Mind Picking : Happy Halloween XIV

 

I have shared stories before on Halloween that concern "Messages from the Other Side", but since my brother died this past April and my sister-in-law in September — and I feel like I have received further such messages (and believe me, I know how hokey that sounds) — here I will be sharing more of the same.

To begin at the beginning of the year: One of the things that Dave gave me for Christmas was tickets to a nighttime ghost investigation of Black Creek Pioneer Village, and as this is apparently something we do, I considered this a really thoughtful and intriguing gift. Not only did we get to hear stories about what they assure us is one of the most haunted pioneer villages in Canada, but this tour was also considered a "scientific" experience: the guide — a young man with long black hair, a long black dufflecoat, and the measured speaking style of a high school drama student — brought us from building to building, using a ouija board in one, spirit boxes and EMF readers in another, teaching us about sigils and signs. And it was amusing if not mind blowing; and especially since the guide behaved as though he had a set script to stick to and couldn't pivot to react to what was actually happening. For example: He brought us to a loft area of what had once been a family home and sat us in a circle of chairs surrounding a circle of (battery powered) candles with a foam ball in the middle of the floor. He called on the spirit of a child who is known to haunt this space to make himself known by moving the foam ball. At that moment, a pretty loud bang knocked against the side of the house, and as we all jumped, the guide said, "Interesting...but can you move the ball?" And then two of the candles flickered and went out, and again, instead of saying something like, "Thank you for letting your presence be known," or whatever he might improvise, again he said, "Interesting. Can you now move the ball?" The candles came back to life, but since the scripted experience didn't happen, we carried on to the next building without further inquiry. The most intriguing experience was when someone was using sensory deprivation tools and was able to give fairly sensible replies to questions he couldn't hear, right up to shouting "No" when the guide said that the evening was over. The guide said, "I guess we can have a few more minutes", and there were a few more questions and responses, and when he again said that it was time to pack up, the man who could apparently only hear a spirit box through his headphones once again shouted "No!" I have no idea if any of this counts as "messages from the other side", but there were better stories to come this year.

For a year or so before Ken passed of cancer, we had been unseriously talking about what kind of a sign he could send from "the other side" so I'd know he was doing okay. I came up with a couple of ideas, but Ken always said he'd do more thinking on it, and then, like with so many things, it became too late to discuss further. When we went to Nova Scotia to spend some time with my parents in the immediate aftermath of Ken's death, Dave was shocked and delighted to find a dime on the floor of one of the bedrooms in the lakehouse — and while I 100% agree that, since the passing of Dave's parents, finding dimes has always felt like a message from them (a phenomenon Ken knew about and was intrigued by), I wanted to be comforted by this sign more than I truly was.

A short while later, I read a random post on facebook that said something like, "If you want a sign from a loved one who has passed, don't be afraid to ask for one right out loud. But don't just ask to see a balloon, ask to see a red balloon. Even better, ask for three red balloons. Be bold and specific and you will be amazed by what your loved ones can manifest from the other side." This made me smile, but it's not like it prodded me to ask for a sign of three red balloons "right out loud." And then the next day, I saw this art print in a thrift store:

It stopped me in my tracks, long enough to make me take a picture of it, but I just keep wondering, "Is this something?" Everyone in the family I show this picture to seems to think it is — and more than anything, I want to believe that something survives death and my brother is somewhere safe and happy and beyond pain — but I don't know if hoping for this actually equals belief. I just needed more.

Then one day in early July, I was walking the dogs through the schoolyard behind our house, and as I turned a corner in the pathway, a coyote crossed the path ahead of me and disappeared into the trees. I had heard of coyote sightings in the area, and nothing about the experience scared me exactly, but it did feel a bit odd to see a coyote in the park for the first time ever. Weirder still: later on that same day, I was taking Cormac to the groomer, and as I sat at a red light at a pretty busy intersection, another coyote came trotting around the corner towards me, crossed the street behind my car, and calmly jogged down the first intersecting street. It was so unusual that I actually thought to myself, "If I see a third coyote, I'll know that Ken sent them."

And as my light turned green and I started driving, I had to laugh to myself — with pure delight — because that had been the third coyote. When I first got up that morning and started scrolling through my phone, the following was one of the first images I saw:

Ken would have loved that picture. We were the Saturday morning Looney Tunes cartoons generation. And, as is common for our generation, he would have loved ribbing me about woman drivers (how does someone drive into a painting? Is it more irresponsible that someone approved the mural in the first place?) It filled me with great delight to think that Ken might have been aware of this story and from the beyond sent me two coyotes to prod me to connect it with him; to join him in a laugh that connects us through space and time right back to our childhoods. Is this enough to create belief?

Here I'll reshare another story we were told this year about a family member who passed:

We heard that Dave's Aunt Susan was in long-term care, and after a brief stay in hospital, had become unresponsive. We made our way over for a visit and could see that she was obviously near her end; a husk of herself, still and silent. We sat with Dave's cousins, Jeff and Shannon, for a few hours, telling stories and sharing laughs, and they said they could tell that their mom could hear us and was enjoying herself. The most remarkable story they told us was that on the Monday — nearly a day after Susan had become unresponsive — she suddenly blurted out, "Bev! Bev! Wait! Beverley, wait for me! Bev!" And those would be Susan's last words: a plea for her big sister, my late mother-in-law, to wait for her, as would have been her perpetual complaint when they were growing up. Being five years apart in age, Bev always said that she resented when their mom would make her bring Susan along when she was meeting up with friends. So in the present, we sat there and marvelled at the idea that Bev was probably waiting just out of reach of the bed-bound Susan, telling her that it wasn't quite time for her to tag along yet. Susan wouldn't pass for several more days, and when she did, it was when her children had briefly left the building for some air. Perhaps not a message from the other side, but it certainly seems like a conversation with someone beyond the vale.

This is also the year that my beloved sister-in-law received a devastating cancer diagnosis. When it was just Kennedy and Mal visiting their Aunt Rudy in her home one day, her husband Dan went to answer the door, and the entire time he was standing on the porch talking to someone, the TV in the basement family room kept turning itself on (loudly) and off again. This has never happened before, and when Dan came back upstairs, he asked Rudy, "Do you think that was your Dad saying hi?" And that's not entirely out of left field: Not only did her Dad watch that TV, loudly, during the years he lived in the apartment below Rudy and Dan, but I have recorded before (in this Halloween post) how we have previously concluded that Jim can certainly manipulate electronics from the beyond.

