Rainbow Tears

It's been said that when there are hard circumstances that make you cry but there is something right in the middle of the situation (perhaps unexpected kindness or some unforeseen blessing) that makes you smile in gratitude - the tears you shed are "rainbow tears."

 

I've had a lot of reason to shed that kind of tears in the last year and a bit. As most of you know, our daughter Arielle moved "out West" last summer to make her mark in the world. Things didn't turn out the way she expected, but there were some wonderful moments, particularly on September 17 when she had an amazing spiritual experience that transformed her emotions and melted her lifelong fear of being alone. But her circumstances were such that she was soon homeless, living in her car, getting more and more fatigued ... and on October 22 she had a car accident from falling asleep at the wheel - and she died.

 

And then the rainbow tears started happening thick and fast. People were so. incredibly. kind. Such an outpouring of love and graciousness that we never expected in our lifetimes, was immediately and consistently shown to us, lavished on us, healing us. People gave of their time to sit and listen to us talk. They loved us, prayed for us, thought about us, told us they thought about us, and those who were able to do so donated money to either our named charity, to the Gideons, or to help pay off her final expenses. To each and every one of those people who reached out to us, we owe a deep debt of gratitude. That love helped us, made it easier to be who we are, to be honest about our feelings.

 

Photo "Fountain" courtesy of dan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

And last night, I found out that a dear friend's child was in a serious car crash. The young person survived, but the injuries are severe - potentially life-changing. And the love and outpouring of caring that was lavished on us is now abounding toward my friend, her child, and the rest of the family.

 

I was talking to my friend earlier today. She was saying that she realized that this must bring back memories (and it does, oh yes!) and some "why"s.

 

It's strange but .... I never once entertained that thought. I was just so grateful that another mom didn't have to bury her child. So instead of what she expected me to say, I expressed my gratitude. And as she shared with me what the next days will hold, and what progress has been made since only two days ago, I was able to show my emotional and prayer support to her and her family.

 

And I found myself shedding some more 'rainbow tears.'

Games people play

It never ceases to amaze me how people can be incredibly caring, sweet, wonderful and generous ... until they aren't. 

A few things I've learned about people in the last five and a half years that I've been in "recovery" have set me back on my heels. These are things that either I didn't know or that I didn't want to know. 

One thing is sure. People will surprise you. You think you have them pegged and then they do something completely unexpected. Like when my co-workers opened their hearts to me after my youngest daughter died suddenly last October. I never expected that - and the caring continues to this day! 

However, I have learned - sadly, the hard way - that no matter who it is, people (because they - er, we - are human!) will inevitably disappoint anyone who depends on them / us. We aren't perfect, and if we try to give that impression, well, let's just say the fall from the pedestal is quite steep. And it seems that the higher the pedestal we think we're on, the more it hurts when (not if) we fall from it. I've learned that it's better not to think of myself as better than anyone else, and it's made me avoid anyone who thinks that way too, for whatever reason (education, position, etc.)

So, for better or worse, I've developed some personal guidelines to help me navigate the world of interpersonal relationships - which can sometimes be a mine-field, especially if there are relationships where one person is in a position of power and the other one isn't. So, in no particular order, here are a few of my own personal guard-rails:

1. I have boundaries. These pertain to my personal space, to my emotional space, and to my spiritual space. I have the right to occupy a place in the world, and to feed my soul with what nourishes me inside. If someone infringes on that right, or takes advantage of my generosity, I have the right to be angry and also to say, "This is not okay." It doesn't matter whether that person believes himself or herself to have the right to demand my respect; if the person has hurt me, it is okay for me to say that he or she has hurt me. 
2. I have the right to make my own decisions and my own mistakes, and the responsibility to learn from them.
3. I have the right to feel what I feel. This means that nobody has the right to tell me that I don't feel something or that I shouldn't feel something. 
4. Other people have boundaries. It is not okay for me to try to fix anyone, even if that person asks me to do it. It is not my place to tell someone else how to live their life, run their marriage or raise their kids.
5. Other people have the right to make their own decisions and their own mistakes, and they (not I) must bear the consequences of their own actions.
6. Other people have the right to feel what they feel too. Just because I might be uncomfortable with it, or I wouldn't react in the same way, doesn't give me the right to dismiss - or to judge - what another's experience might be.
7. If anyone - including me - is in a relationship where he or she feels consistently shamed or bullied or "less than", it is not only okay ... it is IMPERATIVE ... to walk away. NOBODY deserves to be treated that way. Staying in a relationship like that only encourages the abuser to continue abusing.

