Tag Archives: Love

The Scattering of Jody’s Ashes

Fourteen of us came together yesterday, joining Jody in a celebration of life.  Her beloved rosebushes came into bloom on Thursday.  Life is timing.  Thanks, Jodiette.

Last week, I was walking with my friend Pat on the beach at Port Stanley.  I could feel grumpiness coming on as the sand on my bare feet gave way to a surface of pebbles.  On went the sandals.  Then I saw Pat bending down to pick something up.  It was an exquisite heart-shaped stone.  “For you.”

As we fourteen stood facing Jody’s rosebushes, I pulled the stone from my pocket.  Love had moved from Pat to me to Jody and ever outwards.  I placed our stone in a bowl of branches, surrounded by blossoms.  I started crying for my lovely wife.

My friend Theresa sang a sweet song about love, flowers, sun and rain.  I can’t remember the words.  The mist was gently falling as she began and the sun burst through as she ended.  Thank you, Jodiette.

My friend Adele sent me an e-mail after our ceremony.  “Today was a truly moving day….all about LOVE!  Jody was there, in the trees, in the rain, in the gentle breeze, in the bird’s song…she was there!”  So true.  Last night, Jody thanked me for drifting her soul over her roses.  Home.  I love you so much, my wife.  I miss you.

Inside our home, I had lit 70 candles for Jody.  Actually, Theresa lit the last few, including four red cubes that sit on my chest-of-drawers … L-O-V-E.  She asked me whether I’d like her to bring them into our living room.  I said no.  Our bedroom is a sacred space.  An hour later, I checked on them.  Wax had dripped down the drawers, with frozen streams hanging from the handles, and a puddle on the carpet.  I just stared.  Something big was happening, but my small mind started shutting it down with a burst of “How do I clean this up?”  Happily, I didn’t clean it up.  That will be for another day.  I saw my tears for Jody, and my bright red love for her.  And I saw her love flowing over me.

After everyone had gone, I stood before Jody’s roses.  I saw ashes on the end of a branch that had been pruned.  I gathered them between my right thumb and forefinger and placed them in the palm of my left hand.  I cupped my right hand over and talked to my dear wife.  I don’t remember what I said but it was love.  I uncovered Jody’s ashes, paused and blew her into the world.

Jody Orchestrates

My lovely wife is taking care of me.  She is giving me blessed experiences of the moment.  She is bringing loved ones back into my life whom I hadn’t seen for a year or more.  It’s not just serendipity or coincidence.  It’s Jodiette.

I taught a blind child at St. Mary Choir School for three years – 2010-2013.  I’ll call her Julia. Then she decided to go to the provincial school for the blind in Brantford, Ontario for her Grade 8 year.  Fair enough.  For me, though, that meant there was no job left for me at St. Mary’s.  So instead I worked with lots of students with low vision.  During my time with Julia, I had got close to many of her classmates.  When Jody was ill, and after her death, I had occasionally seen a few of those St. Mary’s kids.  But nothing like last night.

Here I go, making up more names.  Yesterday was the final vocal concert of the year at Catholic Central High School.  The students I loved are in Grade 9.  After Jody died, about 20 of them sent me a sweet homemade card, full of caring messages.

I walked into the school, hoping that I would get to say hi to some very special human beings.  After going to the washroom, I could have turned left or right to get to the gym.  Either way was about the same distance.  I chose right, knowing that this route would take me near the Vocal room, where the kids would no doubt be congregating.  I came upon a student that I knew a bit.  As we were talking, a girl walked into my field of vision and stood near me.  It was Brittany.  She had written “You’re in my thoughts as you go through this difficult time.  Knowing Jodie is in a better place, I hope you find peace.”  We hugged and smiled.  “Have you found peace?”  “I’m getting there.”

As I turned away, there was Colette.  She had written “You were always there for us.  Just wanted to let you know that we are here for you!”  We hugged and smiled.  “Hello, Colette.”

