If You Asked Me Today About That Yesterday, One Year Ago ...

I started writing this post at 1:00 a.m. today, just another Wednesday here in Doha.  

May 29, 2013.

I started writing it today because I couldn't bring myself to write it yesterday.

Even today, I had to put it aside.  

I couldn't 'not' write it ...  and yet I couldn't quite 'write' it.  

I felt I had no 'right' to write it.  Maybe because I didn't own the grief.  Yet I shared in the grief.  We all did.  All of us, this nation of expats.​

It's now 11:35 p.m.  And I had to write it.

But please know that I couldn't write it right.  Because the whole story is just too wrong.

If you asked me today what I felt just yesterday, I would answer you this ...​

"Grateful"

• Grateful that I was able to spend the morning shopping for party favors for my daughter's "fake" birthday (since her birthday is mid-July, when all expats and their kids are gone, no one is ever around for the actual 'day', so we're celebrating in May).
• Grateful that my daughter got to spend the afternoon at her "first friend's" birthday party, laughing and dancing, and swimming and eating cake, and just being a seven-year-old.
• Grateful that Smilin' Vic walked through that door after a day's work and that both Kiddo and me were here to hug him tight.
• Grateful that I was able to spend the evening talking and sharing with fellow expat friends.​
  

Grateful because I am one lucky parent and expat.  

But I didn't start writing this post because I was grateful.  

I started writing it because I was

sad, mad, insane, grief-struck, guilty, angry, confused, frustrated, powerless, indignant, fearful, crazy, distrustful, ashamed.

I started writing because I couldn't shake the urge to cry; I started writing because I didn't feel like I was the one with the right to cry.  I started writing because today there was ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE I COULD DO.

Because on that yesterday, just a short year ago, ...

it seems like only yesterday ...

I was at work when I got the news that a fire had broken out at a nearby mall, where my daughter's "first friend's" birthday party was to be held.  The mall was evacuated, all activities were cancelled, but the public was assured that all was well.

Shortly after, the rumors began circulating that all was not well.  

But surely it was all rumor and conjecture ...

My best friend, the "first friend's" mom, was the first to inform me that all was most definitely NOT well.  Lives, not flames, had been extinguished in the fire on that fateful day, that yesterday, one year ago.  Nineteen in all.  Thirteen children among them.  Precious souls, each and every one.

It most certainly couldn't be true.  I hung up the phone on my friend that night.  Told her that we couldn't spread false rumors.  I simply couldn't conceive that what she was saying was true.  We'd been told IT WAS ALL OK!  

And then I checked online.  And misguidedly clicked on a YouTube link.​

And saw an image I will never be able to erase from my mind.  Not if I live to be one thousand years old.  ​

The image of a seven-year-old girl being carried out lifeless.  ​

She could well have been mine.  

If you were an expat parent in Doha prior to May 28, 2012, chances are you had left your child in the play area in that mall where this beautiful, beautiful child drew her last breath.  

You had left them there for a birthday party, or to enjoy a peaceful hour of kid-free shopping, or just because the kids so loved it there.  They loved the soft play area, they loved the staff, they loved the fun and the giggles.  They felt safe there...

That beautiful seven-year-old girl.  She, and all the 'mall' children, and those who stayed with them, and those who tried to save them, are forever engraved in my mind.

On that yesterday, one year ago, too many Doha expat families grieved.  On that yesterday, one year ago, an entire nation of expats grieved.  ​

And yesterday, the grieving continued.  Publicly for some, privately for others, but all of us, without a shadow of a doubt, at some point yesterday, remembered that day, one year ago.  And then, yesterday, we carried on.  

But that yesterday will forever be today.  For the parents, for the loved ones, and for this nation of expats ...  

May 28, 2012

is forever etched in our minds.

Children, spouses, parents, friends and the misguided illusion of safety were taken from us that day, that yesterday, one year ago.  

My heart goes out to all the families and loved ones today.  May you all find the strength today to survive that yesterday, one year ago.

I pray you know that because of that yesterday, one year ago, a nation of expats will forever feel guilty about feeling grateful today.

