They are all Gone With The Wind now . . .

After spending the day beating up on myself for not yet achieving my life's purpose (or even deciding what that may be) I decided to feel guilty for watching Gone With The Wind (maybe my favourite movie/book of all time) and then The Making of Gone With The Wind (GWTW) until 3 AM and also for eating a bag of chips, a bag of pistachios, and for making cookies at 1 AM and eating half of those . . . At the end of The Making of GWTW the narrator started talking about the years when the cast died (Vivian Leigh in 1967 which of course is evidence that I am she re-incarnated because she died before I was born) and I realized that all of the faces in the photos and clips are dead now. It seems obvious since the movie celebrates its 70th anniversary this year, but movie stars seem to be frozen in age when they are in a classic movie like that and it is easy to forget that they don't live forever, look beautiful and still live happy, perfect lives. Vivian Leigh herself was a manic depressive who lost her one true love to another woman and died of TB. GWTW was a massive undertaking. It went over budget (3x the original), went through three directors, and NEVER had a final shooting script. And while all of the work and the drive and the risks they took to make that movie left us with something wonderful and life altering for many - what difference did it really make for those involved? For some - it was a highlight of their lives - for others it contributed to their demise. But in the end - the result for each of them was the same - they all died. Not to be morose or anything, but I mean this as a positive. So many times I have heard people say - 'we could all be dead tomorrow' and I have nodded automatically in agreement with a small pang of disgust at the obvious cliche. But every once in a while, for a moment, it sinks in. Tomorrow may be another day, but my happiness today is all that matters - cause the sun may not come out tomorrow after all.

So - instead of being disappointed in myself yet again for not 'accomplishing anything' this evening I decided - at 2:30 AM - to put my clothes in the dryer, unload and load the dishwasher, and write this blog. Perhaps it is not that I am forgiving myself for my imperfections by taking such action, but trying to make up for them by getting something done. I could say that whatever motivates me is a good thing, but I don't know if that is true. I only seem to work well when I am trying to avoid doing something I feel as though I should do - in this case - going to bed. I have always seen this as a sign of my immaturity. That when I am a full grown-up I will do things because they are good for me, and because I am disciplined, and because I should. Maybe it is time to let go of this way of thinking. . . and start focusing on supporting myself in making choices that make me happy in this moment.

One of the arguments I make with myself against the philosophy of living in the moment is that if I only worry about today's happiness that I will not be able to build anything for tomorrow. . . but sometimes my happiness comes from doing things today that I feel will make my life easier tomorrow - like it did tonight. I know that turing on the dish washer will make my morning a little easier to face, and that makes me feel great. But do I have to feel badly about not doing it yesterday in order to take action today?

I can't tie this blog up with a tidy answer. As I try to re-build my life I tend more and more to shine the spotlight of my unhappiness on my imperfections - and all of the things I haven't done. And I judge and blame myself. I do believe that in order to have the experience of being human we have to experience both positive and negative emotions. I understand how great it is to make sure the dishes are done because I know how shitty it is when I go to make tea in the morning and have no clean mug. . . The thing that causes me pain is not the dirty mug. It is the little voice criticizing me for not keeping the kitchen clean, for staying up all night, and for baking cookies at 1 AM.

Perhaps then the only advice I can offer to myself is not to be afraid of those highs and lows - they are unavoidable - and part of the brilliance of being alive, but to be gentle - not to judge so harshly when the negative occurs, and to give myself permission to enjoy the things that bring me joy in this moment - even if that means putting off until tomorrow that which could have been done today.

After all, tomorrow - is another day!

Coco Chanel never married

I had no idea. I had no idea Chanel completely transformed the way women dressed. I guess I never made the connection between the time period she existed in and the clothing she created. She is officially my new hero.