In addition to that, Dave and Rudy's cousin, Shannon, talked of finding quarters in impossible places in the days before her mother passed (which she took as a comforting sign from her Uncle Jim, who always performed the magic of pulling quarters from her and Jeff's noses as they were growing up), and in August, Dave's cousin from his father's side of the family, Michele, told us the following story: After Dan and I visited with Rudy one evening, I was so upset when I went to bed that I just couldn't sleep. I was tossing and turning, worried sick about Rudy, and I turned to Dan — dead asleep, snoring — and I cuddled against him and took his hand. And then I felt the mattress go down behind me like someone was sitting there, and then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was so real that I screamed and woke up Dan and said "There's someone in the room with us." And Dan turned on the light and looked and said, "No there isn't." I called both my sister and my mother the next day and they each said, "That's just your Uncle Jim saying that everything is going to be okay." And it did make me feel better. Uncle Jim's got this.

Rudy herself passed on September 13th, and as I wrote recently, Dave and I have been asking more assertively for signs from the other side in the wake of her passing. On the day I wrote about, Dave and I had attended a toy show and then walked through an antique mall, and after I saw a giant stuffed Wile E Coyote, I put it into the universe that if I saw two more that day, I would know it was a sign from Ken. And I did see two more Coyotes, and only two more. Dave was inspired by a Laurel and Hardy figurine and said that if he saw two more, he would know it was a sign from his dad. And he did see two more that day, and just the two more. It felt like something, and as I wrote at the time, we just wanted to figure out what a sign from Rudy might look like.

And then earlier this month, Mal was on a training trip for a new job and it went so well, and was such an auspicious new role to be given, that Dave said, "I can't help but feel like Rudy pulled some strings from the other side to get you this job." And Mal replied, "Oh, I know she did." And then Mal showed us two photos: One of a dime sitting on a stack of boxes in the staff room on the first day of training, and a second photo of a different dime sitting on a different stack of boxes in the staff room on the last day of training. Mal has no doubt that these were messages from Aunt Rudy and that she did indeed pull some strings to get Mal what seems like a perfect new job just as the last one disappeared. How can this not feel like proof of something?

As it turns out, that would not be my last story for this year. When Rudy died, she left Kennedy and Mal as the beneficiaries of one of her insurance policies, and nearly immediately upon receiving it, Mal put in an offer on a little house to move into. The next morning when I got to the gym, I saw there was some kind of garbage near my usual spot in the boxing rig, and when I went to pick it up, not only did I notice that this "kinetic tape" wrapper was printed with my initials "KT", but there was a shiny quarter sitting on top of it. And not only was it a shiny quarter, it was one with the image of a sledge hockey player on it:

Rudy's husband, Dan, has a great nephew with spina bifida, and it was with so much pride that Rudy shared a video with us of this young man playing sledge hockey in a Canadian Tire commercial during the last Winter Olympics; Rudy and Dylan were actually in the local hospital at the same time over the summer and he was much discussed amongst us. No specialty quarter could possibly be a clearer message to me — and especially sitting on top of a piece of paper with my intitials on it, in a place I was sure to see it — that Rudy is reaching out to me; it honestly felt like a blessing for what Mal has decided to do with the inheritance. All of my musings and reading and writings on the possibility of receiving messages from the other side seem to have led to this most compelling bit of proof and I am deciding to accept it as such; even if that sounds hokey.

Perhaps these "Messages from the Other Side" stories aren't quite Halloween/spooky material because I find them more comforting than scary or eerie; and I hope that anyone reading this finds some comfort in them, too. I know how hard it is to accept as fact stories like these when they happen to someone else — I am at heart a rational, skeptical seeker of truth — but I also know it all happened.

*****

My usual caveat: These stories are recorded to the best of my recollection and as told to me; make of them what you will.

Happy Halloween!

Strange stories from previous years:

Halloween I

Halloween II

Halloween III

Halloween IV

Halloween V

Halloween VI

Halloween VII

Halloween VIII

Halloween IX

Halloween X

Halloween XI

Halloween XII

Halloween XIII

Mind Picking : Sleeping Beauties and The Holy Grail

 

We've had a couple more outings recently that I think I can combine into one post. On the 3rd, Dave and I went to an event with John Cleese. The show began with Cleese and an interviewer coming onto the stage and telling a couple stories about the early days of Monty Python and the making of The Holy Grail. The audience then watched the movie on a giant screen, and after an intermission, Cleese and the interviewer came back onto the stage and took questions from the audience. For the most part these were pretty basic questions, but Cleese made the answers interesting enough. Had the lines for asking questions been shorter or had we the opportunity to write our questions onto cards, this is what we were prepared to ask:

Me: Eight years ago on this stage my husband asked for, and received, a kiss on the cheek from Carol Burnett, and now it's my turn to ask: Can my husband please have a kiss on the cheek?

Dave: My wife and I have been married for thirty-five years. What advice would you have for cutting marriage up into smaller, more palatable, chunks?

We had the VIP tickets to meet John Cleese and pose for this photo together after the show and it wasn't until days later that I realised I should have asked him to pretend to kiss Dave on the cheek. Overall: A very fun outing and Cleese was clever and funny during the Q&A and really quite lovely and charming during the meet and greet (I don't know why I had expected him to be gruff or crusty).

*****

The next evening, Kennedy asked me if I'd like to join her for a trip into Toronto. As I had written about recently, Kennedy received a lot of positive feedback from her accidental participation in a comedy show last month and the director of a storytelling group (who was in the audience that night and tracked Kennedy down via Instagram) had asked Kennedy to come see a showcase, with a view to having Kennedy tell her own story at an upcoming show. Kennedy and I went into the city, had a nice dinner of Korean fried chicken, and went to watch the show. The director herself is a powerful storyteller — her partner wrote a wonderful story, but something seemed lost in the telling of it — and the other six participants were all just pretty good (including two storytellers who run such groups of their own). After the show, the director asked Kennedy if she could possibly write and polish her story for a showcase next month, and although she has no idea that Kennedy actually has a background in performance, Kennedy agreed to try what might be a bloodbath for anyone else. Here's hoping I have a happy story to tell about this in a couple more weeks!

