When the Family / Town Secret is You!

January 1, 2026January 1, 2026Leave a comment

My brother and I are perplexed. How is it possible to be in your 40s and only then find out about a family secret that literally everyone knows – all our extended family, all friends of our family, my best friends growing up and an ex-boyfriend I have not talked to for 40 years? It seems, the only 2 people who did not know were me and my brother.

The secret? We did not know that I was adopted until my full sister and a half-sister reached out in 2008, when I was in my mid-forties. They sent me a Facebook message to say, “You don’t know us and we don’t mean to upset you, but we have reason to believe you might be our sister.” First thought? Who are you and what do you want with me?

My birthday – probably January 1, 1981 – my brother, mother, me, and dad.

Immediately, I sent this message on to my brother. He has a sharp memory and can recall things I have no idea about. If this was true, surely he would know. He didn’t. He was just as shocked as me. (Also, for those who are wondering, he is the biological son of our parents, born a couple of years after I was in the picture.)

Our first thoughts were that this was an iron clad secret almost nobody knew – otherwise, how was it possible to keep such a secret for over 40 years? Also, it was in the 1960s and social media did not exist. Looking back now, I can see the reasoning was faulty – our parents adopted a child – of course they would have told everyone. So, that explains family and family friends knowing.

Soon after I learned this news, I met up with one of my best friends from high school. I mentioned a sister – thinking I would surprise her. Instead, she surprised me, “Oh, you know.” She had heard through a grapevine. When she asked her mother what she should do, her mother told her it was not her story to tell. True enough.

Then, I discovered some of our cousins knew – which meant all of our cousins knew. My brother and I are among the youngest.

A couple of years ago, a high school classmate died and a few of us gathered to remember him. It was a poignant time. We talked about people we grew up with – including who was adopted or otherwise had different family arrangements. My name was not mentioned in this conversation, nor was I or my situation referenced, nor did anyone ask me anything – even though we all openly knew the background of the people we talked about.

Lunenburg High School Graduation – June 1980.
How many people in this photo knew I was adopted and never said a word?

Later, one of the people there – also a good friend from high school – messaged me about my memoir: Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness in which I write about the unfolding of my adoption story and meeting my birth family. In that exchange, she shared that she knew I was adopted while we were in high school together! Her mother had told her, but now her mother could not recollect how she knew.

I shared this information with my brother. Again, we were equally stunned that people we went to school with knew this about me and our family and it never, ever came up – not in casual conversation, not when talking about other people who were adopted and not in a moment of spite where someone might want to offend you.

This is top of mind at the moment because, recently through a strange kind of delightful serendipity, I reconnected with my high-school sweetheart, my first boyfriend – also, interestingly through FB. As we did the high-level overview of 40 years of life, I mentioned about being adopted. And, he said, he knew! He found out a couple of years after we broke up. The clincher in all of this. My father told his father. They worked together but were not really friends. How on earth did that conversation even come up? And, if my dad could tell my ex-boyfriend’s dad, why couldn’t he tell me? We’ll never know because they are both gone now. Just when you think you can’t be surprised anymore, something else comes to light.

So, it begs the question. How does a whole family and a town not expose a secret, even by accident? How does pretty much everyone we know from that time know about the adoption and it remained a secret to us? Our parents must have had moments of fear, wondering when I – or my brother – was going to come home with questions. Yet, year after year, through university, graduations, career changes, marriage, divorce, remarriage and 3 children of my own, the topic was never brought up.

When it finally did, my mother’s dementia was far enough advanced, it didn’t make sense to try to talk to her about it. Dad and I did have a good conversation – and several after that – and he was supportive of me meeting my birth family, also initially a little worried that this knowledge would affect our relationship. I told him we had 40+ years of relationship – we would be okay. And we were.

It’s a strange world we live in. I do believe secrets want to be revealed. I’m okay with how this story evolved – although it would have been nice to have known my sister earlier. I am curious what would have happened had I heard through one of my classmates – but it’s almost like everyone was sworn to secrecy.