If this post has helped anyone identify an area where there are boundary issues or relationship inequalities that are taking place, and then figure out what it is that they need to do to take care of themselves, then I have achieved my purpose in writing it.

Drowning

As most of my friends know by now (I am quite vocal on Facebook and of course my co-workers hear me probably from the next room!) I've been fighting a nasty cold for the last week.

It's a rather unsettling feeling to wake up feeling like you're drowning. Panic instantly sets in and you struggle to breathe, coughing and gagging until the airways allow you to function. Then the coughing reflex is so strong and the adrenaline so high that you can't get back to sleep. As I type, it's 5:30 a.m. and I have been awake for an hour and a half. 

Oh well. At least I can blog. (LOL).

Being sick has left me more vulnerable to emotional outbursts; my immune system is in high gear and I am weaker physically (the least effort exhausts me) so emotionally it's been a challenge. It's a challenge especially since I turned the page on the calendar yesterday morning to the month of October and saw that the 22nd had a sunset drawn (by my own hand) on it, signifying the death of our daughter on that date last year. (To understand a bit more about that, you can read the post I wrote on it shortly after we got the news.) 

Photo "Sinking In To Water" courtesy
of koratmember at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And "losing it" emotionally is like drowning as well. Oh to be sure, I will advocate for rigorous honesty in admitting to and experiencing whatever emotion is there, because emotions signal that something needs attention. 

I'm not changing that stance. However, I guess what I'm saying is that it isn't easy; and, it wasn't intended to be. Sometimes I need to "get it out" just like I need to (pardon the graphic example but it's what I'm living just now) get the phlegm out. And take vitamins. And try to eat nutritious food. All so I can breathe again ... even if it means that the symptoms get a bit worse temporarily from something I eat that I know is good for me.

Chicken noodle soup has become a current favorite, by the way. 

(But you wouldn't want to see me eat it at the moment.)☺

Yes, I'm sad more these days. That's normal. Grief is normal. So ... I cry. And I feed my soul with inspiring words and music. And I am honest about how I feel ... honest with myself primarily, because when that happens, it's more okay to be honest with those who I know care about me. It's all part of self-care, of being okay with what is and not denying it, and doing what I need to do to look after myself. When I do that, I find that I have more spiritual resources on tap to share with those who might need a listening ear. 

Allowing myself to BE sad, or angry, or hurt - and practicing self-care while I'm doing that (even if it feels like I'm at the mercy of the "waves") - frees my inner self to experience happiness, and excitement, and forgiveness, and peace, and joy, ... and love. If I shut off one kind of emotion, my brain shuts off the rest of them; I don't want to run the risk of turning that part of myself off! So - as inconvenient as it is at times - I try to accept the bad when it happens, and accepting it makes me able to appreciate the good even more when THAT happens. 

And - even when I feel that I'm drowning in the sadness - it DOES happen. 

The last year has been living proof of that. I've been rescued from drowning ... by so many people and in so many situations that I've lost count. And by my faith which, in spite of the heartache (or maybe because of it!) has grown. And because of the help I've received, I've been able to help others who feel the waves of circumstance billowing over them: people I never would have been able to understand - much less help - before.

To those who have reached out a hand and let me be me (whoever that "me" is at the time) ... and to those to whom I have reached out (and been strengthened in the process!) ... I can only say one thing. And it seems so trite, so lame. Yet ... it's all I have.

THANK YOU.

Never too late

One day, not too awfully long ago, I was standing at a wicket at the Department of Motor Vehicles and waiting for someone to process a form, when I saw the most peculiar sight at the next wicket. Two people were standing there - the family resemblance and the ages told me that it was probably a grandfather and grandson. 

"Oh isn't that sweet," I thought to myself. "Someone is getting his first driver's license." 

I started to listen in on the conversation. The two men beside me were both Korean. The woman was speaking to the younger man, who looked to be about 16. He was acting as an interpreter for the older man (who looked to be about 70) who was paying the money to the counter attendant. And that's when I heard it. "Make sure he knows that this license is good for two years, and it expires on his birthday," she told the younger man. "So he will need to come in here before that date to renew it." 

The young man promised. The older man put the newly acquired license as well as the receipt in his wallet, murmured a "Thank you," to the woman, and the two of them made their way out of the building.

