Daughter of an Architect

I'm sure there's all kinds of offspring of architects. I have 3 different kinds. My darling daughter just happens to be exactly what I would imagine a daughter of an architect to be - you know, if I was the generalizing type.

For example, allow me to introduce you to her desk in her room:

(this desk is an old closet door, from our 100 yr. old home, turned into a desk by her Pappa when he was an architecture student. Note: this picture could only fit her entire desk because I used the "panoramic" feature. It's a large desk!)

Now before you think this blog is #MyFail as a parent, allow me to explain...

Think back...waaaaaaaay back, like back to when God created the earth (if you're a non-believer, stay with me for a moment more!). In Genesis 1:2 it says, "And the earth was without form...", after which God organized and created the heavens and this beautiful earth and all magnificent things that are here on earth.

I like to think of Melaia's desk as the stage right before the organization and creation happened. We have a desk here without clear form. A whole lot of "un-order". A heck of a lot of CRAZINESS! However, I can't wait to share a bit of order that comes out of my daughter's chaos.

Before we do that, for complete fun, allow me to attempt to label this physical representation of what's in her little head:

Anything not labelled could be put into one of 4 categories:

1. misc.

2. It's so pretty

3. It's so cute

4. Hasn't made it to the garbage yet

When Melaia was a toddler, she was like most toddlers - if she was quiet, you knew there was trouble. Like the day I left her for two minutes and she peeled the keys off of my husbands brand new Macintosh laptop and proceeded to insert them into the disc drive. I came back just in time to save that laptop. Minimal damage thanks to the engineering side of my husband's brain.

Nowadays, if she's quiet for hours on end, I don't worry - as much.

On one of those wonderful days that she disappeared into her creative dome of complete bliss, she re-appeared with "hand lotion". It looked like creamy, white hand lotion. It smelt like creamy, white hand lotion but it felt like creamy soup.

How did you do this Melaia?

"Easy!" 

She preceded to tell me how she took a bar of soap, shredded it down with her "tools". (On her desk are random pencil crayons. She uses the unshaven side to peel/shred apart the soap into tiny shavings of soap.) She then adds water and mixes until she gets her desired consistency after which she adds bath salts to enhance the scent.

The shredding process.
Next time I buy a bar of soap, I now know to hide them as this was her third bar in two days.

In Melaia's world, she has perfected her consistency and has turned my favourite bar of soap (above) into a liquid hand soap. She then finds a cute bottle, steals my real hand soap pumps and tries to sell me her finished product. Are you ready for her first official product unveiling?  

< drum roll pleeeeeeease >

Funny story about this particular batch of hand soap: 

Melaia had created this batch of soap with a couple of friends who came over to play for the day. I thought Melaia was sharing her fun discovery with these lovely little girls. It turns out my daughter was "employing them" in the making of her soap. She simply "supervised"! I told Melaia that she was like a "boss" to these girls - just like her Pappa has a boss at work. She then asked me if being a boss meant that you had to help your workers get along because her friends (who are also sisters) didn't always get along and Melaia felt that this didn't help them to produce the amount of hand soap that she wanted them to produce. She confessed that it was very hard to be the "boss" and help your workers to get along. I proceeded to laugh. Out loud!

In Melaia's world, creativity isn't limited to a desk. The world is her studio! On a recent trip to Bluffer's Park in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, we explored a lovely beach filled with copious amounts of clay. Melaia couldn't help herself. She HAD to bring some home. I tried to convince her out of it by saying that I didn't want to carry it all the way back to the van and it would be so dirty travelling home in our van but how can you say 'no' to her when she had discovered it AND agreed to carry it back to the van? I was trapped, in a good way, as I knew that her passion was carrying her and I knew that I needed to support her passion and ideas. You could tell that every step of the way back to the van, her head was stirring with ideas and thoughts about this clay. I even offered to carry it for her (guilt poked at me) but she only let me carry it for a few steps. She was fuelled with passion for that walk back. I was a proud Mamma.

Toronto, ON to Waterloo, ON
Clay

Over several days, she worked away on our front porch experimenting with this natural element. Again, occupied for hours. Even though it's messy, I love these projects where she losses herself in her creations. It all began with play but her play evolved beyond the typical clay bowl.

I briefly perused on the internet how to prepare natural clay in order to make true clay sculptures. This wasn't a process built for me. It was too long and complicated for my impatient brain. So, I let Melaia just discover on her own how to work with this clay and we would watch how it dried out in the natural elements.

