There are hundreds of photos, and a lot to say. Please be patient as this page is updated. Her Celebration of Life will be held on October 5, 2014 at the Civic Garden Complex.
Dearest Julie
On September 10th, 2014, at 7 pm, Hodgkins lymphoma took the love of my life, the mother of our two kids, the sibling among many, and a cherished friend and family member of ever more away. In fact, it had taken her from us piece by piece for the last several years until finally it took the last piece it possibly could. But what it took away from us, from her, also bequeathed to us the riches of having a large family and two children I have come to love, her wisdom, passion, and hope. Still, she was taken too soon.
She wanted others to know how much she loved them, and how much she endured during a very long and trying ordeal with lymphoma. There is no way a life as rich as hers can be captured in a summary. Always putting others ahead of herself, there are some things she would want us who remain to say.
We thank you all for your kind words, your offers to help, your cards, your flowers. You are all so very kind, thoughtful and compassionate to us. I have but one simple request of all of you that I hope you may extend to me and my children: be patient with us. We do not have a set timetable for our grieving, and at times we may be angry, sad, confused, silent, and suffering. We may not say or do all the right things, or we may be caught up in our own thoughts. We may laugh one minute, and cry the next without warning. Our grieving will take as long as it needs to take to process something very profound and emotionally complex. We will not “get over it” according to what others may consider a healthy or unhealthy period of grieving, nor will we negotiate the steps of grieving in the same way or sequence. We may have setbacks. We may show “progress” only to show signs of mourning. I will not apologize for feelings, and I fully support my family in having their process and way of dealing with what they feel. All of us have, in our own way, come to a conclusion of what truly matters, and we will be patient with ourselves.
Do not be afraid to talk to us. Do not think we are incapable of dealing with you about the mundane affairs of the everyday, even if sometimes we cannot. Our grief is not infectious. In the end, we will all be okay because we have each other, but we just don’t know when that will be.
Unlike some others, we had two years to prepare for this, but never think that knowing that the death of a loved one, no matter how organized and mentally prepared, is simple. We never forget that these two years were fraught with so much pain, stress, anxiety, sadness, and intense reflection. We never forget those very agonizing years in care and watch over our beloved Julie. Preparing for the inevitable does not necessarily make the outcome and the aftermath easier. It is the silence after the last bomb has fallen.
When Julie died, I wished that the world would just go on hiatus for a while, but that cannot be so. Each of us has our duties and responsibilities. That being said, it is our family and close friends who are a fount of support for us. I thank and love them all. They are heroic, second only to our Julie.
Congratulate our children, for I am so proud of the fortitude they have shown throughout this entire process, and I include in my definition of fortitude being honest with themselves and their feelings. They have the praise and wisdom of their mother. They are so well equipped for this world, even if it is marked by this trauma. They exceed even their mother’s highest standards. To Julie, they are her greatest achievement and gift to this world. Love and respect them. They are the distillation of all that was good and noble in their mother.
Julie was extremely strong, determined, passionate, and responsible. Speaking about her here would go against her humility, for she was selfless - putting other ahead always. Perhaps there is no better example among many that she spent her last years ensuring that the rest of us would be okay and prepared. She spent her last remaining strength sewing, hemming, and even reupholstering items for others. She spent her very last autonomous days making a mobile for her niece’s soon to arrive child.
She was also a proud woman who did not like to depend on anyone, preferring to do everything for herself. The gradual loss of her capabilities was a major blow to that pride. She valued her autonomy greatly, and was horrified by feeling that she would be a burden to anyone. She refused help even when she clearly needed it. She was practical and unsentimental. She did not want to endure for as long as she did, and was passionate about causes such as Dying with Dignity, for she believed that a life well lived was based solely on quality, not quantity.