I thought about those two for the rest of the day. What a proud moment for them both! I found myself picturing the process they had just been through - wondering how much the younger had to convince the older that he could do this.  I thought about how this teenager was probably with the older man every step of the way as he learned the rules of the road enough to take his beginner's test, acting as interpreter the whole time. He may have gone out with him multiple times as he practiced. Finally, he went with his granddad when he was taking the road test (acting as interpreter for the instructions of the examiner). And that very day as I was there beside him, he got his 'graduated' license, something that sixteen-year-olds look forward to, dream about, and long for in our culture. 

We take it for granted. 

What an inspiration they both were - the young man for the commitment he showed, the caring that was obviously there on his face - and the time he took to be there for his grandfather. And the older man inspired me, reminded me that it's never too late to make a new start, to learn a new thing. Never mind that he only had a few years left to enjoy this new freedom he would now enjoy; the point was that he would be able to enjoy it. 

Over the last while I've had some doubts about how feasible it is for me to get my education in preparation for a new career. I'm in my fifties and to go to school with people who are less than half my age is somewhat off-putting. I enjoy the learning part (even if it scary at times) but sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it. And then I remember that old Korean man. So many strikes against him - the language barrier and his age being the top two - and yet he persevered because he saw value in having that license so he could help his family and possibly even so that he would not be a burden to them. 

It's never too late. No matter how much less time I would have than someone half my age, what matters is that I enjoy the rest of my life and that I'll be able to help as many people as I will be able to help. Me. Not my age, not my appearance, but me. With all the life experience that I bring to the table, I know that when I finally graduate (which won't be for a few years yet) I will be uniquely positioned to be able to help people to find their own pathway to freedom, to "get unwrapped."

And I guess it reminds me of another thing. 

I'm really looking forward to getting MY license, too.

Photo "Psychiatrist Examining A Male Patient"
courtesty of Ambro at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Fresh pages

September rises on the scene almost unannounced ... whispering, 'Oh, by the way, school starts soon.' And soon ... is now. 

Yes, I'm back in school again, this time taking an undergraduate course from my alma mater to beef up my qualifications to take a grad program from a school in Calgary, Alberta. It's on learning and motivation (maybe I'll learn something, haha!) and it will take me about three months or so. 

Attending the first class made me feel really good; I understood the prof and had some hope that I could actually get a leg up on my educational quest. That is, perhaps she (if I do well, which I think I will) would be willing to write a letter of reference on my behalf when I apply to Athabasca University in another five months or so. 

There's something oddly satisfying about opening a new book that has not been used, or turning a fresh page in a notebook, especially the first one. There is so much that has yet to be learned, written, experienced. It's so hopeful. 

Photo "Notebook And Pen" courtesy
of jiggola at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It's been a month of fresh pages and new beginnings for our family. 

Specifically for me, this new course has represented a new start, an opening of the door to new possibilities and the promise of a future as a counsellor ... eventually. 

At home, there are fresh pages turning as well. We discovered that our deck - which was here when we moved in 25 years ago, was rotted and being eaten by carpenter ants. So, we paid a couple of guys to build a new one! (I've already flooded Facebook with those photos, so I won't put more here...) 

It's been good though, to be able to feel secure about going out on the deck without fear of falling through, or getting splinters in our feet, or slipping and falling. The guys did a great job - thanks Mike and Dalton W!

And then there's new life as well. We got a call from the shelter about three weeks ago, asking us to take our newly adopted kitten before she got to be big enough to spay. (Usually they like to keep them until after the procedure is over.) They said that she was losing weight, and that that she needed to be away from the shelter atmosphere to thrive (this happens sometimes). They asked us if we could foster her until she was old (and heavy) enough; they have to be at least two pounds! (We didn't hesitate to say yes!) So she is here as a foster-kitty (which means that all vet bills are the shelter's, a bonus!) Once she is spayed, we can finalize the adoption (that is, pay the adoption fees and take ownership.) Her operation is scheduled for September 17.

So, in the meantime, we've been getting her used to her "big brother" Loki. The size difference (he's five times her weight) means we have to supervise their play rather closely, and limit their interaction, but we find that they really look forward to that time together. Surprisingly, sometimes Eris even gets the upper hand!

It's so interesting having a small (but VERY active) kitten in the house again. Eris moves so quickly that we've joked about getting whiplash watching her!! Her zest for life and her honest expression of how she feels is contagious and encouraging. It helps us to concentrate on life and happiness again. There's been too much death, too much sadness. 