After experimenting in this way, she then found a huge Canadian Maple Leaf and began painting it with layers and layers of clay. You know where this is going, don't you?!! After many days of drying, somehow she managed to peal off this leaf to reveal a clay patterned leaf without breaking it. Confession: I broke it after attempting a second round of photography. She forgave me and liked my suggestion of painting it!

She has yet to initiate painting her sculptures, so, here's what we have today:

Remember her desk? "Without form". Even her creative process seems completely "without form" or in "chaos". Now look again at her creations. Order. Beauty. Form. "It was good."

It is SO good!

Clay sculptures.
by Melaia

Take Time to Reflect

Remember that message that comes up at the heightened moment of a T.V. show or website?....

"We are currently experiencing technical difficulties. 

Our apologies for any inconvenience this may cause."

That's the message that I feel I owe all of you who have been reading the story of my car accident and have been stuck in the ambulance with me.

Allow me to explain what has been going on...

TECHNICALLY, I didn't expect to re-live my story emotionally which manifested physically. Muscles painfully tensed and ached, anxiety overwhelmed me (via panic attacks) and disturbed sleep exhausted me. Wow! What a shock for me and my system. Nevertheless, an important learning curve.

TECHNICALLY, I needed some healing time. I sought out massage therapy for the first time since my car accident (I wish I did that a lot sooner!) and I did a lot of self-talk and reflection about how I am a survivor of a serious traumatic experience and how I'm O.K. now. I'm no longer in the throws of trauma. My husband and close friends have been incredible sounding boards during this time. I'm in love with them.

TECHNICALLY, I've had some wonderful visits from overseas family which was also incredibly healing. I love my New Zealand and Australia family members too. Our feelings run deep for each other (they've known me since my birth in New Zealand) and they soothed my aching wounds with their unconditional love.

TECHNICALLY, I've been involved in some fun and engaging community projects that allowed me to remember that I'm a grown and capable women (vs.trapped in a hospital bed) with an exciting present and future.

TECHNICALLY, my family is going through some exciting life changes that I look forward to sharing with you a little later.

TECHNICALLY, I'm on the hunt for some incredible material from my hospital days that I know you'll want to see. It involves pictures and other memorabilia related to my hospital stay.

TECHNICALLY, I had no idea what re-telling this story would do to me and how long it would take to tell you. This may take some unknown amount of time to tell and you may experience similar technical difficulties in the future.

TECHNICALLY, I know you'll love what's coming and want to come back.

HOWEVER, I'm very much enjoying the journey and having you along with me certainly makes this journey a lot lighter. Thanks for being there and sharing this with me.

"To be continued..."

Janes Walk 2014 - Kid Perspective

About a month and a half ago I was kindly asked by Kae Elgie and Juanita Metzger, both engaged community builders, if I would be interested in leading a Janes Walk in Waterloo. I was unsure if my back would be well enough to participate, so, I kindly asked my husband, André, if he would be interested. Or, as André would say, I "voluntold" him to do it!

Community is very important to me. I'm passionate about it because community is a big part of my Samoan culture. Community is about people. We believe in supporting each other as we live life together. It's so innate in me to support my community. I loved the opportunity!

Having said this, it was both André and I's first Janes Walk. We haven't even gone on a Janes Walk before. I had heard of the movement through twitter but had not yet participated. I was definitely excited about this movement though and was happy for the opportunity to participate.

What's a Janes Walk? In a nutshell, it's a walk/tour, in honour of Jane Jacobs - a writer and activist who supported community friendly urban development. These walks/tours celebrate neighbourhoods in which the tour-guides live. Definitely check out the website for more information and be inspired to lead a walk in your neighbourhood next year!

Our walk was on Saturday, May 3rd at 1:30pm. The weather was threatening rain. It rained before our walk and right after but thankfully, we had no rain during the walk (minus a few light drops). I prayed for this little miracle all week as I don't like to get wet! Having said this, we don't think the weather encouraged people to come out on our walk (or perhaps it was a boring topic or perhaps we're just terrible at marketing!). However, because I told my kids they HAD to come on their Pappa's walk, they invited a pile of their friends who enthusiastically came! Even a parent came along too, so, we had a very excited and energetic little crowd and thankfully, André was quick on his feet and was able to adapt his walk to a mostly 9-12yr. old group!

We live in Uptown Waterloo, Ontario and what André and I love about this area is the new Architecture popping up in Uptown that seems to frame the history of this area while looking ahead to the future. When André and I first moved to the area, the Uptown was not much of a destination. It was a place that you passed through but was not too interested in spending time. It's industrial roots were the prominent voice but it's transformation has an educational overtone that André and I embrace and are inspired by. Our Janes Walk is in walking distance of our home and we have walked this area before meeting each other as students, as a couple (still students) and as a family (as students and finally finished being students!). We love it and I'm SO happy to share it with you!

