Don't worry, be happy

We're probably all familiar with those lists of stressful life events. Most are based on the Social Readjustment Rating Scale developed by psychiatrists Thomas Holmes and Richard Rahe, commonly known as the Holmes-Rahe Scale. The scale is composed of 40-45 life events that are each given a numerical value or weight. The death of a spouse carries the highest value (100). Interestingly, marriage carries the 7th highest value (50) and is considered more stressful than being fired (47) or the death of a close friend (37).

The results are generally categorized into three ranges:
Score of 300+: At risk of illness
Score of 150-299+: Risk of illness is moderate (reduced by 30% from the above risk)
Score 149-: Only have a slight risk of illness

Given the past few years of my life - and my inability to resist completing surveys & questionnaires - I was curious to see how I would fare according to the good Drs. Holmes & Rahe. I scored 431.

A pop-up box pronounced with alarm: This score indicates a major life crisis and is highly predictive (80%) of serious physical illness within the next 2 years. Great - like I don't have enough to be stressed about, now I have to worry about not getting sick!

Look at what time it is! I'd better get 8 hours of restful sleep before eating a balanced & nutritious breakfast and going to yoga. {:-@
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Like a pebble in my shoe...

I’ve been going through Chris’ things. I slowly triage the boxes and books, the clothes and the CDs. But some things I can’t do anything with. His shoes for instance... I can’t bring myself to even remove them from the shoe rack. A person needs shoes, especially in the winter! If he came back and found all his shoes gone, what would he do...

We wear in our shoes. We break them in. We leave an imprint of ourselves, our weight, our gait, in our shoes. How could they be anyone else’s? They’re so personal, so individual.

I recently read a poem entitled Death in Absentia which contains these evocative words: Like a pebble in my shoe / I’ll walk with you for the remainder of my days.

So what else can I do but keep Chris’ shoes? Joan Didion wrote so very eloquently about this heartbreaking and illogical dilemma in The Year of Magical Thinking. I remember thinking her predicament odd when I read the book, but now I understand.

So many things in life seem odd until we experience them... and then we understand. We walk a new path - in someone else’s shoes.
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Brotherly love

Chris' brother Ryan gave me a lovely gift this weekend. It’s a copy of a forthcoming book from Random House entitled Hockey's Young Guns which Ryan co-authored for The Hockey News where he is a writer. Chris was pretty proud of his “kid” brother and kept abreast of his latest articles and interviews but this would really have made him burst his buttons!

When Ryan presented me with this gift I had no idea that he had included a special tribute to Chris who passed away before knowing that the book was forthcoming. The dedication page contains just two simple but poignant words: for Chris

I know that Ryan will carry his big brother’s spirit and love with him throughout his life’s journey. And I know that his big brother will always walk beside him.
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Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

We buried Chris' ashes today.

It was the kind of day that Chris would have loved: blue, blue skies; bright, golden sunshine; a light refreshing breeze blowing through the red, orange, yellow and green leaves; not too warm - a perfect September day. Fall was Chris' favourite season and he often said that September weather was the best of the year. He was usually right!

We buried his ashes in lovely clearing beneath three soaring trees deep in the heart of one of the oldest cemeteries in London. It's a beautiful, tranquil retreat from the noise and bustle of the city. Chris & I often walked there, as do many people in the neighbourhood, enjoying its park-like setting. I know that he will rest peacefully there with the birds and squirrels to bring him the news of the day between my visits.

This is the poem I read at his burial:

Music I Heard
By Conrad Aiken

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always, -
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

I also read the closing chapter of Trumpet of the Swan, one of Chris' favourite books. For those not familiar with the book, it was written by renowned children's author E.B. White who also wrote the beloved Charlotte's Web.

Trumpet of the Swan is the story of Louis, a trumpeter swan who was born mute and how he overcomes his handicap with creative thinking, determination, and the support of family and friends. Along the way he has many adventures and eventually meets the swan of his dreams whom he woos with his musical prowess. It's easy to understand why Chris loved this story and why it was particularly resonant to him. I think he would have liked the simple pleasure of this tribute.

