let go.

The past few days have been really hard. I'm sad that my friend Kim is gone. I'm sad that my friend Liz is gone. My get up and go has got up and went and I feel stuck, unable to move forward or backwards, unable to cry (which makes me feel guilty, like I'm a shitty griever to boot). Losing people suddenly and losing people when you knew it was coming are equally devastating. And I hate that losing them makes me anxious about losing anyone else. So here I am, raising an eyebrow as I look skywards and say "Okay, enough already with the stealing away the awesome ladies before their times, back off for a bit, will ya?" I need to let go. I'm not ready to let go.

mental health monday: i miss my friend.

The last two weeks have been hard. I miss my friend Liz. It has started to sink in that she is really gone. Her energy is still here with me though. I can feel her hand on my shoulder, reassuring me that I will be okay, that I am doing the right thing. While my heart is heavy for many reasons, I do feel a certain peace and acceptance about where things are at. The beauty of Liz was how much she loved her friends and accepted them for who they were and what they were able to give. She showed up for the important things. She lived every day. She continues to inspire me.

for my friend, liz metcalfe.

My friend, mentor, and colleague, Liz Metcalfe, was killed in a motorcycle accident on Sunday afternoon. Not her fault, not by any stretch, just one of those things where a motorcycle is no competition for a distracted driver encased in 2,000 pounds of steel. My only consolation is that I hope it all happened very quickly and that she was not in any pain. She loved riding her motorcycle, and was a huge motorcycle safety advocate. Testament to how well she was loved and respected within the riding community of Toronto was the fact that over 100 motorcycles joined the processional to the cemetary for "Liz's last ride".

I am still in shock over the loss of Liz. I met her in 2004 when we worked together. She started out as a colleague but quickly became a friend. There was no stopping her. She approached every challenge with a positive attitude and had a laugh that made me grin from ear to ear. Liz supported her friends in a way that made me wonder how she managed to squeeze so much into every day. She was a woman after my own do-it-yourself heart. In fact, when I once posted a facebook status message asking if anyone knew of a drywall contractor, she immediately piped up "Me!". Turns out, years earlier she had paid a contractor to come and teach her how to drywall her home in Montreal, figuring a day of his time to teach her would be cheaper in the long run. My favourite memory of her is coming downstairs to see her covered in a layer of drywall dust, rocking out to her ipod. She used the money she earned from the job for track time so she could practice racing her motorcycle.

Liz has inspired me in so may ways - as a writer, a woman, a mother, and a friend. She never judged anyone and accepted people for who they were. She makes me want to be a better friend, to show up more for the important stuff, and to trust enough to let go and know that if I am important to someone, they will stay in my life on their own accord, I need not push or pull. So this is how I am going to honour your memory Liz, by trying to be as open and giving and loving as you were.

Rest in peace Liz. I am picturing you riding through Spain on your motorcycle right now. You will never be fortgotten.