One of the kids on our walk, an intelligent and spunky 10 year old girl, brought her iPad on the walk and asked if she could take pictures as we went. We were SO excited to see the walk from her perspective and then we were SO inspired by her photos when we saw them, that I asked her and her Father if I could post her pictures on my blog. This is a such a treat and I hope you enjoy these as much as I have enjoyed putting them together.

Note: None of her pictures were Photoshop'd. I just compiled them - mostly in the order that she took them - and added the titles along with my website. They are as pure as she is! Enjoy!!

We began our walk at Barrel Warehouse Park, an incredibly designed Urban park right in the heart of Uptown Waterloo. This park is part of the Seagram Lofts - an award winning revitalization of an industrial building. I love that there is a park right in the heart of our city!

Green space!! Yes! This is our downtown!

Moving along to the CIGI building across the quiet street of Father David Bauer Dr. 

André talked to the kids about courtyards - I think she took a stunning picture of this gorgeous garden - still trying to come back to life! The bell takes us around the corner to the Erb St. face of CIGI. 

The 4 corners revealed! Perimeter Institute, The Canadian Clay and Class Gallery,
Knox Presbyterian Church and CIGI (where we were standing!).

The photo up top of my daughter looking into CIGI was the first time her friend showed me her photos. This was their favourite photo! At the bottom, my daughter's taking notes of the materials that she noticed were being used in the buildings. André had asked the kids to take notice of all the different materials being used - she took the exercise one step further! You can imagine how proud that made her Pappa feel!

The kids were soon distracted by the train that came into the historical Waterloo Central Railway Station. Great pic of the old mixed with the new! (Perimeter Institute in the background)

There's lots of public space/exploring space for the kids here, so, lots of great photo ops from
our young friend! An interesting point, we didn't walk over to the more public space area of Knox Presbyterian church, our next stop. There were no photos taken from our young friend there. The kids enjoyed looking into the church and you'll see more pics of them when I put up my perspective of our Janes Walk.

Over to The Canadian Clay and Glass Gallery, where there's ample public space,
the train is a fun distraction once again! In addition to the train, concrete posts were also a playful distraction for the kids and no more pictures are taken here as they were SO engaged in play. You'll see that on my perspective of our Janes Walk as well!

The kids were evidently intrigued by the architectural canopies at each building and they were always wanting to look inside each building. I thought these "looking inside" shots were so playful and perfectly reflective of how the kids experienced each building on our Janes Walk.

Nature seemed to always matter to these kids and
I would imagine, to all kids!

We began at The Barrel Warehouse Park and ended at Waterloo Park. Sandwiched in between were buildings that inspire and cause you to reflect on your life - where you are in life and where you're going as a person. This is what I love about Uptown Waterloo - it's a place for people to discover great things while they have the opportunity to discover the same greatness in themselves.

Looking Back to Move Forward – Part IV

*Warning: This particular part of my story contains information that maybe disturbing to some. I'm a “tell it like it is” type of person/personality and plan to describe, in full, the details that live in my head of my survival of a near fatal car accident. In doing this, I hope to relieve my mind of this nightmare that is my past and hope some greater good will come to someone as a result.

Missed Part I, Part II or Part III?

Click on the part you missed to catch yourself up.

Survival

The sirens came! Oh did they ever come!

It was the most joyous sound that I have ever heard – the whirling of sirens in the distance getting closer every second. The sound was like a chorus of Angels singing. I know. Cheesy. But it truly was! It was the sweetest sound of relief in contrast to the feeling of being buried alive in this cramped, dirt-filled car. I worried though. I knew the emergency crews were rushing to save us and I worried that they would crash too. I worried that they would crash into us. Hypersensitivity to car accidents kicked in early and has never left me since. Calm. Stay calm. They know what they're doing. They have done this before. Breathe. Breathe.

As the sound got closer, it pierced my ears. It was too loud now. No more Angels! It ignited the ringing of the post again. It's possible the sounds knocked me in and out of blackness again. I tried to stay calm and just breathe. Breathe.

The dirt had settled quite a bit inside the car but I was still spitting out dirt. I couldn't get it all out. I couldn't feel everything or utilize my mouth properly. This scared me, so I stopped. Stay calm. Just breathe. Any action or thought that scared me, I had to put it aside and focus on being calm. Breathe. Breathe.

