A work in Progress

I’ve lived a full life. Full in many ways. Full of love, full of growth, full of joy; and also full of trial, heartbreak, defeat, and grief and loss.

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All of these experiences have worked to shape and mold me; have given me opportunities to excavate a better version of myself. This is not to say that I am where I want to be – I am after all – A work in Progress – but I give gratitude to the many versions of myself who have triumphed over everything that we’ve experienced up until this point.

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A mother of four Sons, and one Bonus Son, I cherish my family. One of my greatest joys in life has been to watch my Son’s become Men, to watch them become sweet human beings, despite all my shortcomings.

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I have lived in many places, from Tuktoyaktuk to Utah, Alberta and British Columbia; and a short stint on the Saskatchewan side of Lloydminster (for anyone from this area – you’ll get the joke). Living in so many places has given me a broad perspective on personal resilience, and flexibility.

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Growing up with a family firmly rooted in faith has been the steadying hand that has rooted my life, given me direction in the storm, and brought me back from the depths of destruction and despair. I owe my life to a loving Heavenly Father who knows me, has been aware of me every step of the way – and sent angels to rescue me.

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When I was young I used to think – wow – people must see my family and be so jealous. I was IN LOVE with my family from the time I was small. My greatest desire in life was to see my family get together every Christmas, no one living too far away; joyful laughter and play. A safe space. This was not to be, as turmoil raged around my little family, my younger brother Chris was diagnosed with severe mental illness in his early teen years. My best friend was stolen in an instant. Gone were the carefree days playing on the swings at school, the tree forts in the back yard. His illness became all encompassing, and I feel for the monsters he was forced to fight within himself.

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The fight would end in August of 2019, when after decades of battling, Chris went missing in Nakusp. Our youngest brother James, had lost his life to suicide on Halloween of 2010, and no one was prepared for the atomic bomb that would go off in our family when this happened. It would be a full year of searching the bushes and shrubs, shorelines and towns, before what remained of his physical vessel would be found laying on the shore.

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In the years following my youngest brother James death, to say I was not the greatest version of myself during this time would be the understatement of the year. I railed against my faith, and a loving Heavenly Father who could allow such atrocities to happen. The torrent of waves was not to end, and in retrospect, many things were made harder during the storms to follow because of this behaviour.

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On the other side of all of this, we lost my oldest brother Mike in 2022, and the matriarch of the family – My Mom – December 2, 2023. This has been to date, one of the hardest journey’s through grief I have ever experienced.

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In my own life, I had been married and separated, had 4 children, and lost a six month old Son, Caleb, in the spring of 2003. Amidst other extremely challenging events that occurred that my soul is not prepared to accept yet, I also completed a Bsc. in Microbiology from the University of British Columbia in the Okanagan, met a new sweetheart, and started a business in Automotive Restoration ( I know, what?? wasn’t your degree in Micro?? A tale for another day…)

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One of the greatest blessings in my life, is coming to the knowledge that my Heavenly Father loves ME, no matter how battered or broken I am. No matter how far I’ve strayed. He has been willing to allow me the agency to flail about, angry and mad without rescuing me, without stealing wisdom that comes from growing through grief. I know as a parent, watching my children struggle is so hard. The desire to alleviate my own suffering watching them suffer is sometimes overwhelming. So I’m thankful for this; for loving Heavenly Parents who will sit in their own discomfort, knowing the reward in store for their child.

Diagnosed when I was 16 years old with an autosomal dominant genetic disorder called polycystic kidney disease, I was told that I would eventually need dialysis and a kidney transplant most likely in my forties. Well, I confess at sixteen, I thought forty was like. Dead. Now, as I watch my kidney function rapidly declining towards dialysis at forty-two, I have a renewed perspective. Whoa whoa whoa. Forty is not that old… I am also acutely aware of how much I do in my family, and the preparation that needs to be accomplished before I am knee deep in treatments (more than I already am).

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I know that I am still a “work in progress”, but I hope that in some small way, as I share my journey, there will be tid bits of wisdom that will help to illuminate the way in your journey. We are after all, just walking each other home.

Love,

Amber