Rest in peace my love.
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Kitty love

Everyone knew that Chris and Sprockets had a love-hate relationship - he loved her, she hated him. But since his death, I think that she actually misses his teasing, his seemingly dangerous slippers, his never-ending efforts to endear her to him...

Chris and Sprockets enjoying some rare "together time"
on the Lazy Boy this past Spring.

Sprockets consoling herself on Chris' fleece blankie last week.

First wedding anniversary

Today is my first wedding anniversary. It's been a day of very mixed emotions...

This morning a group of us including Chris' family and friends participated in the Kidney Foundation's annual Be a Lifesaver Walk for Organ Donation Awareness. The weather was gorgeous and the turnout and funds raised were about double last year's figures! I was overwhelmed by the generosity of the people who joined my team and came out to walk with me in support of this wonderful cause. I was also overwhelmed the generosity of our sponsors - the final tally for our team, Carpe Diem Chris, was over $4000 towards transplant research! I feel that Chris was with us every step of the way.


Of course, it's hard not to think of this day last year - our wedding day, when we promised to love and cherish "as long as we both shall live". We never imagined it would be so very short a marriage when we had so much love to share; when everything in our lives finally seemed to be falling into place; when the future looked so full of happiness and promise.

Our wedding ceremony also included a request for a Declaration of Support from family and friends as read by our officiant:

As their families and friends, you form the community of support that surrounds Sandra and Christopher. Each of you, by your presence here today, is being called upon to uphold them in honouring and loving each other. Always stand beside them, never between them. Offer them your love and support, not your judgement. Encourage them with your kindness and loving hearts, and honour this marriage into which they have come to be joined today.

In the past several months, this support has been absolute and it is the reason I'm able to get out of bed in the morning; the reason I know that - one day - I will look forward to the future.

I will always be thankful for Chris coming into my life and I will always celebrate this anniversary of love. I love you & I miss you, ваша Кошенька.

First dance, "Rainbow Connection" Sept. 23, 2006
[thanks to Charlene for the video clip!]
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It's the little things ...

Things I miss...

• your voice
• your arms around me
• your warm feet
• picking up after you
• your soft hands
• your worrying about me
• being your sous chef
• your rockin' air guitar solos
• your Russian endearments
• reading the G & M with you over brunch
• the sound of the coffee grinder
• your twinkling blue-grey eyes
• the door being unlocked when I get home
• messages from you on the answering machine
• rubbing your arm as I go to sleep
• hearing you tell me you love me
• the sound of your key in the lock at 10pm on dialysis nights
• your thoughtful, sweet presents/presence

Thank you...

• for filling my life with love
• for making me laugh 'til I cried
• for giving elephants voices
• for cooking wonderful gourmet food made with loving passion
• for loving me because/despite that I'm just a little crazy
• for making me feel so beautiful & special every day
• for being my rock & my safe harbour
• for trying to live every day as if you didn't have kidney failure
• for trusting me to care for you
• for sweeping me off my feet

I wish I'd had time to tell you just one more time how much I love you... but we said all these things - often. We knew, my once-in-a-lifetime love.
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More late night reading

Former U.S. Poet Laureate Donald Hall wrote a volume of poetry entitled Without: Poems after his poet wife Jane Kenyon died of leukemia in 1995. The poems are raw and touching and so full of love and pain. Anyone who has experienced love and loss will find his words resonant.

Is the ultimate experience of intimacy to watch a loved one die? Such an incredible gift to the dying one, such a responsibility for the survivor.

Birthday wishes

Today is Chris' birthday. He would have been 35 years old. He would have been back in school for a couple of weeks by now, finishing his PhD coursework this term in preparation for writing his comprehensive exams sometime next term. We would have been preparing to move into our new house, frantically purging and packing. We would have been planning our 1st wedding anniversary weekend getaway to Toronto having already made reservations weeks in advance at Canoe, North 44, and Rain. So much to look forward to…

Today is a sad day, filled with longing and unfulfilled hopes and dreams. But it is also a day to celebrate Chris, to remember how he made us laugh, how he enjoyed his friends, and how lucky we were to have been welcomed into his circle of love.