As for the critiques - I could care less if the story is real or not. She would likely have hated it if it were true! She was constantly re-inventing her life story. And so she should! My story is so different now than it was 5 years ago, and not because 5 years have passed. Telling the same stories about your past will make you dead inside! Your story is yours to do with what you like - if it is static you are likely still stuck in it.

Yet another reason to admire this woman - no designer could be confined to designing only in the medium of their designing!

On the subject of marriage . . . I am amazed that her story could ring so true for me. Either my way of thinking is turn-of-the-century, or things haven't changed a hell of a lot where marriage is concerned. . . are things worse? - at least then it was acceptable to marry for money.

Her discussion with Boy about being married was heartbreaking - but permeated my psyche . . . in fact, it made me weep. Not to say that I believe it is better to be the mistress than the wife - that doesn't give men much credit (I have started doing that - giving them credit - no one likes a bitter-betty) - but her idea that all of your freedom is lost when you become married made me catch my breath.

I think that is what I have always been most afraid of. Not because I would ever marry someone who would ask me not to be myself; because I would just stop being myself - because men become more themselves when they have a good woman behind them, and women become less - or at least that is the story I have been telling myself until now.

Can you blame me though - Cinderella complex and all that. . . let's blame the Brother's Grimm, or the Ancient Greeks who came up with that bullshit to begin with.

I met someone I like.

He is everything I have asked for. So obviously I am terrified. Especially now - now that I am 'unstable' - it would be way too easy to become absorbed by his light - his life - his success.

I have had many opportunities to allow a man to buy me. To step closer to my dreams by fucking men I don't want to. I have played along here and there, but never gone far enough to really see how it ends - or to ask for them to fulfill their promises to me.

The idea that a man can sweep in and take care of me is so captivating. It makes me want to buy a retro KitchenAid mixer.

But, for me, that would be two steps away from prozac.

Which is a big part of the reason I have never accepted offers from my man-saviours. I felt I would be playing a role that was not authentic - but would become consumed by it - like Heath Ledger as the Joker - and end up dying inside.

Strangely - one of the things I actually admired about Chanel in the movie was that she accepted money from men who wanted to help her because they wanted her sexually. That she took advantage of what she was offered and used it to HER advantage in the end - is this the new Cinderella story? Like Pretty Woman? Allowing someone to help her is part of what made her brave . . . this movie is more appealing than Pretty Woman because she ends up ditching the man who saves her (actually he ditches his self - literally) and makes it on her own anyway - she did not lose herself - even when she was giving herself away.

I have had a couple of friends tell me lately that they admire what I have done with my life so far - travelled, started businesses . . . attacked each day with purpose.

Only I have not ever been sure of my purpose - never lived the life in my heart that they all thought I was living - even though I actually was. I have had many dramatic moments when I have discovered my purpose - only to question it again the next day (or try to remember what it was . . .).

And the more I chase the life I want them to see me having - the more unsettled and unaccomplished I feel, and the more I fail to notice the adventure I am already living . . .

Imagine I could be ok with all of it? Ok with the fact that my story will not unfurl with the story arch of a screenplay, ok with not being able to look-back and identify the moment that changed everything, ok with being ok with my decisions - even if they end up not being the "right" ones. Ok with not having to know how this all turns out . . . One of my favourite authors, SARK, calls this Radical Self Acceptance.

The absolute best part of the movie was when Coco says goodbye to Balsan and says "I'm frightened." She wasn't saying that because she wanted him to save her - she said it because it was the truth.

I'm frightened too. In the past two years I have lost my house, my business, my father, and most-recently my job. I am standing on the threshold of a new life. Having fallen down again - each time it gets a little scarier to get back up . . . harder to look my failures in the eye and try to make it work again.

Thank God I have made a habit of doing things I am afraid of. I don't know what the next thing will be, but whatever it will be - it will be mine - and it won't be a fantasy written by me or anyone else. It will be real, but always open to interpretation.

To marry or not to marry

A night out in my home town on Thursday night and I tried to do the usual things in an unusual way.

