Not every memory from those early years carries weight and shadow. Some of them are just… pure joy. This is one of those.
I was all of five years old when I got a spanking new blue bikini.
I don’t remember who gave it to me, was it the babysitter, or my mother? I often wondered.
Part of me hopes it was my mother… that maybe even through her own tormented life, she had felt some love for me, but just didn’t know how to show it.
I couldn’t wait to go show my Lee my new blue bikini. She only lived a few houses down from me on the same side of the street. We were best of friends.
I paused briefly at the front door for dramatic effect and then floated outward, as graceful as a butterfly. I could feel the coolness of the concrete step beneath my bare feet. One step down, then two—and pause again.
With one hand perched on my chubby little hip, I did not just walk down that laneway. Oh no, I fluttered and sashayed, swinging my little bum left to right, right to left. A young goddess in the making.
The smile on my face stretched from ear to ear. I was about to show the world my spanking new blue bikini, and the excitement was almost too much to bear.
As I climbed up the rickety old winding staircase to Lee’s house, I screamed out, “Lee, Lee, come see, come see what I got.”
Within seconds, Lee’s grandmother came bursting out through the side screen door, looking quite worried and frazzled.
“What’s all the fuss, what’s going on,” Mrs. Picco said, looking around to see if someone was hurting yet another one of her babies. Mrs. Picco was always so nice to me. I liked her very, very much. She made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I liked to pretend sometimes that she was my mom. I bet she’d be ok with that.
“Look at my new bikini,” I told her, my face and eyes beaming with pride. I honestly do not think I could stretch my mouth any further. I was grinning so much, my cheeks were beginning to ache.
Upon realizing no one was actually trying to hurt or mangle her little girl, Mrs. Picco smiled and burst out into the most boisterous laughter I had ever heard. Then just as quickly, she turned away and hurried back inside. Leaving me standing there quite puzzled.
Within minutes, however, she appeared again in the doorway, this time carrying a gigantic pan of water. Stepping out onto the old wooden platform stoop, she ever so gently laid this beautiful, overflowing, splashing reservoir of pure joy at my feet.
Squealing with delight, I wiggled and jiggled my tiny little derriere into that blissful pan of water, giggling and laughing at its coolness kissing the bottom of my new blue bikini. With each dip and dunk, I squealed even louder.
I have to say – this is the most supportive statement I have read that perfectly described this Appellant. “A sadistic, remorseless person who now happens to be old.” I find no comfort when reading “Guilty on all accounts.” This woman who Children Services once described as:
4-7-68: One of the very best homes.
20-10-69: Excellent Home.
14-5-70: Continue to provide excellent care & service for all their children.
6-4-71: W.O. feels this is an Excellent F.H. Children receiving lost of love & care.
This sadistic, remorseless person was granted care of forty-six children in a ten year span. And she was found guilty on five counts. What about the other forty-one. The walking wounded.
This Book Will Wreck You. In the Best Way. A Review of The World on Either Side by Diane Terrana
Some books you finish and set down gently. Like you’re afraid to disturb what just happened inside you. Diane Terrana’s debut is one of those books.
I’ll admit I’m not a neutral reviewer here. Diane was my creative writing instructor, and watching a teacher you admire put their own work into the world… it means something. This one I read with my whole heart.
Valentine is sixteen, gutted by grief, and done with the world. Her boyfriend is gone and she’s gone with him. Just a body in a bed. Her mother does the only thing she can think of: she books two tickets to Thailand and hopes the world is big enough to pull her daughter back into it.
It is. Barely.
What Terrana does so beautifully is refuse to rush Valentine’s healing. The teenage angst here isn’t dramatic for drama’s sake. It’s raw and recognizable and real. The self-imposed invisibility, the exhausting weight of pretending to be okay, the way grief makes everything feel both unbearably loud and completely silent at the same time. Any teenager who has ever felt like they were watching life from behind glass will find themselves on these pages.
