Are you going to be my mommy?

Fall 1989 falling in love with those would become my husband and my  children a few weeks after meeting them

Twenty three years ago on a Canadian Thanksgiving Monday, I got engaged on a picnic table in a coolie on the Prairies. For those who are not familiar with Canadian geography, the prairies are the part of Canada where we grow our wheat and our canola. It is a place where families are farming into their third and fourth generations on the same land that was pioneered by their ancestors. It is the kind of a place where if you `have chickens`, you might have a flock numbering into the thousands, and your nearest neighbour might be two miles to the East of you, or three miles to the South. In these parts of rural and agricultural Canada, a coolie is what I call a dip in the flat land. A prairie coolie is not really a valley, because there are no hills high enough or mountains there to make a valley with. The first time I saw the prairies it was from the inside of a car riding down a highway. I had a sort of panic attack for the mountains. I had never been separated from the security of their height around me and what felt like a veil of protection. On the prairies the sky is a huge dome that surrounds you in every direction. There is no where to take cover and `hide`, only field after field for as far as the eye can see. Although there is not a large population on the Canadian prairies, in my experience some of the highest quality people in the world reside there. These people are the salt of the earth. It is difficult to explain, but if you ever visit the prairies and sit at the kitchen table of a couple who makes their living growing food for others, and drives an hour and a half each way down gravel roads in all weather conditions just to get their children to weekly violin lessons, you will understand how wonderful human beings are capable of being. Prairie people are not my heritage, they are the heritage of the man that I was married to for twenty one years. I was very lucky to have had such incredible people in my life, particularly my in laws. I learned so much from my former husband`s family about all sorts of things. It is a much different part of Canada than my coastal Island home. It is also the part of Canada where I got to watch the displays of the Northern Lights, or the Aurora Borealis.

The first time I saw the Northern Lights was on the way to meet my children. That sounds strange I know, but let me explain. My former husband was married for three years before our marriage. Ten months before he and I met, his first wife was killed in a car accident leaving him a twenty one year old widower with two babies. The baby girl was 23 months old when her mother died, and the baby boy was nine months old. Stephen and I had been corresponding by mail while I was studying and travelling in Europe. I had learned about his situation from a mutual friend who was from his prairie town and was studying with me in England. I had sent him a note of condolence which initiated our correspondence. Both he and I are wonderful creative writers so it was the perfect way for our relationship to progress. When I returned to Canada from Eastern Europe it was just weeks before the end of communism there, which is another story in itself- with twists of smuggling contraband items into Transylvania Romania and having an ambulance ride and life saving surgery in Budapest Hungary-but a story to be told at another time, so back to young love.

A few days after my return to Canada Stephen drove through the Rocky Mountains to meet me in Victoria. There was intense opposition to our relationship in Victoria, and eventually we left together for Alberta where there was intense support toward our relationship. The drive took us about twelve hours through some of the most inspirational mountain landscapes in the world. As we left the Rockies, we came into the prairies. I had never seen the Northern Lights before, and we drove through the city of Calgary at night. As Stephen proudly pointed out the city landmarks I had one thing on my mind, I was only an hour or so away from meeting my two future children! The excitement is indescribable. As we left the city of Calgary and headed toward his home, it was like the horizon opened up above Stephen`s home town and the lights in the sky danced for us. It was one of the most exciting and awe inspiring sights and moments of my life. I knew that under those dancing Northern lights were sleeping angels, two of the greatest loves of my life. Stephen`s parents awoke upon our arrival and lovingly welcomed me into their home and their family while still wearing their pajamas. I immediately looked in on those sleeping babies and I knew with out a shadow of a doubt that I was with my family. 

The next day was spent in much excitement as I got to know the most wonderful one year old boy and the most amazing two year old girl in the world. That afternoon I laid down with the little girl who would become my daughter to help her fall asleep for her nap. A real talker, she did a lot of chatting with me about things, about her various toys and plans for the day. She was looking at me very closely when she paused and asked me a very serious question. `Are you going to be my mommy?` I looked into her beautiful brown eyes and I answered her with another question. `Would you LIKE to me to be your mommy?` She did not answer me right away. She took quite a bit of time to think about her situation. We were quiet for a considerably long time together on the bed. In retrospect I like to imagine her running through my credentials. I was only twenty years old, and I was sure to make a lot of mistakes along the way of raising her, and hurt her feelings, and not be able to be the kind of mother that some of those more experienced and mature mothers might have been. I like to think that when she made her decision it was based on knowing that despite all of my faults and my immaturity, that something in her two year old self could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that I absolutely loved her, and that the two of us would grow up together. Finally she announced with dramatic formality, `Yes I would like you to be my mommy.` Those were the most beautiful words that I had ever heard. I think she said yes to love, despite all of the risks involved. 

