A Lifetenders Story - Love is Always a Choice
Part 2 - Roots, Rhythm, and Resilience
Growing up, my daily routine was busy and purposeful. Each morning began with getting ready for school, followed by the walk there- rain, snow or shine. After classes, I’d return home and jump straight into chores: tending the orchard and gardens, helping with the animals, and cleaning the two homes on our property. There was always something to do. Connecting with the earth wasn’t a special activity - it was simply life. As a child, I didn’t question whether we should have been playing more. Work felt like an opportunity to contribute. And as the saying goes, “Work hard, play hard” - so I did.
Around the age of eight, I discovered an interest in my grandfather’s piano. Much later in life I found out he was a musician and the life of the party, unfortunately he passed before I was born. When I sat down to play, the moment I touched the keys, it became my outlet. Not long after, my appendix burst. I was about nine at the time, and I came close to dying. During that long hospital stay, I saw people come and go - and some never left. That’s when it first struck me: we’re all like musical notes, passing in the wind. Brief. Beautiful. Fleeting.
By the time I was ten, my parents were living in separate countries - my dad in the U.S., and my mom in Canada. My grandmother and great grandfather took care of the three of us. My oldest sister was thirteen, the other twelve. We had full freedom, as long as the chores were done and we picked up fresh milk from the neighboring town for my grandmother. That was the routine - and it worked.
While my sisters were drawn to friends and social scenes, I found joy in the orchard and threw myself into piano lessons, playing my heart out. One day, my private music teacher asked if I could sing. And just like that, I went from trees and apples to lights and stages, becoming the lead singer in a children’s band. We traveled all over. I held nothing back - pouring every bit of passion into each performance. It was thrilling, terrifying, and lonely all at once. No one from my family ever came to see a show or shared in that part of my world. I remember one night in particular, sitting on the kitchen floor, rocking with anxiety about an upcoming performance. My grandmother came over and gave me the best advice I’ve ever received. She said, “If someone doesn’t like you or isn’t nice to you, then they’re not your friend - so what’s the point in getting upset about what they think?” That was the last time I let that kind of stress get to me. I wish I could tell her how much that moment meant to me.
She was an interesting woman - once a biology teacher, later the glue holding our fractured world together. She lived on the property with us, managed the battles between our parents, and worked tirelessly beside us. Creative, devoted, and fiercely spiritual, she prayed deeply every day. But she also struggled. She carried deep sorrow over losing her husband - my bigger than life grandfather. Her affection was guarded, and resentment was her quiet refuge. Still, I couldn’t be more grateful for all she gave and all she held together for us. Unfortunately, she didn’t find healing, and her broken heart turned into a horrible lung cancer that took her life.
We all go through life experiencing the ups and downs, it’s having company on the ride that gives us courage. My hope is that by connecting together on our healing journeys, we can support each other. Who knows, maybe if my grandmother had a place to share her pain and hear what others did to heal their broken heart, she could have sparked the will to find happiness once again.