You never know the life path. You never know what is coming up to be cleared anytime but particularly in what had been a very challenging year – 2025 – adding to a 9 in numerology which is a year of endings and clearings – leading into a 1 year – 2026 – for new beginnings, possibilities and opportunities. I have also just left a 9 year behind personally and entered a 1 year personally.

Dear 2026, please be kind, generous and abundant – for us all. I’m ready for it – even as I may never understand how my brother and I were at the heart of a family and town secret that everyone knew except us!

The Gift of Illuminating Lineage

September 2, 2024Leave a comment

Anyone who knows anything of my life story knows it is complex and convoluted, impossible to follow unless you are one of the main characters. This great meme “when someone asks about your family and you’re trying to decide if you should tell them the Disney or Jerry Springer version” is beyond apt. Up until 2008, I thought my story to be relatively “uneventful, normal and straightforward”. In January of that year, an unexpected FB message arrived: “You don’t know me and I don’t mean to upset you, but I have reason to believe you might be my sister”. In one way, it upended everything. In another way, I had already developed a strong sense of self through coaching support and personal and spiritual journey.

It became an intriguing drama as story upon story about birth family members unfolded, some more complete than others. I wrote about what I knew at the time in my memoir, Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness. I had the opportunity to meet my birth father, my full sister and my half-sister and their families. There was a fair bit known about the paternal lineage – although, probably not surprisingly, not everything, as we discovered the actual story of my birth grandfather. He was an alcoholic and it had been assumed he had died derelict on the streets of Halifax. However, meeting a cousin, the daughter of my birth father’s brother, revealed that story was much different and he had died in a care facility as a recovering alcoholic who thought he had had a pretty good life.

The Mystery of Our Birth Mother

However, for my full sister, Deb, and I, the story of our birth mother was much more opaque. We knew a few things. She had left her family behind (my birth father, sister and me), taking off with a friend of our birth father, for Montreal. In her defence, she was just twenty years old with a three-year-old and an infant in the early 60s. She may have had postpartum depression and she was promised they would come back for the babies.

For a long time, we did not what happened to her in Montreal or how she ended up in British Columbia where she established a good life for herself. She married and she and her husband adopted a daughter because she could no longer have babies. Our birth mother died in 2007. I never did have the chance to meet her although Deb did. It was her death that sparked the search for me.

Now friends with her adopted daughter, we learned more about our birth mother’s life, including the fact she had been prostituted out by the man she had trusted and gone to Montreal with. Speculating here, but the shame of that made her want to forget about life before that, including the fact she had two daughters. She was very secretive and never shared that part of her history with her husband or daughter while she was alive.

The Bigger Mystery of Our Birth Grandmother

Deb and I knew our birth mother’s mother – our grandmother – had had multiple children with multiple dads and we had been told she had given them all away. Not even clear if that meant adoption. And that is all we knew. Until a recent conversation with a biological cousin whose mom was sisters with our birth mom. My cousin happens to also be a Kathie – different spelling and different variation of our formal names.

This connection came to be because my sister and I agreed to enter our DNA sample to Ancestry.com, in the wondering of whether we would find out information related to our maternal lineage – although neither one of us applied much effort to it. Interestingly, we did discover we didn’t quite know everything about our paternal lineage as another half-sister contacted us a couple of years ago now. That is a story for another time.

Mysteries Solved

Kathie has done a significant amount of research – through Ancestry and in the search for birth, marriage and death certificates. Our birth mom was #2 of 8 and Kathie’s mom was #3 and the first baby our birth grandmother – Audrey – kept, at the behest of her mother and stepfather. Baby #1 was given up for adoption and the trail to find her is cold. Baby #2 was our birth mother and we know she ended up with aunts and uncles – not once but twice, due to the death of the aunt and uncle who originally took her in.

Babies #4 and #5 were with a man Audrey moved in with and, after he left, she moved in with another man and babies #6, 7 and 8 arrived. You have to remember this was back in the 1940s and 50s. This kind of life journey was almost unheard of and was certainly not glorified. I have no idea of the amount of trauma that had to be present or what the circumstances of their lives must have been.