my two girls and i being silly together at the farm this summer

Last night I found out that two of my favourite students married each other yesterday afternoon. I love the kind of bravery that marriage requires of us, and that it is a mutual kind of courage to embark on such an adventure. My two students said yes to love, despite the risks involved. In every marriage that I have witnessed, both people have sincerely wanted to be able to make their partner happy, and they have wanted to be happy with that person for the rest of their lives. They know the risks involved by making such an attempt at life partnership. If the marriage does not work both of them will end up with a lot of egg on their face, and they will also have to endure the emotional tragedy of divorce. These two beautiful souls who had the courage to say yes to love in the Gotemba City office yesterday are perfectly matched in their kind and gentle heartedness, their intelligence, and their inner beauty. I know that they are going to be happy together and it delighted me to witness their bravery. It makes me think back to my own marriage and the very strong and contrasting reactions it caused in different people. Some people saw all of our potential to create an amazing and wonderful life together, which we did for many years, joyfully raising four brilliantly artistic children together, and creating plays that brought so much laughter and tears into the lives of our audience members. Other people upon hearing of our engagement only saw the impossibility and danger of the match, which was also a part of our very challenging life together. It makes me ask the question, what is the value of love? Is love only valuable if it has the happy and hoped for ending of growing old together? And what is the ultimate happy ending? Can the ultimate happy ending of love be an acceptance of the person who was once your lover and whom you hoped to be spend your life with as a fellow beautiful soul whom you must part ways with in order to follow your own purposes in this world? Can you wish him or her kindness toward whatever new thing he or she will create without you along on the adventure? Should we only love the people with whom there is a high probability that things will work out with? Or should we have the courage to try and possibly fail after doing what we know was our very very best? I will never regret my marriage and the incredible life that my husband and I had together creating a family and so many experiences of entertaining beloved audiences with our theatre productions. I am proud of us for being so young and so brave and for trying so hard. I know that both of us are still creating, it is just that we are creating different kinds of offerings of love and kindness now, and in different geographical locations.

My former husband has returned to that beautiful prairie in Alberta, and I have left Canada in order to be with another group of people who have recently experienced tragic loss. I arrived in Japan six months after this country suffered one of the biggest disasters in their history, just like I arrived into my two oldest children`s lives ten months after their mother was taken away from them. I walk beside people who are recovering from loss or trauma. It is what I am good at. Where there is tragedy I have the ability to see future possibilities. Right now Japan is my place to create kindness and love toward those who are with me here. It gives me joy to see all of the potential in this country after it suffered a broken heart, the same way that I saw my oldest daughter`s potential when she laid beside me awaiting her nap. In my eyes, where there is brokenness there is a greater capacity for love. That is also my hope for my failed marriage, that my former husband and I will only hold kindness toward each other and a sense of gratefulness for every moment of joy that we had the opportunity to create when our life was shared in marriage. I am very happy to have said yes to love on Thanksgiving Monday in that prairie coolie, because I do not think that the purpose of love is always in the result that we originally hoped for. And I think that love must be brave in order to be properly beautiful, and in order to be brave we must risk losses. I am so happy when people are brave enough to love, to take a chance. Love on people, love on!

stephen and i in character and costume for a show that we took to various fringes in western canada

Now That I`m Less Pretty

Two days before the shock of my more serious surgeries. This is me arriving home on Wednesday morning after walking from the train station during a huge downpour after my date in Hiroo. You can see a small scar on the bridge of my nose from my first cancer removal surgery a few weeks before.

Friday afternoon five minutes after my two surgeries, the larger area of skin cancer removal, and the  reconstructive plastic surgery to cover the missing skin over the bridge of my nose.

Friday night, six hours after surgery

Saturday September 22, 2012, the very WORST morning after of my life.  Enduring the hell of excruciating pain, social isolation, physical hunger, and worst of all, being the owner of an asymmetrical nose. 

Saturday afternoon, managed to have a shower in hopes of feeling human again

Monday morning, back to work. After all, this is Japan. Weeks later my adult students confessed that some of them cried after seeing me for the first time after surgery. I received several very kind get well gifts during my second week.  

Wednesday one week after my date in Hiroo. That morning I started to suffer from a fever and what appeared to me as an infection on the incision. I ended up in emergency that evening after almost collapsing during teaching a class that afternoon. I started a cycle of antibiotics upon leaving the hospital.

Me in the natural light

Maybe Friday or Saturday? On antibiotics, starting to heal up, no more fevers.

Three weeks after surgery, me in the classroom

Three weeks ago I was on an operating table getting my face changed for the rest of my life. I know that there are people who have endured much worse events, but for me, losing my original face was hugely traumatic. It was a loss. Each of us are managing our various losses in life, losses of our health, our youth, our relationships, our dreams, or our loved ones, we are all losing things. I do not have the corner on losses, but I do understand what it is like to suffer them. I see our losses as something that we balance every day. We tell ourselves `I don`t have this, but at least I do have that.` or `Then I had that, but  its okay because now I have this.` When the balance that we have reconciled ourselves to is upset by losing something that we might have felt was our compensation, it shakes us. I have always had such a pretty face and it has made the other things that have been difficult in my life easier to bear. When I lost some face in that Japanese hospital surrounded by strangers and a language that I do not yet understand, I lost an important part of my life`s compensation package. In less than an hour I lost my `pretty` and ever since I have been thinking about losses and about what our faces mean to us. Our faces are our first foot forward out into the world. Our faces are what we present to strangers to convey confidence even when we are feeling less than so. Our faces are also where we express our most intimate feelings to those who are closest to us. Our faces are a really big deal.