Near the entrance of the gym, up strolls Trevor.  He had written “We all love you through this time.”  We hugged and smiled.  “Miss Smith [the secretary of St. Mary’s] told me that last year when Jody was sick, you approached her and asked that she speak on the PA for the school to pray for us.  Is that right?”  “Yes.”  “Thank you, Trevor.”

The concert was stunning.  I got to hear inspired versions of “We Are The World” and Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”.  The voices were beautiful, yes.  The words were beautiful, yes.  But it was the souls of the kids that filled the room.

After the last notes were sung, I saw Anna standing in the gym with her family.  She had written “I am so very sorry for your loss.  Your family will be in my prayers and I hope that you know that we are here for you.”  We smiled.  “How are you, Mr. Kerr?”  “I’m good and bad.”  We hugged and smiled some more.

I was filling my face in the cafeteria afterwards when a woman came up to me and said, “I’m Amy Jones’ mother.  I want you to know the impact you’ve had on my daughter.  Long ago, you gave her a book for winning a writing contest and she’ll never let it go.”  Gulp.  As we were talking, here comes Amy.  She had written “You were always the kindest and sweetest person I knew at St. Mary’s.”  Gulp again.  We hugged and smiled.  I told Amy and mom that I had written a book about Jody.  I’m not allowed to give it to students.  “I would like one,” said mom.  “How about if you read it, and decide whether it’s appropriate for Amy to read?”  “Sure.”  Amy smiled.  I signed the book.  I wonder when she’s 45 if Amy will still look at it once in awhile.  I hope so.

Chance encounters?  I think not.  My dear Jodiette is walking by my side, hugging and smiling, loving me a whole bunch.  How blessed am I.

Caressing the Cheek

I think one of the most loving gestures in life is to draw the first two fingers of the hand down the cheek of a loved one.  So gentle.  Today, I did an experiment.  I was off to World Gym for planned exhaustion and to Costco for bodily nutrients.  I watched people and visualized touching each one of them.

One mountainous man wearing a muscle shirt was walking in front of me.  My goodness, what triceps!  When I was at an angle to him, his cheek and my fingers met each other in my mind.  It felt weird.  What would he do if I actually touched him that way?  No matter.  Despite the differences between us, my imagining made me feel good.  The gesture points to an inclusive world … one in which love flows.

I spent some time talking to two gym employees at the front desk.  They’re both in their 20’s and they’re both pretty.  My imagined fingers now included sexuality, but it was secondary to the pureness of affection.

Costco was another opportunity.  My caressing included:

1.  A baldheaded man with a phone in his ear and a microphone extending forward.  He was gesturing pointedly at his young daughter.  No smile.

2.  A little boy sitting in the food court, playing hand twists with his older brother.  Lots of smiles.

3.  A woman with continually pursed lips, walking silently beside her slumping husband.

4.  A Tire Centre employee, unshaven, and looking a lot like a Hollywood hero.

5.  An elderly gentleman with a bad cold, leathery skin and faltering steps.

6.  An eager fellow pushing his cart far too fast through the crowded aisles.

7.  A girl, maybe 3, looking up in wonder at her mom’s face.

8.  A pretty young woman behind the hot dog counter, eyes so wide to match her smile.

All those cheeks
Some rough, some smooth
Some youthful, some ancient
Some happy, some sad
I touched them all

Soirée

It means “party” in French.  And I was at one yesterday afternoon.  Vicki is a teacher at St. Patrick School in Woodstock, Ontario, and she’s retiring after decades of teaching.  The whole school was sitting on the gym floor as her kindergarten class came to the front and sang to their beloved teacher.  Vicki beamed.

Then there was the video.  We saw the star of the show as a young kid, as a teen, as a new teacher.  Years of class photos shone from the screen.  Plus a few vintage staff photos.  Lots of smiles and laughs from the audience.  Each of Vicki’s current students stood in front of the camera and told us what they liked about their teacher.  Most of them were shy, and I guess a bit scared, but one young man just belted out his message, mouth wide open.  What fun.  St. Patrick’s has students ranging from kindergarten to Grade 8.  On video, each class said thanks, complete with lots of waving.