Illuminating Lineage

The gift in talking to my cousin was the filling in of so many missing details – including the name of our birth grandmother and her parents – the gift of illuminating lineage. I hadn’t realized how powerful this could be. One side of the lineage had been pretty fully sketched out; the other side was obscured or in shadow. You know it is there, but you can’t access it.

If you can imagine a tree where one side is lit and the other side is dark and you can’t even imagine the shape of it except you believe there must be some kind of symmetry or balance. Then, imagine the whole tree is lit and now you can see it in detail and what you cannot see likely does not matter too much anymore.

The Power of Illumination

I hadn’t realized the disparity in weight or lack of balance that this created – until the other side of the family tree was illuminated. Now in my mind’s eye, I can see, or more accurately sense, all the branches – the full tree. On one level, the names don’t matter, the symmetry is there. Yet, knowing the names also has meaning and depth. I know my birth grandmother’s name, Audrey, and it makes her more real. I know more of her story and it makes her more real. It takes something that was intangible and makes it tangible. If you have never experienced this, it is far more powerful than it sounds because it happens through many senses, not just through intellectual knowing. It is emotional, psychological, spiritual. It brings a wholeness to something that was like a phantom limb. It is a felt sense about it.

Having experienced everything that I have experienced over the last decade and a half (or really my entire life), I now know these stories are all still evolving. I don’t know what I don’t know. But I am appreciative of this gift of knowing biological lineage – for Deb and me. Blanks have been filled in and this has enlivened a sense of lineage that had been stumped in ways I had not fathomed. It is like it breathes new life and possibilities into my heart, spirit, soul and consciousness. It offers new perspectives and possibilities and brings a sense of wholeness I had not known I lacked. And, it is not necessary to develop relationships with all the biological family who are still alive. It is enough just to know.

Who Do I Mean When I Say, “My Parents”

Note. People often wonder, when I refer to my parents who do I mean? Always, always, my parents are the people who raised me. Their commitment and love are as much and sometimes more of me than the DNA that connects me to biological lineage. I know this is the same for many adoptees, although for sure not all. My biological parents are not my “real parents”, they are my biological parents. DNA does not a family make. Commitment and relationship does.

A Cautionary Note

There are many stories that have been published about joyful reunions, a sense of belonging, and deep relationships that have been forged when biological relatives have connected or reconnected. Some people feel a deep yearning for these kinds of connections. Not everyone who has been adopted or has given a child up feels that way. There is no one uniform experience or desire. Individual wishes and privacy must be respected when this the case. And, once you do connect with biological family, there is no guarantee that it will be warm and fuzzy. In one way, it’s no different than family units that have grown up together. In my situation, the relationships and connections vary – which is to be connected – and the closest relationship is with Deb. This could be because we have the same biological parents, it could be because I do remember her from when we were young or there could be any other range of factors that contribute to this. All this to say, approach these explorations with as much caution as optimism and hope. Not every story has a happy ending.

Dad Would Have Been 90 Today – A Goal He Could Not Achieve

March 29, 2023January 26, 2025Leave a comment

My father had 2 goals in the latter years of his life. Live to be 90 and live out his days on his own in his house. There was never any question that he would go anywhere else. Unfortunately, those 2 goals turned out to be mutually exclusive. His health and mobility deteriorated to the point where even he could see he would no longer be able to live in his house. He died January 16, 2020, with all his faculties still intact. He was in hospital and knew he was dying. At one point on that day he said, “I’m on my way out.” Today would have been his 90^th birthday.

There is so much I could say about him, and have said about him in previous blog posts. Dad must have marvelled that he lived as long as he did, given the health issues he had for most of his life. He had a strong will to live and he was stubbornly determined. I love how he adjusted his expectations of what he could do to keep pace with the slow down of his body. He was resourceful and created many workarounds to be able to continue to do the things he wanted to do and loved to do.

It’s been 3 years and it feels like yesterday. I think about him and my mother almost every day and they both come to me regularly in my dreams. I am grateful for the deepening of our relationship over the last decade or two of dad’s life. I am grateful he got to know and become friends with my partner, Jerry. I am grateful he did not have to live through the chaos of the last three years. I think it would have devastated him.

