House of A Writer

Welcome to my blog where I share my special needs parenting journey with my heart, truth, and love, one story at a time. ❤️

Writer’s Quotes Wednesday’s 

This is my submission for please check out her talent as well as everyone who links up. This poem is dedicated to my sweet step sister. Gone too soon, but never forgotten.  Thank you. ?

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Ode to my Mom

Elizabeth Louise was her name.
Loved by everyone who knew her.
Intrinsically gifted with humour and the gift of gab.
Zealous with her love, honesty, and faith.
Amazing with her glowing light of virtue and trust.
Beautiful beyond measure inside and out.
Eloquently soft spoken with a sharp wit.
Talented, gifted, devoted to the ones she loved.
Heart of gold, my best friend, and heroine of my dreams.

This is a poem for my beloved Mama. She was my gift, to my siblings, and the world. Today I wrote this poem for her as part of my Day 3 Blogging 201 assignment. The word trust was the prompt and in the acrostic form of poetry.



A Mother’s guilt

I’m at my wits end with my oldest son. He said he had a sore throat so I let him stay home from school. The rules are rest, rehydrate, and relax. He had helped clean up the basement so I allowed him a movie with his little brother. I’m upstairs cleaning, laundry, dishes and I go to check on him and he’s downstairs playing video games. I walk into the room and he’s pretending to be sleeping!!!! I told him get up and go to bed. He starts to argue that he was having quiet time because his little brother didn’t want to watch a movie.

So I sent him to bed and I continued folding laundry. Then I can hear him out of his room. I’m ready to lose it I’ve sent him to bed twice and he’s come back out. First he was playing hockey with the Mad dog so I said get to bed! He says I’m hungry; then get your food and get to bed!!!! So he says forget it I’ll just starve you don’t care! So then he’s there for 10 minutes and he comes back out again to ask his brother to go downstairs to watch a movie. Get the $@@% to bed now I bellow!!!!

What is wrong with my kid? He won’t listen, he doesn’t respect me, then he tells me he’s getting yelled at school by five people. And one is supposedly his teacher. Well I’ll be addressing this and I will be sending him to school tomorrow because if I don’t I might just duct tape his mouth shut!!!!!
I don’t know where I went wrong we used to be so close. Then I was so sick and sad when I was pregnant with his brother. I carry a lot guilt because my Mom died then I had my baby five weeks later.

Due to the premature birth he had to stay in the hospitals NICU. When I was finally realized after five days, I still went back and forth to the hospital to care for my baby. This is when I feel the disconnect happened. My son was grieving the loss of my Mom, me not being there, and then a little brother who was sick. What had happened in his little world was too much so he turned to his Dad as his saviour and protector. That’s when it all changed between us.

His attitude changed towards me and jealously set in because I was always with my baby. Even though he adored his baby brother. It didn’t matter how much that new love was blossoming and growing, he had lost a part of his Mom. I had to be strong, stoic, and a rock for my children. Meanwhile I was dying and falling apart into little broken, jagged pieces. My heart was shattered I lost my one and only one and I felt like a part of me had died too! Not something a four year boy could understand with his precious heart. So I put my grief on hold to deal with his.

I thought I was doing the right thing as I struggled with intense grief of my own, sleep deprivation, and adjusting to an anti depressant. I didn’t want to be that parent that checked out when my kids needed me the most. It was bound to happen, as I just felt like I was a medicated brain and a body barely able to function. I honestly don’t know how I got through that difficult time. Grief recovery, family, friends, my husband and the love of my sons all played a role.

Life within that little bubble of calm helped me exist. As my body and my brain began to connect as I adjusted to my medication. But my little boy changed as his brother grew up. He got more abrasive with me, his angry tantrums became longer, and I went into research mode. If I don’t understand something I will read until I do. I read books, listened to lectures, attending parenting workshops. In order to understand what had happened to my son. I wish I had looked more into neurology than maybe I could see the early signs of his brain changing.

The ADHD behaviours, dyspraxia, and Sensory Integration disorder were there. He was just so much like me sensitive with an explosive temper that I just saw pain, grief, and jealously. This is when the switch happened, and when I had to fill out recent questionnaires about these behaviours it was hard to hold back the tears. I cried for that little boy who lost his Grandma, Mom, and gained a baby brother. I cried for my lack of understanding, the turmoil, and stress that cyclones around me.

And most of all I cried for that broken relationship between a Mother and her first born. I pray I can repair it before it’s too late and I lose his love and kindness forever. That’s a Mother’s guilt always wearing my heart on the outside of my body. So here I am today parenting through the pain and loving myself and my family with everything I have. Praying for that change to patch my oldest son’s heart back together. That’s Motherhood both beautiful with the moments of cherished gazes and spoken words of I love you. And crushing defeat and frustrating when those words turn to you don’t care, you don’t love me. I put my eyes on the prize and slowly, but carefully walk that tightrope of love and hate for myself.



In order to know who we are, we must learn where we come from

I sit here in the darkness thinking of a story I feel compelled to write of my ancestors. As part of my Blogging 101 assignment we are to write a blog to our dream reader. I would direct my blog to my family to learn of our ancestors

Life in the new world.