I pray you know that a nation of expats are with you in spirit, supporting you, struggling to make sure that that yesterday, one year ago, never becomes someone else's tomorrow.​

I pray that you know that we all realize your child could have been our child.  Your children could have been our children.  And as we grieve for you and your loss, we feel horribly, horribly ashamed and guilty that we are grateful that our children were not there on that yesterday, one year ago.  We all know they could well have been.  

I pray that you let us carry the shame and the guilt.  Completely.  Let us at least carry that.  I pray that you relinquish the guilt forever, and leave yourself that space solely to grieve that yesterday, one year ago.​  

That yesterday, one year ago, has become today, tomorrow, and forever for all the families who lost their precious, precious loved ones in that fire at the mall where we all left our smiling, happy children.

I pray I have not hurt or offended with this post.  But I'm allowing myself to be grateful today, and I'm accepting that I feel ashamed about it.  I'm ​allowing myself to grieve today, for that yesterday, one year ago, and I'm accepting that I feel guilty about it.  Because I don't really have the right to grieve, do I?  Or do I?

The fact remains that if you ask me today about that yesterday, one year ago, all I can say is this ...

"I grieve..."

​N.B.  The words below are not mine, but I thought they conveyed really well the thoughts shared by many fellow expats yesterday.  We cannot forget, and every day we are reminded.  Please know that we remember.  The words were retrieved at http://www.memorieshonored.com/?page=non-denominationalprayers

We Remember You

At the rising of the sun, and its going down,
we remember you.
At the blowing of the wind, and in the chill of winter,
we remember you.
At the opening of the buds, and in the rebirth of spring,
we remember you.
At the blueness of the skies, and in the warmth of summer,
we remember you.
At the rustling of the leaves, and in the beauty of autumn,
we remember you.
At the beginning of the year, and when it ends,
we remember you.
As long as we live,  you shall live too will;

for you are now a part of us, as we remember you.

Grey smoke blowing to the song "I Grieve" from the 2002 album "Up".

ASD - Show of Compassion - May 31, 2011

(teachers and parents of the American School of Doha encircle students in a moment of silence for the lives lost and those who lost loved ones in the May 28, 2012 fire)

Let Me Take You to the Dark Side of the Moon ...

I’ve submitted an entry to a blogging competition sponsored by Expats Blog under the theme “Working Abroad”.

If you’d like to have a look and maybe leave a comment, a FB ‘like’ on the site, or even cast a vote, you can do so by going to

http://www.expatsblog.com/contests/working-abroad

My submission is titled “Let Me Take You to the Dark Side of the Moon …”

Here is a short excerpt:

“My 2-year mission:  to explore a strange new land, to seek out new experiences, and to boldly go where no woman had gone before.”

…

Switzerland, 2013.  About the time I realized it was time to get back to sunshiny skies ...​

I envisioned myself a pioneer in this arid industrial city, one of a handful of women (and definitely the only blue-eyed blonde) willing and able to permeate this sandy metropolis for the sole purpose of saying the desert dust would not prevail. 

I was wearing steel-toe boots … and I was here to conquer.

…

But some challenges were not quite what I’d envisioned:

I HAD TO GET PERMISSION TO WORK:...​

I BECAME AN OBJECT OF LUST AND DESIRE: ...​

…

Click here to read more and cast a vote.  Please remember, no identifiable information if you do leave a comment.

Thanks for your support!

Oh, Just Give Me a Break ...

Folks, if you're feeling queasy, stop reading

NOW.

Every year, I begin the countdown to going home to Canada the moment a new mystery illness kicks in.  ​It's as if the angst of a 13-hr (if flying direct) or 19-hr (with 1 layover) flight is not enough ...  Nope.  Someone up there just feels the need to mix it up a bit more.

Three years ago it was shingles.  Struck about three weeks before flying out.  A weird tingling feeling in my armpit followed by debilitating pain and absolute lethargy.  Inability to run or exercise.  Barely able to make it through the day without Red Bull or a power nap.  Actually had to take a few days off work.  Constant exhaustion that lasted for months.  But they gave me a peripatetic pain medication that would put me out for hours at a time, which made the flight a breeze I must admit.  Other than the humiliation of waking up to a pool of drool on my shoulder ...

