Seen.By.Ice.Queen: coming to my senses

I hang out quite a bit at United Square, no thanks to the fact that HoroBoy's enrichment centre is there and Horogal's paediatrician is also there.

In case you think this post is about some horror story, I'd like to start by assuring you it is not. 

So it's CA (Continual Assessment) season for my son aka HoroBoy and since it's PSLE Oral exam for the P6ers today and tomorrow, all the P1-5 kids are home. However, HoroBoy has e-learning, which is essentially tutorials and assignments to be done via the online learning facility. Hence, he's forbidden from eating out today and I've agreed to get him something nice for lunch. 

It feels like a million years since I last blogged. Perhaps I’m way behind the game.

To celebrate my renewed status of a Blogger again

As many issues trouble and take my attention in the recent weeks, I had my emotions fluctuating all over the place. I look everywhere for answers and though I am still 'in the process', this particular posting that surfaced from my friend's FB updates came up and caught my attention.

I feel particularly affected by the article also because it parallels a certain part of my life.

1. I lost my father to an accident when I was 2 months old. So I've never known him and what I know of him, was always through what other people told me about him and the things he left behind.

2. I lost my mum to cancer also in November 2009. I was not close to my mum growing up but towards her final years, and esp after her cancer diagnosis, we grew close on an emotional level. I even started to hug her (even though being typical Asians, we've not touched each other since she didn't have to hold my hand while crossing the roads).