We need hope. 
And laughter. 
I like laughter. It's good. 
And do-overs. 
And a never-ending supply of fresh pages.

Aloha

Aloha is a Hawaiian word. 
It means goodbye.
It also means hello.

This has been an intense week at our house. 

Monday night, our 13-year-old cat, Angel, disappeared ... never to return. We looked everywhere, scoured the neighbourhood for her, shaking her treat bag and calling for her, shining a flashlight under trees, behind bushes, into culverts. No sign of a body or of her.

We were about 75% sure that night that she wasn't coming back. It was just so opposite to "everything that was Angel" for her not to come trotting purposefully toward us when we shook the treat bag and called out her name. Over the course of the next few days, we began to be more and more certain that she would never return. Grief has been coming in waves, combined with the mental anguish of not knowing how it happened. Or how quickly. Or whether she was afraid. (shudder). 

Angel  -  June 2013

We've been saying goodbye ever since, in bits and pieces, in habits we find ourselves repeating (like looking outside for her when we go to the door) when we know ... that there's no need anymore. 

Aloha Angel.

We weren't the only ones moping around. Our kitten Loki (9 months old) has been unusually quiet the last few days. He misses having her around to play with - not that Angel ever allowed it, but he sure tried! - and now that she is gone, he has spent a lot more time sleeping. And he's taken to watching the door where he last saw her through the glass. 

The turning point came for me last night when we were chatting and our daughter said, "I am tired of talking about death. I want to concentrate on life." 

So today, we went to the shelter to find a companion for Loki. And ... yes, for us.

She had newly been put up for adoption we saw her - not even two pounds and looking enough like Angel that at first glance, I gasped and my eyes stung with tears. The differences became obvious afterward, of course. But as we spent more time with her, we began to see how well she could fit in with our family. And even in that short time, hearts began to heal.

Playing with her allowed us to get a glimpse of her zany yet demure personality; it has earned her the name "Eris" (pronounced AIR-ess) after the Greek goddess of chaos. It suits her. ;) 

So adoption papers were filled out. And the kitten will remain there until she is ready to be homed - she'll need to be spayed and that can't happen for another week, because they have to be at least a certain weight when that happens.

So, probably around the 18th to the 20th of August, we'll be bringing home a little sister for Loki (named, incidentally, after the Norse god of mischief. Do I sense a theme here? LOL) ... and in between, I imagine we'll be visiting her as she waits to get big enough to come home.

Aloha, Eris.

Diamond formation

A large lump of coal, under great pressure, over the course of years, forms a diamond. Such constant trial transforms a common stone into a treasure cherished by many. 

There are some people I've met who are diamonds, so formed by such intense suffering that it is hard to describe it. 

One such person cannot remember back past the time when her life was untouched by pain. 

When she was very young, she took a tumble and fell on her head. Unknown to her, it misaligned a vertebra in her neck. All of her childhood she suffered from rare migraines caused by a lack of blood flow to the brain; these were marked by nausea, extreme vertigo, and other unpleasant symptoms including temporary blindness on one side of her vision, but rarely any headache. 

She endured doctors not understanding her symptoms and then misdiagosing, several times. Not until she was 14 did she get a diagnosis (and only after extensive research by her parents who presented their research to the doctor): basilar artery migraines (BAM) also known as vertebrobasilar insufficiency. She was unable to take any medication for these attacks; if she did, she could have a stroke because the migraine medications constricted blood vessels. Since the migraines were caused by a lack of blood flow to the brain, further constriction (from medication) could shut off blood flow to the brain. It took only one such scare in an emergency room to drive that message home. The pediatrician had left standing orders to use a medication called DHE or dihydroxyergotamine, administered through an I.V. This medicine would constrict her vessels. The parents disagreed and objected; the attending physician (wanting to appease them) only gave her a half-dose. She had a mild heart attack and her migraine spiked off the charts. If she'd had a full dose she might have had a stroke.

She had to drop out of high school in grade ten due to missing so much time from the migraines, which came in clusters of up to three weeks at a time. This led her to believe that she was not intelligent, when in fact, she was extremely smart. Otherwise she couldn't have made it through elementary and junior high school with the high marks she did while still missing as much time as she did.