The abrupt loss of the original prettiness of my pre-surgery altered face happened within a matter of hours. I was attending an appointment with a surgeon because a previous surgery that was supposed to remove skin cancer on the bridge of my nose had not been successful. When the surgeon saw me at ten that morning he told me through my interpreter that in only a matter of two weeks since the previous surgery the cancer looked to have visibly spread. This meant that he needed to operate as soon as possible. He informed me that because I would be losing quite a bit of skin during the second surgery, he would be doing plastic surgery in a third surgery to cover the bridge of my nose where the skin that had cancer would be taken from. He told me that as a result of these two upcoming surgeries my nose would be pulled up for a year until gravity stretched out the skin to make it look more normal again. As I sat in the chair of his office reviewing the photos of other people`s faces who had needed the same kind of surgery, I concentrated on not throwing up or passing out in horror at their various levels of resulting disfigurement. I was in shock. How do you prepare to lose your pretty face? Only 48 hours before I had been recovering from one of the most exciting dates of my life, I was on top of the world, and now in approximately three hours I was about to become dramatically less beautiful or risk my life expectancy. With my family and friends on the other side of the world in Canada, but for my interpreter and the hospital staff, I was completely alone in a foreign country and about to get a different face for the rest of my life. 

Although I am not used to being unattractive, I am used to loss. The first traumatic loss in my life was also a sudden one and it happened when I was still quite a little girl. I was seven years old when my beloved playmate Davie Johnson who lived just down the country lane from our farm, died in the night of meningitis. Davie and I had adored each other from toddlerhood. He was fascinated by my endless stream of imaginative ideas and my almost white blonde `popcorn hair `. I was enraptured by Davie`s playful creativity and his incredibly gentle and sensitive heart. When my mother told me that Davie had died in the night, but that it was actually fortunate for him as otherwise he might have become something called `a vegetable`, I remember collapsing onto her bedroom floor into the fetal position and sobbing on the fresh new carpet from my deepest deepest place. These new and terrible words, `died`, `meningitis`, and ` becoming a vegetable`, which was apparently some sort of physical state where you cannot move or speak, had completely broken my seven year old heart. What a terrible way to be initiated into this world of earthly mortality and devastating disappointments. Over the next year and a half of my childhood I remember having random and unexpected emotional breakdowns and crying in situations that brought up how much I missed my beloved friend, until eventually Davie no longer being with me became normal in my world.  I think the things that we lose during our lives become such a part of who we are that eventually we cannot imagine who we would be without having lost them. I cannot imagine who I would be without the experience of loving and losing such a close and special friend during my childhood. I could never ask for or want that kind of pain in my life, but I would not trade the love I felt for Davie for escaping how much it hurt me to lose him. I think it will become the same with going through this trauma of losing my original face. I think this experience of being less pretty will become an integrated part of who I am. 

People lose all sorts of things during the course of their lives. I know that losing a portion of my beauty a few weeks ago is so much less than what others have lost or are losing. People have been diagnosed with terminal illnesses and are losing things like being with their children or grandchildren as they grow up. I don`t know what the things are that you have lost or are losing. Davie`s parents lost a beautiful and brilliant child and his older brother lost his best friend and his only sibling. Some people lose parts of themselves during their childhoods because of the harmful actions of others, and other people are the children who`s parent is leaving them in an untimely death before they are ready to face this world without that mom or dad. There are much more difficult things to lose than having such a pretty face, but this loss of my beauty has triggered me to write about the exploration of the journey of losses.I  don`t know or have the answers, I only have the curiousity and the desire to learn more, to be more. I want to do the work on the inside, on the way that i spiritually think and feel about life, in order become even more beautiful than I was before this most recent physical loss, even if it is with a less pretty face. I know that I am fortunate to have had a skilled Japanese surgeon, and I know that this time of having dramatic scars will pass. I don`t know exactly what I will look like after my scars heal, comparative to the disfigurement in those photographs I saw when I was in the hospital, but I do know that this experience of loss and trauma is now a part of who I am, just like Davie`s and my friendship will always be an important part of my life and the person that I grew up to become. I will always love Davie Johnson very very much, because some things, things like love, unlike our beauty, can never be taken away from us. 

Walking Toward the Night

In mid August I arrived back from Canada after twelve wonderful days with my children into the stifling summer heat of Tokyo. I was staying with a friend who was hosting a `Hanabi` barbeque on her roof top deck along the river. Hanabi is the word for Japanese fireworks, and what a display they were! It was longer than any Canadian fireworks display I have witnessed and they even had character fireworks, I have no idea how they technically managed that one?! It was a wonderful time of celebration with great people and a reminder of how brief each season is, including the seasons of our lives. Two months have sped by since that enchanted evening and already so much has changed for both my friend who hosted us and for myself. I am reminded to get the important things done while I have the chance. The busyness of life often crowds out the things that are actually the most important to us. It is time for me to write.