Think of him today and send him a birthday wish and go out into the world.

Professor Vlad's memories

I received this very touching message from Vlad, one of Chris' Russian Studies professors.

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I was Chris' professor of Russian and Comparative Literature in the 1990s. In fact he was in the very first class that I taught at UWO in 1991 (first-year Russian). He then took all the Russian classes we had to offer and went on exchange to Minsk about which he surely told you. He came back from Minsk able to converse in Russian and I recall how amazing it was to actually carry on a conversation with him!

Chris was the most memorable student I ever had and I've been here for 15 years. His keen expression will stay in my mind for as long as I live. He always tried to learn. Russian is a very difficult language but Chris was never put off by that. The amused look on Chris' face whenever he struggled to get his tongue around a difficult passage of Russian prose or when he had to figure out the right verb ending from an endless array of inflections seemingly invented by a sadistic academic always meant that even the most challenging exercise was pure enjoyment for him.

From the very start Chris told me about his renal condition. Sometimes he had to miss classes because of his health. Once I even pointed out his frequent absences to him and quickly bit my tongue when he explained why he hadn't been coming. I was so happy for him when he had his first transplant and it seemed that all his troubles were over. That's why I was so shocked to learn when I met him recently that things hadn't turned out the right way for him.

Chris was part of a group that acted as guinea pigs for my language teaching method involving music. The method was eventually translated into a textbook published in 1996 in the US: Listening to Okudzhava: Twenty-Three Aural Comprehension Exercises in Russian. Chris' name is in the dedication – in first place. That should tell you how much I valued his input. The book was reissued with corrections in 2000 and a new set of student names appeared in the dedication after a course I had taught at Indiana University. But Chris' name was still first. It will always be first in my mind. I suspect the book is still part of Chris' possessions and you may have seen it.

Chris house-sat for us and took care of our dog one summer. He came over for dinner a few times and even brought a present to my son Alex. Alex still remembers that Nerf gun. And when Alex was still inside my wife's pregnant belly, Chris met us at Gibbons Park and was amazed to see "his professor" in such an unprofessorial state. He was very young then (recently out of high school) and probably thought (sort of) that professors somehow lived only in their offices and could not possibly appear unshaven, wearing shorts and accompanied by a very pregnant wife.

Chris and I met for lunch a year ago when he looked me up after his return from Ottawa. He looked great, told me about you and about his Ph.D. plans. He sounded so positive that I could not be happier for him. Now I kick myself for not contacting him after that lunch. Life just takes us into its whirlwind and when we wake up we often find that we've neglected to do the really important things. Seeing Chris again would have been such a thing. Chris was important.

Chris was one of the most tolerant people I've ever known. He always had an ear for any opinion, giving everyone the chance to expresses him or herself. And the sparkle in his eye seemed to say: "Maybe, maybe, why not..."

I would like to close by saying that Larissa (my wife) and I can't stop thinking about Chris. We grieve with you. We feel a sense of loss. We see his face in our mind's eye. It is always a smiling face though and that makes all the difference. It is hard to cry when you see a smile. You can't help but take a deep breath and smile back even through tears. And then you think: that smile has marked me and I feel better for it. To quote my favourite Russian author, Sasha Sokolov (whose prose Chris read in my class), Chris has left his footprints in my soul.

Two thumbs up

This is a great photo of Chris with his friend Martin, hanging out at the legendary Mount Brydges Audio Video where Chris worked when he was a student. The combination of his love of movies and his steel-trap memory made him a favourite among patrons for whom he provided personalized recommendations and friendly, knowledgeable service. [Thanks to Tara & Martin for providing the photos!]

Martin & Chris - cheers!

Chris working his magic behind the counter.