After reading through this, i decided to post this so that more people can read about it and pick up the relevant message for themselves. In a way that it has touched me, I am also certain it will touch/inspire you (even if it is not at the same level or way)

~~~

Memories of Mandy Flanagan’s late husband Paul fill the house they used to share.

Pictures of him as a floppy-haired schoolboy, a handsome teenage rugby star, a newlywed, and a devoted dad, adorn the walls and window ledges of their country cottage.

But Paul, a teacher, who died of cancer at the age of 45 in November 2009, passionately believed his children, Thomas and Lucy — just five and one-and-half years old at the time — should have more than fading photographs to remember him by.

‘There was nothing more important to Paul than being the best father he could be,’ says Mandy, 44.

‘When he knew he was dying, there was no time for self-pity. He became absolutely focused on doing whatever he could to continue being a good dad to them throughout the years, even though he wouldn’t be here in person.’

He wrote them letters, filmed DVD messages, bought future birthday presents, and even filled a large chest with his favourite books.

‘Each book is accompanied by a note to Thomas and Lucy explaining why Paul loved it, and how much he hopes they will too when they’re old enough to read it,’ explains Mandy.

But perhaps Paul’s greatest gift to his wife and children was a document titled ‘On finding fulfilment’, which Mandy discovered on his laptop, by chance last month.

‘I opened it and, with tears rolling down my cheeks, I discovered his bullet-pointed code to living a good and happy life,’ says Mandy.

‘The list of 28 instructions for living a good life contained no empty platitudes; each one completely reflects the way that Paul lived his own life.

‘He was wise and brave and decent to the core, but I could never have found the words to sum him up so perfectly as he has himself.

'I can’t tell you what a comfort it is to know that our children will grow up with a real understanding of what made Paul, Paul.’

She adds: ‘It would have been our tenth wedding anniversary this year, and while we didn’t have a perfect marriage — lots of love and laughs, but lots of arguments too — I realised when I read his words that, when it came to the stuff that really matters in life, we were absolutely united.’

Addressing his children, who were too young to comprehend the tragedy that was unfolding, Paul writes: ‘In these last few weeks, following my terminal diagnosis, I have searched my soul and heart to find ways in which I can reach out to you as you grow up.

‘I’ve been thinking about the matters in life that are important, and the values and aspirations that make people happy and successful. In my view, and you may well have your own ideas by now, the formula is pretty simple.

‘The three most important virtues are: Loyalty, integrity and moral courage. If you aspire, friends will respect you, employers will retain you, and your father will be immensely proud of you.

‘I am therefore giving you several pieces of advice. These are the principles on which I have tried to build my life and they are exactly those that I would have encouraged you to embrace, had I been able to.

‘I love you very much. Never forget that.’

What follows is an extraordinary list of rules, which could enable us all to live better lives. It encompasses everything from the importance of table manners to the perils of gossiping and everything in between.

‘And it’s just so Paul!’ laughs Mandy today.

‘It makes me cry but it really makes me smile too.

‘He was an old-fashioned school-master and utterly meticulous when it came to manners. I’m obsessive over the kids’ “pleases and thank yous” because I know that Paul never let them get away with it.’

Mandy reads aloud from the list: ‘Be punctual … Show moral courage … Never, ever let a friend down … Well, that was Paul. He was maddeningly early for everything. He spoke up for what he felt was right, no matter how unpopular it might have made him. And I have never met anyone so loyal to their friends.

‘He also wrote that they should never give up, and he certainly never did. He fought so bravely, so courageously, right to the end.’

Paul was first diagnosed with skin cancer in 2004. A birthmark on his chest had become malignant, and was swiftly removed in November that year, when their son Thomas was just a few months old.

In January 2008, after years of regular check-ups, he was given the all-clear, when Mandy was expecting Lucy.

‘He was such a positive person, but he never allowed himself to believe that the cancer had been dealt with,’ says Mandy.

That May, a swelling appeared under Paul’s arm and specialists quickly confirmed his worst fears. The cancer had spread to the lymph glands in his arms, and was detected in his neck soon after. Surgery and radiotherapy did little to halt its progress. And, in March 2009, scans showed that the cancer had spread to his brain and his condition was terminal.

‘He never pitied himself,’ says Mandy. ‘The diagnosis, and perhaps the drugs he was on, triggered a sort of mania. He suddenly had so much energy. While I lay awake upstairs worrying, Paul would work through the nights, determined to get his affairs in order.’

He meticulously organised the family finances, arranged his own funeral, and even bought his own memorial bench for the grounds of Reigate Grammar School, where he had taught economics since 2003. He also set up a cricket team for all of his friends, who now play annual memorial matches to raise money for the Melanoma Foundation.

Over the weeks, piles of shoeboxes full of paperwork, hand-written letters and DVD messages for his family and friends took over the dining room.

And as his health deteriorated, Paul insisted that he and Mandy went shopping for Thomas and Lucy’s 18th and 21st birthday presents.

‘I wonder how we got through those days, but there’s a strange kind of adrenaline that just keeps you going,’ says Mandy.

‘You just want to do whatever feels right. We went to a jewellers in Spitalfields market in London to buy Lucy an eternity ring for her 21st.

‘When the woman at the counter asked: “Is it the right size?”, Paul and I just looked blankly at each other. “We don’t know,” I said.

‘She looked at Paul and saw how desperately ill he was. Then all three of us looked at Lucy sitting in her pushchair, completely oblivious to it all.’

Lucy was christened last summer. As a result, she has one godmother and nine godfathers — each a close friend of her father’s.

‘He wanted his friends to have a permanent tie to his family, I think,’ says Mandy. ‘And if Lucy couldn’t have her father, a fantastic team of godfathers was the very least she deserved.’

By the time Paul died — at home, eight months after his terminal diagnosis — Mandy felt certain that he would rest peacefully in the knowledge that he had left the best legacy that any father could.

‘When some people are told they have just a few months to live, they decide their life won’t be complete until they’ve bungee-jumped off Sydney Harbour Bridge or seen the Grand Canyon. But that wasn’t Paul. All that was important to him was right here.

‘He lived and died by his own rules, and I know he had found his own fulfilment.’

For information on melanoma visit melanoma.sgul.ac.uk

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2017876/A-fathers-message-grave-My-darling-children-heres-live-lives-Daddys-gone.html#ixzz1TIA5FHWa

I wrote about taking my son to watch The Tooth Fairy three years back and now, he is coming 'face-to-face' with THE Tooth Fairy.

For some weeks now, my six year old has been dealing with the emerging adult teeth and two wobbly milk teeth. At a recent visit to the wonderful dentist at White Dental Group, the nice pediatric dentist told my son that she will task him with the homework of wobbling and eventually extracting his own teeth.

So for the past week or so, he has been religiously doing his 'homework' after brushing his teeth every morning and night. Tonight while supervising his brushing, I noticed that one of his wobbly tooth was hanging by literally just a 'thread' and so ready to come off. So I encouraged him to try and yank it off. The brave little dude took the handkerchief from me for better grip on the tooth and did just that! Before I even realized, he was holding on to this tooth going, "see mom, it came out!"

I was so excited it was almost as if I was the one losing the first tooth. After I calmed down from my excitement, my six year old said he wanted to write a note to the tooth fairy so she knows exactly where to find his tooth and what to do with it.

So here goes the note...

Aww.. My brave little man. And I'd better go dig up that dollar coin that the 'tooth fairy' is supposed to give him before I forget :P