Life in the new world.

who came off the boat for dreams of a better life. After the devastation of the Great Potatoe famine of 1845-1849 they survived and without them I wouldn’t be here today to tell this story. Michael and Elizabeth left Ireland at the age of nineteen for Scotland, then travelled by ship to South Hampton, England. They landed in New York with two daughters Annie and Roseanne in tow. Which for anyone who’s read Gangs of New York, or seen the movie it was a dangerous time to be Irish indeed! They made their way to Boston and settled in for awhile. With competition for jobs, financial security, and food being scarce with the population boom, they made their way to Canada and settled in Fernie, BC.

My Great Grandfather Michael found work in the mines and was there for twenty-nine years. They hadn’t lived there long when a devastation  ravaged the town with floods from 1848, to 1947, the mining disaster in May of 1908 that  killed one hundred and three miners,  and the Great Fire of August. 1 st of 1908 that destroyed the town. My Great Grandma Elizabeth was pregnant with my Gram Margaret and due to give birth anytime. There was ten lives lost and thousands of homes burnt to the ground. A lot of hardship and sadness that my ancestors had to encounter in the new land. My Gram made it safely into the world as the hospital and the church were the few buildings that were left.

Time passed on with my Gram and her sisters growing up and their parents had added on to their family with four more daughters Thresa, Nellie, Elizabeth, Josephine and a son Peter. More hardship would come to the family as the mine would be closed in order to investigate the fire of 1908. My Great Grandpa Michael had to find work elsewhere. All the daughters worked as well, or helped look after the youngest children. That was the life back then, everyone had a strong work ethic and supported one another. I remember my sweet Gram Margaret telling me stories of her housekeeping days, collecting oranges at the trainyard, and working as a caddy at the golf course.

A tragic accident in 1917, took the life of the youngest family member Josephine and she died at the age of two, with severe burns to the chest and abdomen in. Poor baby girl lighting up the world with her beauty and smile, and for her life to be snuffed out like a candle is so sad. Peter, the only son of eight children returned home from World War 1 in fell ill as well. He succumbed to cerebral meningitis at the age of twenty-six on March. 17 th 1922. He was to sing in the St. Patrick’s day concert that evening for the Knights of Columbus, and he sat up in bed and sang then died. The song that he sang was Danny Boy, a beautiful Irish melody that is dear to my heart to this day. My beloved Gram couldn’t talk about her only brother and baby sister without shedding many tears.

Time marched on and my Gram’s sisters were marrying and her turn came to fall in love and get married too. Her and my Grandpa were all set to wed when my Great Grandma fell ill a week before the wedding and died of endocarditis at the age of fifty-three. There was to be a big church wedding in 1929 as the last one of the family to get married, but instead it was a small ceremony in the priests quarters. How tragic for my family to lose their one and only Mom. A pain I today know all too well…

So much tragedy for one family to endure let alone survive the grief! Now I know why I’ve survived my pain and peril, it’s in my DNA. To turn grief into gratitude, and pain into power! My Mom came a year later in 1930 after the Great Depression and she was loved and cherished and would remain my Grandparents only child. She took three days to come into the world, and my poor sweet Gram nearly died in childbirth. Even those times were tough after the stock market crash, my Grandpa continuing mining and supporting his family. My Gram had her five sisters and they were very close to their Father, the only living parent she had and she looked after him into his senior years. My Grandpa went off to war in 1938 when my dear Mom was only nine years old. For the next six years my Gram raised her daughter as a single parent while looking after her Father. When my Grandpa returned home he didn’t recognize this teenage girl my Mom had become.

She was wearing makeup, curling her hair, and going to picture shows with her friends. He had to get to know his family all over again and he did. They settled into a comfortable excistence and my Gram’s youngest sister went off to live in the USA and attend the convent. She proudly became a nun and took the name of Sister Michael. She loved her vocation and took up teaching in the convent. Tragically she was in a car accident and died at the age of thirty-two. It was a death that affected the whole family, as Elizabeth was living far away and they didn’t see her very often. With raising their families and being busy with life and they hadn’t lost anyone since their Mom.

I remember my own beloved Mama telling me stories of her Aunt Elizabeth her kindness, devotion to God, and her beautiful smile that would light up a room. My Gram had her two sisters living in the same town and one out of town and her Father. He was getting older and suffering with diabetes and Coronary Thrombosis. He lived until eighty-one years old and died of acute diverticulitis in 1951. My poor Gram was so devoted to her dear Father that his death left a void in her life and heart.

My Mom went on to marry my Dad and they had six children who all married and had children of their own. I look back over all my family history and I feel very grateful. My parents lived a very long life, saw their children happy, and had beautiful Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren to spend their remaining years with. My parents only knew my oldest son so there’s a sadness in me that they didn’t get to watch him grow up on this earthly plane. And they didn’t know my youngest either. I know with each memory and picture I share I’m keeping their love alive. As I truly believe in order to for us to know our future, we must discover our past.


One liner Wednesday

Death and grief are such fickle bitches that walk into your life and rip your heart out. They don’t care if your ill prepared or it’s the Christmas season. It doesn’t have any remorse when you just surfed a wave of grief and here comes a tidal wave of emotions. While my heart lies broken, bleeding, and gushing on the floor… ?

This has been my submission to the lovely It’s not funny, inspirational, but it’s geuninely my honest feelings. Please check out her amazing talent and all the other awesome bloggers who link up.