It was getting harder to breath though and as happy as I was to hear the sirens, I was losing my focus on staying calm - knowing that help was in arms reach. I HAD to stay calm though. Our air felt limited between the amount of dirt in the car and the enclosed space that we were in. Breathe in the little air. There's no other choice. Breathe. Breathe.

Every now and then I tried to look around. I couldn't see much. Light in the distance but darkness surrounding me. My brother's face was the most visible in my flashes of sight. He was trying SO hard to keep us both calm but he looked like he was in pain too. His eyes were alert but his face seemed pale. With each passing minute, we were struggling more and more. Breathe. Breathe.

Given the injuries that I had, I don't remember feeling too much pain. My body was helping me. I'm grateful I couldn't feel the pain of all the injuries I endured. I was VERY uncomfortable though but I had to look past that. My brother had to look past it as well and as much as he was coaching me to hang on, I'm sure he was coaching himself at the same time.

My brother played the “big brother” role very well this day. He was 18 yrs. old. He took care of me in this traumatic situation the best that he knew how. Stay calm Daisy. Breathe. Breathe.

He spoke for us when emergency crews finally reached our vehicle. He told them our conditions but focused on how difficult it was to breathe. He said everything that I could not. Even though there was relief from having the emergency crews so close, my brother knew that each passing minute was critical and he wanted me out. I have no doubt that he wanted out too but he could see the blood and he wanted me out even more. The worry in his voice was growing. Breathe. Breathe.

I think it was at this moment that the crew member suggested sending in oxygen. My brother and I lit up at the thought. We needed it. We needed it very bad. Stay calm though. It's not here yet. Breathe. Breathe.

Getting out took time. Emergency crews buzzed about the car. I was losing my ability to focus. There was so much talking – even shouting of commands. It was too much to take in. I was losing my ability to process all the information that was surrounding me. 

My brother. Just focus on him. I believe my brother was told that it would take some time to get us out but they were doing everything they could. They tried to speak confidently. They tried SO hard but I heard worry in their heroic voices as they looked in. Calm. Stay calm. 

I wondered why they couldn't just open the darn door and get us out! I was confused. I must have passed in and out of consciousness at this time as I don't remember this stage taking as long as it actually took. Breathe. Breathe. 

Their voices sounded strong. Much stronger than I felt. Even though there was worry hidden in their voices, their voices were re-assuring as they had strength on their side. Their bodies weren't broken like mine. They had physical strength. They also knew that help was right here. They had the people power and the tools. They had the training and the knowledge. This was the source of reassurance in their voices. I knew that all they needed me to do was to do my part and just breathe. Breathe. Stay calm. Breathe. Breathe.

I opened my eyes to a glorious sight. An oxygen mask! My brother put it on immediately and breathed in the sweet air of life. This was survival. I didn't hold back my desire for air. I wanted that mask and let my brother know with all the garble and hand signals that I could muster. I wasn't at all worried about him as I knew they would probably get another one. A crew member was on my brother's side of the car, staying right beside him and assessing, talking and assisting. I don't remember much of what was said, it's a jumbled memory, I was fully focused on breathing. With air within my reach, I was focused on getting that mask and I let my brother know it! Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe!!

My poor brother. He needed that air too but he passed the mask over to me – a little annoyed – it may have even been a bit of a “throw” to me but I didn't care. I needed that air. I needed to breathe. I needed air!! I picked up that mask and breathed in the cool, sweet air. BREATHE!!!!! Ahhh! BREATHE!!!!! Ahhh! BREATHE!!!! Ahh! BREATHE!!!! Ahhhh!! Relief!! I took that mask and I let it cool my face but I never let it wander too far from my mouth and nose. BREATHE!!!! Ahh! BREATHE!!!! Ahh! BREATHE!!!! Ahh!

I don't even remember my brother receiving another mask. I'm sure he must have. I was too busy BREATHING!!! Ahhh! BREATHE!! BREATHE!! BREATHE!! The power of breathing only reveals itself when one begins to lose it. BREATHE!!! BREATHE!! BREATHE!!

I overheard that they needed to cut the door open to rescue us. I worried again. Cutting sounded invasive. I was getting very protective of my cradled body. Cutting a car sounded like it was going to hurt. Not the car. Me! I didn't want the car to be jostled around. I knew it would hurt me. Oxygen. BREATHE! BREATHE!

Miraculously, I don't recall feeling a thing. Before I knew it, my brother was being moved and they were coming for me.

