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“What
if ...”
--By:
Miriam Mas
On
February 2000, I was sent to take a 1-week course on Oracle
WebDB by the company I work for. This time, the course was
taking place in downtown Ottawa so I decided to take the express
bus rather than having to fight the traffic.
On
the Thursday of that week, as I was walking at lunchtime through
the streets of downtown, I noticed a homeless man that walked
right by me. He had not only an unpleasant presence, but also
carried a terrible urine smell.
My
first reaction was of repugnance and walked farther away from
him. Then, for some reason, I decided to sit near bye and
observe this man. I noticed that he went into a little corner
where he just let more urine run down his clothes. Of course,
who would let him in their building to use the washroom? Not
many.
How
can someone just get to the point where they care no more
about their presence? How can someone live day after day with
constant rejection? How can he find the strength to go on
every morning when person after person avoids him giving him
a disgusted look.
I
went from feeling disgust and numbness, to feeling sorrow
and sadness.
Realizing that this man was probably hungry and cold, I went
to the nearest fast food restaurant where I purchased a warm
bowl of soup, a sandwich and a coffee for him.
I
walked directly to him wondering how he would react. My fear
proved to be unfounded when he took the lunch with a humble
"thank you" and a smile.
Looking
at my watch, I realized my afternoon class was about to start,
so I run to the building where the course was taking place.
But nothing there had much meaning anymore. The facts, the
lectures, the sophisticated ways to handle online data were
all irrelevant. And so, I found myself drifting and thinking
on what had just happened.
That
night I had a dream I will never forget. In my dream, I felt
an incredible sadness when I saw that my own dad was being
rejected by my family because he had drinking problems. He
was refused any contact and therefore was left to live by
himself with no help. He lived now in the streets and looked
just like the man I saw the day before. Waking up from that
dream brought a great deal of relief as I realized that it
was "just a dream". However, I could not get it out of my
mind and kept wondering what if..., what if..., what if…
What
if that had really happened to my dad, or someone I love.
That man had to have someone who -I hope- loved him at one
point. Didn't he deserve a boost? Wasn't he worthy of some
sort of caring gesture? Aren't we all part of the same "Family"?
Who knows what brought him to his current state. But aren't
we all here to help each other when we most needed?
I
had a very clear vision of what I was going to do next. During
my lunch hour (on the last day of my course) I was going to
buy this man a "kit", a "caring kit". This kit would contain
a new comb, a mirror, a manual shaver, soap, nail clippers,
aftershave, container to carry this items, a towel, new underwear,
socks, pans, shirt, some food and snacks and a card. Feeling
an incredible boost, I put all these items carefully together
in a bag. The card that I picked for him had a quote from
the Bible with a message reassuring all man that God was never
far. Now the task was to find this man. Where would he be
at the time my course would end? He could be anywhere downtown
if he was not somewhere else. With anticipation for my class
to end, I kept wondering, am I going to find this man again?
During rush hour??!! Who was I kidding!? What are the odds??
Regardless,
I thought I would give it a try. If I did not find him, I
would just bring the items home and give them to my husband.
Feeling
in some way that I was being guided, I started to walk in
the opposite direction to the area where I saw this man the
previous day. I kept walking down the street for a few blocks
while telling myself: what makes you think he's in this direction??
But regardless, I continued to walk. Then I said to myself:
when I reach the next corner, if I don't see him, I'll turn
around and go to my bus stop.
My
whole body started to shake when I saw this man at that specific
corner. If I were to follow a direct path from the building
where I was taking the course to where this man was, it would
have been exactly as I walked it. Not knowing what I was going
to say to him, I paused for a few seconds. I walked towards
him and I asked what his name was. He said: Danny. I took
a pen out of my bag and wrote his name on the envelope holding
the card I was about to give him. As I handed the card and
bag with the stuff I got for him I said: "Danny,
your guardian Angel has sent me to you".
His
eyes lighted up and thank me once again. He walked away with
a brisk looking inside the bag.
All
I hoped was for this man to feel he was not alone. I wanted
him to know that people do care, regardless of his past. I
wanted him to feel some sort of hope again. But more than
anything, I wanted him to know that God really is near us
all.
I
haven't seen Danny in the streets of downtown Ottawa again.