*****

This past Saturday, Dave, Mal and I met in Toronto to see David Byrne give a talk on his new book, Sleeping Beauties: Why Good Ideas Go Dormant and How They Wake Up. As the book had only been released a few days beforehand, I was the only one of the three of us who had had time to read it already (and judging from the reaction of the audience to Byrne's talk, I wouldn't think that many of them had had the time to read it beforehand either). We started with dinner at the repeatedly Michelin mentioned Lebanese restaurant Amal Toronto — absolutely fantastic from the food to the service to the atmosphere; we would definitely go back whether we had a vegan with us or not — and Mal was so excited to see David Byrne in person, less than a year after we went to see him perform the hits of the Talking Heads, that the content of the talk wasn't the most important part.

 

 

Our tendency as humans is often to imagine that the “story” of history leads us to where we are right now. We like to imagine ourselves as some sort of inevitable culmination — it all led to us. What we see, and what we judge as important and significant, viewed in the rearview mirror is determined by how we see ourselves at present.

As for the book: I thought it was just okay. I could see that it had been a passion project for Byrne — he begins by writing that he enjoys going down rabbit holes and for years had been collecting stories on ideas (from science to art and literature) that were popular at first, forgotten for up to centuries, and then rediscovered and widely accepted — and the collection as presented in the book seemed very particular to Byrne himself with little overreaching point. The lecture came off the same way: Byrne shared three of the stories from the book — modern vs Roman concrete, the paintings of Botticelli, and the symbiotic nature of chloroplasts and the mitochondria — and then added two new stories that never made it to the book: the concept of "zero" and the clitoris. He kind of stumbled through the lecture (I recognise that this is not his wheelhouse), but Dave and Mal were both so charmed by Byrne's enthusiasm that their satisfaction became my satisfaction. I'm glad I read the book (if only to relate to Mal through it) and delighted that we made an evening out of this. (Probably three and a half stars for the book, five stars for the evening overall.)

*****

And, finally, this was Thanksgiving weekend; the first Thanksgiving without Ken and Rudy. Kennedy and Zach put on their usual incredible feast (I can't believe we forgot to take a table selfie before all of the amazing food was cleared away; it's not super obvious that this was taken after Conor had left and Mal photoshopped him in for Nan and Pop's digital frame, right?), and they were generous enough to include the whole family, including Dan. Dave had a lovely toast about what we have lost this year and what we still have to be thankful for, and as ever, I am just so thankful for this family; so grateful that Dave and I have the means to buy into amazing experiences; grateful that we have adult kids who still want to hang out with us. Dave is right: even through the losses, we have so much.

Tunesday : The Sign(s)

 

It’s all too easy to dismiss synchronicities or signs like these as chance. But what if they weren't? And what if, by learning to tune into them, you could access a guiding wisdom that would help you overcome challenges and live with purpose?

 Dr Tara Swart

The Sign

(Berggren, J; Berggren, M) Performed by Ace of Base

Oh, yeah

I got a new life, you would hardly recognize me

I'm so glad, how can a person like me care for you?

(Ah) why do I bother, when you're not the one for me?

Ooh-ooh-ooh, is enough enough?

I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

Life is demanding without understanding

I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong

But where do you belong?

under the pale moon, for so many years I've wondered who you are

How could a person like you bring me joy?

Under the pale moon, where I see a lot of stars

Ooh-ooh-ooh, is enough enough?

I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

Life is demanding without understanding

I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

And no one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong

But where do you belong? Oh, oh, oh

I saw the sign, and it opened up my mind

And I am happy now, living without you

I've left you, oh, oh, oh

I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong

I saw the sign

(I saw the sign, I saw the sign)

(I saw the sign, I saw the sign) I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

*******

Dave's cousin sent me a video from a well-known medium after Rudy's death on the subject of  "What every hospice nurse knows about your loved one's final moments", so it's not a huge coincidence that a video popped up for me with an interview with Dr Tara Swart: a medical doctor and psychiatrist who, upon the devastating loss of her husband, began to receive signs "from the other side" that led her to investigate the possibility that consciousness survives death and our lost loved ones do send us messages and guidance. I decided to read her book.

It was interesting enough; particularly the idea that scientists have been trying for over a hundred years to prove that the mind and consciousness naturally arise from the structure of our brains, but they have yet to find the proof — so why not believe that something survives when the body dies? Swart writes about asking her late husband for signs — particularly in groups of three so she knows they're not coincidental — and as that is something I have experienced before (writing about it here and saving an even better story for my Halloween post this year), I didn't need much convincing to embrace Swart's premise. She goes on to explain how to prime yourself to receive even more signs — self-care, experiencing beauty and the arts, surrounding yourself with like-minded and supportive people — and all of that only kind of resonated with me. I recognise that this is nothing like the book reviews I used to write, but if I was giving The Signs a rating, it would be three and a half stars. Five stars to the song. 😉

I was describing all of this to Dave on Sunday as we drove to Woodstock to walk around a toy show and the big antique mall there, and as he was so receptive to the message (he has received so many significant signs since his parents' passings that he needs no further convincing), when one of the first things I saw at the toy show was a giant stuffed Wile E Coyote, I told Dave that if I saw two more, I'd know it was a sign from my brother Ken.

We left the toy show and went to the antique mall, and in one of the first booths, I found a second Looney Toons coyote. In the next booth, Dave found a Laurel and Hardy figurine and said that that felt like a sign from his Dad, and if he found two more, he would consider it so. We talked about if it would be too easy to find what we were looking for in such a big space — could there be twenty of each throughout the mall and the easiest Find Waldo ever, proving nothing? — but we were there to browse so we were willing to see what we would see.

We went up to the third floor and browsed every booth, down to the second floor and found our second Laurel and Hardy. Down to the first floor and there was my third Wile E Coyote. And as we were approaching the last of the booths, I pointed to a ceramic figure on the floor beneath a table; a figure riding a tricycle with its face obscured by the fringe of a tablecloth hanging above it. I pointed it out to Dave — it felt right — and Dave said he didn't think so, but when I cleared the fringe, the figure was definitely Oliver Hardy, the Stan Laurel meant to be standing on the back of the tricycle broken off and laying on the floor. 