I'm a nice girl. I like to be helpful, so, when they reached for me, I wanted to help them to pull me out. I was now on my belly and planned to use my hands to pull me forward, out of the car. My hands were secured on the flooring but as I tried to push my body forward,

< PAIN >

stabbed my upper back. OK! There's something wrong with my back. Another injury to add to my list. Tongue, teeth, something on my face and now back. OK. I can handle this...is what I tried to convince myself. There was really, no time to even think of what I could or couldn't handle as I was being rescued. I was being pulled out of that car. Emergency crews were doing for me what I couldn't do for myself.

I tried to apologize to them and tell them about my pain. They couldn't understand. Being in the open air, the open light! It felt so wonderful!! Kind of. Perfectly orchestrated, they turned my body over onto a flat, hard board.

1-2-3!

< PAIN >

I hadn't even been out of that cramped car for 30 seconds and I was ready to go back in. That board was a whole new level of discomfort and the light of day was blinding to my eyes. I tried to keep them closed.

Everything was happening SO fast around me. I tried to be helpful and talk to them, they were too busy talking with each other to listen to gibberish-sounding me. I was embarrassed. I felt ashamed. They were doing all of this work because of a stupid decision. They were all here because of a stupid decision. They were trying to save my life because of a stupid decision and I was connected to that stupid decision. I was SO embarrassed to be there, beside that car, bloodied face, crying in pain and unable to speak. This couldn't get worse.

< Snip, Snip >

What? What the? Whaaaaaa? It got worse!!! It got WAY worse!!!

THEY BEGAN TO CUT MY TOP OFF!!!!!!!

Was I wearing one of my good bras?!? Was I even WEARING a bra?!? I tried not to worry about it but I was a sixteen year old virgin! I WAS WORRIED ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!! I'm the only person who has ever seen me naked in the privacy of my own room. Not my Mother, certainly not my Father or brothers, I had no sisters and not my friends. Well, girls-camp has come pretty close during some, ahem, adventurous swimming activities but THIS WAS NOT GIRLS-CAMP! These were grown men and thankfully, I think I heard the voice of a women.

Stop. I had to stop worrying about this. The rescue crew were obviously NOT worried about my freshly exposed chest and thankfully, they kept my jeans on. They were VERY focused. I have NO clue what they were doing but actually, I started to feel pretty good in the exposed, cool air compared to the hot, cramped car. If it wasn't for all the back pain, not being able to see or talk, I would think I was some kind of Goddess being catered to. Obviously, the oxygen had done some good to me and I had a little too much brain power to worry about things that I didn't need to worry about.

Straps were attached. I felt secure on this horrifyingly, uncomfortablely flat board. They were ready to transfer me, giving each other commands. I felt fairly calm. I had air, I had heroes but they didn't sound calm. There was panic in their voices. They wanted me out of there as fast and as safe as possible. I was in full support of their mission but I had a new worry.

They had to lift me. I was dead weight and I knew that I was no light weight. I had a solid polynesian build and I felt very self-conscious of them lifting me. Once again, I believe that I was more worried than they were, but I'm sixteen years old. I'm worried about them lifting me.

1 – 2 – 3!

Up I went. I felt secure in my straps but I also felt every single movement in my body. The pain was getting old. The worry was getting old. Next, I worried about them dropping me as apparently they needed to maneuver up a bit of a hill to reach the ambulance. This journey sucked. Being rescued in the movies looked A LOT smoother than what I was experiencing at this moment. It felt like obstacle after obstacle was in my way of getting to the next step. Patience. Patience.

I must've blacked out again as I was now in the ambulance. I've NEVER been in an ambulance before! I was captivated! I tried to look around so that I could SEE what it looked like inside but I had difficulty seeing. I felt relief from the light of the day but I still was unable to see very much.

I believe it was a women that was riding with me. She was busy getting everything ready. I tried to talk to her. I wanted to be helpful!! She finally gave into my interest in communicating and asked me how old I was.

She asked,

“Are you 21?”

WOW!!!! My breasts must've looked better than I thought! And I must've been wearing my GOOD bra! I tried to tell the attendant that I was 16. It took a few tries but she understood me! For a moment, I was happy!!

The attendant was busy. The driver was ready and she called to the driver to avoid all speed limits. I thought three things,

1. Don't they ALWAYS avoid all speed limits?
2. There was an urgency in her voice. Why?
3. We just crashed on this road. I hope the driver is careful!!

I looked forward to the ride to the hospital. I knew the way there and planned to point out where I live and give them my Dad's information so that they could tell him to meet us there.

They turned on the siren.

< PAIN >

A siren is even louder from the inside of an ambulance.

I don't think my body could handle all of this very well because that was the last thing I remembered about my very first ambulance ride.