Often, I wonder how he might be. I pray that his life has
somewhat improved. I pray that he feels an increasing warmth
of God's love inside of him.
The
joy I felt that day is very hard to describe with words. But
one thing I know I've learned is that there is no greater
joy than when we become instruments of love and peace.
By:
Miriam Mas
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| August
- September 2001 Story |
“One
day they left us...”
--By
Josep M. Ballarin
--Translated by: Miriam Mas
If
it was expected or not, all of a sudden or after long agony,
it was always a shock. We could not really believe it. We
were still waiting for them to get up, to come to life again,
to open their drawers.
The
time for the ceremony arrived. We were surrounded by familiar
faces. The ceremony continued. The priest saying the Lord’s
prayer. And we started to learn what the trees at the cemetery
know.
We
went back home, back to work. Still like sleepwalkers we went
back home and we remained alone. Still awaiting, with disbelief,
as if they were about to enter through the door. We went back
to work. Nobody was talking to us about it, but at home we
didn’t have the welcoming that we once knew so well…and we
started to wake up from the nightmare.
We
started to feel the mourning of things. Every person is themselves
and their pencil, or their doll, or their thimble. Certain
objects belong to a certain person. When that person goes,
the pen, the doll, the thimble, they are not an object anymore.
They become emptiness.
Certain
drawers belong to a specific person. They belong to only one
life. Nobody else, ever again, is going to organize them the
same way. Full, they become empty and they mourn.
We
became emptiness. That was the worst moment of all, when with
serenity; we understood everything we had lost. Everything
that became empty in the drawers of our souls.
Meanwhile,
we continued. We used the pencil…
And
God, …who knows where He was!
Until
one day, when we found the “look”, the “glimse”. Until one
day, when the instant arrived. We couldn’t tell if it came
like a lightening or a slow coming, but the instant arrived
when we felt the air full of “looks”.
Everything
became a “look”. The corner beside the heater, the trees in
the cemetery…
The
dead don’t make this world dull; they make it more lively
and lovable because they fill it!
Until
one day, when we felt the seed. The dead are seeds that have
been implanted inside us. A mourning that will be with us
forever, a promise, a strange peace, untouchable, made out
of pain and hope.
And
God?…God is here! In the “looks”, in the seeds… The dead have
risen to another world. While they look at us, they call us
up. One day, we will meet again. Meanwhile, our dead are a
prayer, even though we might not know how to feel it.
We
too, one day, are going to become a “look” around here, when
we will leave the pen, and the drawer. Maybe we will become
a good memory, maybe a bad one. Maybe an empty chair that
someone will look at with mourning. Up there, towards God.
True!
But, if up there we could ONLY find God, everything would
have been a bad joke! We want to find our loved ones. The
same way as they were when they were here with us. Just as
we have them today, when we don’t have them anymore. We want
to sit around the table again. We want to find the sandals
we once wore when we went together for walks.
We
are not only going to find the dead. We will find the pen,
the doll, the thimble.
Written
by: Josep M. Ballarin
Translated
by: Miriam Mas
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“…You
were not chosen for your fears. You were chosen for your potential.”
--By
Miriam Mas
After
my near death experience 3 and ½ years ago, I started a period
of soul searching. I could not stop reading books of people
that had gone through similar experiences. Some of them had
memories of going to this wonderful place surrendered in great
peace and where they felt extremely welcomed. In some cases,
they were told it was not their time yet and not able to win
any arguments they were forced back into their body.
For
these people, the results of these experiences seemed to have
brought a great deal of perspective regarding who they were,
where we all come from, the importance of our actions and
thoughts, the consequences of them, both positive and negative.
After
a couple of years of reading on this topic, I was convinced:
- That
we are all of equal value, while at the same time unique
with distinctive God-given gifts.
- That
every negative thought brings negative consequences if not
to others around you, to our own body and health; and every
positive thought brings positive consequences to you and
around you.
- That
every day is precious and we often take life for granted.
- That
we can look into the eyes of any human being and see a glimpse
of God.
-
That each member of our family is a great gift and a relationship
to nourish.
- That
we are constantly either learning from each other or teaching
each other something.
