Post 2 "Love is a gift. You can't buy it, you can't find it, someone has to give it to you. Learn to be receptive of that gift" ~ Kurt Langner

DECEMBER 2010

When I hit rock bottom I was laying in a bunk bed in a hostel in Hollywood. I had flown to Los Angeles for what I had though was a job interview, that turned out to be a scam. It was my last hope. It was supposed to be a huge distraction from what I was trying to forget and leave behind in Canada. Now I had nothing and I had to go back. I was crying all night, I couldn't get out of the bed. I slept the entire day. I only got up after my bunkmate had returned to find me still in bed and woke me to make sure I was alive. I got up and left just so I wouldn't get asked if I was ok, again. I had been praying. I don't pray. I don't believe in anything to pray to. I had been praying all night for someone to save me, because I had nothing left, and I couldn't do anything more to save myself. I got dressed and left the hostel. I walked up Hollywood Blvd, unknowingly to my future.

One year earlier 

It was our last chance. I was accepted into law school and I was moving to Australia. I was

packing up the whole family and we were moving, with any luck, forever. I knew for the

last two years my relationship was on itʼs last legs. I knew it was only surviving because

I didnʼt care anymore, I stopped asking to be considered. I stopped fighting. I stopped

caring. I knew it was over one night when I wake at 4 AM and he still wasnʼt home. Normally I would have began to worry and text or call him. This time I shrugged and closed my eyes and went back to sleep. I knew then I stopped caring. I had lowered my expectations long before, now I even stopped caring. 

Now we were going to Australia, I was going to be a lawyer, now we would play by my rules. I had had enough. This was our last chance, if  he could pull himself together, be the support I needed to study and be successful, then we would make it. If he couldnʼt I was really done this time.

We were not off to a good start. I suppose I was setting my emotions and my disappointments aside just to get to Australia. I was sorting out belongings into the toss,

donate, store and take with us piles. I was writing my personal statement, studying for

my LSAT and applying to schools. I was preparing our back taxes and applying for

student loans. I was getting passports and visas and financial backing to get us across

the ocean. I was finalizing details of our remaining investment properties and

partnerships. And I was being a mom. On the floor, surrounded by papers and books

and an array of articles that still needed sorting I asked for help, or at least

consideration. This resulted in our second to last fight, but it was the first in which I was

not the one to apologize. Cory had always complained about how much ʻstuffʼ we had.

To be more precise, how much stuff I had. I still contend for a family of four, in a 900 sq

foot home, we did not have too much. After asking him to help me, or at least sit with me,

as I sorted through everything he flew off the handle into a dismissive tirade about all of

my stuff. I had been willing to throw away so much, so many things that meant

something to me. Things that reminded me of someone, or some special place, notes or

letters from friends who lived far away, memories of happy times, things that made me

smile to revisit. I was willing, all I asked was to share the memories as I placed these

things into big black plastic garbage bags. I yelled back. All I wanted was a witness to

my happiest memories. Had they not meant something to me I would not have kept

them, was it too much to ask the person who claimed to love me to share these

moments with me as I let them go? All Cory wanted to do was complain about how long

it was taking. He stormed out of the house and slammed the door. My tears fell silently

but I was not chasing after him. This hurt too much, to have my memories matter so little

to him. I wouldnʼt fight with him, I reminded myself, our last chance was coming. I just

had to hang in there until Australia. Once I was a lawyer I would call the shots. I would

build a house how I wanted it and fill it with as much stuff as I wanted and if I wanted a

room just for shoes, I would have it. Everything would change once we got to Australia,

one way or another.