And let’s not forget the massages.  For years, Vicki has given her colleagues a neck rub at the end of a stressful day.  So here’s staff member number one, a woman, sitting in a chair facing left.  From the right edge of the screen appear two hands and forearms, descending gently onto her shoulders.  After a few seconds of good rubbing, the “Oohs” and “Ahhs” emerge.  This scenario was repeated about 20 times … teachers, educational assistants, custodian, secretary, principal.  All felt the healing touch.  What a community I was sitting with!

For the big finale, all of us lined the hallways, each carrying a little flag.  Mine was pink.  From my spot in the L-shaped corridor, I could hear cheering growing louder.  And then barreling around the corner was Vicki, running and waving as a torrent of joy and flying flags carried her along.  I even got a high five from the golden girl.

Whew.  What a spectacle.  The three R’s are important, but to Rejoice together is the best.

Church

Imagine entering a hospital where, several times each day, the staff meditate and celebrate with all patients who are able to participate.  Imagine that all people would regard their work in such a hospital as inseparable from their private lives, that their home lives would be an extension of their work lives and vice versa.  You would know that all people who share with you while you are in this hospital consider it a privilege.  Imagine a staff that regards being well-rested and clear as their sacred duty.  Imagine the emergency room, surgical and ward teams understanding how to tap their collective energy and thus create a high energy team.

Wow.  And so I imagine.   I call this kind of environment a church, in the best sense of the word.  People are happy to be there.  People talk to each other about their lives, about important things.  People sometimes hold each other’s hand.  And people really look into each other’s eyes.

I think my Costco South in London is a church.  I am welcomed.  Folks smile at me.  The staff are usually very busy but they make sure I am seen.  I can be silly with the food demonstrators and with the people behind the hot dog counter.  I can go to the optical department and complain that my eyes are falling out.  I can greet fellow customers on my way through produce.  It’s home.

Sir Arthur Carty School in London is another church.  The principal is real, not a role.  The hallways are filled with happy chatter at recess time.  The staff room is full at lunch … little knots of conversation, and none of it complaining about students.  Short human beings and taller human beings appreciate each other.  And the answer to “What do you teach?” is “Kids”.

Places of communion exist
They are right under our collective noses
Let’s go find them

Surreal

It all started when I dropped into Catholic Central High School in London yesterday afternoon.  I had a fine visit with my friend Stacy and then walked into the classroom of another friend, Lyrinda.  There were only a few minutes left in the last period of the day.

As the students were walking out at the bell, I recognized one girl and she knew me.  I’ll call her Mary.  Years ago, when I was working with a blind child in Grade 7, everyone went over to the church for Mass one day.  The Grade 8’s sat behind us.  Mary sat directly behind me.  The organist began a hymn (I can’t remember the name of it) which had a descant, an optional melody that’s very high-pitched.  As I sang in my baritone voice, Mary hit the high notes.  There are no words to describe the beauty.  I was writing a blog back then (I still am, as you can tell), and I wrote about Mary that night, being sure not to name her in the piece.

Months later, virtually all of my blog posts got deleted by mistake, over a hundred of them.  (Sigh)  What sadness.  Yesterday, I told Mary the story, and how I wish that I had shown her what I’d written.  Was her post one of the few that escaped the delete?  I didn’t know.

Then Lyrinda and I talked … for over an hour.  How she loves her students!  She prays with them at the beginning of every class.  The teens share worries about loved ones.  They share love.  Lyrinda and I talked about love, about she and I being emissaries of such.  There was no ego in our talk, no “Look at me!”  Just friends doing some “big talk”.  To be immersed in such communion for an hour was … I don’t know the word, but it was big.