- That
there are no such things as “coincidences” and the timing
of some circumstances are rather arranged conventions for
a specific reason
- That
we all have some sort of a spiritual guidance that is in
communication with us yet when we don’t even know it.
I
even entertained the idea that at some point before coming
into this World, we could have had some sort of decision on
what kind of circumstances and situations we would face in
this life in order to help our spirit grow. By this I don’t
mean to say that I believe our future has been decided, rather
that we might have chosen to come at some specific time, place
and around some particular people. Maybe we might have even
had some decision on some of the difficulties we face while
always being free to choose how we will react to every
situation that life brings us.
By
now I was in a quest for my own “service” path. I thought
about many different options, from taking care of orphans,
to foster kids, to open a retirement center for the elderly,
to host educational camps for kids to learn different values
of life through simple acts around our community (respect
for the elderly, compassion, forgiveness, generosity, kindness,
faith, teamwork cooperation, etc). I had also thought about
opening some sort of resource center in a peaceful environment
and have it open to both people who could pay for it and also
to those who much needed to be pampered for free after having
gone or were presently going through a difficult experience
in their lives (monetary, physical, spiritual, and/or emotional).
The
only problem was that I had many excuses for myself such as:
What if it doesn’t succeed? What
if it does succeed? This is probably not the right time in
my life,...lets wait when the economic situation is better,
or when the kids are older, or when the house is in order...
(…yeah! Right, as if that would ever happen!!). Until one
morning, which I will never forget, I woke up hearing these
exact words in my mind: “YOU WERE
NOT CHOSEN FOR YOUR FEARS. YOU WERE CHOSEN FOR YOUR POTENCIAL.”
I
knew I was receiving this message from a higher spiritual
source..
Something
else that had also crossed my mind was to help people with
disabilities become more independent with the assistance of
a well-trained service dog. For some reason, this choice stuck
to me. So I started to do some research in the area and also
pray to God to send me a clear sign that this was the right
path for me. I am embarrassed to say that I put a condition
to my prayer. This time I asked God to send me a very clear
sign within a week. On day 6, out of nowhere, I was
contacted by Lisa
Grey, Founder and head trainer of Kiwi
Society, offering me to help me get started as an organization,
(paper work, fundraising, training, public exposure, etc).
I took this as a VERY clear sign since by then only a handful
of people knew I had thought about doing this kind of work.
So,
a few months ago, January 2001 to be precise, I decided to
start Canines
with a Cause. A non-profit organization that helps people
in our community with mobility related disabilities gain independence
by having a service dog to do specific tasks for them such
as: picking items accidentally dropped (wallet, keys, coins,
papers…), help with the laundry (picking up several laundry
items and dropping them into the laundry basket. Bringing
the basket to the laundry room. Bringing items to the open
level of the washing machine, and also retrieving them from
the dryer), opening drawers, fridge, doors, and retrieving
items for the person, finding the phone around the house and
bringing it to the person, getting help (bringing someone
in the house to the person if he/she has fallen of the wheelchair
for instance), supporting the person get in and out of bed/wheelchair,
push buttons for elevators or to open handicap doors, turn
the light switch on/off, etc.
I
started this kind of advanced training with our family dog,
Clancy about 7 months ago and he’s now able to do some of
these tasks. I have had a couple of requests for a presentation
where I go to explaining the benefits of service dogs, what
the organization is about, and at the end, I have Clancy doing
his little “demo”.
As
someone once said, “The more risks
you take in life, the more Angels show up!”
The
number of members of the Board of Directors for Canines
with a Cause has now grown to 5 and this is only the beginning
of what I am sure will be a very interesting and positive
lifetime project focused in helping members of the community
with disabilities get further integrated into the society.
If
you wish to read more about our organization, you can go to
Canines
with a Cause website at:
http://www.canineswithacause.org/
--Miriam
Mas
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No
more blood donations from you…
--By
Miriam Mas
A
couple of weeks ago, I headed out to the Blood Donor Clinic
that is periodically set at the office at work. I had prepared
myself by having a big breakfast and lots of fluids earlier
that morning to ensure that I would be feeling well and would
have no problems.
I’ve
learned the hard way to well prepare myself because during
a previous donation I became light headed and they had to
stop the process when I was only half way done.
“…Half
a unit! Not good enough!!”