I have no idea if I should assign significance to the third Laurel and Hardy being broken, but I am intrigued by the fact that I recognised what it might be from just seeing the bottom half of a man on a tricycle; I was definitely drawn to it. And in the end: we saw exactly three and only three of the signs we had asked for; three Coyotes, three Laurel and Hardys. And that does feel like something. Now to figure out what a sign from Rudy might look like.

I saw the sign

(I saw the sign, I saw the sign)

(I saw the sign, I saw the sign) I saw the sign

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign

Mind Picking : Mind Picking

 

Over the past year or so, I kept seeing video clips of Peter Antoniou — psychic comedian — come up on social media, and as I found him to be amazing and funny, when I saw that he would be coming to Toronto, I bought tickets for me and Dave (we're in the front row there). I bought the tickets months before my sister-in-law, Rudy, died, and while in the clips I have heard Antoniou say that he doesn't claim to speak to the dead, we couldn't help but hope that some kind of message would come through anyway. But, it turns out, it's not really that kind of show.

When we arrived, it was a little disappointing to see that Antoniou had a table where audience members fill out cards with their names, birthdates, and questions or stories for a psychic; all of the personal details that the clips make it look like he couldn't possibly know. But as the show started, and the comedy aspect was put into play, my disappointment faded — this is a highly entertaining show.

Early on, I was used in a gag — mostly to prove that Antoniou is more comedian than psychic — but when he started the mindreading part of the show, he proved to have serious mentalism powers, too. Yes, someone was no doubt feeding him the names and birthdays and details of each person he claimed had come to him, but based on the couple of lines each of them could have possibly fit onto the cards, Antoniou added impossible details to people's stories (live video feed of each subject of a reading in the audience showed every one of them amazed), and for those who had asked for advice, Antoniou's positions were always nuanced and supportive. And as everyone was obviously in on the trick of it, nothing felt manipulative. 

Layer on snarky British humour and hilarious audience participation to Antoniou's mind picking skills, and Dave and I had a wonderful evening in the city. Just so much fun.

Tunesday Part II : Glory of Love

 

Glory of Love

(Foster, D; Nini, D; Cetera, P) Performed by Peter Cetera

Tonight it's very clear as we're both lyin' here
There's so many things I want to say
I will always love you
I would never leave you alone

Sometimes I just forget, say things I might regret
It breaks my heart to see you cryin'
I don't want to lose you
I could never make it alone

I am a man who will fight for your honor
I'll be the hero you're dreamin' of
We'll live forever, knowin' together
That we did it all for the glory of love

You keep me standing tall, you help me through it all
I'm always strong when you're beside me
I have always needed you
I could never make it alone

I am a man who will fight for your honor
I'll be the hero you've been dreamin' of
We'll live forever, knowin' together
That we did it all for the glory of love

It's like a knight in shining armor from a long time ago
Just in time I will save the day
Take you to my castle far away

I am a man who will fight for your honor
I'll be the hero that you're dreamin' of
We're gonna live forever, knowin' together
That we did it all for the glory of love

We'll live forever (we'll live forever), knowin' together (knowin' together)
That we did it all for the glory of love

Ooh
We did it all for love
We did it all for love
We did it all for love
We did it all for love

Just the day after Rudy's funeral, we went into Toronto to see Ben Schwartz and Friends — a live comedy improv show — because we had bought the tickets months earlier, and because we know that Rudy would never begrudge us an evening of lightness during our grief.

As the cast hit the stage, as is the way with this show, Ben Schwartz asked the audience if anyone wanted to share their "most told story", and it is a testament to how funny and clever this improv group is that they took two very ordinary stories and blended them into a hilarious one act play.

At the intermission, Kennedy said that it's too bad we weren't sitting closer because she would have loved to share her favourite story: About Zach's coworker who went on to marry a woman who cosplayed as a sexy Pennywise the Clown; first at conventions and then on OnlyFans. 

When we returned from intermission, the improv group was on the stage, warming up again with inside gags, and when Ben Schwartz stabbed his finger at the air above him, this song began playing — a call back from the first half of the show — and he said he wanted it to play every time someone killed it and he pointed at the air.

As soon as he began to ask for more audience suggestions, Mal yelles out, "Ben! Ben! Over here! My SISTER!!" Ben laughed and sent the mic guy to Mal and replied, "It's our experience that it never works out when someone is nominated by the person sitting next to them. What's your story?"

Mal answered, "I don't really have a story but I can tell you something embarrassing. I used to photoshop pictures of you and me kissing." 

Ben waved his hands and said, "OK, OK. Give the mic to your sister. What's your story."

Kennedy began to describe what I wrote above and Ben encouraged her to go on. Dave started recording there:

Kennedy just absolutely crushed this — they let her go on for almost ten minutes and Ben asked her at one point if she's a comedy writer because her cadence is "very, very funny". The audience laughed along at everything she said, at one point they started chanting her name, and Ben pointed in the air more than once to have this song play for her.

The comedy group did an amazing and hilarious job of acting out her story, all while combining in elements from the first half of the show, and it felt like a moment of grace to have the worst week of our lives end in a brief span of joy.

After the show, many people congratulated Kennedy on her experience — two of her friends, separately, had been at the show and hugged Kennedy in the lobby — and even on the sidewalk afterwards, people from the audience were chanting her name. Kennedy even had people talking about her on Ben Schwartz's instagram account the next day; at least one person reaching out to Kennedy with a (side-hustle) job offer. It was just what Kennedy, and the rest of us, needed.

And, you know, we can't help thinking that Rudy may have been pulling some strings from the beyond to buoy Kennedy and Mal's spirits this week. We learned, after Rudy's passing, that Mal got a great new job that will be starting soon. And Kennedy — whose boss gave her a bit of attitude for wanting a bereavement week — not only received nothing but accolades for the tender eulogy she gave for Rudy on Thursday, her comedic gifts were able to be displayed the very next night; how wonderful to be reminded that she is so much more than a soul-crushing office job. Would it feel more like a sign if I mentioned that the timestamp on the text where Mal shared this video with the family was 11:11 pm? I felt an immense lift in my spirits after this show — a reflection of the joy that both Mal and Kennedy received while speaking to Ben Schwartz; someone they have admired for years — but I guess that's just the glory of love; on Earth and beyond.