I said goodbye to Lyrinda in the parking lot.  As I walked to my car, I knew I was “as high as a kite”.  No drugs in my system but something was sure in there!  I walked into the post office to mail one of Jody’s books.  There was a little roped corridor where patrons line up, with a sign saying “Please Wait Here” at the end.  Two employees were behind the counter.  The only other customer in the room was off to the side, addressing envelopes.  “Come on over, sir.”  “But the sign says to wait here.  I always do what I’m told.”  (Huh?)  Soon the woman with the envelopes was ready.  I walked to the back of the room and she approached one of the clerks.  I was being eyed suspiciously (or quizzically) by the Canada Posters.  Over the next five minutes, I returned to the sign again and again, only to retreat when a new person came through the door.  Oh my goodness.  Am I mentally unstable or just silly?  I’m hoping the latter is true.  Finally it was just the three of us.  A glance back showed me that no cars were parking, no arms carrying packages were approaching the door.  So I mailed Jody’s book, to the amusement of the woman taking my money.

I decided to go see a movie – any movie.  It didn’t matter which one.  I knew there’s usually a film starting around 5:00 at the Hyland Cinema, so I started driving over there.  I was on Wharncliffe Road – four lanes and lots of traffic.  A bus was ahead of me in the curb lane.  I knew what to do, of course.  Pull into the left lane and pass the frequently stopping beast.  Except I didn’t.  I stayed right behind, pausing whenever it did.  Oh my goodness again.  Why am I doing this?

Kite aloft, I walked into the theatre.  I’ll be seeing Preggoland, so said the sign.  And I saw it alone.  I don’t think I’ve ever been alone in a movie theatre.  Do I hear the music of The Twilight Zone?  It was a great film, morphing from a comedy about a depressed girl who fakes a pregnancy to something entirely different and sublime.  The audience loved it.

Grocery time.  As I parked in the Costco lot, I picked up my little black bag of Jody’s books and went inside.  I was floating.  “Someone in here will want a book,” I promised.  After chatting with the pharmacy folks for a few minutes, sharing with them that I was high, I wandered the store, dropping stuff in the cart, and vaguely looking for book recipients.  No one.  At the checkout, a packing clerk checked out my bag.  “I wrote a book.”  “Can I have one?” he said.  “Sure.  My wife died in November and I wrote a book about her.  I’m giving them away to anyone who wants one.”  The female cashier beside him:  “You’re going to make me cry.  I’d like one too.”  “Of course.”  Cue the music.

Homeward bound, with my bread, laundry detergent, bananas, but sadly no fruit tray.  Hey Costco!  Give us back our fruit.  But I wasn’t really bothered by my fruitless endeavour.  The world was shining.

Sitting in my man chair, I looked through the hard drives of my old laptop and this new one, searching for the remnants of my ancient blog.  I tried entering Mary’s name, but that was silly.  I never would have mentioned that in the post.  Using all my brain cells, I thought that I had referred to her as an “angel”.  No luck there either.  In fact, if there were a few posts that had escaped my errant finger, I couldn’t find any.  After nearly an hour of this, I gave up.  Sorry, Mary.

***

C’mon, Bruce.  One more try.  So I typed “school” in the My Documents search window.  42 hits.  Scroll and scroll.  Here was one called “City of God”.  The hymn!  Open the file.  And there was Mary:

And once again … her soprano blending with my baritone
Like nothing I’ve heard in my life
Like no moment I’ve experienced in the 62 years
I’ve been on the planet
Never before
Probably never again

Now that I knew where to look on the hard drive, I saw that only two posts from the days of yore survived – the very first one I wrote, entitled “Time to Write Again” … and Mary’s.

I have a delivery to make next week.

Bela Angel

Well, it seems that I’m on a “Book Tour”.  Over my career, I visited 45 schools in our board, to work with visually impaired students.  I decided a few weeks ago to drop into a lot of them, to see who would like a copy of Jody’s book.  So many people are saying yes, and even if the answer is no, it’s wonderful to see old friends again.

Months ago, I was trying to decide how many books to have printed.  The number “500” bubbled to the surface, to be immediately squashed by my small mind: “Oh, Bruce.  You’re going to end up with 480 books in the basement.”  As of tonight, I’ve given away 432, and last week I ordered another 500.  I’m so happy that people are touched by our story.