When she was 19 years old, pain in her neck led her to seek chiropractic help, where the slippage in her vertebrae was discovered on X-ray. The chiropractor gave her neck exercises to do with weights attached to her head, and within two months she regained some curvature to her neck and the slippage was reversed slightly. Over the next six months her migraines slowly tapered off. 

During that time, her dentist had to do a root canal in one tooth, and told her that she had to get her wisdom teeth out. She underwent both procedures about a year apart, and was left with TMJD - temporomandibular joint dysfunction. She still suffers from pain in her jaw (which extends into her neck and shoulder) and an inability to open her mouth wide, or chew tough meats.

However, the migraines were far less frequent - she occasionally had a regular one in her head but the debilitating vertigo was very rare. One day she just up and decided to go back to school and get her GED. She had it within 2 months. About six months later, she decided to go to college and become an executive assistant. She did, graduating at the top of her program. 

Photo "Single Blue Diamond" by
MR LIGHTMAN at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

She'd been at her job, living a relatively normal life for the first time in her life, when she stepped out of her work place after work one evening in late November 2012, crossed the sidewalk to get into her parents' vehicle, and slipped on a patch of black ice. She fell. Hard. 

She noticed a numbness in her left foot, and looked down. To her surprise, her kneecap was not in the correct place, but on the side of her leg. She reached down and wrenched it back into place. She doesn't remember feeling pain at this.

Her father helped her get into the vehicle. The pain hit on the ride home. It took her parents two days to convince her that she should get it seen to - she was that wary of doctors!

Thus began another pain journey. Over a year and a half and two surgeries later, she still walks with a crutch (or a cane on her good days) due to the surgeon making an error in the first surgery which was not detected during the second surgery. She has been on disability insurance since April 2013. Her surgeon has declared her unable to work indefinitely. She struggles with depression, loneliness and anxiety on a daily basis. Several months ago, her life was touched deeply by grief. She has symptoms of PTSD and battles panic attacks, multiple chemical sensitivities, and asthma.

I've told you all that to tell you this. This young lady is an absolute joy to know. She is deep, sensitive, thoughtful and loyal. She accepts people the way they are. ALL people. She's passionate about what she believes in. 

She is honest about how she feels if you ask her, even if she feels horrible. Yet she is not bitter and she doesn't use her disability as a tool to get a person to do what she wants. In fact, she has even used her crutch or her scar to start conversations and put people at ease; she understands people in pain and is one of the most empathetic people I know. Yet she won't snow you. If she thinks your behavior is hurting someone she loves, she will find a way to tell you in a way you'll be able to accept.

She has grown so much because of her pain, because of the things she has experienced. She's learning to look after herself, to believe that she is well worth the space she takes up in the world and in our lives. Pain - in her case - has become that constant pressure that has transformed her into someone absolutely priceless. She is indeed a diamond ... a precious gem in our lives. She always was.

I'm proud to know her. My life is richer because she is in it. 

And that's no lump of coal.

Breathe. In and out. Repeat.

Some days just pass by without me taking much notice; they seem normal and uneventful, as if nothing tumultuous has ever happened to me or to those I love. 

And other times, I have fleeting moments where I need to remind myself to breathe, to let go, to concentrate on doing the next right thing. 

"Waterfall In Forest" - courtesy of
phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Still others are entire days when I need to remind myself continually of those things: specific days such as a birthday or an anniversary, a statutory holiday like Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving. At those times, I wonder how I'll get through the day, remind myself to breathe, in and out, and repeat as needed. And it's hard, even with relying heavily on my relationship with God and reminding myself that "He's got me."  

And ... miraculously ... I get through it. 

I had a day like that recently - our baby girl's birthday was last Wednesday. She would have been 22 years old. Try as I might to treat it like "just any other day" ... it was difficult to concentrate and I kept making silly, stupid mistakes that just weren't "me." 

The love of friends and family helped me as I breathed in, and breathed out. Giving myself permission to grieve without guilt or shame was key to surviving the experience. And love, love expressed in tangible ways, was the healing balm that I needed. God usually finds a way to remind me that He cares by showing me that people care. This particular time it was through a thoughtful gift from a friend miles away from here. 

Photo "Daisy Flower" by
markuso at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Someone reminded me a few weeks ago that the pain of an initial physical injury (such as when I tore the cartilage in my shoulder on August 7, 2006) can be remembered, but not brought back and relived or re-experienced with the same intensity. (Not that I'd want to!!) 