Two years ago, it was sciatica.  Numbness running down my leg and a constant fatigue in my lower back.  Limped around for a few weeks.  Didn't think I could endure the flight.  Found a wonderful doctor who prescribed Voltaren and B-12 injections ... made the flight.​

Last year it was ​torticollis.  After three weeks of physio I was on my way to recovery, but still boarded the plane with a wry, stiff neck ... feeling somewhat akin to Edgar the Bug (the farmer) in "Men in Black" .  ​Overall the flight went amazingly well ... I truly don't think the guy to my left was much bothered that I stared at him continuously on the thirteen-hour flight due to the crick in my neck.  

This year, I actually thought I was going to get away with it.  I thought the flying gods might actually be on my side.  Ten days to go and not a twinge or tingle to be felt.

Then I woke up this morning.  ​And this is what I saw.  (I've made the image as small as I possibly could in the hopes that it won't haunt you as you read through this post.)

Kind of reminiscent of Will Smith in "Hitch", yes?

I could not open my eye.  My left top and bottom eyelids had fused together.  I literally lost HALF of my eyelashes trying to pry ​my eye open.  

The swelling had taken over my brow and part of my forehead, giving me a look that would surely have seemed seductive to a Klingon.

Unfortunately, my better half is not Klingon.  I shook him desperately at 5:30 to wake him up.  "My eye, I can't open my eye."  

Smilin' Vic doesn't do well with rude awakenings.  

Him:  "Leave me alone.  WTF's the matter with your eye?"​  

Me:  "I can't see.  I can't open it.  I can't see.  My eyyyyyye!!!!!"​

Him:  (snapping on the light, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus and get oriented)  "WTF time is it?  WTF are you going on about?"  Turning to face me and focusing as his pupils grow accustomed to the light ... "ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"  "WTF happened to your FACE??????"

Me:  "What????? WTF is wrong with my face?  I can't open my eye!!!!! WTF is wrong with my face?????"​

Him:  (slowly awakening and realizing he's got to diffuse the panic) "Uhmm, it's nothing Babe.  Just a little swelling.  But you're gonna have to go to the doctor's.  Uhmmm.  Your eye's pretty swollen.  And kind of bruised looking.  And your face looks a little .... off."​

​Me:  "I can't open my eye."

Him:  (really trying to make up for it now) "It's kind of cute, actually.  It's growing on me.... well, actually, no, it's just growing."  (Cue 'man laugh' at really stupid ill-timed man-joke.)

Me:  ​"F off.  Seriously, I can't open my eye."  (Struggling to open my eye).  "Arghhhhh!  I think I just ripped my eyelashes off."

Him:  "Yup, looks that way."​

Me:  (through half open eye, lashes dangling limp and useless) "Shouldn't you be on your way to work by now?"​

Apparently it's a severe case of conjunctivitis.  Seven days of antibiotic drops should see me well on the road to recovery.​

I'll be that girl with the great pair of false eyelashes on the flight from Doha to Montreal ...​

Seriously, just this once, couldn't the flying gods give me a break?​

Those Times When Back Home is Just an Aching Void ...

I was on Facebook tonight and I saw a comment left on one of my friend's pages.​

I didn't know the someone who'd left the comment.  But their comment showed that the someone was a "friend of ****".  The friend they were a friend of was my ex-brother-in-law.  (Ex in the sense that I am no longer married to the brother of the sister to whom he is no longer married.)  ​

​Soooooo, I'm coming clean here.  I admit it.  I am a LURKER ... (eeeegaaadddss!).  I saw his name and I went to check out his FB page.  Because that's what lurkers do.  And I scrolled down.  Not much public information, but a link to a Flash Mob Christmas Carol at Mall (I'll include the video link below).

I clicked on the link ... not because I was feeling Christmasy in May but because I wanted to get a sense of what he was into these days.  ​

And I cried.  I forgot about my ex brother-in-law, I forgot about what had led me to this link.  I just cried.  I cried for Christmas in May.  Because the link was a link to home.  To the feel-good familiarity of people who don't know each other but 'get' what brings them together.​

Unless you've been an expat, I don't know if you can truly appreciate this feeling.  This aching for home.  This aching for what you miss.  This aching for what you think you truly know.