We'll live forever (we'll live forever), knowin' together (knowin' together)

That we did it all for the glory of love

Tunesday : Pounds and Pounds

 

Pounds and Pounds

Written and Performed by Nathaniel Rateliff

And it's out of breath
And it's spinning around
In love with the sound of its own voice

And its toughest skin has been stretched so thin, it's invisible to us

And if I forget will your hand be soft and guide me through it?
And above all the rest I can't seem to pound my fist in deep enough...

There is no end without you

There is no end without you
There is no sun to keep us warm in the winter
Without you
I am... I am... I am... without you

I don't mean to cheapen the loss of my dear sister-in-law by making her passing the subject of one of my cheesy Tunesday posts, but I do think she would have loved this song and I'm looking for an entry into writing about her funeral on the 17th; so here goes.

Dan was gracious enough to invite me and Dave to join him for a meeting with the funeral director to discuss the details, and while we were there, Dave and I advocated for the kinds of things we thought Rudy would have liked. When the director asked if we would be having a slide show and Dan hesitated, Dave said that he would do it; when asked if there would be a Spotify playlist for during visitation hours and Dan hesitated, I said that Mal wanted to take that on; when the director asked about funeral cards, I said that Kennedy was already on it (as seen in the picture above); and when the director asked if there would be a luncheon to follow the service and Dan said that he really didn't think it was necessary, Dave and I said that we would be happy to bring out-of-towners for nibbles at a nearby pub if nothing else was offered, and Dan came around to saying that in that case, he would plan for sandwiches and visiting time (which, everyone knows, was the only part of a funeral Rudy liked). And when the director brought up the obituary and I said that I had it ready to go — just waiting on the funeral details to add at the end before sending over — a look passed between him and Dan and the director said, "I understand it's long." Ah, they had been talking about it before we arrived. I agreed it was and it was ready to go and I was hoping it would be published to the funeral home website that same day so that people would get the details in a timely manner, to which the director replied, "Well, if I don't have to do too much formatting, especially if it's long it would be important to put in paragraphs where you think that they should go so that I don't have to..." Yeah, it was properly formatted, and since the director said that it was his job to add the visitation and service details at the end, I sent the obituary as soon as I got home and it was published that same afternoon (which was good because visitations started the following day). The crowd-sourced obituary:

It is with the heaviest of hearts that we share the devastating news that Ruthann Thompson (born in London, ON and recently of Cambridge) has passed away at the age of 58 after a brief but valiant battle with cancer. As husband Dan Currie has long said, Ruthann has always been a true angel on Earth and her passing will leave an unfillable void in the lives of her family and countless friends. Ruthann will be particularly missed by husband Dan and his sons Ryan and Adam; her brother Dave and his wife Krista; their children Kennedy (her husband Zachary) and Mal; Uncle John and Aunt Anne, many cousins, inlaws, and so many friends. Rest in peace, sweet angel, you’ve earned it.

Ruthann grew up as a resident of London’s Byron neighbourhood where she met lifelong friend Julia who writes, “When friends become family. That’s who Ruthann has always been for me. For fifty years since meeting in grade four Ruthann has always been there. Through all the kid stuff: hanging out with her and Leslie everyday watching soap operas after school, weekend sleepovers, playing poker an entire summer on her family's back deck and countless trips to Sauble Beach. I can’t remember a moment growing up without her. Later on our friendship changed but never ended. She became my daughter Reece's Godmother and special pet sitter for Storm (no one was more trusted). Family trips to the cottage and elsewhere included Dan and Blue. Never far from my heart and always that phone call away. Terry, Reece, and I will miss you every day.”

As Julia noted, Ruthann spent her summers at the family cottage at Sauble Beach with big brother Dave, their now deceased parents, Bev and Jim, and cherished Grandma “Haha” Topham. Speaking for the Tophams, cousin Shannon writes, “Our cousin Rudy was more like a big sister. We’ll always treasure her love for family, her laughter and beautiful memories of piggyback rides, riding her gold cottage bike, and seeing her ‘cool’ friends. Christmas gatherings, post-dinner singing, and special guest appearances from Mrs. Beasley, Williamo and Jeffrey Peabody brought endless laughter and made those family moments unforgettable. Rudy’s loving and supportive nature made her our true rock—a rare gem—one of a kind cousin and niece who is so loved.”

Ruthann spent many hours babysitting for the Crinklaws during her early years, and in high school, used the money she earned to travel through Europe. Building on this interest in child welfare, Ruthann studied Child and Youth Care at London's Fanshawe College and spent the first part of her career supervising youth in open custody at Community Homes in London. Longtime friend and former coworker Sally writes, “Ruthann, dubbed Rudy by Program Coordinator Michael C, devoted herself to working with Young Offenders for many years, seeing hope where others might have seen only hardship. She believed in second chances, offered encouragement without judgement, and helped countless young people find a better path. Her legacy lives on through the lives she changed and the hope she inspired. Beyond her work, Rudy treasured her friendships. Some of the happiest memories are of the spontaneous road trips taken to various Blues Festivals with Tim or Errol driving and Odile, Sally and Rudy having the time of their lives in the back of the van. Those journeys were always filled with much laughter, endless conversations and unforgettable moments. Rudy was also blessed to work alongside wonderful colleagues—Kathy, Derek, Smitty, Barry, Shift Partner Jeff O, Mary, and countless others who became lifelong friends. Together, they shared more than a workplace; they formed a family grounded in respect, laughter, compassion and a shared commitment to caring for others. Rudy leaves us with a beautiful reminder: a life is measured not by the years we live, but by the love we give and the people we lift along the way. She will be deeply missed, lovingly remembered, and forever carried in our hearts.”

This line of work would prove to be too heavy for Ruthann’s loving heart, and at twenty-seven years old, she decided to move back home with her parents and reinvent herself by studying Massage Therapy at the D’Arcy Lane Institute. Ruthann spent her single years chasing the sun on fun girls trips from Playa del Carmen to Maui, and of this period her best friend Jenny writes, “During her time in London and Strathroy when she finished her massage training and started her business, Ruthann had a lot of fun with friends, especially former roommate Debbie and her husband Steve, Laura, Steve Kraus, Gail and her husband Steve, their children Benjamin and Iris, me and my husband Jason, as well as our daughter Emily (Ruthann’s self-proclaimed BFF). There was never a song she wouldn’t dance to, a tune she wouldn’t sing so it would get stuck in your head or was always looking for an opportunity to do something fun, such as weekend trips to Kingsville (what was known as the center of the universe) and attend the annual Fireman BBQ. Rudy was very close with Laura’s parents there—they basically adopted her into the family—and she called them Mom and Dad #2 and continued visiting them even after Laura’s passing, far too young. She also called my parents Mom and Dad #2, as I called hers, and she loved joining my family at the Pinetree Harbour cottage for long weekends, watching out for the best porta potty to stop at near the halfway point of our long drive home. Rudy was always the life of any room because of how funny she was and the joy that surrounded her. She was the go-to girl when you were having a bad day because she would always find a way to make you feel better and hopefully that included some of her Christmas crack chocolate treats. There was never a dull moment when you were around her, thankfully.”

