Pull Up A Chair

By Charlotte MacGregor and Denise Noddin

When we're apart from the people we care about, there's a desire to find ways to feel connected. The Covid-19 pandemic of 2020 kept families and friends separated, fearful and uncertain about what lay ahead. These stories, developed from video interviews, were just one of many ways to remain united and not feel so alone, in the face of this incredible challenge. We all have stories to tell. Some tales are told to share the experience and the knowledge that comes from it. Other stories are intended to share pain and struggle, with the hope of finding strength to go forward and a little understanding. You should be engaged with each story, they're captivating and sure to pull at your heart strings. Follow along on this journey of trials and triumphs. By bravely sharing their experiences, these people allow us all a glimpse into their lives. We learn about the hurdles they've faced and how they've conquered them. We can see ourselves in their place, facing our own adversity. We're not alone. There's always hope. Life may not be about happy endings, but situations can improve and move in entirely new directions. Change can be a good thing. We all fall. Sometimes it's hard to get up and continue on. In our social circles, surrounded by people we care about and trust, we can unburden ourselves and find support. The process of sharing allows us to spread the support to others. Communication matters. Share your stories. Reach out, connect, draw on your inner resources and heal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667805177

Book preview

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Pull Up A Chair

2021

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced

in any manner whatsoever without written

permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied

in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN  978-1-66-780517-7

Table of Contents

Introduction

Came to Say Hello

The Loan

Saving For Vacation

Keep Going

The Grass is Greener

Where Life Takes Us

The Voice of Her Mother

Don’t Judge Your Book By It’s Cover

The Queen of Free

A Gift of Life

Is It Today?

Wouldn’t Change A Thing

A Quiet Life

Broken Pieces

Kindness Ninjas

Community Building

A Ride to Remember

The Girl Who Did Everything She Was Supposed To

Teetering

A Peaceful, Easy Feeling

Patience

Dinner For Two

A Family United

The King of Lists

Running

The Other Side of Able

The Weight of Wellness

Acts of Kindness

Saying Goodbye

Introduction

Come in.  Welcome.  Pull up a chair and stay for a while.  We have stories to tell, battles to share, triumphs to celebrate.

When Covid-19 appeared in the spring of 2020, Canada and most of the world shut down.  People were isolated in their homes, fearful and alone.  Charlotte, my daughter, was north of Toronto and I was in southwestern Ontario, about a five hour drive between us.  As days turned to weeks and then to months, we yearned for the family connection, we had always enjoyed.  Birthdays, anniversaries and holidays were spent at home, with very limited family interaction.  We were relegated to our bubbles, long distance relationships relied on technology.

In September of 2021, we dared a visit.  My son and his family drove me north.  They stayed over the Labour Day weekend and I was fortunate, to extend my stay another ten days, when Charlotte was free to drive me back home.  She spent a couple of days, before heading back to life with her husband.  During our time together, there was plenty of opportunity to talk.  So many people we knew were facing challenges.  We picked up bits and pieces of their stories on social media.  Both of us wondered, how our friends and family could face such obstacles in their lives?  More importantly how could they carry on?  They were still smiling, posting pictures and updates, evidence of the resilient human spirit.

Charlotte confided that some of her fondest childhood memories, came from the late night visits I had with my friends.  They started dropping by, once the kids were in bed and their households had settled down for the night.  Our conversation was fuelled by coffee or tea and sometimes liquor.  She lay in bed, surrounded by the darkness, listening to the anecdotes and descriptions of family life.  The simple style, the honesty and the gift of being able to share with each other had great appeal.  The stories that tumbled out, shared among friends, were told in confidence, in safety and in the company of women that cared about each other.  The gentle rhythm of the voices and the hushed tones wove tales of joy and fear, laughter and celebration, frustration and anguish; the narrative of Charlotte’s lullaby.

She’s a grown woman now, with a household of her own.  We discussed the incredible gift she had received, in knowing that her home was filled with such a warmth between friends.  She slept soundly, comforted by the familiar voices of her mom’s buddies.

Why not share that cozy sense of peace?  By telling the stories of other people; the adversity they faced, the strength they had gained in the journey and the hope that came with success, perhaps we could inspire others.  They could be encouraged by this small collection of essays.  There are resources available that may help.  Hope and optimism can build the foundation for positive change and redirection.

We pull up a chair to visit, to relax, to rest.  Consider it an invitation to join us.