Most days I'm perfectly happy in the ME.  Of course I miss my family.  I'm sad that I can't attend family weddings and ​baptisms.  I regret that I can't spend more time with my mom and dad.  I miss my friends.  I feel bad about not calling home more often.  But beyond that, I'm mostly happy in the ME.

But EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE ... I get an ACHE.  An ache so big it ​cripples.  It is an ache for things familiar.  

It is an ache for the smell of spring (you know that smell, the one of fresh sheets laid out on the bed after blowing in the cool spring breeze all afternoon).  

It is an ache for sight (you know that sight, the one where you wake up in the morning and see sunlight reflecting a myriad of prisms off the dew that has settled onto a million blades of grass).  

It is an ache for sound (you know that sound, the one of crickets and of leaves rustling in the wind carried through your bedroom window on a warm autumn night).  

It is an ache for touch (you know that touch, the one of a snowflake landing on your cheek).

It is an ache for taste (you know that taste, the taste of fresh Atlantic lobster, the taste of salt air at the beach, the taste of farm fresh vegetables, the taste of campsite grub).​

​It is an ache for laughter (you know that laughter, the one that is shared with those very few who have known you forever).

It is an ache for everything that I walked away from willingly, by choice.  It is an ache for everything that made me who I am today.  It is an ache for friends and family.  It is an ache for what once was.

Every once in a while ... I get that ache.​  That aching, aching ache.  

And I wish I was home.​

​Driving home from the airport ... December 2011.

Viral vid I found floating around of a flash mob that breaks out the Christmas Spirit at a mall.

I Wonder if the Maid Misses Me?

I was sitting here today wondering if our maid misses us.

I did some quick calculations and realized that she had been gone 22 days, 23 hours, 20 minutes and 29 seconds, or: OR 1,984,829 seconds, OR 33,080 minutes (rounded down, OR 551 hours (rounded down) .... about 3 weeks or so, if I had to take a rough guess.

Preliminary calculations also show that she should be back from vacation in about 10 days, 3 hours, 20 minutes and 6 seconds, or: 876,006 seconds, OR 14,600 minutes (rounded down), OR 243 hours (rounded down).... oh, a week or so I'd hazard.

It's funny how sometimes you don't realize what a big help someone can be... how in the hell can THREE people and a cat eat and poop so much?????? Yesterday I actually considered doing double duty by just washing the dishes in the toilet ... and how much you appreciate them Oh, Tita L., why have you foresaken me????.

I feel a little silly admitting that I miss her just a tad. I have lost the will to livvvvve.....

And I have to say it would be nice to have her around just to help with a load or two of laundry I estimate I have washed 364 flippin' loads in the last three weeks .

I've had a lot of time to reflect over the last few weeks about how things are different when Tita L. is not around.  There are definitely pros and there are cons.  I made a list, just to see if one outweighs the other.​

PRO:  We have total privacy.​  We can run around the house in our underwear whenever we want.

CON:  It's not a pretty sight. ​

PRO:  I don't have to listen to Tita L. sing "My Heart Will Go On" as she irons.​

CON:  I've taken to humming "Suicide is Painless" under my breath as I iron.​

PRO:  I don't have to put on my happy public face in the morning when I drag my tired butt into the kitchen.

CON:  Smilin' Vic and Kiddo have applied for American citizenship so they can "take the Fifth" in response to anything whatsoever I might say or ask of them before my morning coffee.  

PRO:  Nobody outside our family sees how messy we can be.​

CON:  This post almost didn't happen; thank goodness I finally found the computer stashed away in the pantry under a load of socks and between two boxes of Betty Crocker cake mix.​

PRO:  I have mastered the settings on the teeny tiny Turkish washing machine.​

CON:  The Turkish washing machine has begun speaking to me ... and NOBODY else in the house can hear its taunts.

PRO:  I finally know that nobody is covering for Kiddo if she shirks her kitty litter cleanup duties.

CON:  I know this because of the ominous green glow that now encircles the kitty litter box.

PRO:  Nobody calls me "Madam" ... for the first time in ages I don't feel like I'm running a brothel.

CON:  I really miss Tita L., for more than just her cleaning skills.  She is much more than a maid; she is a lovely, lovely, kind and caring human being.​  

I miss Tita L.  ​

Even our cat misses Tita L.  ​