzy from five minutes of snow clearing, I didn’t have to clear my car in short segments up to 5 times for something that should have taken a few minutes and sleep for hours after.  I could actually not only push a shovel but grip the handle and lift heavy snow and toss it to the side. Much better than my adopted technique of trying to brush aside a path with my feet.

I found myself grinning from ear to ear from the sheer joy and gratitude of getting to clear off my car. I had energy and I wanted to use it! I went a little crazy a few times and decided to clear off my neighbours’ cars too.  Same with shovelling….I just kept going…because I could. There may have been a few appreciative happy dances beside my car, and several walks through fresh fallen snow with a huge grin on my face. And I did not chime in on the winter complaining…I became the annoying Susie Sunshine of Winter World.

I didn’t get to skate this winter – was still too wobbly for that. But the sheer JOY from digging my car out and shovelling made up for it. Sound crazy?  When everyday tasks are taken away, and you get them back, you will never moan about them again.  They are gifts of movement. They are gifts of strength. They are gifts of independence.

It’s April and everyone is expecting spring.  Yesterday was one of the first days in months that I was really energetic and walked normally all day – no back pain from overcompensating for my legs walking wobbly, no knees buckling, no feeling like my legs were jello, no sensory overload and my brain felt sharp.  Magical day all around.  I went to a movie and came out to a surprise snowfall. I grinned as I yet again cleared my car off. I thought it was a nice winter send off as I was standing on my strong legs, with my strong arms able to quickly clear off my car.  I am so excited for winter next year. Bring on skating. Bring on skiing. Bring on a hike in the snow. And bring on more car clearing. Bring on shovelling. I can’t wait.