First, we compiled a list of people that we could approach about participating in our project.  We knew so many men and women that inspired us, from the tidbits that we gathered, in scrolling through online posts.  Once we had the list, it was time to begin contacting people.

Initial outreach was more difficult than we had anticipated.  It’s hard to deal with the potential for a negative response.  I assure you, we developed a thicker skin from our interactions.  Some people read the messages that we sent them and chose to ignore us.  Other people politely declined.  To our good fortune, many more were supportive and agreed to an interview.

We used a video chat feature online to make contact.  With Covid-19 quarantines, it allowed us all to remain safe, yet still have a connection.  Before the actual appointments, we carefully prepared questions and a plan.  Not everyone is immediately talkative and bursting forth with private details about their lives.  Lighthearted and casual conversation usually led into the more serious and focused direction we hoped to take.

Charlotte and I were not ready for the emotional aspects of the biographies.  Knowing the details doesn’t prepare you for feeling someone else’s pain and suffering.  Together, we laughed and at times, we shared the anguish and tears.  After the contact, we carried the weight of doing justice to this personal record.  There were sleepless nights and more tears, in putting the words together, to compile the chronicles.

The subjects of the interviews had their own emotional agonies to deal with.  For some, old pain, long since buried, had resurfaced.  For others, they revelled in the fact, that they had been through so much and come so far.  People were feeling vulnerable, scared to expose themselves and in the process, didn’t want to hurt other people.  We didn’t push anyone to share details that they weren’t comfortable with.  All of the stories were approved before being included.  As the authors, or the brave storytellers that we featured, none of us emerged unscathed or untouched.

Writing was a much bigger challenge than we ever thought.  Trying to schedule time for the interviews, to compose the stories, to edit and waiting for the approvals; it all took time.  The months passed and it became difficult to keep the momentum.  Like with everyone, life got in the way.  Still, we shouldered on.

There was so much power in the release of telling their stories.  These accounts could belong to any one of us, or all of us.  We’ve all struggled, faced pain and loss, marvelled at our triumphs and celebrated our moxie.

People know your name, not your story.  We find the strength to get out of bed in the morning, when we thought it impossible.  Small steps, one foot in front of the other, pushed us forward.  When we wanted to give up, we kept on going.  At times we’ve all been exhausted.  We lose ourselves in every day life.  It’s hard to accept that we can’t be all things, to all people.  When faced with obstacles, we question if we can go on.  Our confidence can wane; hope can fade.

We search for self confidence, we seek answers.  The endless cycle of meals, dishes, laundry, going to work, going to bed can overwhelm us.  Then, we get up and start all over again.  We can feel lost, alone in a world full of people, or in a house where everyone’s needs, shove our own into the background.

Remember your worth.  It’s alright to cry a little; it’s liberating.  Then, dry your eyes, take three deep breaths and carry on.  While we’re here, there’s an obligation to make the most out of our time.  Connect to people, visit attractions, make memories.  Believe you are strong enough for whatever happens next.

We’re all flawed.  It’s a difficult truth to face.  To strive for perfection is admirable, but not realistic.  If you change your perspective and aim to be the best version of yourself, it’s much more satisfying.  We’re all mosaics: fragments of the experiences we’ve had, of the people we’ve loved and who have loved us, the places we’ve visited and the things that have brought us joy.

Thankfully, we don’t end up where we started.  We develop with our experience and in building knowledge.  Life isn’t about being an expert; it’s about the journey.  If you have a dream of going back to school, do it.  If you think it’s time to change careers or relationships or homes, make your plan.  If you want to write or dance, or paint, choose whatever makes your heart happy and try it!

The voice in our heads never ages.  Eight or eighty, we may ache from playground injuries or aging, but inside, we’re still the same.  The human spirit is eternal.

Charlotte is my daughter and I’m so thankful to have had this entire experience with her.  Mothers and daughters don’t always get the opportunity, to spend so much quality time together.  Today, as I write this, we’ve made meatballs and homemade spaghetti sauce for a beautiful dinner we’re planning with my son and his family.  We’re able to talk during the preparation and we’ll continue that over our meal, our communion, our ever grateful connection to each other.

I’ve come to discover and appreciate a new dimension to my daughter; a deep compassion for other people, a dedication to completing projects and her focus on learning about the writing process.  From her earliest days in school, I knew she had a gift.  Her grade one teacher called me in, for insight into Charlotte’s abilities as a storyteller.  The daily journals are meant to encourage writing and most kids talked about their pets, their parents, their dinners.  My daughter had compiled a collection of the most interesting fiction; tales of saving puppies, witnessing accidents and finding homeless boys living in boxes.  I didn’t know if I should ‘spill the beans’ to the teacher about the fabrications or let her think we had an incredibly busy and interesting life.  I chose to keep silent, admiring the imagination of my precious daughter.  Now, that gift has come full circle in writing these real life accounts. 