Then comes Lin. A mysterious elephant keeper with his own hidden damage. And an orphaned elephant calf that needs saving. And suddenly Valentine, who couldn’t get out of bed, is running for her life through jungle… and somehow, inexplicably, running back toward it too.
The setting is lush and transporting without being a postcard. The adventure is genuinely breathless. The romance is earned rather than convenient. And Terrana’s prose moves the way grief actually does. Not in a straight line, but in unexpected spirals, with grace arriving sideways when you least expect it.
I was five years old. Someone decided that mattered enough to open a file. To remove me from the only home I ever knew.
Decades later I went looking for answers. Not justice. Not confrontation. Just… the beginning. Where it started. Why.
What I found was a file that knew I existed but not how I got there. A ward of the province. Where, when, and under what circumstances: unknown. Placed in a home. Why: unknown.
Unknown. The word appears so casually. As if a child’s origins are a minor administrative gap rather than the whole story.
And then this: “I suspect there is another file.”
They suspect.
Somewhere there is a file that knows what this one won’t say. And nobody thought that mattered enough to find it.
Recovering from a major decompression brain surgery changed how I understand healing in ways I never anticipated. It wasn’t linear, and it certainly wasn’t gentle. My say-nothing nervous system was suddenly very loud. My sense of where my body was in space; something I’d never thought about before… became unreliable overnight. And it scared me to my core.
Medical care mattered. Time mattered. But what surprised me most was this:
how much my recovery depended on the way I spoke to myself.
I wasn’t trying to convince myself to feel better.
I was helping my nervous system settle, orient, and stabilize.
I wasn’t trying to reinvent myself or “think positively.” What I needed was to create a feeling of safety inside a nervous system that no longer trusted the world, or even my own body. That meant learning how to speak to myself with steadiness, patience, and presence, especially when things felt unpredictable or painful.
I started writing short phrases. Grounded, honest ones, and recording conversations in my own voice. I listened to them daily. Sometimes many times a day. The repetition wasn’t about encouragement. It was about familiarity. Over time, my nervous system began to recognize the tone, the cadence, the reassurance. It softened. Slowly. Quietly.
This became a daily practice, applied neuroplasticity in the most personal sense. Not something I did only on the hard days, but something I committed to consistently.
Because healing doesn’t respond to urgency. It responds to trust.
I find it striking how easily we dedicate hours to improving performance at work or refining skills for others, yet hesitate to invest that same focus in strengthening our own inner resilience. Recovery taught me that mental fortitude isn’t something you summon once. It’s something you train, gently and repeatedly.
I’m still learning what my new normal looks like. This journey is far from over. But one thing is clear: healing required a conscious decision to stay with myself through uncertainty, discomfort, and change—without pulling away, without rushing ahead.
That choice has shaped my recovery more than anything else.
Ok. So jokes on me. One day I was outside fretting quite vocally about a caterpillar 🐛 lying helplessly vulnerable on the cold barren concrete step. It’s common knowledge by now that I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to Mother Nature and all her little creatures.
My 1st attempt at “rescuing” her from potential predators was to carefully place her in a flower pot while balancing her furry little body on a thin slab of stone. This, however, was not very successful as you can see by her hasty escape. But still being fully committed to the rescue at this point and time, I then plopped her down below the towering concrete steps into a voluptuous array of flowering plants. That was it, my job was done. I was a hero 🤔
Within 24 hours this is who showed up right back on the front step. Now how the heck did she get back up there. That had to be quite the trek for her short stubby little legs.
My goodness, what resilience and determination in one scruffy little caterpillar. I’m going to call her Cati P.
After several minutes of deep and at times heated consultations “we” finally agreed on a compromise. She could stay on the concrete steps but she had to accept some form of leafy camouflage – which involved a much juicier hibiscus leaf.
Sitting peacefully on my front porch with my new found friend, I figured out why the little bugger wasn’t fearful of being gobbled up at all with the help of Mr. Google. It seems the birdies and other critters in the neighborhood were well aware that my bright little yellow needle sticking out caterpillar was no other than a poisonous (only mildly I think 🤔) Acronicta Americana – American Dagger Moth.