However, the pain of an emotional injury is just as fresh and excruciating as its memory. If the emotionally painful experience is remembered, the emotional pain comes with it. 

What I didn't know until several months ago is that the brain releases the exact same chemicals when experiencing emotional pain as when having physical pain. It's therefore crucial to be gentle with ourselves when life throws a monkey-wrench into our daily experience. 

"It will pass. It will," a still small Voice says inside of me. "Breathe."

"Again." 

And I do. And it passes. 

And the next day life could return completely back to normal. And it often does. 

But I'm so glad that when those times come, when the billows roll over me and knock me around, I know I can count on Love to be whatever I need it to be for me at the time I need it. Even if it's hard. 

Love is Life's breath.

So I breathe. In and out. And ... repeat as needed.

Relax into it

Every so often my daughter - who is prone to anxiety - gets so tense that she can't relax herself, so she gets headaches and backaches that can't be touched by anti-inflammatories, muscle relaxers or electric massagers. That's when she asks me if I will give her a massage.

It's something I used to do a lot when she was having regular migraines. 

So I get her to sit down in a chair in front of the dining room table, with her arms resting in front of her on the table and her head resting upon her arms. She knows "the drill" - the unspoken request for her to fight her natural instinct to tense up when I start to massage a tender spot. Tensing up only makes it hurt worse in the long run. So she has learned to "relax into it." 

Photo "Oil Massage" courtesy
of samuiblue at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And the massages take far less time as a result. I can literally feel the knots loosening under my hands and fingers as I work. She accepts a certain amount of discomfort, knowing that when I am done, the pain will be far less than when I started. 

It's a lesson we teach each other. I've been taking her example as I get into a different season in my life, one of waiting. I find waiting so incredibly hard. 

Yet I spend the vast majority of my time doing it. 

Just now I'm in transition, extricating myself from one university program to migrate to one in a different university that (even though it will take longer) will give me a more usable degree when I am done. The process of change is stressful, but already I am seeing myself with more time on my hands, and having that much free time is a bit of an adjustment for me after spending almost every spare waking minute studying. It's too early to apply for the new program, so in some ways I'm twiddling my thumbs. This (believe it or not) is tension-producing. I'm learning ... slowly ... to 'relax into it' and let events unfold as they unfold. For someone who historically has had to know what was going to happen for the next five or ten years in advance, this is a relatively new skill. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax. Good words. 

Good words to remember as this week (Wednesday) we try to find a way to celebrate (and survive) Arielle's birthday. To know that that particular day marks 38 weeks since we got the news of her death. And to take the next breath in. And let it out. To relax while we do it. And then do it again. 

"Relaxing into it" is a lifestyle lived out day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. It's a lifestyle of acceptance - acceptance of people, places, and circumstances. It is a refusal to tense up and stress over things I can't control. It is letting go of what was before and embracing what is now ... even if the now is painful. Or uncertain. Or blah. It's all good. God has His finger on that pressure point and all I need to do is turn my attention to His care for me and the knots of tension disappear from my soul. I can breathe again, move again, laugh again. I can learn to live in that relaxed state. 

And why not?

Firework

Eight months ago we were getting ready to say our farewells to one of the most amazing, unpredictable, compassionate, loyal, intense people we've ever met. That she also just happened to be our daughter was a happy bonus. 

When we were talking about how we would remember her, how we would honour her, her sister came up with the perfect tribute. We'd pass out sparklers at her funeral to celebrate her life, her joy, her zest for living to the fullest, her 'go-big-or-go-home' attitude. We'd suggest that when it got dark that night, for people to go outside and light their sparklers, and hold them high in her memory. 

The night following her funeral, a few of her closest friends got together and videoed themselves doing just that. Together. Which is the way she'd want it.

 
In fact, a lot of what I and those people who remember her best have done these past several months, has been in honour of her and the way she lived her life. Full bore. Full court press. Hard forward. Brightly burning just like the firework she was (and is.) Mediocrity wasn't even in her vocabulary. If she believed in something (or someone) she showed it, no questions, no reservations, no holding back. She plunged head - no - heart-first into everything. Fiercely loyal. Generous to a fault. Passionate. 

And whole-hearted. Courageous.

If you are on Facebook, I hope you can view this video, taken by Darcy Anthony Brown on November 2, 2013 and shared on Arielle's wall. 

The idea was inspired by Katy Perry's "Firework." CARPE DIEM. Seize the day!

 https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151698891516817