Tag Archives: Childhood

If I Had Known

5 Mar

It’s been exactly 5 years since I saw you for the last time. It was a Tuesday night. I wore a new coral colored shirt. I remember being in the car, driving to go see you. I wanted her to come with me. But she didn’t. I remember riding in the elevators to go to your floor, and I remember getting lost. You were on the third floor.

If I had known it would be my last time seeing you, I wouldn’t have said that I needed to go to the bathroom, when I really just needed some air. I wouldn’t have went to the hallway, pacing back and forth, trying to think straight. Because if I hadn’t, it would have meant 5 more minutes with you. If I had known it would be my last time feeling your touch on me, I would have hugged you harder. I would have given you a kiss. (I remember you saying “If it weren’t for these tubes, I’d kiss you.”) If I had known it would be the last time I would get to hear your voice, I would have listened more carefully, memorizing your voice.

I wrote you a poem. And I read it at the funeral. I remember eating poutine for the first time in my life before going to the funeral home. At your funeral, there was so many people. You had touched every single one of their lives in some way. There were 3 people sitting on the couch. Your daughter was there. There was some crying. I cried. But we laughed too. And we smiled. We thought of all our memories of you. It was bittersweet.

I miss you. You were my friend when I was mostly alone. You helped me. You helped my family. I’ll always remember sitting in your living room on Sundays, watching cartoons and eating cheese puffs. I remember coloring pictures in your kitchen. I remember your birthday 3 years before you died. We drove to see you again. And I remember you said that you were looking forwards to the next 10 years.

There’s some things that I can no longer remember. I can no longer hear your voice, a voice that was once so comforting to me. At times, I can’t see your face. And this, this thought that you will slowly be forgotten, terrifies me. You should have been here for at least 7 more years. If I had known that you would be gone, I would never have taken any thing for granted. It’s been 5 years.

God saw him getting tired

When a cure was not to be,

So he closed his arms around him

And whispered come to me.


In tears we saw him sinking,

We watched him fade away,

Our hearts were truly broken,

He fought so hard to stay.


But when we saw him sleeping

Peacefully and free from pain,

We could not wish him back

To suffer that again.


So close your arms around him Lord,

And give him special care,

Make up for all that he suffered

That seemed to us unfair.


So many times we’ve needed him,

So many times we’ve cried,

If love could have saved him,

He never would have died.




The First Snowfall

1 Mar

Soft flakes drifting lightly

Towards the white covered ground,

Forming a beautiful blanket

That is gentle and tender.


The wind murmurs in the air,

Ever so lightly, barely there,

Turning little noses the color of blood,

As snow continues to fall.


Bells jingle and wind chimes ring,

The smell of cinnamon at every turn,

Children sit with mugs of hot chocolate

To watch the first snowfall of the year.



Life In D Minor

24 Feb

I look at the sheets of music

With titles I can’t read

And notes I used to know.


I remember spending hours

Playing and playing,

Until my fingers bled.


Tears were shed,

Papers were ripped,

And threats echoed in the room.


I longed to stop,

To end the torture

That ruled my life.


Yet looking back,

I wish I knew

What I know now.


For the piano is a part of me,

The notes are my words,

And music is my life.



Growing Up

17 Feb

As a little girl,

I had big dreams

Some were huge oceans,

Others were little streams.


In my innocent mind,

Nothing was impossible

Life was a blank slate,

Yours to make visible.


That was when everything was perfect,

Only now do I wonder

Where was the rain before

Where was the thunder?


As I grow older,

And reality grows heavier

The illusion I had is gone,

While the storm grows steadier.


Is this what growing up means?

Letting go of the rainbow

Putting yourself down,

And forever saying no.



The House That Built Me

15 Feb

The one with the red bricks,

Window at the front

The one with the giant tree,

That’s the house that built me.


The house with the rock,

Mighty and round

Sitting at the corner,

On the lawn of the house that built me.