So yes, jokes on me 🦋 I do not think that Cati P was scared at all. (I had to give her a stage name for her international online debut)
And now she is officially verified and there’s even talk of getting her an agent. 🤔
But it’s like I said…it’s the little things that can make your day.
You just have to keep your eyes and your heart open.
I was kind of lost the last time we spoke. Somehow our positions had gotten reversed.
I’m not really sure when or how that happened.
You were always the strong one. You who never forgot a single birthday or any other special occasion for that matter. Christmas, Easter, even Halloween, believe it or not. And to be honest, I didn’t always understand why. Because, I wasn’t even your child, and you were not my mother.
Over the years you watched as another foster mom would take me into the store where you worked standing behind the counter in your spotless white coat. You told me many times how you would tell your own mom how much you wanted me for yourself. I never understood that either. No one else seemed to want me, so why would a complete stranger even look at me like that. I was just a dirty welfare kid.
But love is like that, isn’t it Mom. She is not concerned with where you have come from, what you may have or how you may look. She wants to show you great things and limitless possibilities. She sits in the beat of your heart and rises in the precious air that we breathe into our bodies. She is always there and everywhere. You cannot measure or restrict the depth nor breadth of her reach. She is omnipotent.
I am so sorry it took me so long to understand how much you loved me or why. I really didn’t get it. I was so broken. My scars cut so much deeper than I had thought they ever could. But that didn’t stop you, did it? No one else had loved me the way you did. No other mom came to my rescue. Even though I spent so many years waiting for her to come riding in off the sunset, telling me it wasn’t my fault and that I was worthy of a mother’s love, of anyone’s love.
Many times I wished that you could have found me earlier. But I have you now right, so that’s all that matters. That’s all that should matter. Because regardless of how much time we were given, I got to love you and to be loved by you.
It is the quality of that love that truly matters, even though our hearts will always ache for the quantity too.
You must think I’m silly. Talking to you so much. Saying goodnight to a picture frame. If Dad is sitting next to you, he’s probably just shaking his head saying, “that’s our little girl.”
Come on now Mom, you have to see the irony in all of this. I talk to you more now than when you were alive. What’s up with that? Am I a silly human just being human or a woman who is just coming into her own.
I understand that so many of us struggle with the passing of a loved one but I find solace and comfort in honoring your life, by keeping you here with me – in as many ways as I can. Don’t get me wrong, It still hurts, very much, but in a different way. It’s a heaviness now more so at times, rather than that initial piercing through the core of one’s very being. And I’m learning to be okay with this, and in time I will be. But not just yet though.
That day I walked into the hospital to see you, was the day my heart broke in two. I cry each time I go there in my head. It makes my heart hurt so much. No more would I walk into the house on Marine Drive. Dad would have my ham in the oven, already half cooked and you would be fussing all about. Lord help us if Dad or I left something out of place. You walking around like a sentinel making sure we didn’t.
Do you remember that one time I purposely put a candy wrapper in the ashtray in the living room? I had a friend with me there that day. I told her you would catch it within seconds (laughing). And sure enough, in you came, walking through the house – and before you even had your coat off – there you were scooping the candy wrapper out of the dish. You pretended to be affronted when I first told you but I could see you holding back the laughter. You loved when I teased you like that.
But that day in the hospital room was so very different, wasn’t it? I started crying as soon as I saw you, then your niece started crying, then you began to cry, and then the other lady in the room started crying. I know they were crying because you and I were smiling ear to ear while bawling like babies. But it was beautiful wasn’t it mom. They were tears of joy and love and, and……
That was also the day I learned why your arm was hurting you so much. It wasn’t the diabetes was it? Cancer had spread to your bones. It was in your arm, your hip and even your shoulder. Cancer that we didn’t even know about. It was supposed to be diabetes remember? You said it was just your diabetes and the doctors just wanted to do more tests.