I told myself. You see, I’ve been counting since the first
time I started to donate blood and promised myself that I
would donate at least 10 units. I was only then on my 4rd
donation.
Three
and a half years ago I nearly died when after delivering my
third child, I suddenly started to bleed uncontrollably. I
was coming and going in and out of conscious and could hear
the doctors and nurses rushing around me talking vigorously
to each other saying things like: “are
you ready to do CPR?”…”Blood pressure dropping rapidly”…”call
Code Blue!!” One of the times I was able to open
my eyes, I saw my husband staring at the whole ordeal from
a distance, pale and unable to move as in shock. Almost as
he was just watching a movie, something not “real”. They rushed
me to the operations room to have a hysterectomy. They were
poring several units of blood at me from different areas in
my body (my 2 arms, and my neck I believe). I was having what
Doctors call DIC (Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation),
which I am told most people don’t live to tell about.
In
most cases, where there are complications after a delivery
due to an excess of bleeding, a hysterectomy is the answer
and stops the bleeding. But as my doctor told me, even after
they remove my Uterus, the bleeding continued. They were not
sure what else to do other than continuously give me blood.
Things got tenser when a nurse from the intensive care unit
kept telling everybody: “She is not
going to make it! You are all wasting your time!! …I’ve seen
this before.” You see, she had lost her own daughter
the same way, at the same hospital, 2 years before this happened
to me. As I heard afterwards from another nurse in the room,
they had to remove her from the operating room.
The
team of doctors and nurses did not know how much longer they
were going to try to give me blood, when out of the blue,
the bleeding stopped. I received a total of 10 units, a lot
more than a person needs to replace the whole blood in their
system.
That
night I had a lot of people to thank. I first thank God and
my Guardian Angels, the Doctors and Nurses, and last but not
least, the unknown people that took the time to donate their
own blood. They are certainly heroes in my eyes. So I was
determined to pay back by at least donating my blood with
a minimum of 10 times.
I
had to go through a thorough medical review and tests to ensure
I was OK to donate. Everything passed and I had the letter
from my doctor telling that I was fine to donate blood.
So,
I was now going for my 6th donation (…well more like 5 and
½), and I was sure I was not going to get light headed this
time after the way I fed myself and all the drinks I had!
But that was not the case.
My
unit of blood was almost full when I had more than a light
head reaction. I had a black out.
When
I started to come back to normal and to my disappointment,
they arrange to have a senior nurse to talk to me about not
donating any more blood. “You know,
- the nurse told me- this is the second time you had a reaction
and if we wait for a third one, the reaction most likely will
increase in severity. You could either have a seizure, or
heart problems. You are better off not donating. It won’t
be any good if you donate at the expense of your own health!”
I
knew she was right but I just could not control the sadness
and disappointment inside of me. I walked to the parking lot
crying quietly, and remembered all the people who saved my
life. Thanks to them I was still here today.
During
that evening, as I was talking to my husband about what happened
that day, he could see how upsetting this was for me. Although
he is not –like many people- fond of needles, he offered to
take over for me.
Life
is great! My husband, together with all those anonymous people
who take the time and surpass the fears of needles, are my
heroes. One more to add to “My heroes” list is my son Eduard
who turned 18 in March and has decided that his first donation
was not a big deal as he thought originally, and will definitely
do it again.
Thank
you to all of you who have donated blood.
Thank
you to all of you who are taking the decision to donate your
blood.
And
to those of you who are not quite convinced of the importance
of donating blood, I honestly hope you won’t wait, like me,
for a traumatic situation to understand it.
God
bless you all,
--Miriam
Mas
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...Can
you please tell me of someone in this lobby who is having
a hard day?--By Miriam Mas
A
few months ago, as I was coming out of the Liquor Store in
Bells Corners, I saw a young girl selling flowers. I hardly
ever buy flowers for myself, and there wasn't any family celebrations
that weekend, so I was going to just walk by with a smile
but then I thought: Who could enjoy
a bouquet of flowers today?
For
some reason, my thought went to the Resident's home on the
street behind. So, I decided to buy the flowers and just drop
them there for someone who might be having a hard day.
I
entered the lobby and presented myself at the receptionist
by saying:
...Hello! ...Well, I don't know anybody
in this building, but I was wondering if I could just give
these flowers to someone who today might be feeling lonely
or having a hard day...
