On the day I found out my dad had a year to live, I was standing at work, typing away stupidly about something I can’t remember now. And in an instant, I was catapulted into a terrible grief I knew nothing about. Like a dark room I’d never entered, feeling my way around. Gemma called my boss, my colleagues, and my best friends. Ordering one to give me time off, to get coffee, and to buy moving boxes. In the apartment, I couldn’t even remember my own name. Gemma found my passport, called my sister and arranged a pick up, and booked my flight for the next morning. Early but not too early, because she said I needed sleep. How do I even begin to pack right now? Gemma told everyone what to do. She put on my favourite songs, Taylor Swift, whom she didn’t particularly care for, and made the executive decision to toss my near-empty shampoo bottles. We walked through a handful of outfits I’d need - certainly comfy ones - as Gemma proposed. And when I’d come back to collect my t...
I'm sure you all knew this was coming. I was raised in a family where giving up is not an option. Those weren’t words at our house. It made me stubborn, but it also made me successful. It’s why I pushed through years of ringette, years of mean high school kids, years of relationships. It’s why I didn’t drop out of school when I was in second year, it’s why I FaceTime with my teachers to bring my grades up. I push because I’m not a giver upper. Maybe to a fault? Sometimes I don’t know when to give up. Arguing a point, never being able to accept defeat, never being able to hear “no” as an option. In fact, I’m the best at not giving up. I took PE all through high school and only one time in my life did I ever hit the softball (a foul ball at that) and that was all I needed to call it a win. But where is the line?? Giving up and surrender. What’s the difference? I still don’t think I know. But I think the first thing I ever gave up on was love. ...