When Anna Nalick came out with this song, I burst into tears. She perfectly described the breathing that helped to save my life this day. Like her, I feel naked sharing my story, but it feels like the right time and place. It's also SO true when she says, you can't 'jump the track' and though I craved for a rewind button this day, there was none. Breathe. Just Breathe.

Looking Back to Move Forward - Part III

*Warning: This particular part of my story contains information that maybe disturbing to some. I'm a “tell it like it is” type of person/personality and plan to describe, in full, the details that live in my head of my survival of a near fatal car accident. In doing this, I hope to relieve my mind of this nightmare that is my past and hope some greater good will come to someone as a result.

Missed Part I or Part II?

Click on the part you missed to catch yourself up.

Hope

I recall that life had not yet taken to the earth or trees on this particular Spring day. Having said that, it was a fine day. There were grey April clouds covering the sky but the sun still made a brief appearance from time to time. The next thirty seconds of our drive is the last I would see of the beginnings of Spring.

There's a stop sign where I had assumed our friend would take his last opportunity to turn right and take us back to school. He stopped but never turned. This confused me as the road ahead was not a paved road, it was a country road. I was unsure where we would be going on this old, gravel road that didn't take us anywhere near our school.

All confusion cleared the second the tires hit the gravel road as this is when our friend hit the gas pedal. We accelerated SO quickly that it literally took my breath away for a moment. The first dip in the road proved to provide the roller-coaster exciting feeling and I finally realized why we were here. With that stomach-jumping feeling of fun, I even smiled freely but I'm a sensible girl. I knew what was ahead. First of all, there was a car coming the other direction and as it passed us, my immediate thought was,

“I wonder if they know how fast we're going?”.

That lead to me thinking,

“How fast ARE we going?”.

I tried to look at the speedometer. I don't recall what speed I had read but saw the needle making it's way far to the right of the speedometer. Everything was happening too quickly for my comfort now. I began to worry as this ride was clearly not over. No words were being said. Just the feeling of speed. I wasn't smiling anymore.

I knew this road and what was ahead of us. My Father would take us to this road as a shortcut to another major highway. Every time we drove it, my Mother worried at the the top of a very steep hill that lay ahead on the road we were speeding on. She had every right to worry. When you're at the top of that hill, it's the kind of hill that you can't see the bottom of until you proceed down. In my Dad's van, I always worried too. However, my Dad ALWAYS took that hill with slow precaution. I believe he did it as a loving Father but I also believe he did it as a loving husband.

I knew we weren't proceeding with caution on this road but everything was happening SO fast that before I could say anything, it was too late.

This is where everything switches from going at lightening speed to slow motion.

We made it to the top of the scary hill. This is where it felt like the car swerved and then it began to veer off to the left. We crossed the road and I had immediate gratitude that there were no oncoming cars.

My thoughts proceeded as follows:

“Crap! We're going to crash.”

“Perhaps we'll just drive into a field until the car just stops.”

< BANG! >

We hit a post on my brother's, the passenger, side of the car. I had one last thought,

“My poor brother.”

after which, my eyes closed.

When my eyes opened again, everything felt like a really bad dream. Did this really happen to me? The incredible sound from hitting that post still rang in my ears and head, which confirmed that I was living this nightmare. I've heard guns go off and cannons fire since my accident. Nothing quite compares to the “bang” of hitting that post. That sound rang in my mind for years. Twenty-one years later, I can finally say that the sound of hitting that post has faded. 

It hurt to open my eyes. I preferred to keep them closed than to open them but I wanted SO badly to orient myself. I was in a VERY uncomfortable position. A curled up position. The “fetal position” best describes how I felt. Dirt filled the little air I had. I felt very enclosed. 

PAIN!! Across my body. The seat-belt. I was "hanging". It needed to come off. I needed it off!! I couldn't get it off. I couldn't see! Touch was not registering as I tried to feel around. I couldn’t speak! Why couldn't I speak?! I needed my seat-belt off. I wanted to cut it off! My brother. Somehow he was lying beside me. He noticed what I was doing. He was able to reach somewhere and release the seat-belt. I “fell” slightly.

Ahhhhh! Better. Kind of.

I was now scared. I tried to understand what my injuries were. I couldn't speak. When I tried, it sounded like garbled speech. Imagine your tongue is frozen from the dentist and you can't move your mouth. You try to speak but everything jumbles up. Just sounds come out. My brother couldn't understand what I was saying. It was frustrating. I tried to feel my tongue at the top of my mouth. I couldn't feel anything. That scared me. I stopped doing that. Obviously, something was wrong with my tongue.