I began to frantically throw things away. Some without even looking at them. I

began to dismiss my own memories. I just wanted to move on. I knew the next steps

would find me happiness, it had to be there. I just wanted to get to the next step. Then I

found my black journal. The minute I saw the red ink inside I knew which journal it was. I

closed it. I did not want to revisit that. I spoke out loud to myself. I am done with that. I

am not revisiting it. Itʼs in the past, I am starting a new chapter. I placed the journal in

the garbage bag. The next few weeks Cory and I made many trips to the Salvation

Army, the dump, our temporary home in our friends basement and our storage unit. Our

last night in our house Cory was taking a load to our friends house. I was not done

packing. It was nearly midnight and he asked me if he should come back. Well I figured

if he had to ask then no, no he didnʼt. I continued packing through the night, I rolled out

a sheepskin and napped 20 min. The bank took possession in the morning, there

was no time to sleep.

In Markʼs basement I prepared documents for the Australian government.

Chased down our tax refund, finalized student loans and prepared for Christmas. I was

getting into the habit of checking my email often through the day. I was expecting

documents from the Australian Government so that we could book our flights. I had

been hoping for Christmas in Japan, maybe a stop over, but it didnʼt look like that was

going to happen. It looked like any delay that could be expected was happening. Yet I

was still hopeful and logged into my email account first thing every morning. Then one

morning there it was, the email I never expected to get, the person I never expected to

hear from. I peeked into his life occasionally hoping to see a picture online. I had

recurring dreams. I held the little morsels of information I heard occasionally in my mind

hoping to piece together his life in a mental image, but I went there rarely because it

always took me so long to recover when I thought about him. I had just thrown out the

journal all about him, and here was an email from him, 18 years later, weeks before I left

the country forever. I stared at the subject line “Dean McDonald sent you a message on

Facebook” I didnʼt want to read it. I had no idea what it could say. I didnʼt want to admit

what I hoped it said. I should have deleted it. I knew if I opened it, no matter what it said,

everything changed, nothing would ever be the same.

"hey

Between You and Dean 

Dean 

December 16 at 4:32pm

Cool surprise to see you on here. Thought I'd say "hi". Some great

pictures you have of you and your family. Hope everything is as great as

it looks with you. Dean"

I read that email 20 times. It didnʼt say what I had hoped it would say. It didnʼt say much

really, but my heart was racing, my hands were trembling and my breath was caught in

my throat. I wanted to cry. I didnʼt know why. But I knew there was more there then a

friendly hello. Why after all this time, 18 years was he asking how my life was? Why did

he care? Why did it matter? He knew my uncle, hell they were best friends. He could

ask Sean, Sean must have mentioned in passing a little bit about me. I know I

intentionally never asked about Dean. Not since the night Sean and I went for a drink 16

years ago and I asked him what he knew about Dean and I, and our break up. But surely

Dean knew as much about my life as I knew about his. At the very least he must have

seen me as a friend on Seanʼs Facebook page, after all that is how I peeked into his life

from time to time, hoping to see a recent photo of him.

The rest of the day I spent reviewing every memory of the summer I spent with

Dean, of our break up, of our last conversation, of the last time I remembered seeing

him. And I downloaded every memory to my best friend Nicole. Stories she had never heard, stories I had never told in the 14 years she and I had known one another. Stories no one knew unless they had been there. I had buried them so deep that I didnʼt want to relive them. I hated Dean for that, for making me lock down a part of my heart so I could forget what he had meant to me once upon a time. So I could move on.

The first time I saw Dean I loved him. It was the way he looked at me. His eyes

spoke to me in a language I didnʼt understand but deep inside desperately wanted to

learn. 

I was 15, he was 18. I had just moved to British Columbia and was staying at my

grandparents. He was my uncles best friend and arrived to workout in the basement

with the rest of the boys. We were introduced and he smiled. His smile lit me up inside.

A sweet little shy lopsided grin and I bought everything he had to sell. But he was Seanʼs

best friend and I was Seanʼs little niece, and it was bad enough I was going to be in the

same High School with my uncle, but god forbid I end up with a crush on his best friend

and really cramp his style. Dean had graduated the year earlier and had a girlfriend, so

for the next six months I only saw him at my grandparents. I indulged in following him

with my eyes as he raced from Seanʼs room to the basement to lift weights and reveled

in the occasional message I was asked to deliver downstairs to see Dean up close and

personal.