The
girl at reception had a big smile and called a couple of other
ladies who work there and between the three of them agreed
of whom of all the elderly people sitting patiently at the
lobby needed a boost.
They
pointed out to a lady who had just broken her hip and was
feeling terribly down lately. So I went to talk to her and
gave her the flowers.
The impact that little gesture had was so overwhelming that
right then I promised myself I would repeat it again.
So,
I did go back, with more flowers a few weeks later. And again
another day, with my older daughter Janet. The smiles in the
faces of the people waiting at the lobby, the grateful words
and the hugs in some occasions told me that this little gesture
went a long way.
Another
time, my husband, my 2 daughters and our friendly cat, Molly
went for another of our 30-40 minute visit and brought some
more flowers. People started to recognize us and were very
keen on us going to spend a few minutes and chat with them.
We would go around the lobby and speak to as many of them
as we could.
I've
noticed how much some people related to the girls, and how
much some others related to our cat Molly. All, bringing back
memories of their younger days, most of the time very happy
moments.
I have been going there with the girls and Molly quite regularly.
And I can't tell you who is looking forward to the most. I
sure enjoy seeing those happy faces and listening to their
memories. Some times, we hear the same story in the same 5
minutes but I don't mind. Who knows if I get to that age the
stories I'll be telling!
The
girls look forward to come with me as well. I never force
them to come. The enjoy it just as much. And Kate, who's only
3, and quite shy, won't say much there, but after her first
visit, she was able to tell me that some of those people were
sad and when we went to visit them we made them happy. I was
amazed by her awareness.
After
talking to some of my friends and neighbors, some expressed
interested in going to these visits as well.
And some have come also, feeling the same joy in knowing that
you helped made someone smile.
The
Public Relations Manager of the Resident's home called me
to tell me how these visits enhanced their residents days
and thanked me for coming and bringing the girls and Molly.
She assured me that we were always welcomed there.
If
you too have some time to spare for a short visit, even if
it's only once, please contact
me. You won't forget easily how happy you made someone
who might sit by the lobby day after day, looking at that
front door waiting for a visit.
--Miriam
Mas
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...And
someone asked me, What do you consider yourself, more Canadian
than Spanish or viceversa? --By Miriam Mas
My
son and I moved to Canada on the 8-8-88 (Yes! August 8th,
1988). It just happened that way! Actually, I had never paid
attention to so many eights until someone asked me: ...so
when did you move to Canada? It is actually a good
thing with my mischievous memory. It is so easy to remember
it this way.
My
son was 5 years old then, and didn't speak any English nor
French. It was hard for him to picture how far was Canada
before we left Barcelona, Spain. All he knew was that it was
further than the farthest mountain he could see.
He
started Senior Kindergarten without complaints. Once, I remember
receiving a call from his teacher telling me that Eduard was
disrupting the class when he would engage in his singing while
she was reading to the class. I asked him why he was doing
that and he quickly replied:
I don't understand anything! I get bored,so
I decided to sing to myself.By the end of his first
school year, he was able to communicate with his new friends.
That
little boy is not so little anymore. He'll be turning 18 next
week and is starting to drive! He has completely integrated
into the Canadian culture and community.
And
so, one day one of my neighbor friends asked me, ...and
you? how do you feel about being Canadian? What do you consider
yourself, more Canadian or Spanish?
I had to answer, definitely Canadian. I hear the national
hymn of Canada and I can't help to get goosepumps! I see such
a mix of cultures and open minded people that I can't help
but feel that I do belong here. I feel a strong sense of togetherness.
People pulling for each other during difficult times that
life inevitable brings sometimes. Here, I find so much easier
to remember where we all come from and that we all have two
things in common:
- we
are all physical, mentally, emotionally different;
- we
are all of equal value, no matter what conditions we came
to this World with.
I
have not forgotten my roots. If anything, I bring them into
the Canadian culture to make it even richer. I will forever
be grateful to my family, teachers, and all those who were
around me and are part of my history. And I just hope that
wherever life brings me, I can make a difference in the life
of those I come across.
And
I proudly say, I am Canadian! But above all, I am of God.
--Miriam
Mas
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