Yesterday, I injured my right hand at work when walking full force into the pastry cart while grabbing a pastry. I have no use of my right hand with the exception of my thumb. My four fingers cry out in pain if I try moving them. So what I discovered, is that when I use my thumb to play every individual note with the right hand, a few things start happening. First of all, I am forced to slow down and take it all in and play with more passion. Secondly, no longer do the notes fall into place naturally for me (with each finger doing what they are supposed to.) Yet at the same time, all four of my fingers must cooperate with my thumb and basically move right along as I move my hand up and down the piano keys. Life is sort of like that. If a part of us is injured emotionally will become somehow unable to function as a whole. But at the same time it should be noted that while functioning with a piece of us injured emotionally, we are all that much more aware of life and all that it entails both in pain *and in living.* And - that when a part of us is injured, somehow, our body and mind step up to the plate to compensate, each and every time! I have noted a few posts as of late from my Facebook friends who have stated that in order to feel happiness one must go through sorrow. I believe that is true. Just as I believe that to be completely whole as a person, one has to reflect. We have to get to know our true self. Only then can we be who we truly are. Erin Flanagan Stashko - Oct. 26, 2018
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A Tribute In Loving memory of the one-year anniversary of my father’s passing, October 26th, 2017 I knew I would write a blog to honour the one-year anniversary date of the passing of my father, my hero. I envisioned myself seated at one of my favourite writing spots, Starbucks on Resources, typing out the blog in an orderly fashion. But as the days have started rushing in, to ‘the date’ – Oct. 26th, I find myself feeling panicked, in the sense that this day is coming all too soon. “But, wait!”, I want to cry out to someone, anyone – God, maybe? If there is a God? “I’m not ready for this!” To me, this is all still so fresh, and raw in my mind. So here it is, I find myself typing my every thought out into this blog, earlier than anticipated, hoping for a sense of comfort and peace in doing so. Grief is an all-encompassing process and after a year, I still don’t understand what happened. I want to message Dad to tell him about a RedFlagDeals website deal on electronics or tell him about something that happened at work - a pleasant interaction with a customer, that he would be proud of me for. But none of those things have happened within the past year. None of them will happen. Ever. Not ever again. The thing with him passing on is that nothing is the same. Everything has changed. This does not mean though, that everything has to be bad, does it?? No!! A resounding ‘No’! I am blessed I had my dad in my life for almost 48 years. There are many who have lost their dad much sooner than that. There are some, who, at a younger age than me, have lost their father. There are some I know, who have never had a father figure in their lives, either. So I recognize that I was blessed for many years and am very grateful. I’m also blessed to have so many fun memories with my dad. He had a gift of humour that would make anyone feel better at any time. He walked with his friends, family and his congregations through their own suffering and pain and he was there for me, too, during difficult times in life. He shared in happy moments in my life, as well. He was my mentor. A guardian angel, really. I truly looked up to him with the utmost respect. It may well be that nothing in my life will literally never feel the same again, as when Dad was here with us. I am not ‘ok’ with that feeling, I admit. What I am ok with, though, is that my dad taught me what he knew about grief, through those he knew, who have passed on, through the years. He taught me that there is no right way, or wrong way to grieve. That there is no linear time frame for grief. That we must continue to move forward and experience life to it's fullest when someone we love passes on. He told me he wouldn’t live forever, the time before I last saw him, before he fell ill. He told me that one day, he would die. Incredulously, I didn’t really believe him, though. My thought seemed rational to me: He has always been with me, how would he (actually) not be here one day? One day arrived, though. My mind knows not that this is permanent, but I am slowly realizing. It is. And I have a legacy to uphold. My father was the kind of man who, even when things were not going well in his own life, perhaps an ailing pet, etc., he would still shine on the outside to all those around him. His enthusiasm for life, for people, was outright joyous. I am reminded of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures film, when it comes to my dad and all that he stood for: “Be Excellent to each other.” I want to get a tattoo of that now to remind me of his legacy, so that I can have a constant reminder to strive to be a daughter who honours the same traits and qualities that my father possessed. I am so proud of the man he was. My dad, my hero. I have not blogged or written for some time now, and although I have been feeling pulled do so for many weeks, it is only now after once more thinking about this, that I feel I must write this out. I am coming up on the one year anniversary that we lost my Dad, and all of you know I make frequent posts and references in blogs about him. He was, simply put, my hero. This time of year has always been my favourite time of the year. The colourful fall leaves, the crisp fresh air, the back to school routines and the start of preparing for holidays such as Thanksgiving, Halloween and of course, Christmas. This is the first year I have noted that along with the chill in the air has come a feeling of familiarity with loss. I see I have identified my Dad’s loss with the elements of weather/seasonal changes that hit in Oct. 2017, as they have now, in 2018. I wonder – has everything about my favourite season now been tainted with the underlying sadness that will inevitably ensue each year, as I remember the anniversary of his passing? I think not. I have a choice. My Dad isn’t here, but this year, in the months that have passed, I have been trying very hard to live out his legacy. His legacy of caring deeply for others and helping whenever he could. He didn’t have sons to carry on his name, so I am proud to at least have my maiden name included on Facebook and I have his namesake in my Blog, as well. The choice I can make is to let October drag me down with the cold wind, the grey dark dreary skies and the reminders of the trip to see him in the few weeks prior to his passing. Or… And this is a big one... I can decide to put my chin up, and smile at the many incredible memories I have of him. I can decide that fall can still remain in my heart as a special season to specifically cherish and honour his memory. This year and every year from here on out, I will be donating to the Edmonton SPCA in his honour, as it is a cause he was very passionate about. I was well aware that October has arrived. A few days ago when I was working at Starbucks, I was alone in the café area as we had just closed, and my co-workers were tending to chores in the back room. The song, “Queen of Hearts” began playing over the speakers – we have special Starbucks music channels, with a wide variety of music genres on each channel that we stream. Juice Newton had been one of Dad’s favourite singers I think,for he listened to her songs often when I was a child. All at once, I thought of him and felt his presence with me. Not just his presence, but, at a specific seat in the room, and I could almost see him sitting there, smiling at me and I felt a sense of comfort wash over me, and I felt calm as tears welled up in my eyes and I felt a lump in my throat from choking up over sensing him. It was more than that though… what I felt I could sense was him tapping his fingers on the table, enjoying the music as he always did. Now, I know that sounds outright crazy and I accept that it possibly (and maybe probably) wasn’t him. But I will say that we know not what lies beyond. He always knew I was more inclined to have dreams that came true, of things I had no clue/hindsight of, and he understood I was different. I like to think that he would know to reach out to me and that his messages of his pens, dimes, feathers, and now sense of presence, have not gone un-noticed. Thanksgiving is with one less person physically among us this year – but I think my Dad is still with us in spirit. I KNOW he is with us in heart. He had a big heart, my Dad did. So this year at Thanksgiving, I am thankful for all of the many wonderful years that I did have with him. ❤️ |
AuthorErin Flanagan Stashko Archives
December 2018
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