My family moved to our own house in the spring and I didnʼt see Dean any

more. I saw him once at my uncleʼs graduation with his girlfriend but aside from a

friendly hello spoke little to him. I decided to flirt with my uncleʼs other cute friend, just to

entertain myself. 

I though of Dean occasionally. Everyone thought of Dean occasionally. I heard his name brought up at every family function, everyone regarded him as kind, generous, considerate and well, extremely good looking. I didnʼt say much, my crush was my secret, it was way too embarassing to let my family know, I would never hear the end of it, not when he was their fair haired boy.

That spring my mother, Anne, worked with Dean. She fell in love with him. They

spent hours talking while they landscaped at the properties my grandparents ran. She

learned about his life, his interests, his philosophies, they became close. She began to

love him like her own little brother, like my Uncle Sean. By now I had given up my crush.

Dean still had the same girlfriend and I was the dateless wonder. A year passed and I

had crushes come and go. I was in a different school, in a different town and heard less

and less about Dean, so I was able to think less and less about him. In the summer I

started living like a teenager. School was out and my best friend Rachel and I were the it girls in town. I was still the dateless wonder, but we knew where every party was and we were the girls all the guys wanted at the parties. I had fallen hard for Andrew a few months

earlier and was caught in the drama of him flirting with me every chance he got, which

meant every time his girlfriend wasn't around. Come July I had had enough, Andrew had

hurt me for the last time, so Rachel and I decided to go on an adventure one town over. The town Dean and Sean lived in. We stayed at my grandmothers house, read trashy novels and wandered around late at night to see what we could see. Dammit, one small town is as dull as another. But the girl time made me see how unimportant Andrew really was and I was back to my carefree giggling teenage self. We slept in the room above the porch next to my uncle's room. We didnʼt see much of him. I had heard Dean and his girlfriend had broken up and I have to admit it made my heart skip, but he and Sean were much too busy to come and hang out with us little girls, I suspected. 

Rachel and I had initially decided to stay a week at my grandparents. The week was drawing to a close when Dean, Sean and a couple of young bimbos wandered into the room. Sean introduced the girls to me and introduced Dea to Rachel. It was clear to me it was a double date and my stomach sank. So I had missed my chance, Dean had already moved on. The double date left and Rachel and I went to the kitchen to load up on snacks for the evening in. 

Not too long after Sean and Dean returned, alone. Sean teased me as he alway did, affectionately and brotherly and Dean as usual was quiet and polite. He poked a little fun at the quality of literature Rachel and I were indulging in and then ate a few of our snacks. Then they announced that they were going to a local pub for a few drinks.

This was it, they were alone and I was not going to let this chance slip by me again. Rachel knew all about Dean and my fascination with him and she encouraged what I had up my sleeve. We were going to walk to the pub and ask the boys to come out and talk for a minute. Rachel was going to pull Sean away and I was going to just grab Dean and kiss him. That was it. Simple! 

We fixed our hair, fixed our make up and were out the door, only to run smack into Dean and Sean on their way in again. Curses foiled again. I was so wound up with my initial plan that I didn't know how to switch gears. We stood outside with the boys engaging with friendly banter again, they asked us where we were heading and we quickly spun a tall tale. After a little laughing and a little flirting, Sean with Rachel and me with Dean, Sean excused himself to go to the bathroom. Rachel, savvy girl she was, had her own reason to exit, and left me to enact my plan. Dean and I spoke effortlessly, with familiarity. Dean teased me as Sean did and made a comment about my being Sean's little niece. 

"I am so tired of always being referred to as Sean's little niece" I said

"Well, you will just have to do something to change that" He replied.