It seemed to happen overnight. Just mere months to announce a life must now come to an end. That seems so cruel, don’t you think? But then again we all live with not knowing when, don’t we? Why is it we seem to believe that death only comes to those who appear ill or frail? None of us are immune, are we Mom? The one thing none of us can escape.
I could see that it was causing you so much pain, so much unnecessary crippling pain. We come into this world kicking and screaming and sometimes it seems we must leave the same way as if it were some bad cosmic joke that none of us really gets. Is it the universe getting its wires crossed or is it just doing its own thing.
You lay there propped up in bed – looking so frail. A beautiful tiny porcelain doll in her pink cotton PJ’s with soft white lace trim. You looked so fragile, so small. How did you get so small? When did you get so small?
I sat on the bed facing you. I was very careful not to sit on you, because you know I can be a total klutz sometimes. I just wanted to scoop you up and squeeze you so tight, but I knew I couldn’t. It would cause you too much pain. So I sat next to you, gently holding your hand, trying not to break in two, trying my hardest to be a mom for you. You looked up at me with the saddest most vulnerable expression I have ever seen and asked me, “Judy, am I going to die?”
And without any hesitation, and tears sliding down my face, I whispered, “no mom you’re not, I promise.”
Maybe you have gone on to a different place or time – who knows, sometimes I can’t make any sense out of it all. Life, death – they confuse me. But as you can see – to me, you didn’t die and you never left me.
And I will continue to celebrate loving you and being loved by you each and every day.
Because mom, a promise is a promise. And you taught me that. And whenever I have any doubt I will always do what you told me to do…
Several years ago – I remember sitting with a good friend and mentor as he shared with me his own personal wisdom of the many do’s and don’ts that exists within the business world. I was just about to launch my own Recruitment Agency and I figured I could use all the help I could get.
I knew if I ever need help with anything at all – I could go to him – he would know the answer. He always knew the answer. And he was never too busy for me. He just wanted to see me succeed and that’s just the way he was.
One day in particular stands out more vividly than others. We were sipping our Tim Horton’s coffee in downtown Toronto, right at the corner of John and King, my friend was telling me about an upcoming surgery he was going to have.
“The doctors think I have carpal tunnel syndrome,” he said “they figure it should help.” I remember taking his hand in mine and running my fingers along the smoothness of his skin – I told him he had baby soft skin and we both started laughing.
I could see how the muscles on his hand seemed to cave in, “that doesn’t look like any carpal tunnel I’ve read about,” I mentioned to him. We both shrugged. Maybe because we didn’t want it to be anything else. Isn’t ignorance supposed to be bliss?
Why is it for such an intelligent species, we tend to put on blinders when it comes to illnesses and dying. Why do we believe that we have all the time in the world to do whatever it is we desire. And more importantly, why are we so afraid to even talk about it. But therein is the reason, isn’t it. We are afraid. And if we don’t talk about it – it won’t be real. How’s that for naiveté.
And while we all will vehemently state “everyone has to die one day”, it is with reckless abandonment – that we try to distance ourselves from actually feeling this and the weight that often comes with it. In some childlike way, we rationalize that even though we are aware of it – it just happens to everyone else around us.
Then one day it happens. The “around us” gets closer. And we’re shaken to our core. We get scared, we get angry and sometimes we even hate.
We feel insulted when we have to go about our regular day as if everything is the same or dare I say it, normal. We want to scream and yell at the injustices – something to mark the occasion – something that brings attention to the fact that, “this isn’t just another day.”
We get up the next morning; go about reviewing our same daily tasks, perhaps in between booking doctor’s visits and some other mundane appointments. Most within our circles or network of connections are none the wiser. Because you see – it is just another day. And life does not stop when you are handed a death notice. In fact – in my opinion, you are never more alive, or aware of it.
I’ll be very honest, it was hard to see my friend. I was often at a loss. I didn’t have any magic words – I didn’t have anything that could make it better. And that made me so very angry and very scared.
