Tag Archives: Kindness

Distant At Starbucks

I hadn’t seen my friend Karina for ten days or so and I was missing her.  For the last four days, the only person I’ve seen is Renato, the Italian chef who’s staying at my place for awhile.  That’s because I’ve been sick.  Haven’t left the house.

Karina and I exchanged e-mails this morning and agreed to meet at Starbucks at 1:30.  How I wanted some more human companionship!  As I drove north towards London, however, I realized this was a big mistake.  I was dizzy.  So what exactly was I doing driving a car?  Where’s the compassion for innocent folks on the road who could be killed by my wandering mind?

I was coughing.  So what exactly was I doing, planning to sit down with a dear friend and thereby share my germs with her?  A couple of days ago I was talking to my friend Cathy on the phone.  She’s a pharmacist.  Cathy thought it possible that I’d contracted a virus that some people have seen stretch on for six weeks.  Did I want Karina to experience that unsavory result while I got to meet my face-to-face conversational needs?  No!

I’ve been lonely the past few days … but so what?  We all go through this.  Do no harm, Bruce.

I got to Starbucks, opened the door and saw Karina getting her drink at the counter.  I walked sort of up to her (six feet away) and said:

“This was a bad idea.  I’m sick.  I don’t want you to get sick.  I’m going home.  I love you.”  We smiled.  And out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman look up from her laptop, perhaps fascinated by the dialogue that unfolded.

Karina and I waved to each other.  No hugging.  No lingering conversation.

“Make sure you text me that you got home safe.”

“I will.”

And I did.

 

Kindnesses

How do you learn to be kind?  Well, you can read a book with “Kindness” in the title.  You can listen to a spiritual teacher talk about it.  But I think the best is watching the people who show up in your life and catching them in the act.

On Thursday night, my friend Adele and I went to hear The Messiah at a lovely church in St. Thomas, Ontario.  At the intermission, we both had to pee.  Adele uses a walker and when we got to the washrooms, there was a lineup of about twelve women.  “Oh no!” I said inside my head.  Suddenly the woman at the front of the line came up to Adele and with a sweet smile told her she could go first.  Her smile was returned by both of us.  And the kindness continued.  Adele graciously said yes, allowing the woman to feel the full impact of her generosity.

Yesterday, I was at a Christmas carol sing at a London church.  At the end, a father came walking down the aisle holding his newborn child, “wrapped in swaddling clothes”.  He approached a young family across from me.  They brightened to see the child.  A girl, perhaps eight, stood up, approached the baby, and gave him or her a kiss on the cheek.  It didn’t matter to me whether the two were siblings or not.  Love is love.

Last night, my friend Renato and I were at a pub in London.  A classic yellow brick home from the nineteenth century, I’d guess.  The hostess ushered us into our own room, with a big window facing the street, and a gas fireplace only a few feet away.  But the music was a bit too loud for comfortable talking.  I asked the woman if she’d be willing to turn it down.  She smiled and said yes, adding that she’d have to turn it up again if other guests came into the room.  Twenty minutes later, here came those other guests.  But the hostess never turned the music back on.  Such a simple thing to do, but also a kind thing.  Renato and I got to hear each other as we each talked about our lives and enjoyed hearing about the companion’s.

I’m a kind person but I have no interest in searching for moments of the past few days to show that.  Other citizens of this planet show us all we need to know.

Magic Times Three

I got up yesterday morning and realized that I hadn’t listened to my answering machine for a couple of days.  There were three messages:

1.  (During Jody’s illness, Manulife was so good in approving prescriptions and in supporting me when I was on short term disability.  For months, though, I have been trying to have them accept receipts for services that occurred within the three months after Jody’s death.  According to Jody’s employer, St. Joseph Health Care, these receipt submissions were legitimate.)

Message from my contact person at St. Joe’s.  Manulife accepts my receipts and will issue me a cheque.  He and his supervisor had gone to bat for me.  Thank you!

2.  (A month ago, I had left a copy of Jody’s book with The London Free Press, asking someone on staff to review our story.)