I know how proud he was of me and I think about my own struggles in life and building a business, how challenging the last few years have been. I always I hope that I can live up to my father’s sense of pride in me, his hopes and expectations for me and my life. He continues to guide me and inspire me, both through what I have learned through his “mistakes” or struggles in life and what I have learned through his accomplishments. As my family constellations continue to expand in unexpected ways, I am grateful he and mom took me in as a baby and for his words, “It was love at first sight.”

He loved his grandchildren and always enjoyed spending time with them – even as he wished it was more time.

In the end there is only love, although in many ways, the story never ends.

Dad with Spencer and Jacob in 1993 on his prized Bluefin. Dad loved his grandsons.

Dad and Shasta – you can see the joy on his face

The Rawness of the Great Re-Patterning

April 13, 2017April 13, 20171 Comment

This morning I made it safely out of the shower. Why was this an accomplishment? Because the last two times I showered, upon exiting, I was hit with painful, debilitating back spasms. They stopped me in my tracks and caused me to call out in pain. What did I do to cause this? Nothing different than I do any other time I get out of the shower.

When I went to see my chiropractor, Dr. Anne Desneiges at Innerwaves in Halifax, she offered that my back spasms were less physically and more energetically created. I told her the last time this happened was almost a year ago and she began to ask me about significant grief causing events that may have happened in the spring at any point in my life. It occurred to me that my birth mother left in the spring. It was an event I was too young to remember but it was grief filled and traumatic for my birth family and it caused the re-patterning of my life. There are many other spring events I could point to as well, but this stood out.

The muscle spasms originated in my back and were like a band that circled almost the whole way around my body – like a contraction when giving birth, especially the latter stages when the contractions are prolonged and breathtaking. My partner, Jerry Nagel, and I are symbolically in a birthing process with our main body of work, Worldview Intelligence. It has been gestated and incubated over a few years of intense practical and profound application and we have just hired Marc Lewis at 3 o’clock Marketing to create a look, logo, brand and website that will elevate this work into its next level of visibility.

Then I came across Lee Harris’ April video where he talks about the rawness of re-patterning in this current moment. He says it is a time of many mini dark nights of the soul and it cannot be avoided. As is true on the individual level, it is also a fiery time on the world stage as we all can see. This great re-patterning is cranking through all of us, especially the empaths among us.

This kind of levelling up hurts as emotions like grief, sadness and anger that have been abandoned come up for release. Seems it hurts physically as well as emotionally. I have seen and heard of other friends experiencing physical pain. And I am aware of friends displaying monumental acts of courage as they work to re-pattern relationships in their life that have been harmful.

It is clear that re-patterning is at work on the world stage as we look at the impacts of politics in the US, Brexit, the emergence of gay concentration camps in Chechnya and so much more. It is impossible to avoid if you watch the news or follow social media. It can be a relief to know that this kind of re-patterning is a natural and essential part of evolution – even if it doesn’t feel evolutionary in this moment.

So, what to do? Harris talked about daily practice and repetition. What lights you up? What are the practices or routines you have that put you in your center, especially when those around you are also off their centers? Do these things regularly even if just for minutes at a time. I would add, be self compassionate. This is all part of the natural rhythms of energy and life. And Harris has a reminder of us that I have often felt to be true – there is so much higher energy available to us with an abundance of guidance. It is not either/or, these are not distinctly separate things. Lower and higher energy and vibrations exist on a continuum. We can move ourselves up the continuum at any time simply by putting our attention and focus there.

If this kind of re-patterning is happening, maybe the best thing we can do is surrender into it and allow ourselves to level up.

Belonging in Family as an Adoptee

October 6, 2016October 6, 20162 Comments

I was in my mid-forties when I found out I was adopted. Except for when I was a teenager and wished I was adopted (who doesn’t?), I had no clue. I used to think it was a big secret that almost nobody knew but have discovered it was an unintentional conspiracy – so many people knew but nobody talked about it as if it was an unimportant detail. And, maybe it was. Until it became important. Important enough for my birth sisters to seek me out. Then the adventure of coming to terms with the fact there was a birth family different from my family – the family I grew up in – began.

