This is the last Friday of November. Black Friday to some. Blue Friday to others. It is also, the last Friday of Family Violence Prevention Month.

Family violence kills. Spirit. Hope. Dignity. Trust. Lives.

Awhile ago, I attended a fundraiser at a pub in an inner city neighbourhood, just east of the downtown core, along the river’s edge.

What was significant for me about this event wasn’t just the cause or the people, it was the place.

It was held at a venue where, once upon a time, I tried to end the relationship that was killing me.

It was fall, 2002. Life was spiralling out of control and I was falling. I had no money, no job, no home. My daughters were living with their father and I was falling further and further into the darkness.

‘The man’ was clinging to me in a desperate attempt to have life look as if it was normal. I don’t remember where he was living, but I was staying between the home of one of my dearest friends and at the time, house-sitting another friend’s house in the same townhome complex in which she lived.

I wasn’t sure what would happen next. ‘The man’ kept promising to make it all right. He kept promising that he would fix it, get my money and home back, get all my belongings out of storage, get me stable once again.

I didn’t really believe him but I couldn’t quit listening to his promises. I was so tired. So lost. So helpless.

And then, he made a scene. We had gone to a local pub (the same one as the fundraiser) for a drink and he acted out, accusing me of flirting with another man in the bar. Yelling at me for destroying his life. Calling me names.

I grabbed my coat and walked out.

I walked and walked in the cold, dark night.

The pub was only a couple blocks from the river, about a twenty-minute walk from where I was house-sitting.

I walked down to the river and along the path that skirts its shoreline. I don’t remember if there was a moon, or if the stars shone. I remember snow on the ground. Frosty air.

I felt so hopeless.

I wanted him to follow me. I wanted him to leave me alone. I wanted him to disappear. I wanted to vanish.

At one point, I took a path down to the water’s edge and sat on a rock watching the water flow past. I imagined what would happen if I could simply fall into the water. I imagined what it would be like if I could disappear. I knew his presence was choking me. I knew being with him was driving me crazy, that there was no truth in anything he said. And I knew I was lost and had to do something to find myself again.

Somewhere in that relationship he had given me a heart-shaped ring set with tiny diamonds. I had worn that ring ever since he’d given it to me in the belief that as long as I wore it he would not disappear from my life and my daughters’ would be safe from the evil men he told me were threatening their lives.

Sitting beside the river that night, I knew I had to let go.

I took the ring off and hurled it into the river.

I broke the ties. I rebelled against the bonds that tied me so fast to his deceit and abuse.

I walked back to the house where I was staying. I let myself in and went to bed.

It was over.

And then, the doorbell rang.

I didn’t want to answer it. I told myself not to.

But he started yelling. Pounding upon the wooden barrier that stood firm between us.

I capitulated. I told myself I didn’t want to wake the neighbours. I didn’t want him to cause a scene.

I told myself I would let him in just so I could tell him it was over. I didn’t care about the money, the home, the stuff. I wanted free.

It would be six long, terrifying months before I got free again.

I remember that night. It was the night I gave up on me completely. It was the night he threw back at me everything I had ever told him about my life for which I held shame or sadness or regret. In the reminding me of all my misgivings, he affirmed my deepest fear. I was not worthy.

I lost my spirit that night. I lost my direction completely in the darkness of knowing, I was not worthy.

It is the reality of these relationships that take such a toll. To be abused we must believe abuse is all we’re worth. We must believe they are right, we are wrong. We must give up on ourselves, and give into the ‘who’ they tell us we are, what they tell us we’re worth. And we are worth nothing but their abuse.

To be abused we must believe in the one who abuses us.

And it is in that belief we die.

Abuse hurts. Stop it.

Knox United Church has played a pivotal role in creating a caring and inclusive community in downtown Calgary since it first opened its doors over 130 years ago. One of four founding churches to establish the network of faith community memebers that began Inn from the Cold 20 years ago, Knox continues to play a pivotal role in helping the Inn fulfill on its vision to build a community where no child or family is homeless.

Last night, Knox extended its warm hospitality to the children and families staying at the Inn’s emergency shelter. Over 20 volunteers gathered to create a place where gratitude, friendship, joy and gratitude shone in the faces and hearts of everyone gathered together share a meal, give thanks and build community. It rang out in the laughter, the conversation, the clink of cutlery on pretty china plates and wafted through the air filled with the delicious aroma of turkey and roasted vegetables and of course, pumpkin pie.

There was not a belly that felt empty, nor a heart that wasn’t full of gratitude by the end of the evening. Children darted in and around the tables set with pretty white china as parents and neighbours who’d come in to volunteer chatted and laughed together.

There was no, this is my space, you’re a visitor here. There was only the warm, loving welcome of the volunteers who gathered to prepare and serve the meal and put on all the activities to engage adults and children in a wonderful evening of fun and laughter. And, throughout the evening, gratitude and joy and a sense of belonging and community embraced the children and families, helping to lift the heaviness of homelessness to replace it with hope, possibility, Love.

In the end, there was one people, one humanity, one human condition gathered together to share a meal.

I spent the evening last night enveloped in the warm and welcoming embrace of friendship, welcoming hearts and caring hands. I spent the evening in that place where everyone knew they were at home surrounded that the thing we all yearn for the most — loving kindness and belonging.

I am blessed. I am grateful. I am awed by the spirit and humanity of everyone who came out last night to create such a beautiful place for everyone to connect and feel welcome.