I went to Ki, the Bay Street (Toronto's Wall Street), after-work hang out to meet a couple of Bay Street working friends.  I must say that the mood on Bay Street was very different from the mood I have experienced in London and New York.  The place was still packed, and people are still spending money.  

So I tried some of my new skills on for size:  looking people in the eye and smiling - even if they are not perfect for me, letting them come to me, keeping my posture relaxed . . . and it was quite easy to meet people (men).  Unfortunately, the first man I met was a bit of a nerd, but in a good way, complimented me on my nails (odd that I liked that, but I did - I think I liked it because it was after I made a really superficial comment about not wanting to go rock-climbing because because it would ruin my nails, and rather than judging me he actually said they were nice), and was married.  I tried to check for a ring several times but he was particularly adept at hiding his left hand so I gave up and ASSUMED that since his friend had no ring, and he was inching closer and closer to me on the bench that he likely was single, AND coming from London - the land of love where the majority of men who approach you are ACTUALLY single, I was a bit naive about his motives. 

So I left with my friend to go and see her man-friend, and it so happened that we were both planning to end up at One in Yorkville afterwards (where I would be meeting another girlfriend) so I said maybe I'll see you?  I didn't have my hopes up, because the new me has very low expectations of the outcomes of such meetings, but I did have an ulterior motive in taking his number and making sure to show up at One.  He and his friends are looking for a singer to compete with them in a Rock Band competition at a Bay Street Bar.  Bay Street and Karaoke is a no-brainer. 

So . . . later that night at One, I walked in and pretended not to notice him and went to the bar to order an $8 rum and coke with $2 flavour from an un-impressed bartender. Everyone around pretended to be absorbed in their conversations while noticing who was there, and who was noticing that they were there.  Oh Toronto how I've missed playing the game of polite condescension. . .

I started to speak with a man who was also waiting for his friend to show up, and then the ring-hiding banker noticed me and got up from his table to talk.  It took me about two hours to finally see the glint of his ring - in a moment when it was not hiding in his pocket, under his glass or hanging at the end of his limp arm behind his chair.  He had been a total gentleman up to that point and was speaking to both my friend and I with equal enthusiasm so I had no  reason not to invite him to Amber with us.  

Amber was actually fun.  It was also full of people there strictly to determine who deserved to be in their company and who did not, BUT the Dj was playing some really fun music so I decided to let loose.  The ring-hider was game for dancing and we all lived it up on the dance floor (he periodically disappeared for stretches where he had long intense conversations with women at the bar and returned with a mitt-full of drinks for us).  

I had attracted a little posse of gay men to dance with me and a couple of potential men that I could meet and was about to make my move towards a sweet-faced Italian (I know - I should know better by now) when the ring-hider decided it was time to get all touchy feely.  I did my best to discourage him by making him do the back-to-back air guitar dance, but it was no good.  I thought about telling him that it was not ok to cock block no matter how much he had given the bouncer to let us in, but I figured I would get the - we're only dancing response and then feel like an asshole.  So, I just continued to dance around him and ignore his 'moves' until he finally decided to leave.  

I obviously have some sort of married guy magnetic energy.  How do I erase this from my energy?  Is it because I want to be married - so I therefore attract the ones who are already?

I am getting pretty close to not wanting to be married - maybe it will change when I finally let go of that idea . . .

Sex-on-the-white-leather-couch belonging to the 19th richest billionaire in India

I left London to return to Ontario and spend a couple of months 'at the cottage' to the north of the great city of Toronto.  I had spent enough time touring castles and watching Pride and Prejudice in England to have satisfactorily decided that I would 'summer' in the country and learn to play the piano forte and embroider in between picnics and grand social events for the months I was forced to be in the country.

Then I realized that there are two major reasons as to why this will not be my experience of the country: A. people here shop at Giant Tiger so there will be no dressing for dinner and B. people work (presumably so they can shop at Giant Tiger) and therefore have no time for frolicking with me.  