Message to call my contact at the newspaper.  He told me that although they don’t review the works of local authors unless a major publisher has picked up their work, he’s writing an article about us local folks, and Jody’s lovely cover photo, plus contact information for me, will be in the piece.  It will be published this Saturday, or maybe the next one.  Thank you!

3.  (I’ve gone to the Ontario English Catholic Teachers’ Association retirement banquet in May for fifteen years.  I love seeing friends, eating a great meal, and listening to retirees speak about what their career has meant to them.  As an employee, I would be contacted by my OECTA rep weeks before the banquet to see if I’d like a ticket.  Now that I’m retired, no such e-mail.  The banquet is tonight.  I called my union office on Tuesday.  (Oops)  “I’m sorry, Bruce.  There are no tickets left.”  Sad but determined, I decided to show up at the banquet anyway.  There’d be no food for me but surely I could pull up a chair to a table of 10 and chat.)

Message from the union office.  “One ticket just became available.  It’ll be waiting for you at the registration table.”  Thank you!

***

I’m such a lucky guy … blessed left, right and centre with kind human beings

All Of Life’s Hues

Life is timing, I’d say.  Months ago, after Jody died, I decided to buy a ticket to see Celtic Woman on March 25, 2015.  Jody and I loved to watch their DVDs.  Some truly enchanting songs.

Nearly four weeks ago, I started coughing.  Bronchitis, the doctor said.  It subsided for awhile but came back with a vengeance maybe four days ago – deep coughs, lots of mucus, stuffed nose, and intermittent nausea.

So, what to do?  Well, go to the concert.  I sat down next to my unsuspecting neighbours and tried my darndest not to cough.  The first song (three sublime female voices and a brilliant violinist) wasn’t bad, but halfway through the second one I was rocked with eruptions.  Totally unfair to the audience members.  I told the woman to my left that I’d be leaving at the end of the song, and to be ready.  She was feeling for me.

I made my stumble along the row, apologizing mightily.  Then down the tunnel to the concourse, where I just about fell onto a bench.  Down went my head and up came the mucus.  Later, I wondered how my noises echoed in the empty space, empty except for several employees getting ready to serve drinks and snacks.  One woman brought me over a paper cup for water.  Thank you.  A supervisor said she’d search for an empty area in the arena where I could enjoy the show and not disturb other patrons.  Thank you.  A third woman suggested I stand beside her in the tunnel and catch a glimpse of things that way.  Thank you.

But I wasn’t ready for any of that.  My ample supply of Kleenexes was dwindling and the mucus wasn’t.  And I was dizzy.  Somewhere far, far away I could hear the sweet strains of “Danny Boy”, one of Jody’s and my favourites.  Beauty and spasms with their arms around each other.

Later, I felt strong enough to stand in the tunnel, leaning on the handrail.  Such a unique view of the music.  Then, from behind a blackout curtain, came the supervisor.  She had found a spot for me.  Up the escalator we went, and then past a balcony filled with folks enjoying their meals at tables.  Through a secret door, and then another secret door.  And there I was – in a private box, which normally would seat twenty, but tonight was dark.  Thank you again.

Coughing continued, but at least people were far away.  And down below me, I listened to the magic of melody and harmony: “Amazing Grace”, “Caledonia”, “You Raise Me Up” and “The Parting Glass”.  Jody and I held hands and sang along.  I cried when she raised me up.  She thanked me for bringing her.  “The pleasure was all mine, my dear.”

Just your basic date night.

Ella

I went to see a fine movie last night.  Cinderella was beautiful, which is nice, but far more importantly, she was courageous and kind.  She was asked to be that way by her dying mother, and she did as she was asked.

When Ella came to the young king’s ball in a stunning blue dress, and started down the grand staircase with all eyes on her, I thought of Jodiette.  Especially one time at a bed-and-breakfast in Nova Scotia.  I was sitting at the breakfast table with other guests when my darling walked slowly down the stairs.  “It’s my lovely wife,” I said.  I was in love, and still am.  I cried when Ella came walking down, with her friend the king smiling up at her.

Later the two of them danced, swirling around in a flurry of blue, loving each other’s touch, eyes shining.  Oh, how Jody and I loved to dance!  The joy in her eyes.  The moving and the grooving.  I miss my girl.