I also began spitting out teeth and I could taste blood. OK! I can handle this! I'll have a few less teeth when I'm out of this car. I can handle that! What I wasn't handling very well was the heat that I felt on my face, the difficulty I was having with breathing and the inability to see, talk or feel. It all began to scare me. There was also the smell of gasoline in the air. I didn't like it. It was a heavy smell that took up precious air and the thought did cross my mind of the dangerous risk of the car exploding. However, I figured if it was going to explode, it probably would've exploded by now. I had to stop thinking scary thoughts. I made a decision right there and then to stay calm. I needed to stay calm. There was no squirming out of this mess. I tried! I had no strength. I was completely helpless. 'Stay calm' kept entering my thoughts.

Outside I could hear our friend. I wasn't awake yet when he managed to get out of the car but he was out now and crying. He was VERY upset. I don't remember everything he said but I clearly remember him crying,

“My parents are going to KILL me!!”

I rolled my eyes. That felt like the worst, cliche expression that someone could ever say in this moment. I couldn't believe it! I was embarrassed! I was there stuck in this car and he was thinking about what his parents were going to think. Looking back, he was sixteen years old. That should explain most everything.

Our friend did one honourable thing that day. There was a moment he came back to the car and I heard him offer a prayer for us. I don't remember the things he said. I heard a lot of fear in his voice. He obviously could see what I could not. But the simple act of praying and pleading with our Heavenly Father has stayed with me forever. As you can imagine, he was far from being a great orator. Again, I don't remember any of his words but the fact that he prayed for us, beside the car so that we could hear, has stayed with me ever since.

There was another voice that came into the car asking if we were ok. My brother answered for us. He told the man that he couldn't move but he was ok for now. He then told the man that his sister was not ok and he was concerned. He also told the man that I had blood all over my face. I was shocked! I didn't know. The man said that help was on it's way and suggested to my brother to keep talking to me.

Confusion grew. What was wrong with me? Should I be worried? Death only slightly crossed my mind but I pushed it aside completely. I may have been in bad shape but death certainly didn't feel like I felt that day. I felt hope! I felt peace! I just couldn't express it. 

Waiting is not fun at the best of times but when you're in trauma, waiting is torture. My mind had to focus on something outside of this situation. At one hopeful moment, I pictured my future children. There was a group of them, standing in my mind and watching me. For a funny moment, I felt embarrassed that they had to see me in this state. But they were a warm thought that helped to keep me calm. The thought of family that had passed away had also crossed my mind – like my Dad's Mom, my Nana. Those thoughts fed my hope and the thoughts of death spent little time with me in that car.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the same for my brother. To this day, I don't know all that he could see but what he did see seemed to have frightened him forever. He didn't see hope. He saw death on my face. I feel very deeply for what he saw that day. I knew he saw death on my face because of the words he spoke to me as we waited.

Important reflective pause: My brother and I weren't the best of friends. We were teenage siblings that “did our own thing”. We weren't overly close. We didn't talk very much together at home. We were only together outside of the home because of some mutual friendships and I rarely even remember him calling me by name. If he needed to speak to me, I believe it was something like, “Hey!”.

My brother's voice struggled and was weakened because of his injuries but these are the words he spoke to me while we waited:

“Daisy, hang in there.”

(he was saying my name! Weird!)

“Daisy, stay with me!”

“I'm so sorry Daisy, I'm so sorry!”

“I love you Daisy, I love you Daisy.” 

“Stay awake Daisy. Stay awake.”

“I love you Daisy.”

I knew he was saying his "last words" to me. Just in case. I couldn't tell him that I knew I was going to be ok. I tried but he didn't understand. It was overwhelming. I listened and I had to stay calm. I told myself to stay calm with each uncomfortable minute. I focused on breathing. 

I told myself to listen for the sirens.

Looking Back to Move Forward – Part II

April 16th, 1993

I don't remember what I had for breakfast this day but I'll never forget what I had for lunch. After you read this story, you'll never forget either. Sorry.

I don't really remember most parts of this Spring morning but it was sometime before lunch at school that I met up with my older brother and a friend from church. We made lunch plans. Maybe we made those lunch plans during early morning seminary (The youth from my church go to a scripture study class prior to the start of our school day. We loved it! It seems crazy but it's fantastic and many friendships are forged when you're half asleep learning about ancient scripture.). I have zero recollection of making plans. Our friend was newly licensed and had his parents car for the day. Like any newly licensed 16 year old, he has happy to show off his driving abilities and new found freedom at any opportunity – even if it meant a simple drive home from school for lunch and back again. So I had assumed.