The reason I left the loving arms of London in the first place was to participate in the wedding nuptials of a long-time friend.  I waited until the last possible minute to leave - I had to be at a bachelorette party on Saturday night so I left London on Friday - flew Air India.  (A wonderful experience except for the state of the washrooms - airplane washrooms are typically disgusting, but this was exceptional - no soap until I demanded it, and then I was handed a BAR OF SOAP?!?!, and dirty diapers on the floor, lots of wet spots  . . .  you get the idea).  My dear friend told me that we were all to wear sparkly dresses to the party so I showed up in one - umm it was sequined, and I did my hair in a grecian/art deco/late 50s style, but then all the other brides maids showed up in black and the brides dress was 'sparkly', not sequined. Not that I minded standing out, but you are not supposed to upstage the bride in any way shape or form.  I'll be checking with her pre all future events.

I had purchased another dress for the wedding on my last day in London.  It was a jewel blue number, very short and skimpy which was the requirement, but I left it in the Benz of the CEO of an international fashion label after a night out which involved champagne with the 12th richest Billionaire in India, Bongo playing at Annabelle's where there were apparently a lot of footballers (so that is who all the young hot men were! I knew they weren't men of independent means because that would be too good to be true.), and finding excuses for not smooching in public.  

Annabelle's is a very exclusive night club/restaurant in Berkeley Square, frequented by socialites and paparazzi alike (they stand outside obviously) and not a place for wives.  I read on line that the ex wives of members are not allowed in.  I doubt they would want to go anyway.  Most 'exclusive' places are like this . . . extraordinary women with mugly men . . . although there was a higher than average number of attractive men . . . and a somewhat 'competitive' spirit amongst said women.  Although I did have a nice chat with a gal in the bathroom about the state of toilets in the UK.  Why the HELL are they so difficult to flush?  Honestly I need to take a class - if I have to ask my host to come and help me one more time . . . !

The evening was lovely except for the CEO.  He is a great guy, but he is ruining it with his delusions of having me as his mistress.  It is so cliche - I can tell he just wants me as an accessory (HA - he sells accessories!) I know I am fabulous, but his assumptions are just strange - I don't know how else to describe it.  I am not sure what made him assume that I would want him to plant a huge kiss on me when I arrived at our 'business meeting' at the Mayfair bar.  (PS - when I was on my way to the bar I met a fan from Hip Hop Karaoke!  I stopped to ask for directions (for the 4th time!) saying; "let me preface this by saying I am not an American, and could I please have directions to Hobu?" (I was starting to think that all the wrong directions had something to do with  my accent), and this guy said - Hey! aren't you the girl who sang OPP at Hip Hop Karaoke?  To which I replied 'why, yes!', and then he proceeded to launch into a play by play of how I threw down, and, late as I was, I obliged with a short rendition of the chorus . . .). . . but, anyway (also it is not lost on me that the song I sang so eloquently was about Other People's Penises).

 . . . the CEO may have gotten the impression that it was ok for him to touch me because I didn't stop him from holding my hand, or my thigh during dinner (at a great little greek restaurant in God knows where - but the place was apparently full of British celebrities including some McKenna guy whose name I only remember cause it was the last name of my first grade teacher - he is apparently a magician).  I have to say that if I were still in my 20s as I was the last time this happened (Arab Shampoo guy - offered to buy me a Jag and fix my teeth, took me to a $700 a night hotel and I made him sleep on the couch - excuse me - settee), I would have told him I wasn't interested right from the start and move on.  But, now I am wondering if it is possible to make it without compromising your self 'in that way' - I mean, let's face it, I have had sex with men I liked less than this guy for no immediate benefit. . . who may or may not have been married.  The difference? I didn't know they had significant others as I do in this case. I can't say that there is a difference in the degree to which I think I may get something out of it - with the other men I have slept with that I didn't like very much I had made up a fantasy about how great they were in order to be attracted to them for the purpose of . . . potential marriage, children, vip access, concert tickets, a day on a yacht, lunch, a cab ride home . . . of course it was not as obvious to me then, and I did a great job of convincing myself I actually liked the guy(s).  But now I stand here with eyes wide open wondering if I should take the plunge . . . the prize you ask . . . North American Brand Manager for a 30M pound company. . .a job I may not otherwise get even though I am very capable and qualified -  what would you do?