Also at this time, Ruthann began to be known as beloved “Aunt Rudy” to her brother’s children, Kennedy and Mal. No aunt was ever more loving, more fun, or more cherished. Mal writes, “To know my Aunt Rudy was to know what love is. She always made sure that the people around her were taken care of and felt the immense love she had for them. One of my favourite examples is how every year, she made sure that my sister and I had goodie bags of chocolates and treats for Valentine's Day despite her birthday being the day before. She wanted us to feel included and loved despite it being a day that was supposed to be about her. I’ll never forget the sleepovers in Strathroy where she would enthusiastically watch over my sister and me, and despite us being balls of energy and craziness, she never once made us feel like too much to handle. She accepted and loved us as we are and loved to celebrate what made us different, encouraging us to be our authentic selves in every aspect of our lives. She was always a beacon of what a good person is and has inspired me my whole life to show up for the people you love, and I hope to carry on her legacy by continuing to spread that love wherever I go.”

Ruthann would go on to have a nearly thirty year career as a healing professional, and it is a testament to her open and generous nature that most of her clientele over the years would come to call her “friend”. One such longtime friend and client Maria writes, “We met back in 1986 at Fanshawe College in the Child and Youth Care Worker program and instantly became great friends. Looking back, we were actually pretty mellow in college. Thursday nights were big nights of McDonald's for dinner!! After graduation, I moved to Hamilton and got married, but we managed to stay connected the old-fashioned way—writing letters back and forth for years before email was around, back when long-distance calls actually cost real money! Eventually, we lost touch for a bit (I had two children), but life brought us right back together when she took over massage clients for Diane. The moment we reconnected, we picked up exactly where we left off. Ruthann was an incredible massage therapist—in fact, almost our entire family went to her. You always knew you were in good hands with Ruthann; she had a calm, confident, and deeply caring nature that made you feel completely at ease the moment you laid down. For me, those sessions were always a double blessing: a chance to catch up on our lives and a safe space where we could solve whatever problems either of us was facing.”

Ruthann initially started her practise in Strathroy, where she was able to purchase her first house on her own, but after friend and fellow Massage Therapist Diane introduced Ruthann to her cousin, and subsequent love of Ruthann’s life, Dan, she started spending more and more time in his hometown of Kitchener, until eventually moving in with him in 2006. Ruthann took over Diane’s practice in Cambridge when she passed away, and soon added a second office at her friend Barb’s clinic in Elora. When Bev and Jim began to need more support in order to live independently, Ruthann and Dan purchased a home in Cambridge that provided her parents with their own living quarters. Speaking for the Thompson side of the family, cousin Michele writes, “Ruthann was not only our cousin and niece, but also a dear friend to our family. We will never forget her ability to make sure everyone was okay during the toughest times, even when she was going through difficult things herself. That was the kind of beautiful person she was—always caring, always thinking of others. We will cherish the memories of our childhood visits, family weddings, and all the special moments we shared together. Our hearts are broken, but Ruthann will forever live on in our memories, our stories, and our everyday conversations. Rest in peace, our beautiful cousin. We love you and will love you forever. Aunt Anne, Uncle John, Bernadette, Michele, Michael, and Terry Thompson.”

Ruthann and Dan both worked tirelessly to care for her parents in the home until Bev and Jim’s passing, and after Dan’s parents Joan and Jim then moved in, they spent years lovingly caring for them as well. Brother-in-law Mike writes, “Ruthann and Joan shared a common gift, engaging and connecting with family and extended family. No small feat given the size and complexity of the Buchholtz/Currie and Thompson clans. Rooted in their love for family, their engagement and interest was genuine and endeared by all.” Sister-in-law Cheryl adds, “Ruthann is one of the most compassionate people that I have met with her deep kindness and empathy to help others. Just a year and a half ago she discussed with me her desire to complete education to become an end of life Doula. She has a special way of making a safe space when we are together for both of us to share our thoughts and feelings. She was never judgemental.”

To know Ruthann was to know love. She made it her mission to talk to neighbours while out walking lovingly spoiled dogs Kiwi, Blue, and Meeko—at least twice a day, in all weather—and she made true and lasting friendships along the way. For years, Ruthann attended early morning classes at the gym before work, and all who met her there were the happy recipients of her encouragement, good humour, and inspiration. Ruthann’s niece Kennedy writes, “I will forever be inspired by my Aunt Rudy, who did not know the meaning of the word quit. For years she woke up every morning to attend the early bootcamp class, first by herself; then after she moved to Cambridge, with my mom Krista; then after I moved back to Cambridge, with me too. Rudy dedicated her life to caring for other people, but she always did something for herself every morning before most people are out of their pjs. Some mornings were harder than others to not hit the snooze button—and no one likes doing burpees no matter what time of day it is—but Rudy was always there with the best attitude and the biggest smile in the room. I am so lucky to have spent nearly every morning with her over the last four years. Not just to be able to chat, giggle, share stories and push each other to be our best, but also to see how many people her big, beautiful heart touched. From bootcamp, to Mudgirl runs, to long hikes with the ‘dog parade’, Rudy always said ‘yes’ to life, to community and to family. I will carry her with me as I keep up her good habits, but there is a lot less sunshine at 6 a.m. without her.”

As Jann Arden said to Ruthann in a recent video, “Whatever your journey is about to be, know that I am right behind you. We are all right behind you. We are all walking the exact same road. The unavoidable road into something that is going to be a big surprise, it’s going to be a big surprise, and I think it’s going to be a good surprise.” As Ruthann precedes us on this unavoidable road, her family and friends remember her with so much love, welcome the end of pain, and know her love-filled journey can only lead to the biggest, best surprise; godspeed, angel.