I took one step forward and kissed him. He returned my kiss with the softest lips I had ever felt. Wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me closer and kissed me more passionately. It was the kiss I had waited for, it seemed, my whole life. It was Dean who made my heart pound and my head rush and his hand on my lower back sent bolts of energy through my whole body. 

And that was the beginning, the real beginning. We spent the rest of the summer kissing,holding each other, making love, napping in the sunshine, sleeping in his bed, talking on the phone when he was at work and we couldn't be together. We filled each others time and space with each others presence. 

I replied to his email that evening.

"hey

Between You and Dean 

Kendra  

December 17 at 2:54am

Hey! Hi, surprise getting an email from you. Everything is great, in fact we

are moving to Australia in about 3 weeks. Dream come true, I can barley

contain myself. How about you? Life all rosey?"

When I woke in the morning, true to pattern, I checked my email, still in

bed, this time for a much, much different reason.

"Dean  

December 17 at 2:25pm

Australia! Australia? Awesome. How so fortunate?

Life all rosy? ummm, I'm not moving to Australia or anything but it's

alright. How much do you wanna know...it's been a while. My daughter

turns 15 today and that would be the beginning of the path I've followed

since she was born. You have children...you get it.

I'm not a big fan of facebook ( <50 friends and its mostly family) but I am

very happy to get in touch with you (especially before you leave the

continent). It has been a long time since you were "Sean's niece" and I had

to pretend not to notice you (like it was even possible!). Anyway, I could

ramble on but I don't really know your station in life and I really don't

want to put you in a bad place. I would like to hear more about you if

that's cool and everything.

Say hi to Anne for me, miss her too!

Dean"

I was lost. I was reeling. I had so much left to do to get my family to Australia. To start a

new chapter. To see if my relationship could make it. But there was so much I wanted to

know, so much I wanted to say. I didnʼt know where to begin, what to ask, what to tell. I

didn't trust him. It was in my mind that I can't just open up to a stranger, even if he had

been an important part of my life a long time ago. He was a stranger now, I had no idea

of his intentions, why contact me after all these years. What was his motivation. But I

did trust him, completely. I always had even when he had hurt me, even after he had

hurt me. I always knew there was more to our story. He hadn't hurt me intentionally all

those years ago. I knew it then, I still knew it, I just didnʼt know his reasons. Not yet. And

besides, I thought, I knew how important a part of his life Sean was...is. He wouldnʼt

deliberately hurt me knowing how close Sean and I are because that would hurt their

relationship. So of course Dean could be trusted. This was safe. And with Dean I had

always felt safe.

When I was young I had never believed anyone when they told me I was beautiful, not

until Dean had said it. Dean never said things unless he truly meant them. And when

Dean had told me that one day I would be so famous that my idol would want to meet

me, well, I believed him. If he said it then he must have seen in me something special

back then. Dean was not the kind of boy to say things just to make someone feel good,

in fact if memory served he could be quite harsh, but never with me.

It took me a little while to reply. I had to think about what to say, how much of my life to

share. I couldʼt let him know all of the truth, not yet. And I didnʼt really know all of the

truth yet myself, not the full truth about how I felt about him or the truth about my

relationship.

"Kendra 

December 20 at 2:41pm

Hi, sorry I wanted to get back to you sooner but with getting us ready for

our move and being able to find a "space" to write back I didn't have a

chance till now.

Australia....not luck just rational decision making, opportunities have run

their course here and it is time to move on. I received a letter of

acceptance to the Law program at Bast University, the program is half

the length of Law programs here and completely transferable, but the

more I think about it the more likely I will be looking to practice there.

Ok "life all rosy", spill, that's what friends are for, even old one's, what's

going on?

15, that's the same age I was when I met you? That must be

very....interesting. My oldest is 10, I haven't entered the teenage

parenting thing yet but even 10 isn't easy. How many do you have? How

does it happen, hey? We become the the ones who have to be

responsible? Inside I'm still 15, I am not dealing too well with this getting

older thing. Maybe that's why I'm feeling this need to head off on an

adventure.