Ella was so kind, to the mice who were her friends, and even to the people who oppressed her.  Near the end of the film, as she and the king were leaving her home, hand-in-hand, Ella looked  up at her stepmother, slumped halfway up the stairs.  With great presence, Ella simply said, “I forgive you.”  And I knew she had.

May we all have the love that Ella and the king share, that Jody and I share, and may we all be kind.  The world needs us.

Me or You?

I went to see a movie yesterday – Two Days, One Night.  It hit me hard.  The story is about Sandra, one of 17 employees at a small factory.  She is returning to work after a period of depression, and I guess her job performance isn’t back up to snuff yet.  The boss met with the other 16 people and held a vote: Lay Sandra off and give the 16 a bonus of about 1000 Euros each or keep Sandra and forget the bonus.  The result?  14-2 in favour of the money.  At closing time on Friday, Sandra and her friend meet with the boss and convince him to hold another vote on Monday morning.  Sandra has the weekend to approach each of her fellow employees and ask them to vote to keep her on.

This is life in all its rawness, and realness.  How do you compare the value of someone losing her job (with the family likely having to go on welfare), with the stories of many other people who are just getting by?

One family saving for their kids’ education, a second one wanting a new patio, a husband and wife at war about “the right thing to do”, a man in tears as Sandra approaches him, horribly guilty about having voted for the bonus … it’s all on the screen.  Plus Sandra’s decency – her tears when someone says they’ll vote for her on Monday, and her gracious “I understand” when another person says they need the money.  And then there’s her courage, knocking on door after door, not knowing whether she’ll be hugged, hit or ignored.  Such grace.

I sat in the theatre watching the largeness and smallness of human beings.  All part of the tapestry.  All to be honoured.  And yet … may we be large.

 

All Else Pales

 

An eight-year-old boy died Monday trying to rescue his disabled grandpa from a fire after saving six others.  CNN reports that East Rochester’s Tyler Doohan was staying with relatives in Penfield, New York when he saw a fire in their trailer early Monday morning.  By the time firefighters arrived, Tyler had woken six people, including two toddlers.  It appeared Tyler was trying to lift his grandpa from bed when both died from smoke inhalation.

The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath.  It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes
The Merchant Of Venice Act 4, scene 1

There are so many things I could be doing with my life right now … drinking beer, studying my investments, reading the sports section.  Nothing wrong with any of them.  But loves outstrips them all.  Whether it’s trying to carry someone who weighs three times as much as you, or holding the door for someone, or just gazing at the photo of my wife on the wall, the energy is clear.  It’s unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.  There’s no sense of exchanging my good deed for yours.  No premeditation of possible consequences.  Just pure action, pure contact, pure service.

I’ve bought a lot of DVDs over the years, and that’s nice.  I’ve received the accolades of my peers, and that’s even nicer.  But the moments where I have loved – nakedly loved – stand apart.  You can keep your riches and high self-esteem and multiple proficiencies.  I know how I want my moments to play out, whether in the grocery store, at school, or on the couch.

Love lives in the hearts of us all
Leaking from our pores to water the wide world
Please let me have the eyes to see
The need for love in each lonely boy and girl

Celebrating, Ending and Celebrating Again

Dear companions on the journey,

I’m feeling sad.  I’m feeling nostalgic.  I’m feeling thankful.

For those of you who have been reading my e-mails about Jody since November, 2013, this will be the last message you’ll receive.  It’s time to bring this particular written journey to a close.  The love I have for my dear wife will never end.  It grows every day, and so, it seems, do my tears.  Jody wants me to smile and show the world my true colours.  I’m trying to do that.  But it’s hard.  I love my wife quadruple oodles.

At last count, my e-mails are going out to 322 addresses.  Thank you for being here with Jody and me.  Thank you for praying for us, sending us love, sending us positive thoughts … whatever you have been doing.  I’m clear that your love allowed Jodiette to spend her last seven months at home – enjoying our home, enjoying her garden, enjoying little trips here and there, and enjoying me.