Dan was a fierce advocate for Ruthann as they navigated the medical and hospital systems, and when she was released into his hands for palliative care at home, Dan took to those duties with incredible love and expertise. The last words are his: “I met Ruthann at a pool hall on a blind date that my cousin Diane had set up. I had fun that night having a couple of drinks, a few laughs and teaching Ruthann how to hold a cue. I often thought she may have been flirting with me by pretending she needed my help. She really was quite bad but I encouraged her with praise and how quickly I thought she was picking it up. We seemed to get along just fine. At the end of the night Diane and her boyfriend Steve offered to drive Ruthann home as the three of them lived in Cambridge and I was in Kitchener in the other direction. I gave her a small kiss on the cheek and watched her drive away. I kicked myself all the way home that night, I should have insisted I drive her myself to finish the date up proper. I felt bad and was sure I screwed it up. I didn’t think she would want to see me again and fearing rejection I didn’t want to call her. After about 4 -5 days the phone rang and it was Ruthann. She wanted to tell me how good of a time she had and to thank me for picking up the tab. We talked for a couple of hours that night and ended it up with having another date that very next weekend. On our second date to a 70’s Halloween party she endured meeting my sons Ryan and Adam, my Mom and Dad, a bunch of friends and even my Ex. I even bought her a mood ring. It somehow didn’t seem appropriate but I did it anyway. By the end of the week she wasn’t Ruthann any more she was Rudy to me now. I fell hard for her and quickly learned how special she was. I wasn’t going to call her after our first date because I didn’t know it was Rudy I had met, I didn’t yet realize Rudy was in there hiding behind nervousness and maybe a little awkwardness of a first date. I have spent the last few decades thanking God every day that she saw something in me that night and that she chose to want me to be a part of her life. She has made me a better man and I will always be grateful for the gift I was given. Ruthann lives in my heart and as long as it still beats she will always be with me.”

Over the next couple of days, we were all working on the details we had volunteered for and Dan would send me pictures for Dave to put in the slideshow and I told him he could also suggest songs for the playlist — because we certainly didn't want to lock him out of any part of the process — but he admitted that he couldn't think of any. I said that there would be some Colin James — because Dan and Rudy had gone to his concert — and same goes for Kansas and Elton John and Supertramp. Dan said, "The only song I can confidently say that Rudy loved was that Son of a Bitch song, and that wouldn't be appropriate." I assured Dan that we were all searching the internet and our memories for the songs that would be appropriate, and I near fell off my chair when I discovered Pounds and Pounds (from the Son of a Bitch guy), and I think we put together an amazing tribute to Rudy, all through the songs and artists that we knew she loved.

There was a visitation on the Wednesday afternoon and evening — with many, many people showing up for a woman they had loved — and an hour of visitation before the service itself on Thursday; again, with an amazing turn out. The only thing Dan knew for sure was that Rudy didn't want a minister to officiate at her service — and that she once mentioned that she had liked the service their brother-in-law, Mike, had provided for Dan's brother, Tony, when he passed away a few years ago — so it was slightly off-putting to our side of the family that Mike planned out a full Christian service with prayers and readings (like a minister would, in all but name), but even if Rudy did not consider herself a Christian, we knew that we had taken so much control to ourselves that wherever Rudy was during the service, she would not have resented (the unreligious Dan) getting some of what he expected from it.

Mike opened with his prayers and invited Kennedy up to give her eulogy (I do not have a copy of her words, but they were perfect and loving, made people laugh and cry, and she received much praise from everyone afterwards) and then it was time for Dave's eulogy:

“Ruthann Margaret Louise Thompson”.

 

My mother wrote that on a birth certificate and immediately turned to my father and said, “Gee, that’s a mouthful to give a little girl, isn’t it?”

 

But my mother chose those names to honour people that she loved. Ruthann for Ruth, her mother. Louise for her beloved Aunt Lou. And Margaret for her other beloved Aunt Ollie—actually choosing Aunt Ollie’s middle name because Mum thought the name “Olive” sounded a little too old fashioned for her little girl. She chose the names of these people that she loved so that they would live on long after they were gone.

  

Ruthann. Aunt Rudy. Rudy. Even RA to some. But what’s in a name? Let me come back to that.

 

Anyone who knew Ruthann knew that summers up at Sauble Beach were a big part of our childhood. Every year, our mother’s boss would lay her off as soon as we were done school, and then Mum would load up the Buick with groceries and swimsuits, towels and my Grandmother, and with me, my little sister, and our dog Bullet crammed in the back, we’d head off to Sauble Beach.

 

Now Dad had to stay back in London to work, but he would drive up, right after they closed up the shop every Saturday night, and Ruthann and I would patiently sit on the split rail fence out front of the cottage and stare down the road, asking each other, “Is that him?” every time we saw headlights coming down the old gravel road towards us, disappointed every time the car kept driving right on past. And then Dad, after enjoying the weekend with us at the beach, would get up extra early every Tuesday morning to head back to London to arrive at the barber shop just in time for opening.

 

Sure, there were some other kids around at Sauble to play with, but often, it was just me and my little sister—running down to the water every morning, fingers-crossed that there would be waves to play in. Just the two of us building sandcastles with seagull feather flagpoles and huge moats that one of us would inevitably get buried in by the end of our day at the beach. And after dinner it was just the two of us trying to finagle a quarter out of Mum or Grandma Ha-Ha for the trampolines up at the “corner”. You see, when you spend every summer away from home and your friends and the kids you go to school with, your only sibling becomes your closest friend. And I have no idea how I got so lucky that Ruthann was that sibling for me; that life-long friend.

 

Now, Mum’s job at the time was working as a cashier at Taco’s Coin Laundry and Drycleaner in London. Because of this, she was able to get me my first part-time job there, washing the windows, filling the soap dispensers, and emptying the dryer lint traps. Sure, it wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but it was always very exciting whenever I found a bit of change in the dryer lint—because I was allowed to keep it! But one day I was totally shocked to find a man’s gold ring in one of the dryers, and then doubly surprised to find a woman’s gold ring in the one right next to it. Of course, I knew I couldn’t keep them, so I handed them over to my mother, who then handed them to her boss. But when several weeks passed and no one came to claim them, Mr. Vandervloet said I could keep them. And being a kid with no need for two gold rings, I kept the more manly one and gave the ladies’ ring to my sister Ruthann.