From Belarus with love

I received the following message from Chris' friend Yuri, whom he met while studying in Belarus in '95-'96. [Thanks to Yuri for providing the photo!]

Yuri, Natka and Chris - Rock 'n Roll Forever!

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It was just yesterday when I was happy telling everyone this wonderful story about an old friend of mine with whom I had lost contact, and who had managed to locate my email address and send me a message. He had many people here in Belarus, my fellow-students, who do remember him, and I'm sure they will also be sad at the news.

Everyone here in Belarus remembers Chris as a very nice and friendly guy who was constantly interested in what was happening in our country. For some time, he represented all Canadians here and by looking at him and interacting with him, I created my own image of Canada and Canadians. As a native speaker of English, he helped us a lot in our studies and took an active part in our student activities.

I particularly remember those days when I planned to play an unplugged guitar session for a group of my colleague students at Chris's farewell party but couldn't handle the English-language lyrics of some of the rock classics. Chris helped me out with this. He was patiently listening to Bob Dylan and Eagles trying to hear what they sing and wrote the lyrics on paper so that I could learn them and sing. I also remember his stories about Canada, about ice hockey teams and London and Toronto music night clubs.

Several times he invited me to visit him in Canada, but I couldn't manage for financial reasons at that time. I've traveled all over the world since then but never visited Chris because I didn't have his contact info and the letters sent to his old address bounced back to me for some reason. This time I was hoping that I could invite him to visit our part of the world. Chris will always be in my heart as a great friend and a very nice person. I'll miss him...

Gift of sight

Today I received a letter that filled my eyes with tears of gratitude. It was a thank you letter from the Eye Bank of Canada, notifying me that Chris' donated corneas have restored the gift of sight to two individuals in Ontario. "Your husband's legacy has given light where once there was darkness and hope where once there was despair."

Chris and I were both long-time advocates of organ donation awareness. As many of you know, Chris received a kidney in 1994 from a deceased donor whose grieving family gave him that treasured and generous gift. Now Chris himself has in turn become a donor, giving the gift of his 20/20 vision.

In honour of Chris, please consider organ donation and - most importantly - talk to your family about your wishes.

Death out of the closet

One of the times that I miss Chris the most is on Saturday mornings when we used to read the Globe & Mail together over brunch. We each had our own order in which we read the different sections and orchestrated an unwritten choreography of passing along read sections and sharing tidbits we knew would be of interest to the other as we turned the pages.

It is only in the past couple of weeks that I have begun to have any interest in current events and am able to muster the attention span required to read a weekend paper cover-to-cover as we used to do. I often read articles that would have been of interest to Chris and stop myself from my usual "listen to this..." when I realize that he is not beside me, nose buried in the Review section and savouring his first cup of free trade Peruvian.

This morning's G&M had an interesting story entitled The Modern Way of Mourning which discusses changes in North American mourning - from private to public - as embodied in things such as roadside memorials for accident victims and Facebook tributes. I too am a participant in this change by creating this blog in memory of Chris where friends and family can share stories and grief. I must admit that I am still conflicted by this decision to "let it all hang out".

Our 20th century WASP culture has been very private about grief and death. Like money, politics and religion, it was not something discussed in "polite" society. I took a sociology course at college entitled Death Out of the Closet - a fascinating study on the cultural and sociological history of death and grief in Western society. One of our assignments included writing our own obituary and we even had a field trip to a funeral home. The teacher helped us to understand society's fears and misconceptions about the rituals of death - no mean feat for a group of adolescents who planned to live forever!

I guess we all have a line that we draw, past which we do not feel comfortable. That line is obviously different for everyone. There are things that I do not and will not share in this blog - memories and emotions that are mine alone to carry. I have looked at other widow(er)/grief/bereavement blogs in the past month. Some are startlingly naked in their disclosure; others have been abandoned with the passing of time. All are fascinating. The face of grief changes constantly…

Into the light

This hauntingly beautiful quote was posted by Elizabeth, a fellow Russian studies classmate of Chris'. It is from Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, one of Chris' favourite books by one of his favourite authors.