With the completion of today’s e-mail, I now turn towards Jodiette: My Lovely Wife, the book I’m writing about my dear one.  I hope that the folks at Blurb, a self-publishing website, will be a big help as I navigate the unknown waters of content and design.  The book will mostly be a compilation of all those e-mails, plus some posts I created about Jody on my website, as well as a little section I’m calling “My Surprising Wife”.

The goal is to have Jody’s book in my hands by April.  When it’s ready, I’ll send you one brief e-mail, asking you to respond if you’d like a copy.  I’m giving it to whomever wants it.  It’s a love story, you know.

Many of you reading these words are not among the 322.  You’ve been reading posts on my website – brucearcherkerr.com.  If some of you e-mail recipients would like to continue hearing what I have to say, tune in there.  I love writing, and except for periods of meditation retreats, I intend to put fingertips to keys every second day or so.

***

I loved Saturday.  About eighty of us were at the Bellamere Winery to celebrate Jody’s life.  Folks came from near and far, with the far including Collingwood, Brantford and Toronto.  Lots of smiles and lots of tears.  Many wonderful people came to the front of the room and spoke – Jody’s teenage friend and maid of honour, co-workers and friends from Parkwood Hospital, family members of fellow cancer patients at Victoria Hospital, my colleagues.  Marvelous.  One woman told the group “I don’t know what to say, but I want to say something.”  Lovely.

One friend from Parkwood said that she loved watching Jody and me leave the hospital at the end of the day, holding hands.  A friend from Victoria Hospital, a single mom, mentioned that someday she hopes to have the quality of love that Jody and I share.  May it be so.  Someone told us how Jody glowed when she talked about me.  And then there were her funky clothes, including all those pastel pants.  Oh, my wife.  How you are loved!

I shared some of the great words that have flowed from my wife’s lips:

Jody:  Where are we going, Bruce?

Bruce:  Disney World!

Jody:  No, Bruce, we’re going to Playa del Carmen, Mexico.

***

Stop, Bruce!  We’re here.  (The Pantages Theatre on Yonge St. in Toronto, the site of “Phantom of the Opera”)

***

Brucio, Brucio. Wherefore are thou, Brucio?  (at an open house in Lethbridge, as Jody looked down at me from the second floor)

***

I talked about how Jody dressed up in a sparkly black top and a funky green hat for my retirement speech last May.  She wasn’t strong enough to go to the London Convention Centre but she followed all the action via Skype.  Jody was so proud of me.  I talked about the bread that Jody baked me every Christmas, and how last September she coached one of our personal support workers in how to make it, sensing that she wouldn’t be alive in December.  I made copies of the recipe (in Jody’s handwriting) for the guests at Bellamere.  Many were thrilled to receive it and will no doubt pass on Jody’s love to their family.

Love moved in all directions on Saturday.  Our friend Neal stayed with our friend Carole as she waited and waited in her wheelchair to be picked up by a transportation service after the celebration.  I told the folks about Etienne, the husband of one of the speakers, who rode with me towards the end of a cycling trip when I was exhausted, making sure I got home safe.  I saw the love coming from a dad to his daughter, also in a wheelchair, and the returning gladness in her eyes.  And then there were all those who reached for a Kleenex during our time together.

Music!  There was lots of it.  Here are few of my favourite lines, aimed so dearly at you, Jodiette:

Free in the Harbour:  They broach and they spout and they lift their flukes out.

True Colors:  (From Jody to us)  If this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear, you call me up because you know I’ll be there.

For You:  Just to know that you’re never really far away …  Just to know that you’re here in my heart to stay.

Annie’s Song:  Let me always be with you.  Come let me love you.  Come love me again.

The Irish Blessing:  And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

In the Arms of an Angel:  Fly away from here … from this dark cold hotel room …  You’re in the arms of an angel.  May you find some comfort here.

Jody helped me sing Annie’s Song to the group.  When I couldn’t go on halfway through the second verse, the people facing me starting singing.  Strengthened by my wife’s love, and theirs, I began to sing again.  I invited the audience to sing the last verse with me.  They did.  Thank you all.