 

Now, this was a very long time ago, some time in the 1970s, so you can imagine my surprise when, just a few weeks ago, as Ruthann was bossing me around in her house and wanting to go through some of her things—telling me what to do with this or that—she opened up a jewelry box and handed me that ladies’ gold ring from the laundromat lint trap.

 

Everywhere she has lived over the years, through four cities, three dogs, two careers, and one Dan, Ruthann quietly carried that gold ring with her. Not a packrat or a terribly sentimental person when it came to “objects”, she nonetheless held on to the little gold ring that I had given her when we were kids.

 

Because that’s who Ruthann was: the heart of our family, the memory-keeper, the one who carried more than you ever knew.

 

Blood-donor, animal-lover, the first to contribute to a Go Fund Me or charity event, from working with troubled youth in open custody to her healing touch as a massage therapist, Ruthann’s heart was always on full display.

 

She was our memory-keeper in a special way: not only could Ruthann tell you everyone’s birthday or anniversary, she remembered that your son was waiting to hear about university admissions or your mother needed a hip replacement, and she would ask you about it, and more importantly she would care about the answer.

 

Care. And when it came to the care of our parents, she would come home from her full-time job and she would put in a second shift with them; caring for Mum in their home as long as possible before memory loss forced her into long term care, with Ruthann visiting her basically daily to make sure Mum was always doing okay. After Mum’s passing, Ruthann would again come home from her full-time job to put in a second shift caring for our Dad as his failing health required more and more of her time and energy.

 

And Ruthann complained about none of it; it’s what she was more than willing to do for the Mum who would take her to the beach for the summer and for the Dad who would drive in the dark to meet them there, who would leave three hours before his shift at the barber shop started on a Tuesday morning, not wanting to miss one minute with his family.

 

The heart of our family, the memory-keeper, the carrier; how do we learn to live with so great a loss?

 

You know, when I was writing this, I couldn’t actually remember the name of my Mum’s boss, the owner of Taco’s Coin Laundry. But the internet remembered. Just a quick AI Google search and there it was: Taco Vandervloet. I don’t know how many people alive right now remember Taco and his small coin laundry empire in West London in the 1970s, but the internet remembers. And I got thinking that if I were to write the name Ruthann Margaret Louise Thompson and publish this to the internet along with some of her best qualities, my dear sister—who was taken far too young—might have a kind of immortality. At least virtually. But as I look at all of you gathered here today, I know for a fact that Ruthann will enjoy a more genuinely human type of immortality.

 

I know for example as I look at our first-born, Kennedy Ruthann, that she will carry her beloved Aunt Rudy with her for the rest of her life. And: sorry, Mal, that we didn’t give you a piece of Aunt Rudy, too, but I also know that you, like everyone gathered here today who has experienced my sister’s gifts in life, as the heart of every gathering, the memory-keeper who made you feel seen, or the carrier who wordlessly eased the burdens of others, that you will hold her memory in your heart, and I hope, continue to be inspired by her giving example for years to come.

 

And if we all do this, I think that Ruthann will enjoy a well-deserved immortality in our memories as long as we are all alive.

 

Ruthann, Aunt Rudy, Rudy, even RA to some.

 

My little sister, my first friend, gone to join all those who went before us; never to be forgotten.

More prayers and ceremony from Mike and that was that. Rudy had been with us physically — Dan said she had wanted an open coffin for visitations, so she wasn't to be sent for cremation until after the service; an interment will be held at a later date — and I sincerely hope she was with us spiritually as well; everyone should hear the lovely things people have to say about them after they're gone.

I am happy I pushed for the longform obituary — even Jenny writing that they visited Kingsville to visit Laura's family for years after she died prompted Laura's brother and elderly father to attend the service; Rudy was loved by so many people over the years that I thought it would be nice for people who couldn't attend the funeral to at least see their names somewhere — and I am glad that Dave's eulogy was so detailed: The friend who had coined the nickname "RA" was in attendance and he smiled and mouthed the name as Dave gave his speech; Dan's ex-wife came up after and said that her parents had also had a cottage at Sauble Beach and she had forgotten begging for quarters for the trampoline until Dave mentioned it. And I was very happy that a luncheon was provided: Not only did it give people a chance to visit and reminisce, but as the woman who brought in the food was cleaning up, Kennedy recognised her as the person who owns a cafe downtown; a place where Rudy often had lunch, many times with us, over the years. We told the woman that — and I got the chance to explain that Rudy had moved her clinic into her home a couple years ago and that's why she hadn't been in for lunch in so long — and the woman exclaimed and said, "I was looking at her picture and thinking 'How do I know this beautiful woman?' Thank you so much for telling me. The Lord works in mysterious ways to bring the circle back around." And Christian or not, religious or not, it's hard to find fault with that statement. Rest in peace, sister; for you at least, the mysteries have been revealed.

*****

Only tangentially related but I want to record this: This painting of ferns was on display at Rudy's wonderful hospice, Innisfree House (many of the paintings in the dining room were apparently donated by local artist Peter Etril Snyder, but as this was unsigned, I am uncertain about attribution). This reminded me of the first time Rudy had had dinner at my parents' house, some thirty-seven years ago, and afterwards, my mother said, "What's your favourite vegetable, Ruthann? I'll be sure to make it for you the next time you eat with us." And Rudy replied, "Oh, fiddleheads, I guess." And that answer intrigued me so much. I had never had — have still never had — fiddleheads in my life, but it was the most fascinating answer I thought she could have possibly given to a mundane question and I couldn't wait to get to know my boyfriend's sister better after that. Nearly forty years of getting to know her better and she became my best friend; my favourite person; my sister. When she was newly diagnosed, sometime in June, I had implored Rudy to let me know if there was any way I could help, stressing that I am her family, too. Rudy chuckled and threw up her hands and said, "You're not just my family. You're my...you're my everything." I'm sure, as I felt in the end after my brother passed in April, I could have done more, but I visited as much as I could, supported as much as I could, loved as much as I could. After Rudy died, I took on as much of the practicalities as I could — even bulldozing Dan on the details that I wanted control of — and I can only hope it all feels loving to where she is right now. A painting of fiddleheads at Rudy's end reminded me of our beginning; the Lord certainly does work in mysterious ways to bring the circle back around.

There is no end without you

There is no sun to keep us warm in the winter

Without you

I am... I am... I am... without you