Julie loved animals and the environment. She would risk her own safety not to run over a squirrel. She took home many rescue animals, and acted as a foster parent. In her prime, she opposed the arbitrary euthanization policies of our municipal animal control department by joining with a group dedicated to animal welfare. She was an admirer of David Suzuki who was so kind to send her an autographed copy of his book. She planted trees. She learned about how to use environmentally friendly products by relying on older forms such as cleaning with vinegar and baking soda; she eschewed fragrance and scented products; she made her own laundry soap that does not contribute to grey water. She even wanted a green burial so that her remains would nourish a tree rather than be boxed away in some anaerobic container.
Julie was not religious, but nor was she close-minded. She was pragmatic and practical. She was not given every opportunity in life, and so there were moments of struggle, but she was the kind of person to never complain about past difficulties, preferring to be thankful for the opportunities she had.
Julie made me whole. Julie made me a better man, and gave me every incentive to be better. She was the strongest person I know for all that she endured, and with such grace - before and after the diagnosis, and through those most challenging moments that are too hard to express in words for those who have not experienced either dying of cancer, or being with someone who is. We shared more than a million words between us, We lived a lifetime together through this compression and quality of time.
I consider our lives now without her. We still must eat, breathe, talk, work, and pay the bills. As one of my sisters-in-law says, the worst statement is “God only gives us the burden we can bear.” It is a cruel and callous statement that attempts to rationalize our pain and suffering, to give it some legitimate meaning when in fact it is illegitimate. I fully abide by the principle of doing good in this world, to provide relief where it is needed, to realize the joys of community, to always remain a good person that others may rely upon. For the time I was so lucky to have with her, I owe the world whatever good I may impress upon it. The question that orients my personal moral compass is, “what can I do to help?” Everything else - career, status, wealth - seems so trivial. When I die, I want people to say “there was a good man,” not a famous man, a rich man, a powerful man. Being a good person begins right at home, and in one’s community. I cannot solve all the woes of this world, but I can be good and loving to those around me. That is precisely the kind of standard Julie exemplified, and so she is always remembered as being a good person: the most noble and meaningful statement one can make about another.
Julie, I love you.
Below is a powerpoint presentation prepared by Ben Rudland for Julie's Celebration of Life on October 5th at the Civic Gardens complex. Thanks to all those who attended, and to our caterer Sticky Pudding. It was exactly the way Julie wanted her celebration of life according to her written wishes.
She wanted others to know how much she loved them, and how much she endured during a very long and trying ordeal with lymphoma. There is no way a life as rich as hers can be captured in a summary. Always putting others ahead of herself, there are some things she would want us who remain to say.
We thank you all for your kind words, your offers to help, your cards, your flowers. You are all so very kind, thoughtful and compassionate to us. I have but one simple request of all of you that I hope you may extend to me and my children: be patient with us. We do not have a set timetable for our grieving, and at times we may be angry, sad, confused, silent, and suffering. We may not say or do all the right things, or we may be caught up in our own thoughts. We may laugh one minute, and cry the next without warning. Our grieving will take as long as it needs to take to process something very profound and emotionally complex. We will not “get over it” according to what others may consider a healthy or unhealthy period of grieving, nor will we negotiate the steps of grieving in the same way or sequence. We may have setbacks. We may show “progress” only to show signs of mourning. I will not apologize for feelings, and I fully support my family in having their process and way of dealing with what they feel. All of us have, in our own way, come to a conclusion of what truly matters, and we will be patient with ourselves.
Do not be afraid to talk to us. Do not think we are incapable of dealing with you about the mundane affairs of the everyday, even if sometimes we cannot. Our grief is not infectious. In the end, we will all be okay because we have each other, but we just don’t know when that will be.
Unlike some others, we had two years to prepare for this, but never think that knowing that the death of a loved one, no matter how organized and mentally prepared, is simple. We never forget that these two years were fraught with so much pain, stress, anxiety, sadness, and intense reflection. We never forget those very agonizing years in care and watch over our beloved Julie. Preparing for the inevitable does not necessarily make the outcome and the aftermath easier. It is the silence after the last bomb has fallen.