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". . . his whole heart blazed up and turned towards some kind of light, and he wanted to live and live, to go on and on along some path, towards the new, beckoning light, and to hurry, hurry, right now, at once!"

Four funerals & a wedding

My aunt Gypsie and my cousin Peg came to town for Chris' memorial service and when we met up at the visitation my aunt shook her head with disbelief and sadness, saying "We have to stop meeting like this." I wryly responded that it was a macabre case of four funerals and a wedding.

Over the past two years, I've lost my father (April 2005), my mother (June 2006), one of my uncles (July 2006), and now my husband (July 2007). All those funerals were thankfully interspersed with happy times, including our wedding last September. But it is hard for me to really grasp the loss of so many close family members in such a short time... hard to comprehend the weight and accumulated impact of so much grief.

As a childless only child who is now an adult orphan and a widow, I have a deep sense of aloneness that is now much sharper than it ever was when I was simply an only child. It is a difficult thing to explain to those who are not only children. I do have extended family scattered far and wide across Canada, the US, and Barbados. I also have the support and shared comfort of Chris' family nearby as well as many wonderful and dear friends near and far. However this new aloneness is something that I will need to understand and explore to ultimately accept as part of my new identity. Time...

Wedding website

Several people have recently asked me for a reminder of the link for our wedding website. I'm going to keep it online for the foreseeable future so everyone can enjoy the pictures and memories of that wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime day.

Jason's library blog tribute to Chris

Jason, a former TA student of Chris' at library school, has put together a warm and thoughtful tribute to Chris on his blog: Head Tale (Yet Another Librarian's Blog).

Brigitte's memories of Chris

This lovely message was sent to me by Brigitte, a friend and former colleague of Chris', who asked me to share it with others by posting it on the blog.

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Sandra: I have read all of your postings and have been deeply touched by them, by your profound love of Chris. I knew that is how it was for the two of you. This must be a very (extremely) painful time. Your ability to express your emotions is remarkable; clear and lucid. Knowing Chris, this is probably one aspect of you he really loved and enjoyed.

When I think of Chris, I often remember joining the Office of Learning Technologies in 2000. He worked there as a student for the summer. I recall conversations at the photocopier; Chris being interested in new people joining the team. I found him an interesting and different individual. He had an interesting mind.

At first, he was only there during the summer but eventually joined the team. We slowly became friends, exchanging ideas about the world, books, music, sharing opinions about what was going on in the office. He explained his condition to me and I began appreciating how he was dealing with it. We talked about it once in a while. I was curious about the processes around it and he was open about answering my questions. He knew I wanted to understand, to learn. He was good at explaining what was happening with his body and the balance of fluids that had to be kept. It made me realize the complications of fine bio-chemical imbalances most of us never have to think about, of the critical function of each organ.

About three years ago, he gave me his five-disk CD player, saying he couldn’t use it anymore (he had bought a multi-bank compact disk system – I think that is the name). He said he was looking for a ‘good home’ for the other one because it was a family gift to him. I have thought of Chris every single time I have put music on.

Whenever I found something was difficult, I reminded myself it couldn’t be as hard as what he was going through with his health. He was a model for me in that sense, being so placid about it, taking life one day at a time. Yes, time… I’m sure it has a very different feel and dimension for you, Sandra, at the moment. Thank you for sharing your loss, at least the part of it you are able to express.

Home alone

Today is the closing day for the house that Chris and I bought back in June. I got the call from the lawyer a little while ago that the house is ours... mine, and the keys are ready to be picked up.


Today was supposed to be an exhilaratingly happy and exciting day. Instead, it is a sad day and my heart is very heavy. I'm not rushing over to pick up the keys. I will of course, but it's not something I'm looking forward to. My heart didn't leap with joy when the call came in, it simply sighed a heavy sigh of emptiness. Chris isn't here with me jumping in glee like we did when we got the call that our offer was accepted.

My heart, like our new house, is empty and quiet.