A new friend and colleague of mine, who also has an adoption story, recently began reading my book Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to openheartedness. She sent me a note when she finished reading Chapter 8, the story of my birth mother, her disappearance as she ran away and her inability to acknowledge my sister (or me) as her daughter even when they met up again thirty years later. My friend, who has known forever that she was adopted and has also reconnected with her birth family, wrote to me to share her response, about how angry she was at my birth mother for this lack of acknowledgement. We unexpectedly opened a conversation about belonging, particularly about belonging in families.

Where do you belong when you are born to one set of parents and grow up with another? And how do you know where you belong? Does it even matter? Even if you don’t know you are adopted or that there are family secrets, the patterns of disruption play themselves out in your life in one way or another. That is what this question of belonging got me thinking about.

What does it even mean to belong or have a sense of belonging? We know it is fundamentally important to a healthy society and healthy individuals – the people feel like they have a sense of belonging, a sense of having been accepted in a community, as part of a group that might also be family. It is a human need, important in seeing value in life and in coping with intense human experiences.

Belonging are the people you fit with, who you do not need to explain yourself to, who do not carry huge and unrealistic expectations of you or who you are or what you can or cannot fix by virtue of being you.

An opposite of belonging, for me, is abandonment. It shows up in my language and the language of many people who have an adoption story. “Given up, given away.” I carry threads of abandonment I didn’t know I had – my birth mother fled, my birth father and grandparents gave me up, even my sister left me behind. Granted, she was only three years old and could not operate with conscious intentionality. Later, my mother “abandoned” me too, in a way, through her journey with dementia.

The fact that decisions may have been a good and even wise does not matter to the cellular memory and sense of worth that is fuelled by memories not in conscious awareness. When I was working with an amazing coach during the period of this discovery – which I did not consciously go searching for but which found me – the journey and the coach, she listened to my language and then offered that part of our work together was for me to learn to adopt myself. It resonated.

My personal journey, once awakened to it, has always had a depth of self growth, self awareness and spiritual awakening. This part was natural to me (I was going to write easy but it was not easy and still has moments that are not easy or fun).

What was and still is more interesting in the journey related to my adoption and my birth family is that I still feel a bit dissociated from this part of my story. Intellectually I know it to be true. I have enjoyed meeting every person I am connected to and I have not met them all nor will I likely meet them all nor do I have a desire to meet them all and nor is it necessary – to me or them.

Knowing I am adopted expands my story of who I know myself to be but it doesn’t change the fundamental core of who I am. I am not more because I know more. I am not less because I didn’t know it before.

I have a relationship with my birth parents even though they have both passed on. I never did meet my birth mother as her death was the impetus for my sisters to find me. I did meet my birth father and his wife. I believe my birth parents had a soul contract to bring me into this world and then let me go and that they had this contract with my parents. I do not know the significance of this “departure” at birth but I do know that I feel I have multiple lineages – from by birth family and from my family I grew up in. While answers to some questions do not flow so easily anymore – where were you born? What is your ancestry? – I do feel connected to all the lineages.

I find my birth parents from time to time in the spirit world, just as I find my mother and other guides. Sometimes they appear unexpectedly in my meditation or in whatever query I am in at the time and sometimes I call upon them for help and understanding on whatever I am working through in the moment. It feels right.

And despite soul journey understanding, “One part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth, leaving me not really belonging to either.”

The Truth Wants to Be Known

May 22, 2016May 22, 20166 Comments

Stories of separated families, secret adoptions, long lost relatives have always caught my attention, even before I found out such a secret in my family when I was 46 years old – that I had been adopted. For a long time, the forces seemed to have lined up to keep it secret from me. But the clues were there all along. My birth certificate revealing where I was born – different than what I believed but I thought the administrators had made a mistake. There were no stories of my birth. I had recollections of my birth grandmother and sister, although I did not know they were my relatives. I thought they were friends of the family. Eventually it was a phone conversation between my two sisters and a curious bystander, a family friend who took to the internet as he listened, to proactively pursue a truth that wanted to be known.