So, back to the country, I escaped from the situation (his wanting to make love on the couch of the 14th richest billionaire in India like 14 year olds) by saying 'I barely know you,' and 'I don't usually mix business with pleasure' and racing out to get a taxi (a 23 pound ride for which he gave me a 20) thus leaving my dress in his car in the process.  

I am mainly upset because I sincerely hope no one finds it in there - not because I don't want him to get caught, but because I will be mortified if anyone thinks I would normally wear a 15 pound dress from a clearance store on Oxford that barely covers my underpants.

He offered to ship it to me - God hope he doesn't open the bag - I didn't take off the tag, and there is another 10 pound dress in there with fake pearls attached - forgive me Anna W.  

Running this scenario by my friends they have all said - don't do it - don't pimp yourself - but I must say that I am tempted to use him the way he wants to use me.  Yes - I deserve to be with someone who loves me for who I am, who treats me like a Queen, who is perfect for me in every way. . . but, let's face it folks, no one is lining up to be with me (ok maybe there are a couple of men in line, but none that I would like to spend my life devoted to) . . . 

Yup, I need some input here people.  The truth is that he doesn't repulse me - he is reasonably attractive (unlike the Arab, whom I affectionately referred to as Ari, who had braid-able eyebrows and a mega-mole with hair extensions - but HEEEE was married), and I am bored.  There is no danger of his falling in love with me - he is way to delusional to be in real love - nor I with him.  I would be able to run things relatively free of his influence as he would be in London and I in New York and I would need to be there only long enough to make a name for myself. . . which should take about a week (JK) . . . and as long as we have a kick ass contract I will be in no danger of financial ruin (no more danger than what I have already done to myself). Plus he wants to take me to his 16000 square foot villa in Mirabella to 'brainstorm' new business ideas.

I'm going to stop going on about this now and hope that one of the 4 people who actually read my blog will respond.  (Not you Mom - I already know what you think) So one of the 3 people. . . and that one of you will tell me to go ahead with it, live the adventure, and get all I can out of the fucker.  Would it be vindication for all of the women everywhere who have been used by men?  Would it be vindication for me?  Or just bad karma?

At the very least it will make for an enjoyable read. . .

The Muse

I have always wanted to be a muse.  Ever since Sharon Stone's movie 'the Muse' I have been consumed (i'm obviously being a bit dramatic) with the idea of having that as an occupation.  The only men who need a muse though seem to be Aquarian.  Not that that has any bearing on anything, just an observation.

I have had two opportunities to be muse to exceptional artists here in London.  One a photographer, and one a poet.  I am not entirely sure you could classify me as a true muse for either, but I like the sound of it, and it will be something for me to hang on to in my old age.  I will have the photographs (and hopefully) the poem to prove it.

May I also say that the men in London (the English ones) fancy themselves to be gentlemen.  Which I adore!  I have never been treated so well by men.  They all still want the same thing, but at least these ones will work for it. ;-)

A few other random thoughts on London...  What is up with the cigarettes people?  Isn't it enough that the tube fills your nose with black soot?  You have to smoke too???  God Almighty at least blow it upwards or stand more than two centimetres outside of the pub to smoke!  (feel better now).