The one with the squeaky gate,

And a driveway the colour of night

The one with the crooked pathway

It’s the house that built me.


The house with the most Life,

Love, laughter and joy,

It might be lacking in wealth,

But it’s the house that built me.


I will never forget,

The times I spent there

For it will always be

The house that built me.



Back In Time

11 Feb

I want to go back in time. I want to go back to a time when things were simpler. When life seemed better.

I want to go back and talk to my grandmother. I want to see her smile, and give her a hug. Most importantly, I want to tell her that I love her.

I want to go back to when I was a baby. When I had not yet known heartbreak, sorrow and pain. When I wasn’t constantly under pressure to be perfect.

I want to go back to when I was five. When I would sit on the rock in our front yard, day after day, after day. Waiting. For what, I’m not sure. Perhaps waiting for my dad to come home from work. Or maybe, I was waiting for the cats who lived across the street to come, so that I could play with them.

I want to go back to that hospital room on that Tuesday night. That night, the last time I saw him alive. I want to give him a kiss on the cheek, tell him how he made me a better person.

I want to go back to when my biggest worry was if the girl sitting next to me in class wanted to play with me at recess.

I want to go back to summer days spent by the pool. Laughing, splashing, talking. When school seemed an eternity away.

I want to go back to evening strolls on the beach. Watching the sun set, the sky aflame. Later, the sky would turn pink. I want to feel the sand in between my toes and smell the fresh ocean air.

Above all, I want to go back and do all the things I wish I had done. I want to relive all the good times of the past, not taking it for granted. I want to take away this regret that is inside me.




I Want To Be The President

1 Feb

Remember when we were in grade school, and we had things called “journals”? Small notebooks, where we to write an entry each week. Some weeks, we were given a topic to write about. Other weeks, we could write about whatever we liked. We could always accompany the writing with a drawing. Coloured with many different colours of crayons, of course.

I remember we were once given the topic of “what do you want to be when you grow up”. As a child, I changed my mind a few times about what I wanted to be. First, it was a lawyer. Then, a journalist. After, my mom managed to convince me to be a doctor (story for another time). But at the time that this topic was given to us, I did not want to be a doctor. Nor a journalist. Nor a lawyer. I wanted to be the President of the United States of America. Keep in mind that I was 7 at the time.

You might ask, since when do 7 year olds feel the urge to become the President? What can I say, I’ve always been an over-achiever. But in all honesty, it was because about a month earlier, I had read a biography on John F. Kennedy. My mom had it lying on her desk, and one Sunday morning, when I was up before the rest of my family, I read it. And I was really fascinated by that book too. It was about 200 pages- one of those DK Biographies- and I finished that book in 2 hours. For the next few months, after reading that biography, I proceeded to tell everyone I knew that I wanted to become the President when I grew up. I was 7.

Of course, this was before I found out that I could never become the President, through no fault of my own. Matter of the fact is, I was not born in the USA, and I never will be born in the USA. Thus, I’m unable to become the President of America. I was actually crushed when I found out about this. But regardless, this has been something that has stuck with me through the years. I remember getting back my journal after I handed it in with the entry about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I eagerly flipped it open to see the comments my teacher had written (reading the comments of teachers has always been and always will be my favourite part of getting back handed in assignments and projects). To this day, I still remember what had been written. “You have very big dreams, and I look forward to one day seeing you as the President.” When I think back to it now, she was probably just being nice, trying not to quash my dreams.

I shake my head whenever I think back to that journal entry. I was so naive. And it is embarrassing. I have no regrets though. Now, I can look back, tell the story to friends, and laugh at my 7 year old self. Although I do wish I had that journal… (My family moved a lot, so all of my work from when I was younger were all thrown out)

I still do want to be the President, though. But now, I know it’s not possible. Instead, it will be something that will happen in my wildest dreams. Which isn’t as good as having it actually happen, but it’s okay, I guess.