I have read accounts of adoptions, twins mixed up at birth and more, and always, always events conspire even across great distances to enact chance meetings, new revelations of information, someone who can no longer stay quiet about what they know.

It happened again this week. My sister (who I met in 2008) arrived from British Columbia for a memorial for her father (my birth father) who died last fall. When his obituary was published in the paper, a long-lost cousin – the daughter of my birth father’s brother – contacted my sister. This cousin and her sister live here in the Halifax area. And she put my sister in touch with a great aunt (sister to my birth grandfather) who is now 88 years old and lives an hour away from me.

Lynne and Beth

Deb and Kathy

Sisters and Cousins Meeting for the First Time

Lots of excited visits and conversations. And different endings to stories. When I wrote Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness, my sisters and I had been under the impression that our grandfather had died derelict as an alcoholic on the streets of Halifax. None of us knew what had happened to him. But our cousins – also his granddaughters – did know what happened to him – a story in and of itself that I might share one day. He did not die derelict on the streets of Halifax. Somehow he ended up in Northwood Manor, a leg had been amputated, I assume he sobered up, he was a model and favourite resident who spoke often about his loving family.

This story has been, is being, re-written. Like so many. As more truth shows up. Truth that wants to be known. And there are still mysteries to be unravelled in this crazy family, for sure. Especially about my birth mother’s side of the family.

My sister and I went to visit our great-aunt who is gifted in similar ways to us, participates in spiritual and meditation circles and paints. She paints many things but one painting in particular is very striking and one of a kind amongst her collection – a picture of a medicine woman, rising up from a big cat, a leopard. Painted directly on the wall in her basement at exactly the same time very similar artwork was being channelled for me for a tattoo and the cover of my book. And my great-aunt did not even know I existed.

It is not only in spiritual matters that the truth wants to be known. I have experienced it happening over and over again in work situations. People try to hide things, be secretive or are out of alignment with their own integrity or the integrity of an initiative. It is discovered or revealed in one way or another because the truth wants to be known and forces will continually offer ways to make it so if we have the eyes and the will to see.

The Passing of an Era

October 26, 2015October 26, 20154 Comments

It was the end of January 2008. I was driving down the highway on my way from Halifax to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia on a beautiful sunny winter’s day. I wasn’t just on a road trip for the day, I was on a journey to another era – a past I knew very little about, to visit a man I knew very little about. I was on my way to meet Fred Hanson. A few brief weeks before this I had found out he existed, that he was my birth father, that I had a birth family of which I had had no conscious awareness. Yet he – and the whole family – knew about me for all of my life.

On Wednesday, October 21, 2015, Fred died with his wife Doris, her son Corey and my sister Debbie van Soest present, bringing to a close another chapter of my own life, the passing of an era.

Kathy (2 years old) and Deb (5 years old) visiting in 1964 at Nanny and Grampy Hanson’s house in Digby

I did not know Fred well. Most of his life had been lived by the time I met him. There are three things that stand out. When he, at the age of twenty-three, and his little family – me as an infant and my sister as a three year old – were abandoned by my birth mother, he did what he could to make sure we were looked after. This meant uprooting us from Halifax to Digby NS where he had grown up and where his parents still lived. Because my grandmother was already ill with brain cancer and my grandfather was already well on his way to alcoholism, they searched for help. Help arrived in the form of my parents, Mary and Hector Jourdain, married a few years, living in Digby at the time and still childless. An agreement was reached for my parents to adopt me and for me to know my birth family. Which I did until my grandmother died when I was still very young. Fred knew where I was and for all the years my adoption was a secret (from me and my brother at any rate), he kept his word and he did not seek me out.

Me and Fred – March 2008

The second thing that stands out is how nervous he was to meet and how welcoming when I walked in the door. He’d been pacing from the front window to the kitchen window to the door in anticipation of my arrival. The door was opened before I even had a chance to get out of the car. He hugged me and we found our way through the awkwardness of first meeting. He gave me pictures from when I was baby.

