Say I Love you...

Loss and bereavement can remind you sharply of what can happen when in life you do not show your love and appreciation, or ask for forgiveness, and so make you far more sensitive to your loved ones.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross said: ‘What I try to teach people is to live in such a way that you say those things while the other person can still hear it.” And Raymond Moody, after his life’s work in near-death research, wrote: “I have begun to realize how near to death we all are in our daily lives. More than ever now I am very careful to let each person I love know how I feel.”

My Brother and Mother's Death's

I wrote this last Christmas and had some requests to re post

 so here it is.  Peace and goodness to all.

Life

It’s Saturday night after a week of listening to stories in therapy and reflecting on who I am as a therapist. We carry our experience with us and it contributes to how we interact with each other. Often the stories I hear are painful ones. Many times people find it hard to let go. I find it hard to let go. It’s been nearly five years since I watched my brother die at 49. Held his hand as he took his last breath. Then four months later my mom died. Died, I guess, of a broken heart. She shut down and went away.

It doesn't mean I know what you feel. It doesn't mean that I understand. Instead it informs my ‘Toddness,’ my sense of ‘I am’. Their deaths as painful as they were became a part of the tapestry which is me. And in that me I can be happy. Happy that they are a part of the fabric of my life. So when I listen I do not know what you feel, but all of me which is colorfully made listens with a careful ear.   Peace. Todd

When Mother’s Day Isn’t Good…

Its mother’s day soon.  They sell a lot of flowers, buffet brunches and hallmark cards.  The commercialization never suited me much.  The cliche goes everyday should be mother’s day or at least you should be thankful you have one.  But truth be known all mothers aren’t good; some are drunks, others just mean and some abandon their kids.  So mother’s day may mean something different to many of you.

For me, well, my mom’s dead.  Five years ago and much too young.  Some days it makes me mad.  It just felt like she gave up on life.  My brother had died four months earlier and she just didn’t recover.  She died of a broken heart.  So for me mother’s day is a long walk in the country wandering with memories and wishing for one more chance to cook her supper and talk about recipes. 

On mother’s day if mom was good enjoy the celebration.  If mom was bad take time for healing and gentle kindness.  Or if like me your mom is dead and you miss her… well enjoy a walk and have a chat along the way.      –Dr. T.S.

Life

Life

It’s Saturday night after a week of listening to stories in therapy and reflecting on who I am as a therapist. We carry our experience with us and it contributes to how we interact with each other. Often the stories I hear are painful ones. Many times people find it hard to let go. I find it hard to let go. It’s been nearly five years since I watched my brother die at 49. Held his hand as he took his last breath. Then four months later my mom died. Died, I guess, of a broken heart. She shut down and went away.

It doesn't mean I know what you feel. It doesn't mean that I understand. Instead it informs my ‘Toddness,’ my sense of ‘I am’. Their deaths as painful as they were became a part of the tapestry which is me. And in that me I can be happy. Happy that they are a part of the fabric of my life. So when I listen I do not know what you feel, but all of me which is colorfully made listens with a careful ear.    Peace. Todd

How we live...

Loss and bereavement can remind you sharply of what can happen when in life you do not show your love and appreciation, or ask for forgiveness, and so make you far more sensitive to your loved ones.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross said: ‘What I try to teach people is to live in such a way that you say those things while the other person can still hear it.” And Raymond Moody, after his life’s work in near-death research, wrote: “I have begun to realize how near to death we all are in our daily lives. More than ever now I am very careful to let each person I love know how I feel.”

My mom died in the night...

My mom died in the night.  We sat beside her, on watch, waiting for that last breathe or the tiny few words whispered...but they never came.  Quietly as my sisters slept by her side she stopped being here on earth.  Some days I ache at the thought of it.  Wanting to cook potato pancakes with her one last time.  Wanting to watch her ooze with pride at watching my children practice piano.