Get yourself a favourite drink, to read the stories of people who have faced great challenges and came out the other side.  Pull up a chair, relax and enjoy.

*****

"If you focus on the hurt, you will continue to suffer.

If you focus on the lesson, you will continue to grow."

-Buddha

Note: 

Charlotte and I fell in love with Bearly Used Books

in Parry Sound, Ontario.  They’ve given us permission to

use photos from inside their shop for our front and

back cover art.  If you’re in the area, ‘Pull Up A Chair’. 

It’s a book lovers paradise!

Came to Say Hello

It was 7:30 a.m., on a Thursday morning and my husband and I were up, getting ready for our jobs in retail.  A fast pace was nothing new to us.  He took the dogs, our babies, out for their morning walk.  When he returned and we were heading out the door, he said, Something isn’t right with Lidia.  I felt confused and caught off guard.  We went back into the house.  Had we been so busy that we hadn’t been paying attention?

I remember looking at her, curled up in a ball on the couch and looking so sad.  Something wasn’t right.  She was upset.  No amount of encouragement could get her to rally.  We had to call the vet.  Work would have to wait, until we had some answers.  We could keep them notified about what was going on.  Our daughter was sick and she needed us. 

Both of our dogs, our girls, were called our ‘daughters’, because we didn’t have any children.  It wasn’t in the cards.  These two, little dogs stole our hearts and we were content with that.  They were our babies, our family.

Tiny Lorraine, our first born, is so perfect.  Her white, curly haired coat has small patches of beige fur.  She’s gentle and sweet and honestly, quite funny.  It always amazes me to see the dynamic personalities that animals have.  Tiny is loving one moment and then, full of attitude the next.  We couldn’t have been more lucky with her.

After two years of marriage, my husband and I decided it was time to expand our little family and one morning, we visited a local pet store.  From the minute we laid eyes on her, this short, white haired girl, with big spots of brindle, was destined to be ours.  Bright eyes full of love and an energy that was both electric and exhausting.  Once let out of her cage, she was running full speed, all over the pet store.  Oh, what fun she was and so cute!  Lidia, a Boston terrier/ French bulldog mix, was going to be mine.  Lorraine favoured my husband, following him around, always at his side and in his lap.  I was jealous.

The new addition to our family, when three became four, was so exciting.  At the checkout, my husband had a sick look on his face and pulled the puppy away from his shirt.  Uh oh, he said.  She sheds!

He’s been allergic to pet dander, since he was a kid.  Lorraine is a Shih Tzu/mini poodle mix, which is hypoallergenic.  Dander had never been an issue. 

I knew what he was thinking, that we wouldn’t be getting, Lidia.  We already made the choice and welcomed her into our family.  I loved her instantly.  We couldn’t just return her.  If we had found out that I was pregnant, would we try to return that baby too?

Anti-allergy medication became part of my husband’s daily routine, for about two months, a small price to pay, for his beautiful daughter.  Eventually, the allergy settled down.  Lidia made herself at home and everything was fine.

Daily life was so busy, once Lidia joined our family.  On walks, when she was tired, she would just sit down, no more walking for her.  Every attempt to get her up failed.  She was so stubborn!  A natural boss lady, she stepped into the role of big sister, even though she was younger.  Lidia was twice the size of her sibling.  On movie nights, she would lay at the bottom of the stairs and not allow her sister, Lorraine to pass.  She didn’t want her comfortable, on the couch, with her parents.  I would have to pick up Lorraine, to calm Lidia.  Then she would sit on the end of the sofa.  Attitude was Lid’s middle name.

We lived in a townhouse, but we were ready to take the next step and purchase our first home.  My husband and I were young, early twenties.  It was time to start building equity.  Our top priority was a property with a fenced-in backyard, for our girls.

After viewing almost fifty open houses, we found it, the perfect home.  Open concept design, with very little carpet, an elevated back deck for entertaining and a great yard in a quiet neighbourhood; it had everything that we hoped for.

We moved in late July, settling into the new subdivision, quickly.  A year went by.  Looking back, I think that my husband and I both drifted into a rut of work and sleep.  There wasn’t time for much more.