A non-eventful drive to my house ensued and then a non-eventful lunch. Well, my Dad bothered us – as usual – wondering what we were doing home from school and hurrying us back to school as quick as we arrived. We ignored him as best as we could – just like any moody teenager would do – as he was completely embarrassing – just like any good, loving Father should be!

Important reflective pause:
At this time in my life, my relationship with my Father was rocky. We didn't understand each other AT ALL! I spent many of my teenage days rolling my eyes at him, avoiding him, being angry with him and disliking him. There seemed to be no hope for a good relationship with my Dad.

Lunch wasn't really important at all. It was all about the car. I recall it being a really nice car. Better than anything my parents could ever afford. I'm clueless of the brand name but I do know that it was a shiny white car. It was the ride there in a nice car and then the ride back that was important to any teenager seduced by shining-metal-objects-that-move. So, we jumped back in that car trying to laugh off my embarrassing Dad and head back to school.

The ride back started very much like the ride to my house. Unordinary and uneventful. Just like any car ride should be. That all changed when our friend didn't make his right turn that would take us back to school. Did I miss something? I was sitting behind my driving friend and my brother was in the passenger seat. I didn't think I missed a spoken change of plans.

“Where are we going?” I asked interested.

Our friend slightly laughed off my worries and told me it was a “surprise”. He then asked if we had our seat belts on – which we did. I did a quick look around for cop cars – thinking he must have seen a police officer and was being responsible by making sure we had our seat belts on. There were no cops in sight.

I don't recall any talking as he continued driving. I knew the area well. I knew there was another street that we could turn down and it would take us back to our school. It included a bit of a winding hill, so, I wondered if our friend wanted to show off his driving skills down this hill and then over to the school.

The silence was stale. I tried to dig a little to lighten the air and get more info. I guess I don't like surprises.

“Are we going to the market up there?” It was a farmers fruit & vegetable stand just on the edge of town. It had to be that, as we didn't turn down the road with the winding hill. I got another laugh from our friend. We then passed the farmers stand and I was convinced that we were just taking the extra long way back to school as our friend had one last opportunity to turn right and make our way back to school – the now looooooong way back. But hey! The guy wanted to drive, so, the loooooong way back made sense.

He missed his turn.

Again.

________

Part I

Looking Back to Move Forward - Part I

Appropriately for this entry, a "selfie" - with a very uncooperative & uninterested doggie. He's my baby joey.

This is a story that's going to take some time to tell.

This is a story that I tried to run from for 21 years but stares me in the face everyday.

This is a story that's hard to tell.

Enveloped in this story are lessons of love, peace, hate, anger, tragedy, forgiveness, laughter, inspiration, survival, denial, acceptance, hope and so much more.

This is the story of my survival of a near fatal Motor Vehicle Accident that happened exactly 21 yrs ago this month.

As I recall this story, you'll see how I was a typical, self-concious, 16 yr. old. Like most 16 yr. olds, I was ready to experience the world and spread my wings of curiosity and independence. I had dreams to fulfill and a plan in place. I had fond memories of my birthplace, New Zealand, from when my Mum took me there to visit when I was 12yrs. old and I wanted to go back. Looking back, I was obviously discovering myself and trying to understand fully who I was. I was surrounded by a mostly Caucasian world in London, Ontario Canada, that taught me nothing about my Polynesian roots and I innately felt that I needed to connect with more people like me to understand myself better.

So, I was planning on completing my 11th year in high school and spend a year in New Zealand with my family. They were open to having me come and I was determined to get there. Through the kind support and recommendations by a couple of dear church friends, I landed my first "you get to use your social insurance number" job at Mc Donalds. Before that, it was babysitting and early morning paper routes (back in the day when teenagers were still allowed to deliver newspapers and when newspaper subscriptions were a booming business to inform the public of daily news!).

I loved my job at Mc Donalds. I learned quickly and had no problems satisfying the needs of HANGRY customers with their special order burgers (before this job, I had NO idea you could even order a burger with no pickle, onions or ketchup. A PLAIN burger? It just didn't sound right to me but as I tell my kids, "different strokes for different folks!")

I took as many extra shifts as I could - much to the delight of my managers. I would've done it without them paying for my Mc Donalds dinner too but there are very few Polynesians that will turn down a free fast food meal and I wasn't about to be the first. A paycheck smelled like a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I was on my way!!

You know how they say one decision can change your entire life? Through my story, you'll see just how true that is. You'll also see how other people's decisions can change your entire life as well.

To be con't...

(hang in there with me! It's a heavy burden I carry and it will need to be told in pieces. It feels like a huge load lightened to even think of facing it again and releasing it. Thanks for reading and sharing this with me.)