During the YouTube videos and the DVDs,  I’d often lift my eyes from the screen and look at the photo of my lovely wife on the mantel.  Such love in Jody’s eyes.  Before the ceremony, I had been fiddling with the placement of the photo, trying to reduce the glare coming from the track lights.  But I couldn’t get rid of it.  After Jody’s celebration was complete, I looked again, and saw a little whitish spot in the middle of my wife’s lips.  And I smiled.  Every night before getting into bed, I stand in front of Jodiette, moisten the tip of my right index finger, and press it to her lips.  A kiss that stays.

Finally, folks came up to give me a hug as they got ready to leave.  They had lovely things to say:  “Thank you for sharing Jody with us.”  Of course.  Diamonds need to be seen.  “Thank you for showing us such a vivid love today.”  You’re very welcome.  Pass it on.  And in the guest book:  “Honour Jody with your life now.”  Yes, I will.  “We love how you honour Jody’s memory with your stories.”  Thank you.  “Celebrating an everlasting love”  Indeed it is.  “Celebrating life”  All of us.

On a table, I had placed a number of objects that were important to Jody and me.  And I put out a little sign:  “Please touch and open.”  As I was packing up, I looked at that sign, and thought of us touching the people in our world, opening our hearts to them.  It’s what Jody wants us to do.

I also looked at a book of Jody’s I had put on the table:  Your Happy Healthy Pet: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.  She had so much wanted to get a dog when she retired.  It wasn’t to be.  But an image came flooding into my head …  Jody running in the meadow with her doggie, laughing with her canine friend.  “Are you with your doggie, Jodiette?”  “I am, Bruce.”

I didn’t want to go home.  I wanted to be with human beings.  So I drove to the Byron Library and plunked myself down in a cozy chair, near a few newspaper readers.  I looked through a wall of windows, to trees near and far.  And thought of Jodiette:  “I am all trees, Bruce.  I welcome you everywhere.”

I read my book a bit but Jody wanted to talk, and so did I.  She let me go first.

“I love you, my dear wife.  There was so much love in the room, Jodiette.  People laughed.  People smiled.  People cried.  You touched them.  I touched them.  We touched them.  It was good.”

Jody’s turn:

“Thank you, Bruce, for such a lovely day.  All those people who love me and love you.  And so many people were brave enough to speak!  I saw it all, Bruce.  Thank you for making it happen.  Thank you for loving me so very much.”

You’re welcome, my dear.  You deserve great kindness.

I still wasn’t ready to go home so I headed to the Cineplex Odeon Cinema to see “Selma”.  First I went to their lounge and had a key lime smoothie and nachos.  Yum.  In the theatre, I moved over so that two fellows could sit together.  The guy next to me was so thankful.  We talked about kindness until Martin Luther King appeared on the screen.  After the film, we stayed in our seats while the others got up to leave.  We talked about King and Gandhi and JFK.  As they stood, we shook hands.  And the gentleman who had been two chairs away from me said, “Take care of the ones you love.”

Yes

Celebrating Jody

Dear friends,

I hope that you’ll come to Jody’s Celebration of Life on Saturday, January 31 at 11:00 am.  It will be held at the Bellamere Winery in northwest London.  The best way to find Bellamere is to get yourself to the intersection of Wonderland Road North and Gainsborough Road.  The Sherwood Forest Mall is on the southwest corner.  Turn left if you’re coming from the south and head west on Gainsborough.  Keep going past Hyde Park Road and you’ll find Bellamere about a kilometre along on your left.  There’s been major construction on Hyde Park, so I wouldn’t go that way.

From the 401 westbound, take the 402 where it splits off the 401 and exit at Wonderland Road.  Head north for quite awhile until you get to the Sherwood Forest Mall.

There’s free parking at Bellamere.  You’ll see two buildings.  Walk towards the right one.  Under the portico, go in the double doors on your right.  If you’re in a wheelchair, there’s a ramp in front of the single door that’s to the left of the double one.

There!  Directions handled.

Please sign the guest book on the long table as you go in.  After Jody’s celebration, I hope you’ll stay for a light lunch.