Today I was at St. Vincent de Paul School in Strathroy, Ontario.  As I was talking to a teacher in the hallway, a young girl came up to me smiling and said, “You gave me your ring.”  I’ll call her Bela.  Three years ago I was working with a low vision child in a Junior Kindergarten class.  A student I didn’t know (Bela) approached me and said, “I like your ring.”  (It’s a large gold band with a red garnet … a gift from my lovely wife Jodiette.)  I didn’t think.  I just did.  I twisted the ring off my right pinky finger and put it in Bela’s hand.  I smiled.  And then I walked back to my student.  A few minutes later I glanced over at Bela, and she was cupping my ring in her open palm … just looking at it.  A bit later I took it back.

That was then.  This is now.  Bela in the hallway, now a Grade 2 student.  I did what any normal human being would have done: I twisted off Jody’s ring and put it in Bela’s hand.  Big smile from her.  Later in the classroom, she said, “I hope I see you again.  I want a hug.”  So we hugged.  I know I’m not supposed to, but gosh, there was a human being in front of me.

At the end of the period, as the kids were leaving the room, Bela looked back at me, smiled, and spoke a sentence with the word “God” in it.  I wish I could remember exactly what she said.  My guess?  “God loves you.”  And she was gone.

(Sigh)

Restaurant Light

I’m quite partial to Wimpy’s Diner in St. Thomas.  I won’t admit to you how many seniors’ (Who me?) breakfasts I’ve consumed on Talbot St.

I was in London yesterday around supper time and decided to partake of Wimpy’s excellent Greek salad.  I knew the staff in St. Thomas.  Not so for London.  A young woman named Katie was my server.  She was so courteous, even calling me “sir” a few times.  She also arranged for me to receive eight black olives on my salad, virtually a world’s record.  After digesting the olives,romaine lettuce, onions, green peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, feta cheese and Saturday’s edition of The London Free Press, I contemplated dessert.

Bruce to Katie:  Would it be decadent and excessive to have dessert after consuming such a large salad?

Katie to Bruce:  No, not at all.  It would be entirely appropriate (or words of that nature).

Bruce:  What kinds of pie do you have?

Katie:  (Blah, blah, blah), coconut cream, (Blah, blah)

Bruce:  If I had the coconut cream, do you think I’d be alive at the end of it all?

Katie:  Oh yes, I’m sure of it.

(Katie leaves to serve another customer)

(Katie returns)

Bruce:  I’ve decided to show moderation, in that eating pie right now would be seen by many as excessive.  So … I’ll have the coconut cream.

(Katie smiles)

(Katie returns with the biggest piece of pie I’ve had in this lifetime)

Katie:  I thought you deserved it.

(Bruce eating and eating and eating some more … pie mostly gone)

(Katie comes over)

Bruce:  Excuse me, miss.  I have a complaint.  You see that fellow over there in the next booth?  (I had been talking to him and his wife, and I was sure he was willing to play, as I knew Katie was)  He came over here, said that coconut cream looked awfully good, and proceeded to put his face in my pie, devouring almost all of it.  (Man smiles.)

Katie:  Well, that’s it.  The next time you two come into Wimpy’s, I’m seating you at opposite ends of the restaurant.

And so it went.  We all had fun.  Good people.

***

As Katie brought me the handheld machine for my MasterCard, I decided to ask her a question:

“My wife Jody died in November.  I wrote a book about what we experienced during the last year of her life.  I’m giving it away to anyone who’d like to read our story.  Feel free to say no, but would you like a copy?”

(Katie starts crying, and keeps crying for the rest of my visit at Wimpy’s)  “Yes.”

I go out to Hugo to get one of Jody’s books from the trunk.  I open the door of the restaurant.  Three servers – Katie, Robyn and Yasmin – are staring at me.  Katie continues to cry.  “May I have a copy?”  “Of course.”  “Me too?”  “Yes.”  And another trip to Hugo.

It’s all life.  It’s all love.  It’s all who we are.