Your right, there is soooo much to catch up on, it has been a really long

time, frankly I never thought I'd ever hear from you again. I would like to

hear more about you too.

I have sent my mom your message. You may be the only guy I was ever

involved with that my family "liked" :-)"

He replied rather quickly.

"Dean 

December 21 at 4:04am

The law thing, totally cool. Don't know if ever shared this with you but

that was where I was going when I went to college...but that didn't work

out. I had some good reasons for withdrawing but basically, I was not

ready. And now that I am thinking about it, some of those reasons are the

same ones I stopped seeing you. (here comes the spilling) Took me some

time to get my head on straight, probably until about the time we had our

third child . Mine was not a great childhood (alcoholic mom and a dad

that just could not deal). Wish I could say it was character building but

more the opposite. Left me in self destructive state on the inside. Case in

point, you. I could not find a thing wrong with you or anything that I

didn't like, but I did everything to make sure we failed. Can't say what

your take on "us" was, but obviously, I was quite fond of you. Not sure if I

convinced myself I was not good enough for you, or I was saving you

from the misery I was sure would follow me for the rest of my life (this is

getting a little melodramatic). Anyway started to see a pattern and

acknowledged to myself that maybe I wasn't quite wired right. I was scared

I would turn out like my mother (and my grandpa, and my 2 aunts, and

my 4 uncles and some cousins...a reasonable concern, I think) Stopped

the "self-medicating" and made some conscious decisions to do things

differently (and blindly!) simply to end with a different result. Don't want

sympathy or pity and although so many have been "there" too, I don't

share this baggage of mine to lighten my load or make excuses for

anything .I am alright now (and very, very self aware). Just had a bit more

work to do to grow up and feel comfortable in my skin and by myself.

Sounds stupid, I know, but I would not, could not sit still. For so long I just

kept moving to stop thinking. Does this make any f**king sense :). Like I

said before... I wish we could have run our course at a different time. That

being said... I am happy, and most days, content. I still don't sit still much

and workout, play hockey, build/fix stuff (instead of drink) when gears

start grinding away in my head (ask your Aunt Patricia, I see her a lot at

the gym) I think any restlessness I feel now is typical for this stage in

anyone's life, and similar to what is motivating you to go on your

"adventure" (quoting you, no sarcasm or irony intended).

If you connect the dots, you'll understand why I am so glad to be in touch

with you.

That will give you an idea of where I was...now where I am.

Work at MAK making plastic and destroying the environment all while

making a very decent pay cheque (why else?) I don't love it, more like,

indifference. I take comfort in that it is doubtful I would "love" any

occupation except perhaps being a lawyer. Must say that I have been

thinking very hard about that since hearing from you ( I have an aunt and

an uncle that both received their law degrees in their 40s). Still in the same town,

built a house 4 years ago in what was the middle of nowhere. I did the

carpentry, finishing, landscaping so I am kind of proud of that. Timing

was very good (lucky) so if things workout, should do good when we

move on. If you check out my pics, you will notice three little people that

look suspiciously like me. I really, really, really like them! I can't imagine

life without them. When my daughter was born, something "clicked"

inside for me (I think I actually felt a "click"). Words are failing me ...but

I'll give it a shot... amongst the blood and bile and tears and guts and

what normally feels like violence and adrenalin, the ceiling in the delivery

room just seemed to open and turn to heavenly sky the moment Erin was

born. So awesome, we did it again 1 1/2 years later with, at the time

seemed to be much less success or magic. Dillon was born 7 weeks early

at 4 lbs 11 oz. He would not breathe on his own and was on a heart

monitor that screamed (I'll never forget the sound) to inform you his

heart stopped a few times every hour. Seemed to recover and develop

and after 7 of the longest weeks of my life, we took him home (please

god, don't ever make me go back to that hospital again). Long story

short I came home from a nightshift and checked on him to find a blue

baby. I revived him and unbelievably, he is fine today. I turned 25 three

weeks later...it felt like 75. In spite of this, we had Ryan two years later.