We chatted, as best as we could – he would get frustrated sometimes – but dear god who wouldn’t, with the battle he had before him. I couldn’t always make out what he was trying to say, which also frustrated me, because I didn’t want him to get frustrated – but between the two of us, we did the best we could With each passing week – it was harder, and I was often unsure what to do. I wanted to fix it – and I knew I couldn’t. You just feel so damn helpless.
At times, I just wanted to rip this evil thing out of him. And that is the only way I can describe it. I wanted to take away his fear when he would tell me how afraid he is, especially when he knew what his future was going to be like. I listened to him when he would tell me how much he worried about his wife and how he was so amazed at how much she actually does. He was aware of this, every single day. I smile when I think of that. She’s such a tiny lass. Yet her strength in facing such devastating adversity was simply beautiful and inspiring and so filled with love. At times it did knock her down, and even though it was not easy to get back up, she always did.
And still our daily lives go on. Emails are answered, messages are texted and appointments are confirmed.
One thing that initially caused me a wee bit of confusion with my friend, was how persistent he was in wanting to make sure his business kept moving smoothly. I’ve had to wrestle with that one, and still do at times. My instinctive reaction was, “what the hell, forget about it, how can that be important now.” But for so many of us, it is. I know his motivation was also based on watching his wife. He had to look after her, he still saw that as his responsibility – I saw that in everything he pushed himself to do. And that’s just the way it is. Life goes on – for everyone. No meanness meant or cold heartedness. Regardless of what a doctor may tell us – there are still things that have to be done. And we have families that we will worry about until the day we take our last breath. That is who we are and that is life.
There were times when I thought there was such cruelness afoot, some bad cosmic influence. How can one be expected to go about their day when given such horrible news? But people are doing this every single day. They get up each morning – put one foot in front of the other – when possible, and they face their day. Because they know what the alternative is, and they choose to live first and foremost, as painful and as difficult as that can be. To me they are true heroes, they are the magical markers in our lives.
And the first thing that we should do, is applaud them – recognize them – and help whenever we can. And never, ever, dismiss the obvious elephant in the room. Some things cannot be hidden, nor should be.
I didn’t know how to tell my friend how much I hated his ALS and how it made me angry. It confused me in ways that I can’t really explain, even to myself. So I would tell him how much I love him – I would make him laugh, he would make me cry – and we would also make each other strong. I never say, it’s not fair. I understand – it just is. Once you realize this, it’s then that you can try to make a difference, no matter how big or how small. You help out, you listen and you try not to get caught up in thinking that you have to fix something that can’t be fixed.
I don’t see my work day like I use to. I don’t see any day like I use to. Is it my maturing age, or is it in the fact that too often I see my friends and family just not being there anymore. What we do each day, work or otherwise, is supposed to be a choice and not a chore. We can find joy and choose joy. Even amidst the pain, the trauma and the not so fun parts. It’s also a day where we should never forget to reach out and let others know they are being thought of. I try not to take anything for granted. I cannot reiterate enough, that life is so short, but you can do a lot with the one you have, you truly can. Just open your eyes.
“Understand your WORTH. Value your LIFE. Appreciate your BLESSINGS. Be GRATEFUL.”
As much as there is sadness afoot, there is also an abundance of love and joy around us. You have to believe this. No job placement or new business will ever replace that. And it is with that humility and gratitude that everything else just falls into place, and begins to make sense.
If I could wish anything for anyone – it would be to find that balance.
I sincerely believe we all do have a purpose and that we all can make a difference, no matter how big or how small. It is up to each and every one of us to choose to make that difference.
For myself, I find that I am no longer searching for those definitive answers to “why this or why that happens.” As corny as it may sound….”it just is.” I’m actually astonished that I find peace in such three simple words.
I remember an interesting passage I once read in a book, called Laws of Attraction, it makes more sense to me now.
” If contrast were to cease, so would expansion. We need expansion for eternity. Without it there wouldn’t be more. There wouldn’t be us.”
And I am so thankful for “us,” in whatever shape or form.