The third thing that stands out was his agreeing to let me interview him for my memoir: Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness. As I asked him questions and took him back through memories he had not thought of for decades, he forgot for a moment that I was interviewing him. He reflected on the moment my birth mother left and his incomprehension, still all these years later, that she could leave two babies behind.

Doris and Fred Hanson, 2006

Fred had a sociable side that enabled him to fit in many places – like the Red Knight in Yarmouth where he and Doris often when for a beer and to hang out with friends. And he had a sarcastic wit that made him a great sparring partner. I didn’t know his second wife who raised my sister Debbie and brought my half sister Robyn into the world. I did however have a chance to meet Doris and experience the warmth and hospitality of their beautiful home. They were together for 28 years.

I am blessed to have known him, filling in some blanks of life story for both him and me. There are many stories that will not be known and many that will not be written now. I do know his brother Bill, his parents and others greeted him as he passed over. My mother and my birth mother had a pact together with Fred and my dad that has gifted me with multiple lineages that are important and relevant to my own life journey and in many ways I am only at the beginning of that exploration. And for now, it is grieving and celebrating the passing of an era.

For Who’s Benefit Are You Telling Your Story?

July 27, 2015July 27, 20152 Comments

When I first came back from Gold Lake, Colorado, after spending a day and a half on the land, in a mystical experience that took place outside of my normal understanding of time, I had to integrate this spiritual experience with the regular, ongoing experiences of my physical existence, of my life journey.

My sanctuary site at Gold Lake, 2009

One of the ways of doing this was through sharing the story of my experience with others. There were a few people who knew I was embarking on that sojourn. Some, not all, also knew that prior to going I already had experiences with non-physical guardians and guides. I had been learning to connect with my guides in healing work. And I could, when asked, help other people connect with their own guides, learn to access them and to work with them in their own journeys. I was not, am not, the messenger as much as the connector.

When I arrived home, I began to share the story of what happened at Gold Lake with people, tuning into what they wanted to hear. For some, to hear I went to Gold Lake and came home again was enough. For others, to hear the high level overview was enough. And for some, they wanted full details of as many moments as I could offer. And it was surprising at times who wanted what. It was discernible by the questions they asked and the attentiveness of their listening.

It was important for me to discern why I might be telling the story to any given individual. Was I telling the story because of my own need to share it, to understand it, to integrate it? Or was I telling the story because for some reason, the other person needed to hear it? If it was just about me, I would have babbled on to anyone in hearing distance all the time. But I had enough people willing to hear and witness my story, I did not need to visit it on people unwilling or unable to hear. And it is a sacred story to be shared in the right moments. Stories hold “medicine” and healing for others when they are ready to hear them so it is a gift to also share experiences, which is what I am relearning now as I have hesitated to share more of the mystical/spiritual stories in my blog. One friend, who wanted to hear the whole story, at the end shook his head and said, “Well, whatever happened, it is clear it was real to you.” It was real to me, although I cannot tell you how many times I have asked myself the question, “Is this real or am I making it up?”

This realization was part of why I wrote my memoir: Embracing the Stranger in Me: A Journey to Openheartedness – not just to share the spiritual journey but to share my own ambivalence with my spiritual journey and the on again off again nature of my relationship with it. And it is also the story of grief, resilience, perseverance and joy – of embracing all the strangeness of who I thought I was (or think I am) and the vulnerability that comes from openheartedness. The stories of being fired from a job, marrying and divorcing, not once but twice, finding out later in life I was adopted, becoming the health care advocate for both my parents and my mother’s journey with dementia, in long term care and her eventual death in 2012.

Life is full of the bitter-sweetness of discovery – sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet and more often both at the same time. We are not in bliss the whole time, neither are we in grief or sorrow the whole time, if we choose. When we meet life with the expansiveness of the soul journey lens, our stories become healing for us and others who are inspired by how we meet the path that rises up to greet us.

Love at First Sight

June 21, 2015June 21, 201511 Comments

My dad, Hector Jourdain, and me during a toast at a mine celebration of my parents’ 50th Wedding Anniversary.