He is my clone. When he was 3, he was at the rink and my old babysitter

had a grandson playing at the time. When she saw him she said "you

must be Dean McDonald's son". Parenting a teenager is high and lows.

The lows leave you wondering "is anything worth this?" , and the highs

saying "I wouldn't give it up for anything". Look forward to it, don't wish it

away no matter what. Talking to a maturing person, that shares half your

DNA, with their own ideas and perceptions about life and the world, and

helping them navigate through that, when they let you, is often the

highlight of my day ( I love driving my daughter to work, hockey,

school...we get to talk). But be afraid. They expose you. They pick the

scab. Lately, I have come to respect anyone who has successfully raised/

survived a teenager. Sounds cliche. Some of the resentment I held

towards my own parents has been tempered with what my own kids are

teaching me: they did the best could with what they had and that is all I,

or you, or anyone can do. You wonder how we become the responsible

ones? Because you are a parent. It's biological, everything you do ensures

your children survive and thrive and then do the same as you, have kids,

raise them and do it again. Not sure if this cycle includes reaching into

your past and opening your soul to an old boyfriend/girlfriend :)

Getting back to this mid 30's restlessness. For me I think when you have

babies, there is real sense of purpose in your life, but as the babies turn

into kids and then teenagers, that feeling fades and that selfrightous

groove that you thought you were in starts to feel like a rut. I think, at

times I feel how you do now (It's also possible that I have no idea how you

feel or what your rationale for going to Australia is).

Alright, I am starting to stop.

As I proof through this note, I feel I will leave with you the impression I

am a very morose and sullen individual. I'm not, its just my biography

isn't all sunshine green grass, and I feel you were a casualty of that so I

let you in to let you know why.

This is more exposure and vulnerability than I am comfortable with.

So Kendra ...who is kd dawn {FB pseudonym ~ Kendra} (yup ...that had me scratching my head till I saw your picture) {i had had my facebook profile picture as one of my children up until a few weeks before Dean had messaged me ~ Kendra } and where have you been half of my life?

I can imagine you are VERY busy. If you reply, less than what I have given,

and condensed, is understandable (but as much as you can would be

awesome...I am intrigued). I took advantage of a quiet night at work. I

don't think you have such luxury.

One last thing. I would never want to do ANYTHING that would harm your

family or mine. So what I am about to say may be misconstrued or taken

the wrong way but it is killing me not to say it...some of the pictures in

your profile are a fucking rush of blood to my head. Speechless.

Please don't share this one with Anna....actually, keep this one real close

to your chest.

Your turn

Dean"

And thus it began, in all innocence really. Days before Christmas, in a rush, in a flurry, in

a whirlwind, in -40 temperatures. I was nearly set to leave the country and the only boy I

had ever really, really loved, and the only boy I once believed had loved me came back

into my life. I hadnʼt realized how much I had loved him, or how deeply I had buried him

to try to forget, or how much every time I had thought about him I had denied ever even

caring about him. ʻIt was just sexʼ I had written in that now gone but clearly never

forgotten journal. ʻIf it was just sex and not making love it didnʼt matterʼ I wrote to myself,

pushing him away. I replaced my love for him with anger. Anger was easier to deal with.

I didnʼt realize till now that anger meant there were still feelings. The opposite of Love

isnʼt hate, I had read somewhere, it was indifference. I had buried Dean in hate and

now all of those feelings were bubbling to the surface with every word I read, and now

that they were resurfacing I didnʼt know how to handle them. But I was not ready to

admit to anyone, not my best friend Nicole, or to myself, or him that I loved him still. With every email I read and every email I wrote my eyes blurred with tears but I was not ready to cry yet either.