Also - the English have this culture of buying rounds for each other which means that most of the time you don't pay for your drinks.  Unfortunately for me I have stopped drinking more or less (going out every night does not allow me to also drink and be alive at the end of the week). The other good thing about this is that there is not one dude buying your drinks and you obviously aren't going to sleep with all of them!  My point though is that if you are drinking pop or water they get quite upset with you, and, since they can't buy another drink without buying for everyone there - every time there is a new round-buyer someone else gets upset with you for not drinking.  I have actually had three different people on three different occasions tell me that they are NOT buying me a coke.  And they actually don't get me anything.  If you are not going to drink proper alcohol then you are not going to drink at all!!!  I also had someone just buy me a pint even though I said no.  AA has an uphill battle here!!

Lastly I have, as I mentioned, become addicted to twitter. I love knowing what my celebrity friends are doing.  I have also started secretly following my ex boyfriend.  He has quite a following!  And he provides a lot of useless information that keeps me entertained when I am bored (not much different than our relationship really - add a couple of video games and a boomin car stereo and I am living it all over again!).  I must say though that I enjoy that he spends ALL of his time on the computer sending out twits - he clogs my feed!  This is the reason I decided to end our relationship - he had tuned out and was spending all of his time on the computer downloading music.  I wonder what his wife thinks???  Could the relationship be on the rocks?  I don't want them to break up - then I wouldn't have the ex-boyfriend married my child's babysitter anecdote, and I wouldn't be able to claim that it was through me that they met and found happiness.  Secretly, I take pleasure in the thought that they are really perfect for each other, and I think I may be disappointed if it doesn't work out.  I would like it if at least one relationship I know of actually works!

Op there is a bitter taste in my mouth - gonna stop writing now.

Horror scope

Today I awoke to a horoscope in my inbox (at 2PM) with a very interesting opening line.  

Amuseingmay (it knows my name), this day marks the beginning of the rest of your life.  This is a bit horrifying to me really as I walk around in a state of searching for the moments that I will later write are those that marked the beginning of the rest of my life.  My entire existence has been lived to this point in order to mark chapters in my memoir.  And now, my horror scope is telling me that this day is the one that will change my life that will be the day on which the opening line of said memoir is based?!?!  No freakin pressure.

So I have decided to stay in my pyjamas.  Probably not my most forward thinking plan.  Maybe I should get dressed up and go to the Ritz for a drink - where I will lock eyes with a baldy with a penchant for frizzy haired Canadians with crooked teeth.  

I will likely go out tonight - just to feel like I haven't let the (deep foreboding voice) Day I will remember for the rest of my life pass me by.  Otherwise how will I look at myself in the mirror when I wake up tomorrow (afternoon).

I am addicted to T

witter (amuseingmay).  Completely addicted.  I have decided that I now have the following goals in life.

A.  To have more people following me than I am following.

B.  To have celebrities send me shout outs.

C.  To say funny things.

D.  To get an iphone so I can tweet all the time.

Going to make a frozen pizza now and think of funny things to say.

PS - this is a self portrait.  It is by no means meant to be sexually suggestive in any way.

 

Twittering

I've been away for awhile.  Getting myself grounded after the death of my Dad.  Feeling great today!  

I'm in London now and loving it!  I wish I could stay for ever, but have to home to be the maid-of-honour at one of my best friends' weddings.  A month of parties and preparations for a wedding. Craziness.

Wanted to let you know that I am twittering now . . . amuseingmay is my twittername.  I am pretty excited about it.  Can't wait to give anyone who cares a play by play of my crazy life.  Last week alone I had naked photos taken by an incredible photographer (note - not incredible at sex, just at taking photos - I even tried twice - the second time he lasted all of 4 minutes - I blinked and nearly missed the first time - quite disappointing really since he was from Brazil - the stereotypes are not always true!).

Peace out homies.

THE PASSING OF MY FATHER

My Father passed away New Year's Eve at 9:20 PM after a ferocious, year-long battle with cancer. After many inconclusive pathology reports we learned that the aggressive cancer that was attcking his bones originated in his skin. Days of working outside in the sun, riding around in convertables and racing motorcycles with no shirt on caught up with him at the young age of 60.