Grief is a funny thing.  It comes in waves when you least expect them.  I am learning to embrace those moments and sit in the thought of mom and feel her presence.   It ain't perfect but my grief has taught me to live.  Some days when I walk she walks right beside me and I marvel at the sunshine.  ---TJS

Woke up this morning thinking about death...

Woke up this morning thinking about death.  Sounds morbid but true.  My uncle, an active thoughtful man, died at a stop sign with his wife next to him.  Her terror must have weakened her bones.

Doesn’t take the Lion King for me to realize that we are born to die, that the gift of each day is the movement toward our last breath, but I am angry and sad.  His English lilt and gentle smile are gone from my earthly place.  This morning I am dwelling on the thought of my death.

It is also the time of year that my brother died.  Four years ago at 49 I rolled out of my bed, went to the hospital and held his hand as he took his last breath.  I often walk around the lake and speak to him silently.  I miss him.  So this morning I am thinking about death and perhaps more importantly about life and what we do in the days we have.   Uncle Dave and brother Mark are dead.  Today I walk the dogs as the geese squawk.

TJS 2012

When someone you love dies...

I have worked with hundreds of people who have lost someone close to them.  Death comes as a part of the natural cycle of life.  The challenge is that we never know when.  I held my brothers hand as he died and I recall the sudden gasp of his last breath.  My physical relationship with him ended and I was astonished at how frail these bodies are.  I want to say that it changed me in some powerful way or that I am happy to have a spirit filled relationship with him, but I can't.  The truth is I miss him.  The long walks bantering about philosophy, late nights drinking pints of beer or the hours we spent at 'fringe festivals' grading the plays we saw. 

I can accept death as a part of my journey, but I am more profoundly moved by the intensely personal experience it can be.  I changed as he died.  Perhaps it made me stronger or sometimes I think, more vulnerable.  Either way I find myself being more mindful of my days.  Listening to the wind, following the pattern of bird songs or listening to the laughter of children.   Sometimes I simply marvel at the sound of my breath.  TJS

The Funeral

The Funeral (Wieahnakapi)

Dave’s brother was eaten by his dogs. At least a third of him was.
In a broken home with locked doors nestled in a field among trees

No shouts were heard as drugs and booze numbed his waking.
Alone he died with the cries of generations like whispers
Moving through the trees.

The prairie wind snapped the edges of the make shift tents as the women placed the feast food and family gifts on the floor.

Prayers rose to the sky and were carried away in the blessing of the sweet grass. Servers passed the food in gentle caring circles with the elders filling baskets and containers to sustain them at home.

Words were shared and quiet conversation passed the time until all was given and nothing was left. In a beautiful rhythm on that hot July day the many gathered followed their same way home.

Dave’s brother was dead. Dave leaned on the truck. His mother had fallen asleep on the couch alongside her home.

Todd Sojonky 2002

Canada's Third World People

Most people are not aware of it. The fact that many people in the Canadian north are dying. In one school division alone twelve suicide attempts in the past four months. Numerous acts of violence, missing women, and hungry kids. The schools throughout the Canadian north are the battlegrounds where teachers, principals and support staff work with the communities to find answers. Why are so many children in Saskatchewan dying? Why does no one seem to care? So this week in Sandy Bay a missing boy is now presumed dead. His footprints in the snow led to a spot near the ice. Like the stinging bite in the bitter wind. It warranted two paragraphs on the second page. If we have a sense of social justice it should begin at home. TJS



Moonlight Over a Northern School

If all the stories had the same voice or the words heard the same source then knowing would appear rational. Like I could touch and feel the voices in my head from the words that were said.

Or perhaps the knower takes the scalpel and removes the discourse from its voice and examines it laying dead. Then what hurt and bled could be touched and the discourse then made solid. Instead the words follow the trees and breeze cross the valleys and through the snow covered woods.

It is cold now and the moon shine has fragmented the solid structure of my mind. There is no reason to the voices only discourses dancing in the moonlight.

TJS 2009

Losing your dad sucks...

"I lost my dad on December 18th and I watched him get buried on Christmas day. It makes me feel angry and I am angry because I had a shitty Christmas day this year."