Garfield Jr. Photo by Alexis Marie

Thirty-one years ago, when I gave birth to my first daughter, I was in awe of the sweeping, fierce love that consumed me the moment I heard her first cry.

Over the nine months of pregnancy, I had read every book I could get my hands on that would prepare me for being a mother. But nothing could prepare me for the fierce love that filled every breath, every molecule and cell of my being.

Last night, as I lay in bed reading, I searched for books on being a grandmother.

I am beyond excited.

In March of next year, my eldest daughter will give birth to their first child, our first grandchild. A son.

And I feel the stirrings of that fierce love. I feel that yearning to hold him in my arms and protect him and cherish him and nurture him and guide him and show him how incredibly beautiful and strong he is, and how incredibly beautiful he can make the world around him through kindness, dignity, truth and courage.

I want to be the best grandmother I can be, or as we’ve decided I’ll be called, Nona or possibly Lola.

When a child has four sets of grandparents, getting creative with nomenclature is vital! And not being quite sure yet what he’ll call me leaves some of the say up to him — which word is easier to pronounce, which one makes him smile when he says it, or is there a word he’ll choose himself?

When Alexis was a child, the first time she said Grandpa, the name we’d agreed she’d call her paternal grandfather, she said, Bumpa. It became a lovingly appropriate name for gentle Al, her father’s father.

Along with being the kind of grandmother Garfield Jr., as they are calling him in-womb (and no that won’t be his name in-the-world), wants to spend time with, I also want to be the best mother of my grandson’s parents I can be. I want to be intentional in all my actions, words, and thoughts. I want to honour their parenting style, their requests for how he’s taught, how he’s nurtured and cared for. I want to use LOVE in all its encompassing ways. In particular, LOVE as Donne Davis writes in “When Being a Grandma Isn’t So Grand: 4 Keys to L.O.V.E. your grandchild’s parents, as my guideposts.”

L – Learn the parents’ language

O – Own your shared purpose

V – Value the parents’ hard work

E – Empathize. Empathize. Empathize.

As a grandmother, I want to be the person they love to call to share the adventures of their little one, and the rock they lean on when they’re tired, frustrated or just needing to chat about the realities of being a parent today.

I do not want to be over-bearing, over-powering or over-anything that doesn’t bring joy and delight to their lives and the life of their son.

It is a new adventure, this idea/role of being a grandmother. For C.C., there is no role he is more excited about. When Alexis and J called to tell us the grand news, her sister insisted we film C.C. so they could see his face and reaction. It was worth it! Just as being grandparents together will be worth remembering as we journey into this new land together.

Over the moon and into the limitless possibilities of love. That’s where you’ll find me in the coming weeks and months as we journey together with our daughter and son-in-love towards the arrival of their new son.

Gratitude fills my heart. Fierce and wild, it beats a tattoo of Love that fills my world with the song of joy.

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And yes, I’ve ordered some books! Time to get honing up on how to be a grandmother who leaves only footprints of love on her grandson’s and his parents’ life.

“It’s not convenient for me to come help you right now. Why don’t you just take a cab home and we can deal with it in the morning?”

These are the words my beloved speaks into the phone when I call him in a confused state after trying to open the doors of my car.

Everything is dead.  The FOB doesn’t work. There’s no flashing red light from the security system. No click when I press the button on the door handle that should lead to the door automatically opening.

There’s also no key to unlock the door.

Of course, I’m ticked at my husband. Why on earth can’t he come and rescue me? Right now.

My ‘ticked-offedness’ is not based on reality. He is with a friend who is dying. They don’t expect him to live through the night. He has spent the afternoon and early part of the evening with his friend, his wife and family. He just wants to get off the phone as quickly as possible as he is in an emotionally challenging place and can’t deal with much else.

Not knowing where he’s at emotionally, I filter my feelings/thoughts through my experience and base my response only on his words, which I judge to be a tad off-putting.

And yeah, I just might have been a little bit snippety when I responded.

How often do we do this? Hear something and leave out, or don’t get the context of, what the other person is experiencing? We filter their response through our experience and make judgments about them and their words that lead us to respond in not so kind, considerate or thoughtful ways?

The converse can also be true. For C.C., he could not know how his words would trigger me. But then, until I heard them, neither could I.

Not feeling like I matter, or that I’m important enough for someone else to come to my defense or support is an old pattern of thinking/feeling for me. Most times, I am aware of this belief pattern and am able to frame my response and understanding through my self-awareness.

Sometimes, I’m just not there.

Being conscious and aware of this pattern is vital to ensuring a conversation doesn’t go from “hello” to a deep dive into resentment, anger, confusion, because the other person didn’t respond the way we wanted or expected. In that deep dive away from searching for intimacy to deepening our insistence of being right, we often say and do things we wish we hadn’t.

I don’t know about you, but I really do my best not to say or do things I’ll later regret!

We are all just humans on the journey of our lifetime. And sometimes, that journey is filled with moments where we do not act up to our higher good and instead, sink down to our baser instinct to always be right, always win, always have the last word.

Fortunately, C.C. and I have an agreement. If one of us says, “Can we begin again?”, there’s only one permissible response.

“Yes.”

In beginning again, whatever the inciting incident, we both agree to release it as we begin again from the sacred ground of our love for one another. In that sacred space, we do and all we are for and with each other comes through the desire to deepen intimacy through love.

And while some days, the critter in me would rather I just stand my ground in self-righteous victim-hood, my heart always knows the truth, to begin again is the way of Love.