When that Thursday morning came and our baby girl, Lidia was sick, it was like a transport truck slamming into us.  How could this happen to our baby?

The vet suggested that we bring her right in.  Change of plans; my husband and I, both called in to work and drove a few blocks, to have Lidia examined.  The first few tests revealed that she was pretty sick.  An ultrasound showed that her kidneys and heart looked off.  They didn’t have a full diagnosis, but sent us home with some medication.  We would have to wait for the remaining test results to come in.  On a positive note, the staff seemed hopeful. 

That night we went for a walk, as a family, to a nearby field.  Lidia and Lorraine played a little.  It was the best she could do, considering that she wasn’t feeling well.  In the middle of the night, she puked up her supper, into our bed.  She had little strength to get up and her food wasn’t settling.  The next morning was a blur.  My husband answered the phone, when the vet called.  I watched him, stunned by the words he was repeating. 

Full kidney failure.

Head in right away.

She had appeared fine, just a couple of days ago.  How does a three year old puppy go from perfect, strong and healthy one minute, to full kidney failure?  There were too many questions and we didn’t have the time for answers.  This was urgent!  We had to go!

My husband and I felt nauseous as we rushed to the vet.  I looked over at her, curled up in my husbands arms, in the passenger seat, so innocent, so helpless.  She had no idea what lay ahead, none of us did.  In the parking lot at the vet’s office, I held Lidia and she peed down the left side of my drivers seat and onto my seat belt.  She couldn’t seem to control her bladder.  It was difficult to watch her decline.  I felt guilty for letting this sneak up on us.

Once inside, we heard the devastating news.  The full battery of test results indicated a bleak future.  There was nothing further they could do for her.  Their suggestion was to put her down.

No way!  It was unthinkable, that this was the only option.

There were other possibilities that involved a lot of time and money.  We could drive to the United States, or Guelph, a three hour drive in either case.  An immediate appointment at a veterinary college, could support her and provide the best chance at life.  The choices seemed impossible.

We decided to drive to Guelph.  Our vet called ahead and they were expecting us.  On the way, we dropped our other daughter, Lorraine off at my mother’s place.  I held her, as I drove and my husband held Lidia.  The two sisters laid down together, very calm, very still.  At one point, they reached out and touched noses with each other.  I saw them and burst into tears.  It was their kiss goodbye.  Dogs are so intuitive, so connected to their families.  They’re sensitive to emotion, to pain and need, to life and death.  We took pictures at my Mom’s, when we got there.  I think we all knew that it was our last time together.  No one spoke about it, but, in our hearts, we knew.  Tears were cried, through our hugs and goodbyes.

I barely remember the drive to the hospital, with our baby.  The flow of tears wouldn’t stop.  My husband, always incredibly supportive, kept thinking positive and prayed, reminding me to do the same.

At the college, we ended up at a door, on the other end of the veterinary hospital and had to walk long hallways, to find the right location.  Poor Lidia had one of her last bowel movements, on a rug, just outside of the office.  It was embarrassing at first, but she was so sick as she struggled to walk.  She couldn’t help it.  As pet owners, we always had poop bags handy, like a mother with a diaper for her newborn.  I was prepared.  We handed her over to the staff, pleading with them, ‘to take good care of our girl’.

Then, the agonizing wait for the test results started.  We had to go to a cashier, to sign papers that acknowledged that we were fully aware of the potential costs that may be incurred.  The estimated price quoted was $6000.  I felt ill, thinking about the money, but honestly, every penny was worth the effort.  My husband and I were young, both worked full time, with a line of credit and we felt that we could make the commitment.  Fortunately, we were financially able to try to help our daughter.  Lidia’s life didn’t have a price tag.

The waiting room was a typical space of chairs and low tables.  It was a Friday night and one other patient waited with us, a woman whose dog was having surgery for a broken leg.  She told us about a group she started in Guelph, to raise funds that would support people, who couldn’t afford the medical bills for their pets.  What an impressive action!  It’s inspiring, when someone can turn a tragic situation into a positive project that can touch so many others.  Her story made us smile, the first time in days.  It was nice to have a few moments of pleasant conversation, a welcome respite.  It wasn’t long until reality hit again.  Our baby was sick.

We were tired, it was getting late, nearing 10:00 p.m.  They allowed us to go in, to say our goodnight to Lidia.  The vets thought she would be staying a while for monitoring, due to her low kidney levels.

Signing for a possible $6000 bill, we didn’t feel like paying another hundred or more, to stay at a hotel.  Just down