When Julie died, I wished that the world would just go on hiatus for a while, but that cannot be so. Each of us has our duties and responsibilities. That being said, it is our family and close friends who are a fount of support for us. I thank and love them all. They are heroic, second only to our Julie.
Congratulate our children, for I am so proud of the fortitude they have shown throughout this entire process, and I include in my definition of fortitude being honest with themselves and their feelings. They have the praise and wisdom of their mother. They are so well equipped for this world, even if it is marked by this trauma. They exceed even their mother’s highest standards. To Julie, they are her greatest achievement and gift to this world. Love and respect them. They are the distillation of all that was good and noble in their mother.
Julie was extremely strong, determined, passionate, and responsible. Speaking about her here would go against her humility, for she was selfless - putting other ahead always. Perhaps there is no better example among many that she spent her last years ensuring that the rest of us would be okay and prepared. She spent her last remaining strength sewing, hemming, and even reupholstering items for others. She spent her very last autonomous days making a mobile for her niece’s soon to arrive child.
She was also a proud woman who did not like to depend on anyone, preferring to do everything for herself. The gradual loss of her capabilities was a major blow to that pride. She valued her autonomy greatly, and was horrified by feeling that she would be a burden to anyone. She refused help even when she clearly needed it. She was practical and unsentimental. She did not want to endure for as long as she did, and was passionate about causes such as Dying with Dignity, for she believed that a life well lived was based solely on quality, not quantity.
Julie loved animals and the environment. She would risk her own safety not to run over a squirrel. She took home many rescue animals, and acted as a foster parent. In her prime, she opposed the arbitrary euthanization policies of our municipal animal control department by joining with a group dedicated to animal welfare. She was an admirer of David Suzuki who was so kind to send her an autographed copy of his book. She planted trees. She learned about how to use environmentally friendly products by relying on older forms such as cleaning with vinegar and baking soda; she eschewed fragrance and scented products; she made her own laundry soap that does not contribute to grey water. She even wanted a green burial so that her remains would nourish a tree rather than be boxed away in some anaerobic container.
Julie was not religious, but nor was she close-minded. She was pragmatic and practical. She was not given every opportunity in life, and so there were moments of struggle, but she was the kind of person to never complain about past difficulties, preferring to be thankful for the opportunities she had.
Julie made me whole. Julie made me a better man, and gave me every incentive to be better. She was the strongest person I know for all that she endured, and with such grace - before and after the diagnosis, and through those most challenging moments that are too hard to express in words for those who have not experienced either dying of cancer, or being with someone who is. We shared more than a million words between us, We lived a lifetime together through this compression and quality of time.
I consider our lives now without her. We still must eat, breathe, talk, work, and pay the bills. As one of my sisters-in-law says, the worst statement is “God only gives us the burden we can bear.” It is a cruel and callous statement that attempts to rationalize our pain and suffering, to give it some legitimate meaning when in fact it is illegitimate. I fully abide by the principle of doing good in this world, to provide relief where it is needed, to realize the joys of community, to always remain a good person that others may rely upon. For the time I was so lucky to have with her, I owe the world whatever good I may impress upon it. The question that orients my personal moral compass is, “what can I do to help?” Everything else - career, status, wealth - seems so trivial. When I die, I want people to say “there was a good man,” not a famous man, a rich man, a powerful man. Being a good person begins right at home, and in one’s community. I cannot solve all the woes of this world, but I can be good and loving to those around me. That is precisely the kind of standard Julie exemplified, and so she is always remembered as being a good person: the most noble and meaningful statement one can make about another.
Julie, I love you.
Below is a powerpoint presentation prepared by Ben Rudland for Julie's Celebration of Life on October 5th at the Civic Gardens complex. Thanks to all those who attended, and to our caterer Sticky Pudding. It was exactly the way Julie wanted her celebration of life according to her written wishes.