His final week was a testament to his character and I was lucky enough to be with him in the hospital virtually the entire time. We went in on Christmas eve, spent the night in emerg, and he was admitted on the 25th. The CT scan he had that day revealed that the cancer was in every place it could be except for his vital organs and his brain - the doctor said he had never seen anything like it. I believe it was his will to be sure that those he left behind would be ok that kept the cancer at bay.

He knew it wouldn't be long, but insisted on getting his affairs in order while in the hospital. Each time we crossed an item off the list he let go a little more, and began admitting he was feeling pain. He took very little pain medication so he could be lucid for all of our discussions. There was even one time when I came in from being in the family room (a great space in the palliative care wing for families to rest) and he handed me a pill wrapped in a kleenex;

"Here . . . hide this"

"What is it?" I said.

"It's an oxy (his pain medication). The nurse wanted me to take it, but I'm on to her. It's hard to say no to her with her big eyes and pushy face so I pretended to take it."

I told him he was in charge of his pain medication, but he still made me hide it at the bottom of the garbage.

He wanted so much to be lucid, and was so proud of the sobriety that he had held for 18 years that he really didn't want it to be a big part of the end of his life.

Right until the final day he was working out all of these methods of still maintaining control over his body. The cancer had obliterated the bones in his left hip and he had no control over that leg, but he insisted on getting up to go to the bathroom and sitting up to eat what little he was able to. He found joy in every thing he could. Every time he rubbed an ice chip on his lips he expressed what a beautiful feeling it was. He was so grateful for every thing every nurse did for him, and, if he asked them for anything at all it was always 'when you have time . . .'

On the day he passed I had left to shower and change at a friend's house and had told him I would be back by 9 PM.

The nurse attending to him, Sandy, called me in at 8:30 PM. When I arrived she said that while she was helping him his eyes rolled back in his head 'like he was going,' she said. She called him, ". . .Bob?" and he came back, looked at her and said:

"It's time for me to go now."

She asked him if he was afraid.

He said 'no', and grinned from ear to ear.

She asked him if he would wait for us (my Dad's girlfriend Joan who was downstairs at the time and I) to come back, and he said 'yes'.

My Dad had told me that the last feeling he wanted to feel was me stroking his hair as he passed. When I arrived I sat beside him and alternated wiping his brow with a cold cloth and stroking his hair with my hand. I told him it was ok to let go, and that I loved him. He kept saying 'ok, ok, ok, it's ok' until the spaces between his breaths lengthened and he no longer spoke. He turned his face toward mine and I leaned on the bed with my face next to his. I held his forehead and his hand and, as he took his last breath, I saw a tear run along his right cheek.

I hope with all of my heart that it was a tear of joy.

I have been overwhelmed by the messages, calls and flowers from so many of my friends and family. Especially from those I have known in past lives - people who don't have to take that moment to send a message, but they do, even when you don't know what to say. Thank you hardly does justice to the gratitude I feel to all of them.

When my son came to the hospital to say good bye to him my Dad said two things:

I had mentioned that I always seem to have a friend who works in the area that we need help in and my Dad said:

"I'm going to take full credit for teaching you that. Your network is everything. Cultivate your network." He said looking directly at his grandson. "That means take the time to have a coffee with someone for no reason."

Then when they were saying good bye he said to him:

"Take care of these girls (meaning myself and my Mom who was there too), if you take care of the women in your life you will never want for anything."

Through his illness he realised how much women do to care for each other and those they love and he mentioned it to me frequently. He had all the nurses doting on him right till the end (he was also trying to sell them the furniture he made, but that's another story).

One of the many things that this experience has taught me is that when you show someone that you care - you are giving the ONLY gift that matters; the gift of yourself, your time, and your love.