In The Next Room

Death is nothing at all.  It does not count.  I have only slipped away into the next room.  Nothing has happened.  Everything remains exactly as it was.  I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.  Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.  Call me by the old familiar name.  Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.  Put no difference in your tone.  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.  Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.  Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.  Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.  Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.  Life means all that it ever meant.  It is the same as it ever was.  There is absolute and unbroken continuity.  What is this death but a negligible accident?  Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?  I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.  All is well.

Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)

Kim Brundritt posted this quote on her Facebook page.  She’s the artist who created the sublime painting of a tree that graces the back cover of Jody’s book.  Her dad died two weeks ago.

Jodiette and I talk several times a day and I cry for her a lot.  All the trees out there in the world speak of her.  I’m so sad that I can’t touch her now, and hold her hand.  But we are together.  And Henry Holland helps me hold my darling wife close.  Jody is right next door, separated from my body by the thinnest of veils.  She was right there in Hugo (our Honda CRV) last night as I drove home from Toronto on the freeway.  I was pretty pooped and Jody protected me from harm.  And now, as I sit in my man chair typing, Jodiette has her arms around me.

“Oh, Bruce.  That’s silly,” I heard as I bantered with the waiter in Jack Astor’s yesterday, pretending I was talking to my mom on the phone after he handed me the Interac machine.  The thing is, Jody has seen me do that a hundred times.  She still enjoys it.  I know I’ve often embarrassed Jodiette with my antics, but as she says about any and all hurts I’ve caused, “I forgive you completely.”

“I am but waiting for you, for an interval.”  Yes, my dear.  We’ll hold our arms out wide to each other in reunion.  I love you.

Small Bodies, Large Souls

It’s time to let the kids do the talking.

There’s a Grade 5/6 class at St. Jude’s School in London who have done a lot of praying for Jody and me.  They sent love to two people they’d never met.  They also sent me a book – The Fall of Freddie the Leaf – along with messages of caring.  So lovely.  I visited the students yesterday and told them how special their love is.  Of course they love their moms, dads, brothers and sisters, and their friends, but to reach beyond, out into the world with their sweetness … oh my.  What the world needs now …

Here’s what they had to say:

I know the loss of your wife Jody has planted sadness into your life.  Don’t let that stop you from being who you are.

Life is like a spirograph.  Once one line ends another starts.

Just remember that Jody in a good place and will always remember you.

Get well soon from your loss.

I know its hard to lose someone close.  Jody was probably a really sweet person.

Keep going and keep your wife in your prayers forever and keep her in your heart with all your strenght and your love.

You need to be strong and not to have a heavy heart, because Jody loved you and even though she died, she is actually living everlasting life with you, right by your side.  So don’t just sit there and weep.  Sit by Jody’s tree and fell her spirit in you.

I have a good song to sing that might cheer you up.  It is the song Happy.  So keep that in mind and you will hopefully feel better.  She was probably a very special lady to you.

I hope thease leaves cheer you up.  Hopfully you can recover from this.

Jody is in a better place now.

Mr. Kerr I am so sad to hear of the loss of your wife Jody and hope that she goes to heaven.

Daniel always helped Freddie through rough times just like you helped Jody through her tough times.

Jody may be gone but you still have your special memories just like the special tree you and your wife share.

One day my moms couisim had cancer.  She had it for a year.  That year pasted by and now she is still alive.

You must struggle but I will always keep you and Jody in my prayers.

Mr. Kerr, we hope you feel better and you always know that she is in your heart.

I know how you feel.  Papa died from cancer.  He is very nice when I see his grave and my grandma.  It reminds me of him.

Bruce, we will keep you in our thoughts and prayers.

I had experienced a horrible, sad story too.  She was a little girl who’s name was Adison.  She was a very close friend of mine and she passed away from a car crash at Costco.

I am very sorry for your loss but we all die when it is our time.

Well I hope this letter cheered you up a bit and that soon all their leaf letters will too.

I hope you can overcome your loss just like me and my family did.  I know it’s hard not to think about your wife, but just think of all the things that you can still do.  Good luck!

(Crying)

Thank you, kids