May our time together be a marvelous sharing of stories … of Jody’s smile, her humour and her love.  My darling wife touched so many people.  I hope that I’ll be laughing a lot.  Most likely I’ll also be crying a lot.  Both are just fine.

May you have the courage to come to the front and tell us about Jody and you.  We can paint pictures of how Jody moved through life.  I certainly have a few fun experiences to share.  Jody knew fun.  If you can’t imagine speaking in front of potentially a lot of people, please send me an e-mail of what you want to say, and I’ll read it to the group.

No doubt, there will be a lot of love in the room.  There’ll also be a lot of music … some of Jody’s favourite songs.

***

The past few weeks have helped me remember the beauty of my lovely wife that she showed as her life moved towards a close.  In September, Jody wanted to bake me a loaf of French pepper crackling bread, our Christmas tradition, but she wasn’t strong enough to do it.  So she coached Linda, one of our personal support workers, in the baking of this wonder.  There was Jody in her wheelchair, telling Linda this and telling Linda that.  And a couple of hours later … Voila!  My bread awaiteth.  And it was delicious, just as it’s been for twenty years or more.

Only weeks after Jody’s death did I realize that she wanted me to have one more loaf of our love bread, and that she knew she wouldn’t be around at Christmas for this blessed tradition.  Jodiette loved me quadruple oodles, and she still does.

For the last two months of Jody’s life, she wanted to wear all the rings that I had given her … and so she did.  Seven in all.  My favourite is the heart-shaped golden ring, with three little blue stones, that I gave to Jodiette as I asked her to marry me on English Bay Beach in Vancouver.  That was in September, 1986.  So many lovings ago.

My life has been changed by the time I got to spend with Jody Anita Kerr in this lifetime.  She gave me all she had.  Jody made sure I ate well, looked good and was happy.  Her song for me has always been “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You”.

Search your heart and your soul
You can’t tell it’s not worth dying for
I’ll be there
I’d walk the fire for you
I’d die for you

On February 24, Jody and I will be in Budweiser Gardens, listening to Bryan Adams sing to us.  I only bought one ticket.  That’s all we need.  We’ll sing along.

I love you all,

Bruce

Travelling

Tomorrow morning, my friend Neal and I get on the train in London and head to Toronto.  He’s from B.C. and will likely be going back there in June.  I thought it would be cool to show him the big city before he goes.  I never expected just how cool our visit could be – daytime wind chill tomorrow is supposed to be around -25 degrees Celsius.  Oh my!

These four days will be my treat for Neal.  He deserves my kindness.  He deserves to have his Toronto whims satisfied.  Let’s start with a window seat on the train so he can see Ontario unfold.  Maybe a coffee cart will come rolling by to keep us warm.  Neal will be able to see the secret worlds of backyards and back fields.  He’ll be able to gaze and doze and perhaps dream.

Two hours away is downtown Toronto.  We’re staying at an historic hotel across from the train station – The Royal York.  A grand lobby.  A cozy lounge walled with the darkest wood.  A room with a view.  Even a thick white bathrobe, I hear.

In the evenings, we’re taking the subway to Hugh’s Room, the granddaddy of Canadian folk music clubs.  On Thursday, we’ll listen to Lillebjorn Nilsen, a gentleman who’s apparently a musical icon in his native Denmark.  On Friday, lots of singers and players will favour us with the music of Paul Simon.  And the best may be last.  Saturday night, we get to hear Joanna Chapman-Smith, a Toronto singer-songwriter who fell ill a few years ago and completely lost her voice.  The doctors worried that it would be permanent … but it wasn’t.  Happily for the world, Joanna is singing again.

As for the days, who knows?  We have ideas … the Ontario Science Centre, Ripley’s Aquarium, Allan Gardens (acres of greenhouses) and the Art Gallery of Ontario.  Or maybe sit in the lobby and read a book.  Neal’s call.

Friday is my birthday.  66 seems like a nice round number.  My first birthday without Jodiette.  Except that’s not right.  Jody will be with me every step of the way.  The “I am here, Bruce” is now very calm, as is my smiling nod in response.  There are still lots of tears falling from my eyes but Jodiette is here to share it all.  Even with the absence of her body, I am blessed.