On January 11, 2008, the day of my parents’ 50th Wedding Anniversary, I turned to my father to ask him to tell me the truth. “I’ve received emails this week from two women who seem to think I might be their sister.” I was 46 years old and never suspected I might be adopted.

I already knew the answer before I posed the query. And I could see it in his face before I finished talking. There was, what seemed like, a long pause and finally he said to me, “Well, that’s another long story.”

A long story, yes. And it began with a very simple and clear declaration I might not have heard otherwise, “It was love at first sight!” he told me. Love at first sight. I always knew that my father and I had a special connection. And I always knew that he loved me/loves me as unconditionally as it is possible to love a child, although it hasn’t always been an easy path or relationship, but showing up most significantly, most unconditionally, in the times I have been most challenged – in job loss and divorces.

In the early moments following that conversation about what had been a family secret, dad was worried that my knowing would change our relationship. But, as I told him, we had a lot of history together so I didn’t see any reason it would change. And, I knew both my parents loved me and only wanted the best for me. The journey was undertaken in the spirit of openheartedness.

Dad is now 82 years old. Much to my surprise, not only did he outlive my mother, he became her personal care giver before she went into long term care with dementia – the same year as their 50th wedding anniversary. She died in 2012. Dad still lives home, alone, in the house they shared for many years.

Mom and dad in 2007 for his birthday with a 4 year old Shasta helping out.

He has had, over the years, a myriad of health issues that makes it a miracle he is still alive. He had his first open heart by-pass surgery when he was 45 years old. His second one about 30 years later and it took him almost 2 weeks to wake up from that surgery, partly because, in the end, it was emergency surgery and partly because he was exhausted from taking care of my mother. Then there was the time he became delirious with dehydration during the final week of radiation therapy for prostate cancer and it was the synchronicity of a call to him by my brother that resulted in contacting family friends who immediately took him to the ER, just short of having his organs shut down because of the dehydration. In the hospital so long, his legs weakened and he was in a wheelchair. Even his family physician thought he wouldn’t walk again. That was a few years ago now. Then, he was diagnosed with lung disease and told he would be on oxygen for the rest of his days. A few months later the oxygen was taken out of his home because he was doing fine. (And that’s just a snapshot of his health issues over the years.)

Quality workmanship – one of dad’s projects.

This past winter, a hard one here in Nova Scotia, he was out with his snowblower clearing his driveway. Over the last couple of years he renovated his upstairs bathroom to put in a shower. And he built a row boat in his basement. He still has marine engines in his garage that he works on from time to time and he has a long list of projects to tend to. He complains that it takes him longer to do anything, but he has time and he has motivation. And he’s taken a few road trips to Quebec – his home province – to visit with my cousin (who graciously hosts him in her home) in the last couple of years. These things – things to look forward to, to get out of bed for – they keep him not just alive, but living. And just recently, he bought his first tablet and got internet at his home (thanks to some persuasion from my cousin Jacqueline) and this Father’s Day I will try to help him sort it all out. Wish us luck.

In Rimouski, Quebec – dad, me, my cousins Julie and Jacqueline (who we stayed with) and Julie’s husband. 2013 Road Trip

I’m proud of my dad. I’ve learned, am learning, a lot from him. About quality workmanship. About independence. About sheer will power. About love. About just keeping on keeping on. And, I’m glad it was love at first sight or who knows where I would be today.

Dad, Shasta and Spencer, watching me cook. April 2015

The Revelation of a Family Secret

February 7, 20155 Comments

In 2008, at the age of 46, I found out I had been adopted. Other than when I was a teenager and wished from time to time that I had been adopted (didn’t most of us have fantasies about that?), I had no idea. It was one of the most incomprehensible moments in my life and a glimpse into the stranger in me. In this 5 minute interview clip with Terry Paul Choyce, I share what it was like to have this family secret revealed to me.

Gratitudes to Spencer Dwyer who created the musical intro especially for the interview clips and who also edited the original interview to produce bite size chunks. Gratitude also to Terry Paul Choyce for the interview itself on her Interconnections radio show ast CKDU.